U N I Vt  R.5  ITY 
Of  ILLINOIS 

818 

C2>Cw 

1877 


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The 


Wo-rics 

. <'  AW" 

A 


LniCAN  ^ 


UNi\  A 

*ssc  v Ml  ION 


OF 


A 


Jo::,  i*:.;.. 


William  E.  Channing,  d. 


SHtti)  an  Introduction. 


NEW  AND  COMPLETE  EDITION,  REARRANGED. 


BOSTON: 


AMERICAN  UNITARIAN  ASSOCIATION. 


The  writings  of  C hanning,  whom  Bunsen  has  characterized 
as  “ the  grand  Christian  Saint  and  Man  of  God \ — nay,  also , a 
prophet  of  the  Christian  consciousness  regarding  the  future — are 
becoming  yearly  more  known  and  more  welcome , among  English- 
speaking  people  in  all  parts  of  the  globe ; and  translations  of  them 
have  been , either  wholly  or  in  part , published  in  the  German , French , 
Italian , Hungarian,  Icelandic , and  Russian  languages. 

The  American  Unitarian  Association,  desiring  to  signalize 
this  closing  year  of  the  first  half  century  of  its  existence , issues  this 
volume  for  gratuitous  distribution  in  its  missionary  work , and  to 
place  within  the  reach  of  all  in  portable  form , at  the  lowest  possible 
cost , ///<?  writings  of  one  who , z/z  noble  service  of  spiritual  free- 
dom and  pure  Christianity,  is  yet  in  the  early  prime  of  his  growing 
fame  and  beneficent  influence. 

Boston,  i,  1875. 


Cavibridge : 

Press  of  John  Wilson  a?id  Son. 


Page 


Introductory  Remarks i 

Self-Culture 12 

. On  the  Elevation  of  the  Laboring  Classes 36 

Honor  due  to  All  Men 67, 

Ministry  for  the  Poor ^ 73 

On  Preaching  the  Gospel  to  the  Poor 88 

Charge  for  the  Ordination  of  Mr.  Robert  C.  Waterston,  as 

Minister  at  Large 93 

Address  on  Temperance 99 

Remarks  on  Education 116 

Remarks  on  National  Literature 124 

.Remarks  on  Associations 138 

The  Present  Agev^ 159 

Spiritual  Freedom .172 

Importance  of  Religion  to  Society 187 

Evidences  of  Christianity  : Part  1 188 

Evidences  of  Christianity:  Part  II 204 

The  Evidences  of  Revealed  Religion 220 

Christianity  a Rational  Religion 233 

The  Great  Purpose  of  Christianity 246 

Means  of  Promoting  Christianity 254 

The  Christian  Ministry 257 

The  Demands  of  the  Age  on  the  Ministry 269 

Theological  Education 279 

Charge  at  the  Ordination  of  the  Rev.  John  Sullivan  Dwight  . 283 

Likeness  to  God '291 

Character  of  Christ 302 

The  Imitableness  of  Christ’s  Character 310 

Love  to  Christ:  First  Discourse 316 

Love  to  Christ  : Second  Discourse 322 

Preaching  Christ 328 

Self-Denial  : First  Discourse 336 

Self-Denial  : Second  Discourse 343 

The  Evil  of  Sin 347 

Immortality 354 

The  Future  Life 359 

Unitarian  Christianity 367 

I Unitarian  Christianity  most  Favorable  to  Piety 3^4 

Objections  to  Unitarian  Christianity  Considered 4°* 


*1377 


CONTENTS. 


; j 

KRISTIAN  Worship  . 
te  Church  . . . 

he  Sunday  School 

he  Moral  Argument  against  Calvinism 

titer  on  Catholicism 

he  System  of  Exclusion  and  Denunciation  in  Religion  .... 

^TRACTS  FROM  A LETTER  ON  CREEDS 

he  Duties  of  Children 

A.ILY  Prayer 

:marks  on  the  Character  and  Writings  of  John  Milton  . . . 

2MARKS  ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER  OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE 
GVIARKS  ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND  WRITINGS  OF  FENELON  .... 

Discourse  on  the  Life  and  Character  of  the  Rev.  Joseph 

Tuckerman,  D.Dt t 

ie  Philanthropist:  A Tribute  to  the  Memory  of  the  Rev. 

Noah  Worcester,  D.D 

Discourse  occasioned  by  the  Death  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Follen  . 
emoir  of  John  Gallison,  Esq 

3TICE  OF  THE  REV.  S.  C.  THACHER 

> ie  Union 

ar  : Discourse  before  the  Congregational  Ministers  of  Massa- 
chusetts, Boston,  1816 

ar:  Discourse  delivered  Jan.  25,  1835 

hcture  on  War 

v'  UTIES  OF  THE  CITIZEN  IN  TIMES  OF  TRIAL  OR  DANGER 

.avery:  Introduction,  688  ; I-  Property,  692;  II.  Rights,  69 7;  III. 
Explanations,  704;  IVTThe  Evils  of  Slavery,  70 7;  V.  Scripture,  723; 
VI.  Means  of  Removing  Slavery,  725  ; VII.  Abolitionism,  731  ; 
VIII.  Duties,  737. 

he  Abolitionists  : A Letter  to  James  G.  Birney 

, Letter  to  the  Hon.  Henry  Clay,  on  the  Annexation  of  Texas 
to  the  United  States 

REMARKS  ON  THE  SLAVERY  QUESTION,  IN  A LETTER  TO  JONATHAN 

Phillips,  Esq 

Emancipation 

The  Duty  of  the  Free  States;  or,  Remarks  suggested  by  the 

Case  of  the  “ Creole.”  Part  I 

The  Duty  of  the  Free  States;  or,  Remarks  suggested  by  the 

Case  of  the  “ Creole.”  Part  II 

\n  Address  delivered  at  Lenox,  on  the  ist  of  August,  1842, 
being  the  Anniversary  of  Emancipation  in  the  British  West 
Indies 


PagI 

4°c| 

42ft 
44  j 
45<( 

46i 

4 7\ 

4sd 

48'] 

493 

496 

522  \ 

559 

578 


599 


607 

618 

625 

629 

642 

654 

664 

679 


743 

752  i 

782 

820 

853 

871 


9°7 


Index 


925 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING 


Born  at  Newport,  R.I.,  April  7,  1780 ; 

Ordained  Pastor  of  the  Federal-street  Church,  Boston,  June  i,  1803; 
Died  at  Bennington,  Vt.,  Sunday,  October  2,  1842. 


The  pages  of  thy  book  I read, 

And  as  I closed  each  one, 

My  heart,  responding,  ever  said, 

“ Servant  of  God  ! well  done  ! ” 

Well  done ! thy  words  are  great  and 
bold; 

At  times  they  seem  to  me, 

Like  Luther’s,  in  the  days  of  old, 

Half  battles  for  the  free! 

H.  W.  Longfellow. 
— » — 

Not  vainly  did  old  poets  tell, 

Nor  vainly  did  old  genius  paint, 

God’s  great  and  crowning  miracle, — 
The  hero  and  the  saint. 

For,  even  in  a faithless  day, 

Can  we  our  sainted  ones  discern; 

And  feel,  while  with  them  on  the  way, 
Our  hearts  within  us  burn. 

And  thus  the  common  tongue  and  pen, 
Which  world-wide  echo  Channing’s 
fame 

As  one  of  Heaven’s  anointed  men, 

Have  sanctified  his  name. 

In  vain  shall  Rome  her  portals  bar, 

And  shut  from  him  her  saintly  prize, 
Whom,  in  the  zvorld’s  great  calendar, 
All  men  shall  canonize. 

How  echoes  yet  each  Western  hill 
And  vale  with  Channing’s  dying  word! 
How  are  the  hearts  of  freemen  still 
By  that  great  warning  stirred ! 

Swart  smiters<pf  the  glowing  steel, 

Dark  feeders  of  the  forge’s  flame, 

Pale  watchers  at  the  loom  and  wheel, 
Repeat  his  honored  name. 

Where  is  the  victory  of  the  grave  ? 

What  dust  upon  the  spirit  lies? 

God  keeps  the  sacred  life  he  gave : 

The  prophet  never  dies. 

J.  G.  Whittier. 


Thou  livest  in  the  life  of  all  good 
things ; 

The  words  thou  spak’st  for  freedom 
shall  not  die. 

Thou  sleepest  not,  for  now  thy  faith 
has  wings 

To  soar  where  hence  thy  hope  could 
hardly  fly. 

And  often,  from  that  other  world,  on 
this 

Some  gleams,  from  great  souls  gone 
before,  may  shine, 

To  shed  on  struggling  hearts  a clearer 
bliss, 

And  clothe  the  Right  with  lustre  more 
divine. 

J.  R.  Lowell. 

— 1 — 

Charming,  a citizen  of  New  Eng- 
land, born  in  1780,  and  the  pastor  of 
a church  in  Boston  from  1803  to  the 
time  of  his  death,  in  1842,  is  the 
prophet  for  the  United  States  of  the 
consciousness  of  God  in  humanity. 
. . . No  less  on  account  of  his 
moderation  and  calmness  than  on 
account  of  his  classic  eloquence, 
which  reminds  us  of  the  most  ad- 
mirable models  of  antiquity,  Chan- 
ning  has  already,  within  a few  years 
after  his  death,  come  to  be  revered 
in  every  quarter  of  his  vast  father- 
land,  as  a grand  Christian  saint  and 
man  of  God  * nay,  also,  as  a prophet 
of  the  Christian  consciousness  re- 
garding the  future.  And,  without 
doubt,  he  is  destined  to  exert  a still 
increasing  influence  throughout  the 
United  States,  on  the  spiritual  con- 
ception of  Christianity,  and  the  prac- 
tical application  of  its  principles. 


NOTICES  OF  CHANNING. 


Charming  is  an  antique  hero,  with 
a Christian  heart.  He  is  a man  like 
a Hellene,  a citizen  like  a Roman,  a 
Christian  like  an  Apostle.  — C.  C.  J. 
Baron  Bunsen,  God  in  History , 
Vol.  3. 


. . . Dr.  Channing  revolving  round 
the  central  light  in  an  orbit  immeas- 
urably nearer  than  ours.  ...  — Rev'. 
F.  W.  Robertson. 


He  has  the  love  of  wisdom  and  the 
wisdom  of  love.  — - S.  T.  Coleridge. 


Such  a man  as  Dr.  Channing 
must  have  stood  majestically  in  ad- 
vance of  his  age,  whenever  and 
wherever  he  had  lived.  Fie  lived, 
according  to  the  sense  of  the  present 
generation,  at  least,  in  the  best  age 
of  the  world,  and  yet  was  far  in  front 
of  it.  If  it  reaches  his  radiant  posi- 
tion in  two  centuries,  the  signs  of 
the  times  are  certainly  quite  illusive. 

His  remains  were  brought  to  Bos- 
ton, and  committed  to  the  grave 
amidst  the  regrets  of  all  classes  and 
parties  ; and,  as  the  procession  moved 
from  the  church,  the  bell  of  the 
Catholic  Cathedral  tolled  his  knell, 
— a fact  never  perhaps  paralleled 
before  in  the  history  of  Romanism. 
And  so  departed  one  of  the  great 
men  of  the  Republic,  — one  who, 
amidst  its  servility  to  mammon  and 
slavery,  ceased  not  to  recall  it  to  the 
sense  of  its  honor  and  duty,  — a man 
whose  memory  his  countrymen  will 
not  willingly  let  die.  As  the  visitor 
wanders  among  the  shaded  aisles  of 
the  western  part  of  Mount  Auburn, 
he  sees  a massive  monument  of 
marble,  designed  by  Allston,  the 
poet-painter.  Generous  and  brave 


men,  from  whatever  clime,  resort  to 
it,  and  go  from  it  more  generous  and 
brave  ; for  there  reposes  the  great 
and  good  man  whom  we  have  com- 
memorated. The  early  beams,  inter- 
cepted by  neighboring  heights,  fall 
not  upon  the  spot ; but  the  light  of 
high  noon  and  the  later  and  benigner 
rays  of  the  day  play  through  the 
foliage  in  dazzling  gleams  upon  the 
marble,  — a fitting  emblem  of  his 
fame  ; for,  when  the  later  and  better 
light  which  is  yet  to  bless  our  deso- 
late race  shall  come,  it  will  fall  with 
bright  illustration  on  the  character 
of  this  rare  man,  and  on  the  great 
aims  of  his  life.  — Methodist  Quar- 
terly Review , January,  1849. 

— 0 — 

Inscription  upon  a Memorial  Tablet  in 
the  Arlington-strcet  Church. 

En  ftlcmoi‘2  of 

William  Ellery  Channing. 

Born  at  Newport,  R.  I.,  April  7,  1780. 

Ordained  Pastor  of  this  Church  June  1,  1803. 
Died  October  2,  1842. 

The  leader 

in  a great  theological  movement, 
and  for  many  years 

one  of  the  most  distinguished  Ministers 
in  Boston, 

he  exerted  a wide  influence 
over  the  religious  thought 
of  America. 

A persuasive  and  eloquent  Preacher, 
a brilliant  and  powerful  Writer, 
he  was  endeared 
to  the  people  of  his  charge 
by  the  sweetness  of  his  character 
and  the  spirituality  of  his  teachings. 

A firm  Believer 

in  the  Dignity  of  Human  Nature, 
and  hating  every  form 
of  injustice  and  oppression, 
he  was  a zealous  champion 
of  Human  Rights, 

and  was  honored  throughout  the  World 
as  a Christian  Reformer 
and  Philanthropist. 

This  tablet  is  erected 
in  admiration  of  his  services 
in  the  Cause  of 

Freedom,  Truth,  and  Religion. 

January,  1873. 


THE 


WORKS  OF 


WILLIAM  E. 


CHANNING,  D.  D. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 


The  following  tracts,  having  passed 
through  various  editions  at  home  and 
abroad,  are  now  collected  to  meet  the 
wishes  of  those  who  may  incline  to  pos- 
sess them  in  a durable  form.  In  common 
with  all  writings  which  have  obtained  a 
good  degree  of  notice,  they  have  been 
criticised  freely;  but  as  they  have  been 
published  not  to  dictate  opinions,  but  to 
excite  thought  and  inquiry,  they  have 
not  failed  of  their  end,  even  when  they 
have  provoked  doubt  or  reply.  They 
have,  I think,  the  merit  of  being  earnest 
expressions  of  the  writer’s  mind,  and  of 
giving  the  results  of  quiet,  long-contin- 
ued thought. 

Some  topics  will  be  found  to  recur 
often,  perhaps  the  reader  may  think  too 
often  ; but  it  is  in  this  way  that  a writer 
manifests  his  individuality,  and  he  can 
in  no  other  do  justice  to  his  own  mind. 
Men  are  distinguished  from  one  another, 
not  merely  by  difference  of  thoughts,  but 
often  more  by  the  different  degrees  of 
relief  or  prominence  which  they  give  to 
the  same  thoughts.  In  nature,  what  an 
immense  dissimilarity  do  we  observe  in 
organized  bodies,  which  consist  of  the 
same  parts  or  elements,  but  in  which 
these  are  found  in  great  diversity  of 
proportions  ! So,  to  learn  what  a man 
is,  it  is  not  enough  to  dissect  his  mind, 
and  see  separately  the  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings which  successively  possess  him. 
The  question  is,  what  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings predominate,  stand  out  most  dis- 
tinctly, and  give  a hue  and  impulse  to 
the  common  actions  of  his  mind  ? What 
are  his  great  ideas  ? These  form  the 
man,  and  by  their  truth  and  dignity  he  is 
very  much  to  be  judged. 


The  following  writings  will  be  found 
to  be  distinguished  by  nothing  more 
than  by  the  high  estimate  which  they 
express  of  human  nature.  A respect  for 
the  human  soul  breathes  through  them. 
The  time  may  come  for  unfolding  my 
views  more  fully  on  this  and  many  con- 
nected topics.  As  yet,  I have  given  but 
fragments  ; and,  on  this  account,  I have 
been  sometimes  misapprehended.  The 
truth  is,  that  a man,  who  looks  through 
the  present  disguises  and  humbling  cir- 
cumstances of  human  nature,  and  speaks 
with  earnestness  of  what  it  was  made  for 
and  what  it  may  become,  is  commonly  set 
down  by  men  of  the  world  as  a romancer, 
and,  what  is  far  worse,  by  the  religious 
as  a minister  to  human  pride,  perhaps 
as  exalting  man  against  God.  A few 
remarks  on  this  point  seem,  therefore,  a 
proper  introduction  to  these  volumes. 

It  is  not,  however,  my  purpose  in  this 
place  to  enter  far  into  the  consideration 
of  the  greatness  of  human  nature,  and 
of  its  signs  and  expressions  in  the  inward 
and  outward  experience  of  men.  It  will 
be  sufficient  here  to  observe,  that  the 
greatness  of  the  soul  is  especially  seen 
in  the  intellectual  energy  which  discerns 
absolute,  universal  truth,  in  the  idea  of 
God,  in  freedom  of  will  and  moral  power, 
in  disinterestedness  and  self-sacrifice,  in 
the  boundlessness  of  love,  in  aspirations 
after  perfection,  in  desires  and  affections, 
which  time  and  space  cannot  confine,  and 
the  world  cannot  fill.  The  soul,  viewed 
in  these  lights,  should  fill  us  with  awe. 
It  is  an  immortal  germ,  which  may 
be  said  to  contain  now  within  itself 
what  endless  ages  are  to  unfold.  1 1 
is  truly  an  image  of  the  infinity  of  God,, 


i 


2 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 


and  no  words  can  do  justice  to  its  gran- 
deur. There  is,  however,  another  and 
very  different  aspect  of  our  nature. 
When  we  look  merely  at  what  it  now  is, 
at  its  present  development,  at  what  falls 
under  present  consciousness,  we  see  in 
it  much  of  weakness  and  limitation,  and 
still  more,  we  see  it  narrowed  and  de- 
graded by  error  and  sin.  This  is  the 
aspect  under  which  it  appears  to  most 
men  ; and  so  strong  is  the  common  feel- 
ing of  human  infirmity,  that  a writer, 
holding  higher  views,  must  state  them 
with  caution,  if  he  would  be  listened  to 
without  prejudice.  My  language,  I trust, 
will  be  sufficiently  measured,  as  my  ob- 
ject at  present  is  not  to  set  forth  the 
greatness  of  human  nature,  but  to  remove 
difficulties  in  relation  to  it,  in  the  minds 
of  religious  people. 

From  the  direction  which  theology  has 
taken,  it  has  been  thought  that  to  as- 
cribe any  thing  to  man  was  to  detract  so 
much  from  God.  The  disposition  has 
been,  to  establish  striking  contrasts  be- 
tween man  and  God,  and  not  to  see  and 
rejoice  in  the  likeness  between  them.  It 
has  been  thought  that  to  darken  the  crea- 
tion was  the  way  to  bring  out  more  clearly 
the  splendor  of  the  Creator.  The  human 
being  has  been  subjected  to  a stern  criti- 
cism. It  has  been  forgotten  that  he  is 
as  yet  an  infant,  new  to  existence,  un- 
conscious of  his  powers  ; and  he  has 
been  expected  to  see  clearly,  walk  firmly, 
and  act  perfectly.  Especially  in  estimat- 
ing his  transgressions,  the  chief  regard 
has  been  had,  not  to  his  finite  nature  and 
present  stage  of  development,  but  to  the 
infinity  of  the  Being  against  whom  he  had 
sinned  ; so  that  God’s  greatness,  instead 
of  being  made  a ground  of  hope,  has 
been  used  to  plunge  man  into  despair. 

I have  here  touched  on  a great  spring 
of  error  in  religion,  and  of  error  among 
the  most  devout.  I refer  to  the  tendency 
of  fervent  minds  to  fix  their  thoughts  ex- 
clusively or  unduly  on  God’s  infinity.  It 
is  said,  in  devotional  writings,  that  ex- 
alted and  absorbing  views  of  God  enter 
into  the  very  essence  of  piety ; that  our 
grand  labor  should  be,  to  turn  the  mind 
from  the  creature  to  the  Creator  ; that 
the  creature  cannot  sink  too  low  in 
our  estimation,  or  God  fill  too  high  a 
sphere.  God,  we  are  told,  must  not  be 
limited ; nor  are  his  rights  to  be  re- 
strained by  any  rights  in  his  creatures. 
These  are  made  to  minister  to  their 


Maker’s  glory,  not  to  glorify  themselves. 
They  wholly  depend  on  him,  and  have 
no  power  which  they  can  call  their  own. 
His  sovereignty,  awful  and  omnipotent, 
is  not  to  be  kept  in  chock,  or  turned  from 
its  purposes,  by  any  claims  of  his  sub- 
jects. Man’s  place  is  the  dust.  The 
entire  prostration  of  his  faculties  is  the 
true  homage  he  is  to  offer  God.  He  is 
not  to  exalt  his  reason  or  his  sense  of 
right  against  the  decrees  of  the  Almighty. 
He  has  but  one  lesson  to  learn,  that  he 
is  nothing,  that  God  is  All  in  All.  Such 
is  the  common  language  of  theology. 

These  views  are  exceedingly  natural. 
That  the  steady,  earnest  contemplation 
of  the  Infinite  One  should  so  dazzle  the 
mind  as  to  obscure  or  annihilate  all 
things  else,  ought  not  to  surprise  us. 
By  looking  at  the  sun,  we  lose  the  power 
of  seeing  other  objects.  It  was,  I con- 
ceive, one  design  of  God  in  hiding  him- 
self so  far  from  us,  in  throwing  around 
himself  the  veil  of  his  works,  to  prevent 
this  very  evil.  He  intended  that  our 
faculties  should  be  left  at  liberty  to  act 
on  other  things  besides  himself,  that  the 
will  should  not  be  crushed  by  his  over- 
powering greatness,  that  we  should  be 
free  agents,  that  we  should  recognize 
rights  in  ourselves  and  in  others  as  well 
as  in  the  Creator,  and  thus  be  introduced 
into  a wide  and  ever-enlarging  sphere  of 
action  and  duty.  Still  the  idea  of  the 
Infinite  is  of  vast  power,  and  the  mind, 
in  surrendering  itself  to  it,  is  in  danger 
of  becoming  unjust  to  itself  and  other 
beings,  of  losing  that  sentiment  of  self- 
respect  which  should  be  inseparable  from 
a moral  nature,  of  degrading  the  intellect 
by  the  forced  belief  of  contradictions 
which  God  is  supposed  to  sanction,  and 
of  losing  that  distinct  consciousness  of 
moral  freedom,  of  power  over  itself, 
without  which  the  interest  of  life  and  the 
sense  of  duty  are  gone. 

Let  it  not  be  imagined  from  these  re- 
marks, that  I would  turn  the  mind  from 
God’s  Infinity.  This  is  the  grand  truth  ; 
but  it  must  not  stand  alone  in  the  mind. 
The  finite  is  something  real  as  well  as 
the  infinite.  We  must  reconcile  the  two 
in  our  theology.  It  is  as  dangerous  to 
exclude  the  former  as  the  latter.  God 
surpasses  all  human  thought ; yet  human 
thought,  mysterious,  unbounded,  “ wan- 
dering through  eternity,”  is  not  to  be  con- 
temned. God’s  sovereignty  is  limitless  ; 
still  man  has  rights.  God  s power  is  ir- 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS . 


3 


resistible  ; still  man  is  free.  On  God  we 
entirely  depend  ; yet  we  can  and  do  act 
from  ourselves,  and  determine  our  own 
characters.  These  antagonist  ideas,  if  so 
they  may  be  called,  are  equally  true,  and 
neither  can  be  spared.  It  will  not  do 
for  an  impassioned  or  an  abject  piety  to 
wink  one  class  of  them  out  of  sight.  In 
a healthy  mind  they  live  together  ; and 
the  worst  error  in  religion  has  arisen 
from  throwing  a part  of  them  into  ob- 
scurity. 

In  most  religious  systems,  the  ten- 
dency has  been  to  seize  exclusively 
on  the  idea  of  the  Infinite,  and  to 
sacrifice  to  this  the  finite,  the  created, 
the  human.  This  I have  said  is  very 
natural.  To  the  eye  of  sense,  man  is 
such  a mote  in  the  creation,  his  imper- 
fections and  sins  are  so  prominent  in  his 
history,  the  changes  of  his  life  are  so 
sudden,  so  awful,  he  vanishes  into  such 
darkness,  the  mystery  of  the  tomb  is  so 
fearful,  all  his  outward  possessions  are 
so  fleeting,  the  earth  which  he  treads  on 
so  insecure,  and  all  surrounding  nature 
subject  to  such  fearful  revolutions,  that 
the  reflective  and  sensitive  mind  is  prone 
to  see  nothingness  inscribed  on  the  hu- 
man being  and  on  all  things  that  are 
made,  and  to  rise  to  God  as  the  only  re- 
ality. Another  more  influential  feeling 
contributes  to  the  same  end.  The  mind 
of  man,  in  its  present  infancy  and  blind- 
ness, is  apt  to  grow  servile  through  fear, 
and  seeks  to  propitiate  the  Divine  Being 
by  flattery  and  self-depreciation.  Thus 
deep  are  the  springs  of  religious  error. 
To  admit  all  the  elements  of  truth  into 
our  system,  at  once  to  adore  the  infinity 
of  God  and  to  give  due  importance  to 
our  own  free  moral  nature,  is  no  very 
easy  work.  But  it  must  be  done.  Man’s 
free  activity  is  as  important  to  religion 
as  God’s  infinity.  In  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven,  the  moral  power  of  the  subject 
is  as  essential  as  the  omnipotence  of  the 
sovereign.  The  rights  of  both  have  the 
same  sacredness.  To  rob  man  of  his 
dignity  is  as  truly  to  subvert  religion  as 
to  strip  God  of  his  perfection.  We  must 
believe  in  man's  agency  as  truly  as  in 
the  Divine,  in  his  freedom  as  truly  as  in 
his  dependence,  in  his  individual  being 
as  truly  as  in  the  great  doctrine  of  his 
living  in  God.  Just  as  far  as  the  desire 
of  exalting  the  Divinity  obscures  these 
conceptions,  our  religion  is  sublimated 
into  mysticism  or  degraded  into  servility. 


In  the  Oriental  world,  the  human  mind 
has  tended  strongly  to  fix  on  the  idea  of 
the  Infinite,  the  Vast,  the  Incompre- 
hensible. In  its  speculations  it  has 
started  from  God.  Swallowed  up  in  his 
greatness,  it  has  annihilated  the  creature. 
Perfection  has  been  thought  to  lie  in  self- 
oblivion,  in  losing  one’s  self  in  the  Divin- 
ity, in  establishing  exclusive  communion 
with  God.  The  mystic  worshipper  fled 
from  society  to  wildernesses,  where  not 
even  nature’s  beauty  might  divert  the 
soul  from  the  Unseen.  Living  on  roots, 
sleeping  on  the  rocky  floor  of  his  cave, 
he  hoped  to  absorb  himself  in  the  One 
and  the  Infinite.  The  more  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  individual  was  lost,  and 
the  more  the  will  and  the  intellect  be- 
came passive  or  yielded  to  the  universal 
soul,  the  more  perfect  seemed  the  piety. 

From  such  views  naturally  sprung 
Pantheism.  No  being  was  at  last  rec- 
ognized but  God.  He  was  pronounced 
the  only  reality.  The  universe  seemed 
a succession  of  shows,  shadows,  evan- 
escent manifestations  of  the  One  Inef- 
fable Essence.  The  human  spirit  was 
but  an  emanation,  soon  to  be  reabsorbed 
in  its  source.  God,  it  was  said,  bloomed 
in  the  flower,  breathed  in  the  wind,  flowed 
in  the  stream,  and  thought  in  the  human 
soul.  All  our  powers  were  but  move- 
ments of  one  infinite  force.  Under  the 
deceptive  spectacle  of  multiplied  indi- 
viduals intent  on  various  ends,  there  was 
but  one  agent.  Life,  with  its  endless 
changes,  was  but  the  heaving  of  one  and 
the  same  eternal  ocean. 

This  mode  of  thought  naturally  gave 
birth  or  strength  to  that  submission  to 
despotic  power  which  has  characterized 
the  Eastern  world.  The  sovereign,  in 
whom  the  whole  power  of  the  state  was 
centred,  became  an  emblem  of  the  One 
Infinite  Power,  and  was  worshipped  as 
its  representative.  An  unresisting  qui- 
etism naturally  grew  out  of  the  contem- 
plation of  God  as  the  all-absorbing  and 
irresistible  energy.  Man,  a bubble,  aris- 
ing out  of  the  ocean  of  the  universal 
soul,  and  fated  soon  to  vanish  in  it  again, 
had  plainly  no  destiny  to  accomplish 
which  could  fill  him  with  hope  or  rouse 
him  to  effort.  In  the  East  the  individ- 
ual was  counted  nothing.  In  Greece 
and  Rome  he  was  counted  much,  and  he 
did  much.  In  the  Greek  and  the  Roman 
the  consciousness  of  power  was  indeed 
too  little  chastened  by  religious  rever- 


4 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 


ence.  Their  gods  were  men.  Their 
philosophy,  though  in  a measure  bor- 
rowed from  or  tinctured  with  the  East- 
ern, still  spoke  of  man  as  his  own  master, 
as  having  an  independent  happiness  in 
the  energy  of  his  own  will.  As  far  as 
they  thus  severed  themselves  from  God, 
they  did  themselves  great  harm  ; but 
in  their  recognition,  however  imper- 
fect, of  the  grandeur  of  the  soul,  lay 
the  secret  of  their  vast  influence  on 
human  affairs. 

In  all  ages  of  the  church,  the  tendency 
of  the  religious  mind  to  the  exclusive 
thought  of  God,  to  the  denial  or  forget- 
fulness of  all  other  existence  and  power, 
has  come  forth  in  various  forms.  The 
Catholic  church,  notwithstanding  its 
boasted  unity,  has  teemed  with  mys- 
tics, who  have  sought  to  lose  them- 
selves in  God.  It  would  seem  as  if 
the  human  mind,  cut  off  by  this  church 
from  free,  healthful  inquiry,  had  sought 
liberty  in  this  vague  contemplation  of 
the  Infinite.  In  the  class  just  referred 
to  were  found  many  noble  spirits,  espe- 
cially Fenelon,  whose  quietism,  with  all 
its  amiableness,  we  must  look  on  as  a 
disease. 

In  Protestantism,  the  same  tendency 
to  exalt  God  and  annihilate  the  creature 
has  manifested  itself,  though  in  less  pro- 
nounced forms.  We  see  it  in  Quaker- 
ism, and  Calvinism,  the  former  striving 
to  reduce  the  soul  to  silence,  to  suspend 
its  action,  that  in  its  stillness  God  alone 
may  be  heard;  and  the  latter  making  God 
the  only  power  in  the  universe,  and  anni- 
hilating the  free  will,  that  one  will  alone 
may  be  done  in  heaven  and  on  earth. 

Calvinism  will  complain  of  being 
spoken  of  as  an  approach  to  Panthe- 
ism. It  will  say  that  it  recognizes  dis- 
tinct minds  from  the  Divine.  But  what 
avails  this,  if  it  robs  these  minds  of  self- 
determining  force,  of  original  activity ; 
if  it  makes  them  passive  recipients  of 
the  Universal  Force  ; if  it  sees  in  human 
action  only  the  necessary  issues  of  for- 
eign impulse.  The  doctrine  that  God 
is  the  only  Substance,  which  is  Panthe- 
ism, differs  little  from  the  doctrine  that 
God  is  the  only  active  power  of  the  uni- 
verse. For  what  is  substance  without 
power  ? It  is  a striking  fact  that  the 
philosophy  which  teaches  that  matter  is 
an  inert  substance,  and  that  God  is  the 
force  which  pervades  it,  has  led  men  to 
question  whether  any  such  thing  as  mat- 


ter exists  ; whether  the  powers  of  attrac- 
tion and  repulsion,  which  are  regarded 
as  the  indwelling  Deity,  be  not  its  whole 
essence.  Take  away  force,  and  sub- 
stance is  a shadow,  and  might  as  well 
vanish  from  the  universe.  Without  a 
free  power  in  man,  he  is  nothing.  The 
divine  agent  within  him  is  every  thing. 
Man  acts  only  in  show.  He  is  a phe- 
nomenal existence,  under  which  the  One 
Infinite  Power  is  manifested  ; and  is  this 
much  better  than  Pantheism  ? 

One  of  the  greatest  of  all  errors  is  the 
attempt  to  exalt  God,  by  making  him 
the  sole  cause,  the  sole  agent  in  the 
universe,  by  denying  to  the  creature 
freedom  of  will  and  moral  power,  by 
making  man  a mere  recipient  and  trans- 
mitter of  a foreign  impulse.  This,  if 
followed  out  consistently,  destroys  all 
moral  connection  between  God  and  his 
creatures.  In  aiming  to  strengthen  the 
physical,  it  ruptures  the  moral  bond 
which  holds  them  together.  To  extin- 
guish the  free  will  is  to  strike  the  con- 
science with  death,  for  both  have  but 
one  and  the  same  life.  It  destroys  re- 
sponsibility. It  puts  out  the  light  of  the 
universe  ; it  makes  the  universe  a ma- 
chine. It  freezes  the  fountain  of  our 
moral  feelings,  of  all  generous  affection 
and  lofty  aspirations.  Pantheism,  if  it 
leave  man  a free  agent,  is  a compara- 
tively harmless  speculation  ; as  we  see 
in  the  case  of  Milton.  The  denial  of 
moral  freedom,  could  it  really  be  be- 
lieved, would  prove  the  most  fatal  of 
errors.  If  Edwards’s  work  on  the  Will 
could  really  answer  its  end ; if  it  could 
thoroughly  persuade  men  that  they  were 
bound  by  an  irresistible  necessity,  that 
their  actions  were  fixed  links  in  the  chain 
of  destiny,  that  there  was  but  one  agent, 
God,  in  the  universe  ; it  would  be  one 
of  the  most  pernicious  books  ever  issued 
from  our  press.  Happily  it  is  a demon- 
stration which  no  man  believes,  which 
the  whole  consciousness  contradicts. 

It  is  a fact  worthy  of  serious  thought 
and  full  of  solemn  instruction,  that  many 
of  the  worst  errors  have  grown  out  of 
the  religious  tendencies  of  the  mind. 
So  necessary  is  it  to  keep  watch  over 
our  whole  nature,  to  subject  the  highest 
sentiments  to  the  calm,  conscientious 
reason.  Men  starting  from  the  idea  of 
God,  have  been  so  dazzled  by  it  as  to  for- 
get or  misinterpret  the  universe.  They 
have  come  to  see  in  him  the  only  force 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 


5 


in  creation,  and  in  other  beings  only 
signs,  shadows,  echoes  of  this.  Abso- 
lute dependence  is  the  only  relation  to 
God  which  they  have  left  to  human 
beings.  Our  infinitely  nobler  relations, 
those  which  spring  from  the  power  of 
free  obedience  to  a moral  law,  their  the- 
ory dissolves.  The  moral  nature,  of 
which  freedom  is  the  foundation  and 
essence,  which  confers  rights  and  im- 
poses duties,  which  is  the  ground  of 
praise  and  blame,  which  lies  at  the 
foundation  of  self-respect,  of  friendship 
between  man  and  man,  of  spiritual  con- 
nection between  man  and  his  Maker, 
which  is  the  spring  of  holy  enthusiasm 
and  heavenly  aspiration,  which  gives  to 
life  its  interest,  to  creation  its  glory  ; — 
this  is  annihilated  by  the  mistaken  piety, 
which,  to  exalt  God,  to  make  him  All  in 
All,  immolates  to  him  the  powers  of  the 
universe. 

This  tendency,  as  we  have  seen,  gave 
birth  in  former  ages  to  asceticism,  drove 
some  of  the  noblest  men  into  cloisters 
or  caverns,  infected  them  with  the  fatal 
notion  that  there  was  an  hostility  be- 
tween their  relations  to  God  and  their 
relations  to  his  creatures,  and  of  course 
persuaded  them  to  make  a sacrifice  of 
the  latter.  To  this  we  owe  systems  of 
theology  degrading  human  nature,  deny- 
ing its  power  and  grandeur,  breaking  it 
into  subjection  to  the  priest  through 
whom  alone  God  is  supposed  to  ap- 
proach the  abject  multitude,  and  placing 
human  virtue  in  exaggerated  humilia- 
tions. The  idea  of  God,  the  grandest 
of  all,  and  which  ought  above  all  to  ele- 
vate the  soul,  has  too  often  depressed 
it  and  led  good  minds  very  far  astray, 
— a consideration  singularly  fitted  to 
teach  us  tolerant  views  of  error,  and  to 
enjoin  caution  and  sobriety  in  religious 
speculation. 

I hope  that  I shall  not  be  thought 
wanting  in  a just  tolerance  in  the  strict- 
ures now  offered  on  those  systems  of 
theology  and  philosophy  which  make 
God  the  only  power  in  the  universe  and 
rob  man  of  his  dignity.  Among  the 
authors  of  these  may  be  found  some  of 
the  greatest  and  best  men.  To  this 
class  belonged  Hartley,  whose  work  on 
Man  carries  indeed  the  taint  of  materi- 
alism and  necessity,  but  still  deserves 
to  be  reckoned  among  the  richest  con- 
tributions ever  made  to  the  science  of 
mind,  whilst  it  breathes  the  profoundest 


piety.  Our  own  Edwards  was  as  emi- 
nent for  religious  as  for  intellectual 
power.  The  consistency  of  great  error 
with  great  virtue  is  one  of  the  lessons 
of  universal  history.  But  error  is  not 
made  harmless  by  such  associations. 
The  false  theories  of  which  I have  spo- 
ken, though  not  thoroughly  believed, 
have  wrought  much  evil.  They  have 
done  much,  I think,  to  perpetuate  those 
abject  views  of  human  nature  which  keep 
it  where  it  is,  which  check  men’s  aspira- 
tions, and  reconcile  them  to  their  pres- 
ent poor  modes  of  thought  and  action 
as  the  fixed  unalterable  laws  of  their 
being. 

Many  religious  people  fall  into  the 
error,  which  I have  wished  to  expose, 
through  the  belief  that  they  thus  glorify 
the  Creator.  “ The  glory  of  God,”  they 
say,  “ is  our  chief  end  ; ” and  this  is  ac- 
complished as  they  suppose  by  taking 
all  power  from  man  and  transferring  all 
to  his  Maker.  We  have  here  an  exam- 
ple of  the  injury  done  by  imperfect  ap- 
prehension and  a vague,  misty  use  of 
Scripture  language.  The  “ glory  of 
God  ” is  undoubtedly  to  be  our  end  ; 
but  what  does  this  consist  in  ? It  means 
the  shining  forth  of  his  perfection  in  his 
creation,  especially  in  his  spiritual  off- 
spring ; and  it  is  best  promoted  by 
awakening  in  these  their  highest  fac- 
ulties, by  bringing  out  in  ourselves  and 
others  the  image  of  God  in  which  all  are 
made.  An  enlightened,  disinterested 
human  being,  morally  strong,  and  ex- 
erting a wide  influence  by  the  power  of 
virtue,  is  the  clearest  reflection  of  the 
divine  splender  on  earth  ; and  we  glo- 
rify God  in  proportion  as  we  form  our- 
selves and  others  after  this  model.  The 
glory  of  the  Maker  lies  in  his  work.  We 
do  not  honor  him  by  breaking  down  the 
human  soul,  by  connecting  it  with  him 
only  by  a tie  of  slavish  dependence.  By 
making  him  the  author  of  a mechanical 
universe,  we  ascribe  to  him  a low  kind 
of  agency.  It  is  his  glory  that  he  cre- 
ates beings  like  himself,  free  beings,  not 
slaves  ; that  he  forms  them  to  obedi- 
ence, not  by  physical  agency,  but  by 
moral  influences  ; that  he  confers  on 
them  the  reality,  not  the  show  of  power  ; 
and  opens  to  their  faith  and  devout  striv- 
ings a futurity  of  progress  and  glory  with- 
out end.  It  is  not  by  darkening  and 
dishonoring  the  creature,  that  we  honor 
the  Creator.  Those  men  glorify  God 


6 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS . 


most,  who  look  with  keen  eye  and  lov- 
ing heart  on  his  works,  who  catch  in  all 
some  glimpses  of  beauty  and  power,  who 
have  a spiritual  sense  for  good  in  its 
dimmest  manifestations,  and  who  can 
so  interpret  the  world,  that  it  becomes 
a bright  witness  to  the  Divinity. 

To  such  remarks  as  these  it  is  com- 
monly objected,  that  we  thus  obscure, 
if  we  do  not  deny,  the  doctrine  of  en- 
tire dependence  on  God,  — a doctrine 
which  is  believed  to  be  eminently  the 
foundation  of  religion.  But  not  so.  On 
the  contrary,  the  greater  the  creature, 
the  more  extensive  is  his  dependence  ; 
the  more  he  has  to  give  thanks  for,  the 
more  he  owes  to  the  free  gift  of  his 
Creator.  No  matter  what  grandeur  or 
freedom  we  ascribe  to  our  powers,  if  we 
maintain,  as  we  ought,  that  they  are 
bestowed,  inspired,  sustained  by  God  ; 
that  he  is  their  life  ; that  to  him  we  owe 
all  the  occasions  and  spheres  of  their 
action  and  all  the  helps  and  incitements 
by  which  they  are  perfected.  On  ac- 
count of  their  grandeur  and  freedom 
they  are  not  less  his  gifts  ; and  in  as 
far  as  they  are  divine,  their  natural  ten- 
dency is  not  towards  idolatrous  self-re- 
liance, but  towards  the  grateful,  joyful 
recognition  of  their  adorable  source. 
The  doctrine  of  dependence  is  in  no 
degree  impaired  by  the  highest  views 
of  the  human  soul. 

Let  me  further  observe,  that  the  doc- 
trine of  entire  dependence  is  not,  as  is 
often  taught,  the  fundamental  doctrine  of 
religion,  so  that  to  secure  this  all  other 
ideas  must  be  renounced.  And  this 
needs  to  be  taught,  because  nothing  has 
been  more  common  with  theologians 
than  to  magnify  our  dependence  at  the 
expense  of  every  thing  elevated  in  our 
nature.  Man  has  been  stripped  of  free- 
dom, and  spoken  of  as  utterly  impotent, 
lest  he  should  trench  on  God’s  sole, 
supreme  power.  To  eradicate  this  error, 
it  should  be  understood  that  our  depend- 
ence is  not  our  chief  relation  to  God, 
and  that  it  is  not  the  ground  of  religion, 
if  by  religion  we  understand  the  sen- 
timent of  faith,  reverence,  and  love 
towards  the  Divinity.  That  piety  may 
exist,  it  is  not  enough  to  know  that  God 
alone  and  constantly  sustains  all  beings. 
This  is  not  a foundation  for  moral  feel- 
ings towards  him.  The  great  question 
on  which  religion  rests  is,  What  kind 
of  a universe  does  he  create  and  sustain  ? 


Were  a being  of  vast  power  to  give  birth 
to  a system  of  unmeasured,  unmitigated 
evil,  dependence  on  him  would  be  any 
thing  but  a ground  of  reverence.  We 
should  hate  it,  and  long  to  flee  from  it 
into  non-existence.  The  great  question, 

I repeat  it,  is,  What  is  the  nature,  the 
end,  the  purpose  of  the  creation  which 
God  upholds  ? On  this,  and  on  the  rela- 
tions growing  out  of  this,  religion  wholly 
rests.  True,  we  depend  on  the  Creator  ; 
and  so  does  the  animal  ; so  does  the 
clod  ; and  were  this  the  only  relation, 
we  should  be  no  more  bound  to  worship 
than  they.  We  sustain  a grander  rela- 
tion, that  of  rational,  moral,  free  beings 
to  a Spiritual  Father.  We  are  not  mere 
material  substances,  subjected  to  an 
irresistible  physical  law,  or  mere  animals 
subjected  to  resistless  instincts  ; but  are 
souls,  on  which  a moral  law  is  written, 
in  which  a divine  oracle  is  heard.  Take 
away  the  moral  relation  of  the  created 
spirit  to  the  universal  spirit,  and  that  of 
entire  dependence  would  remain  as  it  is 
now ; but  no  ground  and  no  capacity 
of  religion  would  remain  ; and  the  splen- 
dor of  the  universe  would  fade  away. 

We  must  start  in  religion  from  our 
own  souls.  In  these  is  the  fountain  of 
all  divine  truth.  An  outward  revelation 
is  only  possible  and  intelligible  on  the 
ground  of  conceptions  and  principles 
previously  furnished  by  the  soul.  Here 
is  our  primitive  teacher  and  light.  Let 
us  not  disparage  it.  There  are,  indeed, 
philosophical  schools  of  the  present  day, 
which  tell  us  that  we  are  to  start  in  all 
our  speculations  from  the  Absolute,  the 
Infinite.  But  we  rise  to  these  concep- 
tions from  the  contemplation  of  our  own 
nature  ; and  even  if  it  were  not  so,  of 
what  avail  would  be  the  notion  of  an 
Absolute,  Infinite  existence,  an  Un- 
caused Unity,  if  stripped  of  all  those 
intellectual  and  moral  attributes  which 
we  learn  only  from  our  own  souls  ? 
What  but  a vague  shadow,  a sounding 
name,  is  the  metaphysical  Deity,  the 
substance  without  modes,  the  being 
without  properties,  the  naked  unity, 
which  performs  such  a part  in  some  of 
our  philosophical  systems  ? The  only 
God  whom  our  thoughts  can  rest  on, 
and  our  hearts  can  cling  to,  and  our 
consciences  can  recognize,  is  the  God 
whose  image  dwells  in  our  own  souls. 
The  grand  ideas  of  Power,  Reason, 
Wisdom,  Love,  Rectitude,  Holiness, 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 


7 


Blessedness,  that  is,  of  all  God’s  attri- 
butes, come  from  within,  from  the  action 
of  our  own  spiritual  nature.  Many  in- 
deed think  that  they  learn  God  from 
marks  of  design  and  skill  in  the  outward 
world  ; but  our  ideas  of  design  and  skill, 
of  a determining  cause,  of  an  end  or  pur- 
pose, are  derived  from  consciousness, 
from  our  own  souls.  Thus  the  soul  is 
the  spring  of  our  knowledge  of  God. 

These  remarks  might  easily  be  ex- 
tended, but  these  will  suffice  to  show, 
that  in  insisting  on  the  claims  of  our 
nature  to  reverence,  I have  not  given 
myself  to  a subject  of  barren  specula- 
tion. It  has  intimate  connections  with 
religion ; and  deep  injury  to  religion  has 
been  the  consequence  of  its  neglect.  I 
have  also  felt  and  continually  insisted, 
that  a new  reverence  for  man  was  essen- 
tial to  the  cause  of  social  reform.  As 
long  as  men  regard  one  another  as  they 
now  do,  that  is  as  little  better  than  the 
brutes,  they  will  continue  to  treat  one 
another  brutally.  Each  will  strive,  by 
craft  or  skill,  to  make  others  his  tools. 
There  can  be  no  spirit  of  brotherhood, 
no  true  peace,  any  farther  than  men 
come  to  understand  their  affinity  with 
and  relation  to  God  and  the  infinite  pur- 
pose for  which  he  gave  them  life.  As 
yet  these  ideas  are  treated  as  a kind  of 
spiritual  romance  ; and  the  teacher  who 
really  expects  men  to  see  in  themselves 
and  one  another  . the  children  of  God,  is 
smiled  at  as  a visionary.  The  reception 
of  this  plainest  truth  of  Christianity 
would  revolutionize  society,  and  create 
relations  among  men  not  dreamed  of  at 
the  present  day.  A union  would  spring 
up,  compared  with  which  our  present 
friendships  would  seem  estrangements. 
Men  would  know  the  import  of  the 
word  Brother,  as  yet  nothing  but  a 
word  to  multitudes.  None  of  us  can 
conceive  the  change  of  manners,  the  new 
courtesy  and  sweetness,  the  mutual 
kindness,  deference,  and  sympathy,  the 
life  and  energy  of  efforts  for  social  mel- 
ioration, which  are  to  spring  up,  in  pro- 
portion as  man  shall  penetrate  beneath 
the  body  to  the  spirit,  and  shall  learn 
what  the  lowest  human  being  is.  Then 
insults,  wrongs,  and  oppressions,  now 
hardly  thought  of,  will  give  a deeper 
shock  than  we  receive  from  crimes, 
which  the  laws  punish  with  death.  Then 
man  will  be  sacred  in  man’s  sight ; and 
to  injure  him  will  be  regarded  as  open 


hostility  towards  God.  It  has  been 
under  a deep  feeling  of  the  intimate 
connection  of  better  and  juster  views  of 
human  nature  with  all  social  and  relig- 
ious progress,  that  I have  insisted  on  it  so 
much  in  the  following  tracts,  and  I hope 
that  the  reader  will  not  think  that  I have 
given  it  disproportionate  importance. 

I proceed  to  another  sentiment,  which 
is  expressed  so  habitually  in  these  writ- 
ings as  to  constitute  one  of  their  char- 
acteristics, and  which  is  intimately  con- 
nected with  the  preceding  topic.  It  is 
reverence  for  liberty,  for  human  rights, 
— a sentiment  which  has  grown  with  my 
growth,  which  is  striking  deeper  root  in 
my  age,  which  seems  to  me  a chief  ele- 
ment of  true  love  for  mankind,  and 
which  alone  fits  a man  for  intercourse 
with  his  fellow-creatures.  I have  lost 
no  occasion  for  expressing  my  deep  at- 
tachment to  liberty  in  all  its  forms,  civil, 
political,  religious,  to  liberty  of  thought, 
speech,  and  the  press,  and  of  giving 
utterance  to  my  abhorrence  of  all  the 
forms  of  oppression.  This  love  of  free- 
dom I have  not  borrowed  from  Greece 
or  Rome.  It  is  not  the  classical  enthu- 
siasm of  youth,  which,  by  some  singular 
good  fortune,  has  escaped  the  blighting 
influences  of  intercourse  with  the  world. 
Greece  and  Rome  are  names  of  little 
weight  to  a Christian.  They  are  warn- 
ings rather  than  inspirers  and  guides. 
My  reverence  for  human  liberty  and 
rights  has  grown  up  in  a different  school, 
under  milder  and  holier  discipline. 
Christianity  has  taught  me  to  respect 
my  race,  and  to  reprobate  its  oppressors. 
It  is  because  I have  learned  to  regard 
man  under  the  light  of  this  religion,  that 
I cannot  bear  to  see  him  treated  as  a 
brute,  insulted,  wronged,  enslaved,  made 
to  wear  a yoke,  to  tremble  before  his 
brother,  to  serve  him  as  a tool,  to  hold 
property  and  life  at  his  will,  to  surren- 
der intellect  and  conscience  to  the 
priest,  or  to  seal  his  lips  or  belie  his 
thoughts  through  dread  of  the  civil 
power.  It  is  because  I have  learned  the 
essential  equality  of  men  before  the 
common  Father,  that  I cannot  endure  to 
see  one  man  establishing  his  arbitrary 
will  over  another  by  fraud,  or  force,  or 
wealth,  or  rank,  or  superstitious  claims. 
It  is  because  the  human  being  has  moral 
powers,  because  he  carries  a law  in  his 
own  breast,  and  was  made  to  govern 
himself,  that  I cannot  endure  to  see  him 


8 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS . 


taken  out  of  his  own  hands  and  fashioned 
into  a tool  by  another’s  avarice  or  pride. 
It  is  because  I see  in  him  a great  nature, 
the  divine  image,  and  vast  capacities,  that 
I demand  for  him  means  of  self-develop- 
ment, spheres  for  free  action ; that  I call 
society  not  to  fetter,  but  to  aid  his  growth. 
Without  intending  to  disparage  the  out- 
ward, temporal  advantages  of  liberty,  I 
have  habitually  regarded  it  in  a higher 
light,  — as  the  birthright  of  the  soul,  as 
the  element  in  which  men  are  to  put 
themselves  forth,  to  become  conscious 
of  what  they  are,  and  to  fulfil  the  end  of 
their  being. 

Christianity  has  joined  with  all  history 
in  inspiring  me  with  a peculiar  dread 
and  abhorrence  of  the  passion  for  power, 
for  dominion  over  men.  There  is  noth- 
ing in  the  view  of  our  divine  teacher  so 
hostile  to  his  divine  spirit,  as  the  lust  of 
domination.  This  we  are  accustomed 
to  regard  as  eminently  the  sin  of  the 
arch-fiend.  “ By  this  sin  fell  the  angels.” 
It  is  the  most  Satanic  of  all  human  pas- 
sions, and  it  has  inflicted  more  terrible 
evils  on  the  human  family  than  all 
others.  It  has  made  the  names  of  king 
and  priest  the  most  appalling  in  history. 
There  is  no  crime  which  has  not  been 
perpetrated  for  the  strange  pleasure  of 
treading  men  under  foot,  of  fastening 
chains  on  the  body  or  mind.  The 
strongest  ties  of  nature  have  been  rent 
asunder,  her  holiest  feelings  smothered, 
parents,  children,  brothers  murdered,  to 
secure  dominion  over  man.  The  people 
have  now  been  robbed  of  the  necessaries 
of  life,  and  now  driven  to  the  field  of 
slaughter  like  flocks  of  sheep,  to  make 
one  man  the  master  of  millions.  Through 
this  passion,  government,  ordained  by 
God  to  defend  the  weak  against  the 
strong,  to  exalt  right  above  might,  has 
up  to  this  time  been  the  great  wrong- 
doer. Its  crimes  throw  those  of  private 
men  into  the  shade.  Its  murders  reduce 
to  insignificance  those  of  the  bandits, 
pirates,  highwaymen,  assassins,  against 
whom  it  undertakes  to  protect  society. 
How  harmless  at  this  moment  are  all 
the  criminals  of  Europe,  compared  with 
the  Russian  power  in  Poland.  This 
passion  for  power,  which  in  a thousand 
forms,  with  a thousand  weapons,  is  war- 
ring against  human  liberty,  and  which 
Christianity  condemns  as  its  worst  foe,  I 
have  never  ceased  to  reprobate  with  what- 
ever strength  of  utterance  God  has  given 


me.  Power  trampling  on  right,  whether 
in  the  person  of  king  or  priest,  or  in  the 
shape  of  democracies,  majorities,  and  re- 
publican slaveholders,  is  the  saddest  sight 
to  him  who  honors  human  nature  and  de- 
sires its  enlargement  and  happiness. 

So  fearful  is  the  principle  of  which  I 
have  spoken,  that  I have  thought  it  right 
to  recommend  restrictions  on  power,  and 
a simplicity  in  government,  beyond  what 
most  approve.  Power,  I apprehend, 
should  not  be  suffered  to  run  into  great 
masses.  No  more  of  it  should  be  con- 
fided to  rulers  than  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  repress  crime  and  preserve  public 
order.  A purer  age  may  warrant  larger 
trusts;  but  the  less  of  government  now 
the  better,  if  society  be  kept  in  peace. 
There  should  exist,  if  possible,  no  office 
to  madden  ambition.  There  should  be 
no  public  prize  tempting  enough  to  con- 
vulse a nation.  One  of  the  tremendous 
evils  of  the  world  is  the  monstrous  accu- 
mulation of  power  in  a few  hands.  Half 
a dozen  men  may,  at  this  moment,  light 
the  fires  of  war  through  the  world,  may 
convulse  all  civilized  nations,  sweep  earth 
and  sea  with  armed  hosts,  spread  deso- 
lation through  the  fields  and  bankruptcy 
through  cities,  and  make  themselves 
felt  by  some  form  of  suffering  through 
every  household  in  Christendom.  Has 
not  one  politician  recently  caused  a large 
part  of  Europe  to  bristle  with  bayonets  ? 
And  ought  this  tremendous  power  to  be 
lodged  in  the  hands  of  any  human  being  ? 
Is  any  man  pure  enough  to  be  trusted 
with  it  ? Ought  such  a prize  as  this  to 
be  held  out  to  ambition  ? Can  we  won- 
der at  the  shameless  profligacy,  intrigue, 
and  the  base  sacrifices  of  public  inter- 
ests, by  which  it  is  sought,  and,  when 
gained,  held  fast?  Undoubtedly  great 
social  changes  are  required  to  heal  this 
evil,  to  diminish  this  accumulation  of 
power.  National  spirit,  which  is  virtual 
hostility  to- alF countries  but  our  own, 
must  yield  to  a growing  humanity,  to  a 
new  knowledge  of  the  spirit  of  Christ. 
Another  important  step  is,  a better  com- 
prehension by  communities  that  gov- 
ernment is  at  best  a rude  machinery, 
which  can  accomplish  but  very  limited 
good,  and  which,  when  strained  to  accom- 
plish what  individuals  should  do  for 
themselves,  is  sure  to  be  perverted  by 
selfishness  to  narrow  purposes,  or  to 
defeat  through  ignorance  its  own  ends. 
Man  is  too  ignorant  to  govern  much,  to 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARK’S. 


9 


form  vast  plans  for  states  and  empires. 
Human  policy  has  almost  always  been 
in  conflict  with  the  great  laws  of  social 
well-being  ; and  the  less  we  rely  on  it  the 
better.  The  less  of  power,  given  to  man 
over  man,  the  better.  I speak,  of  course, 
of  physical,  political  force.  There  is  a 
power  which  cannot  be  accumulated  to 
excess,  — I mean  moral  power,  that  of 
truth  and  virtue,  the  royalty  of  wisdom 
and  love,  of  magnanimity  and  true  relig- 
ion. This  is  the  guardian  of  all  right. 
It  makes  those  whom  it  acts  on  free.  It 
is  mightiest  when  most  gentle.  In  the 
progress  of  society  this  is  more  and  more 
to  supersede  the  coarse  workings  of 
government.  Force  is  to  fall  before  it. 

It  must  not  be  inferred  from  these 
remarks,  that  I am  an  enemy  to  all 
restraint.  Restraint  in  some  form  or 
other  is  an  essential  law  of  our  nature, 
a necessary  discipline,  running  through 
life,  and  not  to  be  escaped  by  any  art 
or  violence.  Where  can  we  go,  and 
not  meet  it  ? The  powers  of  nature 
are,  all  of  them,  limits  to  human  power. 
A never-ceasing  force  of  gravity  chains 
us  to  the  earth.  Mountains,  rocks,  prec- 
ipices, and  seas  forbid  our  advances. 
If  we  come  to  society,  restraints  mul- 
tiply on  us.  Our  neighbor’s  rights  limit 
our  own.  His  property  is  forbidden 
ground.  Usage  restricts  our  free  action, 
fixes  our  manners,  and  the  language  we 
must  speak,  and  the  modes  of  pursuing 
our  ends.  Business  is  a restraint,  set- 
ting us  wearisome  tasks,  and  driving 
us  through  the  same  mechanical  routine 
day  after  day.  Duty  is  a restraint, 
imposing  curbs  on  passion,  enjoining 
one  course  and  forbidding  another, 
with  stern  voice,  with  uncompromising 
authority.  Study  is  a restraint,  com- 
pelling us,  if  we  would  learn  any  thing, 
to  concentrate  the  forces  of  thought, 
and  to  bridle  the  caprices  of  fancy. 
All  law,  divine  or  human,  is,  as  the 
name  imports,  restraint.  No  one  feels 
more  than  I do  the  need  of  this  ele- 
ment of  human  life.  He  who  would 
fly  from  it  must  live  in  perpetual  con- 
flict with  nature,  society,  and  himself. 

But  all  this  does  not  prove  that  lib- 
erty, free  action,  is  not  an  infinite 
good,  and  that  we  should  seek  and 
guard  it  with  sleepless  jealousy.  For 
if  we  look  at  the  various  restraints  of 
which  I have  spoken,  we  shall  see  that 
liberty  is  the  end  and  purpose  of  all. 


Nature’s  powers  around  us  hem  us  in, 
only  to  rouse  a free  power  within  us. 
It  acts  that  we  should  react.  Burden? 
press  on  us,  that  the  soul’s  elastic  force 
should  come  forth.  Bounds  are  set, 
that  we  should  clear  them.  The  weight, 
which  gravitation  fastens  to  our  limbs, 
incites  us  to  borrow  speed  from  winds 
and  steam,  and  we  fly  where  we  seemed 
doomed  to  creep.  The  sea,  which  first 
stopped  us,  becomes  the  path  to  a new 
hemisphere.  The  sharp  necessities  of 
life,  cold,  hunger,  pain,  which  chain 
man  to  toil,  wake  up  his  faculties,  and 
fit  him  for  wider  action.  Duty  restrains 
the  passions,  only  that  the  nobler  fac- 
ulties and  affections  may  have  freer 
play,  may  ascend  to  God,  and  embrace 
all  his  works.  Parents  impose  re- 
straint, that  the  child  may  learn  to  go 
alone,  may  outgrow  authority.  Gov- 
ernment is  ordained,  that  the  rights  and 
freedom  of  each  and  all  may  be  invio- 
late. In  study  thought  is  confined, 
that  it  may  penetrate  the  depths  of 
truth,  may  seize  on  the  great  laws  of 
nature,  and  take  a bolder  range.  Thus 
freedom,  ever-expanding  action,  is  the 
end  of  all  just  restraint.  Restraint, 
without  this  end,  is  'a  slavish  yoke. 
How  often  has  it  broken  the  young 
spirit,  tamed  the  heart  and  the  intellect, 
and  made  social  life  a standing  pool. 
We  were  made  for  free  action.  This 
alone  is  life,  and  enters  into  all  that  is 
good  and  great.  Virtue  is  free  choice 
of  the  right ; love,  the  free  embrace  of 
the  heart ; grace,  the  free  motion  of  the 
limbs  ; genius,  the  free,  bold  flight  of 
thought ; eloquence,  its  free  and  fer- 
vent utterance.  Let  me  add,  that  so- 
cial order  is  better  preserved  by  liberty 
than  by  restraint.  The  latter,  unless 
most  wisely  and  justly  employed,  frets, 
exasperates,  and  provokes  secret  re- 
sistance ; and  still  more,  it  is  rendered 
needful  very  much  by  that  unhappy 
constitution  of  society  which  denies  to 
multitudes  the  opportunities  of  free 
activity.  A community,  which  should 
open  a great  variety  of  spheres  to  its 
members,  so  that  all  might  find  free 
scope  for  their  powers,  would  need 
little  array  of  force  for  restraint.  Lib- 
erty would  prove  the  best  peace-officer. 
The  social  order  of  New  England, 
without  a soldier  and  almost  without 
a police,  bears  loud  witness  to  this 
truth.  These  views  may  suffice  to  ex- 


10 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS . 


plain  the  frequent  recurrence  of  this 
topic  in  the  following  tracts. 

I will  advert  to  one  topic  more,  and  do 
it  briefly,  that  I may  not  extend  these 
remarks  beyond  reasonable  bounds. 
I have  written  once  and  again  on  war, 
— a hackneyed  subject,  as  it  is  called, 
yet,  one  would  think,  too  terrible  ever 
to  become  a commonplace.  Is  this 
insanity  never  to  cease  ? At  this  mo- 
ment, whilst  I write,  two  of  the  freest 
and  most  enlightened  nations,  having 
one  origin,  bound  together  above  all 
others  by  mutual  dependence,  by  the 
interweaving  of  interests,  are  thought 
by  some  to  be  on  the  brink  of  war. 
False  notions  of  national  honor,  as 
false  and  unholy  as  those  of  the  duel- 
list,  do  most  towards  fanning  this  fire. 
Great  nations,  like  great  boys,  place 
their  honor  in  resisting  insult  and  in 
fighting  well.  One  would  think  the 
time  had  gone  by  in  which  nations 
needed  to  rush  to  arms  to  prove  that 
they  were  not  cowards.  If  there  is 
one  truth,  which  history  has  taught,  it 
is,  that  communities  in  all  stages  of 
society,  from  the  most  barbarous  to  the 
most  civilized,  have  sufficient  courage. 
No  people  can  charge  upon  its  con- 
science that  it  has  not  shed  blood 
enough  in  proof  of  its  valor.  Almost 
any  man,  under  the  usual  stimulants 
of  the  camp,  can  stand  fire.  The  poor 
wretch,  enlisted  from  a dram-shop  and 
turned  into  the  ranks,  soon  fights  like 
a “hero.”  Must  France,  and  England, 
and  America,  after  so  many  hard-fought 
fields,  go  to  war  to  disprove  the  charge 
of  wanting  spirit  ? Is  it  not  time  that 
the  point  of  honor  should  undergo  some 
change,  that  some  glimpses  at  least  of 
the  true  glory  of  a nation  should  be 
caught  by  rulers  and  people  ? “ It  is 

the  honor  of  a man  to  pass  over  a 
transgression,”  and  so  it  is  of  states. 
To  be  wronged  is  no  disgrace.  To 
bear  wrong  generously,  till  every  means 
of  conciliation  is  exhausted  ; to  recoil 
with  manly  dread  from  the  slaughter 
of  our  fellow-creaures ; to  put  confi- 
dence in  the  justice  which  other  na- 
tions will  do  to  our  motives  ; to  have 
that  consciousness  of  courage  which 
will  make  us  scorn  the  reproach  of 
cowardice  ; to  feel  that  there  is  some- 
thing grander  than  the  virtue  of  sav- 
ages ; to  desire  peace  for  the  world  as 
well  as  ourselves,  and  to  shrink  from 


kindling  a flame  which  may  involve  the 
world ; these  are  the  principles  and 
feelings  which  do  honor  to  a people. 
Has  not  the  time  come  when  a nation 
professing  these  may  cast  itself  on  the 
candor  of  mankind  ? Must  fresh  blood 
flow  for  ever,  to  keep  clean  the  escutch- 
eon of  a nation’s  glory?  For  one,  I 
look  on  war  with  a horror  which  no  words 
can  express.  I have  long  wanted  pa- 
tience to  read  of  battles.  Were  the 
world  of  my  mind,  no  man  would  fight 
for  glory ; for  the  name  of  a com- 
mander, who  has  no  other  claim  to 
respect,  seldom  passes  my  lips,  and 
the  want  of  sympathy  drives  him  from 
my  mind.  The  thought  of  man,  God’s 
immortal  child,  butchered  by  his  broth- 
er ; the  thought  of  sea  and  land  stained 
with  human  blood  by  human  hands,  of 
women  and  children  buried  under  the 
ruins  of  besieged  cities,  of  the  resources 
of  empires  and  the  mighty  powers  of 
nature  all  turned  by  man’s  malignity 
into  engines  of  torture  and  destruction ; 
this  thought  gives  to  earth  the  sem- 
blance of  hell.  I shudder  as  among 
demons.  I cannot  now,  as  I once  did, 
talk  lightly,  thoughtlessly  of  fighting 
with  this  or  that  nation.  That  nation 
is  no  longer  an  abstraction  to  me.  It 
is  no  longer  a vague  mass.  It  spreads 
out  before  me  into  individuals,  in  a 
thousand  interesting  forms  and  rela- 
tions. It  consists  of  husbands  and 
wives,  parents  and  children,  who  love 
one  another  as  I love  my  own  home. 
It  consists  of  affectionate  women  and 
sweet  children.  It  consists  of  Chris- 
tians, united  with  me  to  the  common 
Saviour,  and  in  whose  spirit  I reverence 
the  likeness  of  his  divine  virtue.  It 
consists  of  a vast  multitude  of  labor- 
ers at  the  plough  and  in  the  workshop, 
whose  toils  1 sympathize  with,  whose 
burden  I should  rejoice  to  lighten,  and 
for  whose  elevation  I have  pleaded. 
It  consists  of  men  of  science,  taste, 
genius,  whose  writings  have  beguiled 
my  solitary  hours,  and  given  life  to  my 
intellect  and  best  affections.  Here  is 
the  nation  which  I am  called  to  fight 
with,  into  whose  families  I must  send 
mourning,  whose  fall  or  humiliation  I 
must  seek  through  blood.  I cannot  do 
it,  without  a clear  commission  from 
God.  I love  this  nation.  Its  men  and 
women  are  my  brothers  and  sisters.  I 
could  not,  without  unutterable  pain, 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. 


II 


thrust  a sword  into  their  hearts.  If, 
indeed,  my  country  were  invaded  by 
hostile  armies,  threatening  without  dis- 
guise its  rights,  liberties,  and  dearest 
interests,  I should  strive  to  repel  them, 
just  as  I should  repel  a criminal  who 
should  enter  my  house  to  slay  what  I 
hold  most  dear,  and  what  is  intrusted 
to  my  care.  But  I cannot  confound 
with  such  a case  the  common  instances 
of  war.  In  general,  war  is  the  work  of 
ambitious  men,  whose  principles  have 
gained  no  strength  from  the  experience 
of  public  life,  whose  policy  is  colored  if 
not  swayed  by  personal  views  or  party  in- 
terests, who  do  not  seek  peace  with  a sin- 
gle heart,  who,  to  secure  doubtful  rights, 
perplex  the  foreign  relations  of  the  state, 
spread  jealousies  at  home  and  abroad, 
enlist  popular  passions  on  the  side  of 
strife,  commit  themselves  too  far  for 
retreat,  and  are  then  forced  to  leave  to 
the  arbitration  of  the  sword  what  an 
impartial  umpire  could  easily  have  ar- 
ranged. The  question  of  peace  and 
war  is  too  often  settled  for  a country 
by  men  in  whom  a Christian,  a lover  of 
his  race,  can  put  little  or  no  trust ; and, 
at  the  bidding  of  such  men,  is  he  to 
steep  his  hands  in  human  blood  ? T>ut 
this  insanity  is  passing  away.  This 
savageness  cannot  endure,  however 
hardened  to  it  men  are  by  long  use. 
The  hope  of  waking  up  some  from  their 
lethargy  has  induced  me  to  recur  to 
this  topic  so  often  in  my  writings. 

I might  name  other  topics,  which 
occupy  a large  space  in  the  following 
tracts,  but  enough  has  been  said  here. 

I will  only  add,  that  I submit  these  vol- 
umes to  the  public  with  a deep  feeling 
of  their  imperfections.  Indeed,  on  such 
subjects  as  God,  and  Christ,  and  duty, 
and  immortality,  and  perfection,  how 
faint  must  all  human  utterance  be  ! In 
another  life,  we  shall  look  back  on  our 
present  words  as  we  do  on  the  lispings 
of  our  childhood.  Still  these  lispings 
conduct  the  child  to  higher  speech.  Still, 
amidst  our  weakness,  we  may  learn 
something,  and  make  progress,  and 
quicken  one  another  by  free  communi- 
cation. We  indeed  know  and  teach 
comparatively  little  ; but  the  known  is 
not  the  less  true  or  precious,  because 
there  is  an  infinite  unknown.  Nor  ought 
our  ignorance  to  discourage  us,  as  if  we 
were  left  to  hopeless  scepticism.  There 
are  great  truths,  which  every  honest 


heart  may  be  assured  of.  There  is  such 
a thing  as  a serene,  immovable  convic- 
tion. Faith  is  a deep  want  of  the  soul. 
We  have  faculties  for  the  spiritual  as 
truly  as  for  the  outward  world.  God, 
the  foundation  of  all  existence,  may  be- 
come to  the  mind  the  most  real  of  all 
beings.  We  can  and  do  see  in  virtue 
an  everlasting  beauty.  The  distinctions 
of  right  and  wrong,  the  obligations  of 
goodness  and  justice,  the  divinity  of  con- 
science, the  moral  connection  of  the 
present  and  future  life,  the  greatness  of 
the  character  of  Christ,  the  ultimate 
triumphs  of  truth  and  love,  are  to  mul- 
titudes not  probable  deductions,  but  in- 
tuitions accompanied  with  the  conscious- 
ness of  certainty.  They  shine  with  the 
clear,  constant  brightness  of  the  lights 
of  heaven.  The  believer  feels  himself 
resting  on  an  everlasting  foundation.  It 
is  to  this  power  of  moral  or  spiritual 
perception  that  the  following  writings 
are  chiefly  addressed.  I have  had  testi- 
mony that  they  have  not  been  wholly 
ineffectual  in  leading  some  minds  to  a 
more  living  and  unfaltering  persuasion 
of  great  moral  truths.  Without  this,  I 
should  be  little  desirous  to  send  them 
out  in  this  new  form.  I trust  that  they 
will  meet  some  wants.  Books  which  are 
to  pass  away,  may  yet  render  much  ser- 
vice by  their  fitness  to  the  intellectual 
struggles  and  moral  aspirations  of  the 
times  in  which  they  are  written.  If  in 
this  or  in  any  way  I can  serve  the  cause 
of  truth,  humanity,  and  religion,  I shall 
regard  my  labors  as  having  earned  the 
best  recompense  which  God  bestows  on 
his  creatures. 

W.  E.  C. 

Boston,  April  iSth , 1841. 

P.  S. — I intended  to  say,  that  some  of 
the  following  tracts  savor  of  the  periods 
in  which  they  were  written,  and  give 
opinions  which  time  has  disproved.  In 
the  article  on  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  fears 
are  expressed  which  have  in  a good 
measure  passed  away.  In  the  same 
Review,  the  conqueror  of  Waterloo  is 
spoken  of  as  having  only  the  merit  of 
a great  soldier.  No  one  then  believed 
that  his  opponents  were  soon  to  acknowl- 
edge his  eminence  in  civil  as  in  military 
affairs.  The  article  is  left  as  it  was, 
from  the  difficulty  of  remodelling  it,  and 
because  it  may  be  useful  as  a record  of 
past  impressions. 


SELF-CULTURE: 


An  Address  Introductory  to  the  Franklin  Lectures,  delivered  at 

Boston,  Sept.  1838. 


[This  Address  was  intended  to  make  two  lectures ; but  the  author  was  led  to  abridge  it  and  deliver 
it  as  one,  partly  by  the  apprehension  that  some  passages  were  too  abstract  for  a popular  address,  partly 
to  secure  the  advantages  of  presenting  the  whole  subject  at  once  and  in  close  connection,  and  for  other 
reasons  which  need  not  be  named.  Most  of  the  passages  which  were  omitted  are  now  published.  The 
author  respectfully  submits  the  discourse  to  those  for  whom  it  was  particularly  intended,  and'  to  the 
public,  in  the  hope  that  it  will  at  least  bring  a great  subject  before  the  minds  of  some  who  may  not  as 
yet  have  given  to  it  the  attention  it  deserves.] 


My  respected  Friends, — By  the  in- 
vitation of  the  committee  of  arrangements 
for  the  Franklin  Lectures,  I now  appear 
before  you  to  offer  some  remarks  intro- 
ductory to  this  course.  My  principal 
inducement  for  doing  so  is  my  deep  in- 
terest in  those  of  my  fellow-citizens  for 
whom  these  lectures  are  principally  de- 
signed. I understood  that  they  were  to 
be  attended  chiefly  by  those  who  are 
occupied  by  manual  labor  ; and,  hearing 
this,  I did  not  feel  myself  at  liberty  to 
decline  the  service  to  which  I had  been 
invited.  I wished  by  compliance  to  ex- 
press my  sympathy  with  this  large  por- 
tion of  my  race.  I wished  to  express  my 
sense  of  obligation  to  those  from  whose 
industry  and  skill  I derive  almost  all  the 
comforts  of  life.  I wished  still  more  to 
express  my  joy  in  the  efforts  they  are 
making  for  their  own  improvement,  and 
my  firm  faith  in  their  success.  These 
motives  will  give  a particular  character 
and  bearing  to  some  of  my  remarks.  I 
shall  speak  occasionally  as  among  those 
who  live  by  the  labor  of  their  hands. 
But  I shall  not  speak  as  one  separated 
from  them.  I belong  rightfully  to  the 
great  fraternity  of  working  men.  Hap- 
pily in  this  community  we  all  are  bred 
and  born  to  work  ; and  this  honorable 
mark,  set  on  us  all,  should  bind  together 
the  various  portions  of  the  community. 

I have  expressed  my  strong  interest 
in  the  mass  of  the  people  ; and  this  is 


founded,  not  on  their  usefulness  to  the 
community,  so  much  as  on  what  they  are 
in  themselves.  Their  condition  is  indeed 
obscure  ; but  their  importance  is  not  on 
this  account  a whit  the  less.  The  mul- 
titude of  men  cannot,  from  the  nature  of 
the  case,  be  distinguished ; for  the  very 
idea  of  distinction  is,  that  a man  stands 
out  from  the  multitude.  They  make  lit- 
tle noise  and  draw  little  notice  in  their 
narrow  spheres  of  action  ; but  still  they 
have  their  full  proportion  of  personal 
worth  and  even  of  greatness.  Indeed 
every  man,  in  every  condition,  is  great. 
It  is  only  our  own  diseased  sight  which 
makes  him  little.  A man  is  great  as  a 
man,  be  he  where  or  what  he  may.  The 
grandeur  of  his  nature  turns  to  insignifi- 
cance all  outward  distinctions.  His  pow- 
ers of  intellect,  of  conscience,  of  love,  of 
knowing  God,  of  perceiving  the  beau- 
tiful, of  acting  on  his  own  mind,  on 
outward  nature,  and  on  his  fellow-creat- 
ures,— these  are  glorious  prerogatives. 
Through  the  vulgar  error  of  undervalu- 
ing what  is  common,  we  are  apt  indeed 
to  pass  these  by  as  of  little  worth.  But 
as  in  the  outward  creation,  so  in  the  soul, 
the  common  is  the  most  precious.  Sci- 
ence and  art  may  invent  splendid  modes 
of  illuminating  the  apartments  of  the 
opulent ; but  these  are  all  poor  and 
worthless  compared  with  the  common 
light  which  the  sun  sends  into  all  our 
windows,  which  he  pours  freely,  impar- 


SELF-CULTURE. 


13 


tially  over  hill  and  valley,  which  kindles 
daily  the  eastern  and  western  sky  ; and 
so  the  common  lights  of  reason,  and  con- 
science, and  love,  are  of  more  worth  and 
dignity  than  the  rare  endowments  which 
give  celebrity  to  a few.  Let  us  not  dis- 
parage that  nature  which  is  common  to 
all  men  ; for  no  thought  can  measure  its 
grandeur.  It  is  the  image  of  God,  the 
image  even  of  his  infinity,  for  no  limits 
can  be  set  to  its  unfolding.  He  who 
possesses  the  divine  powers  of  the  soul 
is  a great  being,  be  his  place  what  it  may. 
You  may  clothe  him  with  rags,  may  im- 
mure him  in  a dungeon,  may  chain  him 
to  slavish  tasks.  But  he  is  still  great. 
You  may  shut  him  out  of  your  houses  ; 
but  God  opens  to  him  heavenly  man- 
sions. He  makes  no  show  indeed  in  the 
streets  of  a splendid  city ; but  a clear 
thought,  a pure  affection,  a resolute  act 
of  a virtuous  will,  have  a dignity  of  quite 
another  kind,  and  far  higher  than  ac- 
cumulations of  brick  and  granite  and 
plaster  and  stucco,  however  cunningly 
put  together,  or  though  stretching  far 
beyond  our  sight.  Nor  is  this  all.  If 
we  pass  over  this  grandeur  of  our  com- 
mon nature,  and  turn  our  thoughts  to 
that  comparative  greatness,  which  draws 
chief  attention,  and  which  consists  in  the 
decided  superiority  of  the  individual  to 
the  general  standard  of  power  and  char- 
acter, we  shall  find  this  as  free  and  fre- 
quent a growth  among  the  obscure  and 
unnoticed  as  in  more  conspicuous  walks 
of  life.  The  truly  great  are  to  be  found 
everywhere,  nor  is  it  easy  to  say  in  what 
condition  they  spring  up  most  plenti- 
fully. Real  greatness  has  nothing  to  do 
with  a man’s  sphere.  It  does  not  lie  in 
the  magnitude  of  his  outward  agency, 
in  the  extent  of  the  effects  which  he 
produces.  The  greatest  men  may  do 
comparatively  little  abroad.  Perhaps 
the  greatest  in  our  city  at  this  moment 
are  buried  in  obscurity.  Grandeur  of 
character  lies  wholly  in  force  of  soul, 
that  is,  in  the  force  of  thought,  moral 
principle,  and  love,  and  this  may  be 
found  in  the  humblest  condition  of  life. 
A man  brought  up  to  an  obscure  trade, 
and  hemmed  in  by  the  wants  of  a grow- 
ing family,  may,  in  his  narrow  sphere, 
perceive  more  clearly,  discriminate  more 
keenly,  weigh  evidence  more  wisely, 
seize  on  the  right  means  more  deci- 
sively, and  have  more  presence  of  mind 
in  difficulty,  than  another  who  has  ac- 


cumulated vast  stores  of  knowledge  by 
laborious  study ; and  he  has  more  of  in- 
tellectual greatness.  Many  a man,  who 
has  gone  but  a few  miles  from  home, 
understands  human  nature  better,  de- 
tects motives  and  weighs  character  more 
sagaciously,  than  another  who  has  trav- 
elled over  the  known  world,  and  made  a 
name  by  his  reports  of  different  coun- 
tries. It  is  force  of  thought  which  meas- 
ures intellectual,  and  so  it  is  force  of 
principle  which  measures  moral  great- 
ness, that  highest  of  human  endow- 
ments, that  brightest  manifestation  of 
the  Divinity.  The  greatest  man  is  he 
who  chooses  the  right  with  invincible 
resolution,  who  resists  the  sorest  temp- 
tations from  within  and  without,  who 
bears  the  heaviest  burdens  cheerfully, 
who  is  calmest  in  storms,  and  most  fear- 
less under  menace  and  frowns,  whose 
reliance  on  truth,  on  virtue,  on  God,  is 
most  unfaltering  ; and  is  this  a greatness 
which  is  apt  to  make  a show,  or  which 
is  most  likely  to  abound  in  conspicuous 
station  ? The  solemn  conflicts  of  rea- 
son with  passion  ; the  victories  of  moral 
and  religious  principle  over  urgent  and 
almost  irresistible  solicitations  to  self-in- 
dulgence ; the  hardest  sacrifices  of  duty, 
those  of  deep-seated  affection  and  of  the 
heart’s  fondest  hopes  ; the  consolations, 
hopes,  joys,  and  peace  of  disappointed, 
persecuted,  scorned,  deserted  virtue  ; — 
these  are  of  course  unseen  ; so  that  the 
true  greatness  of  human  life  is  almost 
wholly  out  of  sight.  Perhaps  in  our 
presence,  the  most  heroic  deed  on  earth 
is  done  in  some  silent  spirit,  the  loftiest 
purpose  cherished,  the  most  generous 
sacrifice  made,  and  we  do  not  suspect 
it.  I believe  this  greatness  to  be  most 
common  among  the  multitude,  whose 
names  are  never  heard.  Among  com- 
mon people  will  be  found  more  of  hard- 
ship borne  manfully,  more  of  unvar- 
nished truth,  more  of  religious  trust, 
more  of  that  generosity  which  gives 
what  the  giver  needs  himself,  and  more 
of  a wise  estimate  of  life  and  death,  than 
among  the  more  prosperous.  — And 
even  in  regard  to  influence  over  other 
beings,  which  is  thought  the  peculiar 
prerogative  of  distinguished  station,  I 
believe  that  the  difference  between  the 
conspicuous  and  the  obscure  does  not 
amount  to  much.  Influence  is  to  be 
measured,  not  by  the  extent  of  surface 
it  covers,  but  by  its  kind.  A man  may 


14 


SELF-CULTURE . 


spread  his  mind,  his  feelings,  and  opin- 
ions, through  a great  extent ; but  if  his 
mind  be  a low  one,  he  manifests  no 
greatness.  A wretched  artist  may  fill  a 
city  with  daubs,  and  by  a false,  showy 
style  achieve  a reputation  ; but  the  man 
of  genius,  who  leaves  behind  him  one 
grand  picture,  in  which  immortal  beauty 
is  embodied,  and  which  is  silently  to 
spread  a true  taste  in  his  art,  exerts  an 
incomparably  higher  influence.  Now 
the  noblest  influence  on  earth  is  that 
exerted  on  character ; and  he  who  puts 
forth  this  does  a great  work,  no  matter 
how  narrow  or  obscure  his  sphere.  The 
father  and  mother  of  an  unnoticed  fam- 
ily, who,  in  their  seclusion,  awaken  the 
mind  of  one  child  to  the  idea  and  love  of 
perfect  goodness,  who  awaken  in  him  a 
strength  of  will  to  repel  all  temptation, 
and  who  send  him  out  prepared  to  profit 
by  the  conflicts  of  life,  surpass  in  influ- 
ence a Napoleon  breaking  the  world  to 
his  sway.  And  not  only  is  their  work 
higher  in  kind  ; who  knows  but  that  they 
are  doing  a greater  work  even  as  to  ex- 
tent of  surface  than  the  conqueror  ? 
Who  knows  but  that  the  being  whom 
they  inspire  with  holy  and  disinterested 
principles  may  communicate  himself  to 
others  ; and  that,  by  a spreading  agency, 
of  which  they  were  the  silent  origin,,  im- 
provements may  spread  through  a nation, 
through  the  world  ? In  these  remarks 
you  will  see  why  I feel  and  express  a 
deep  interest  in  the  obscure,  in  the  mass 
of  men.  The  distinctions  of  society  van- 
ish before  the  light  of  these  truths.  I 
attach  myself  to  the  multitude,  not  be- 
cause they  are  voters  and  have  political 
power ; but  because  they  are  men,  and 
have  within  their  reach  the  most  glori- 
ous prizes  of  humanity. 

In  this  country  the  mass  of  the  people 
are  distinguished  by  possessing  means 
of  improvement,  of  self-culture,  pos- 
sessed nowhere  else.  To  incite  them  to 
the.  use  of  these  is  to  render  them  the 
best  service  they  can  receive.  Accord- 
ingly, I have  chosen  for  the  subject  of 
this  lecture  Self-culture,  or  the  care 
which  every  man  owes  to  himself,  to  the 
unfolding  and  perfecting  of  his  nature. 
I consider  this  topic  as  particularly  ap- 
propriate to  the  introduction  of  a course 
of  lectures,  in  consequence  of  a common 
disposition  to  regard  these  and  other  like 
means  of  instruction  as  able  of  them- 
selves to  carry  forward  the  hearer.  Lect- 


ures have  their  use.  They  stir  up  many 
who,  but  for  such  outward  appeals,  might 
have  slumbered  to  the  end  of  life.  But 
let  it  be  remembered  that  little  is  to  be 
gained  simply  by  coming  to  this  place 
once  a week,  and  givingup  the  mind  for 
an  hour  to  be  wrought  upon  by  a teacher. 
Unless  we  are  roused  to  act  upon  our- 
selves, unless  we  engage  in  the  work  of 
self-improvement,  unless  we  purpose 
strenuously  to  form  and  elevate  our  own 
minds,  unless  what  we  hear  is  made  a 
part  of  ourselves  by  conscientious  reflec- 
tion, very  little  permanent  good  is  re- 
ceived. 

Self-culture,  I am  aware,  is  a topic  too 
extensive  for  a single  discourse,  and  I 
shall  be  able  to  present  but  a few  views 
which  seem  to  me  most  important.  My 
aim  will  be,  to  give  first  the  idea  of  self- 
culture, next  its  means,  and  then  to 
consider  some  objections  to  the  leading 
views  which  I am  now  to  lay  before  you. 

Before  entering  on  the  discussion,  let 
me  offer  one  remark.  Self-culture  is 
something  possible.  It  is  not  a dream. 
It  has  foundations  in  our  nature.  With- 
out this  conviction,  the  speaker  will  but 
declaim,  and  the  hearer  listen  without 
profit.  There  are  two  powers  of  the  hu- 
man soul  which  make  self-culture  possi- 
ble, — the  self-searching  and  the  self- 
forming power.  We  have  first  the  faculty 
of  turning  the  mind  on  itself ; of  recalling 
its  past,  and  watching  its  present  opera- 
tions; of  learning  its  various  capacities 
and  susceptibilities,  what  it  can  do  and 
bear,  what  it  can  enjoy  and  suffer ; and 
of  thus  learning  in  general  what  our  nat- 
ure is,  and  what  it  was  made  for.  It  is 
worthy  of  observation,  that  we  are  able 
to  discern  not  only  what  we  already  are, 
but  what  we  may  become,  to  see  in  our- 
selves germs  and  promises  of  a growth 
to  which  no  bounds  can  be  set,  to  dart 
beyond  what  we  have  actually  gained  to 
the  idea  of  perfection  as  the  end  of  our 
being.  It  is  by  this  self-comprehending 
power  that  we  are  distinguished  from 
the  brutes,  which  give  no  signs  of  look- 
ing into  themselves.  Without  this  there 
would  be  no  self-culture,  for  we  should 
not  know  the  work  to  be  done:  and  one 
reason  why  self-culture  is  so  little  pro- 
posed is,  that  so  few  penetrate  into  their 
own  nature.  To  most  men,  their  own 
spirits  are  shadowy,  unreal,  compared 
with  what  is  outward.  When  they  hap- 
' pen  to  cast  a glance  inward,  they  see 


SELF-CULTURE. 


there  only  a dark,  vague  chaos.  They 
distinguish,  perhaps,  some  violent  pas- 
sion, which  has  driven  them  to  injurious 
excess  ; but  their  highest  powers  hardly 
attract  a thought ; and  thus  multitudes 
live  and  die  as  truly  strangers  to  them- 
selves as  to  countries  of  which  they  have 
heard  the  name,  but  which  human  foot 
has  never  trodden. 

But  self-culture  is  possible,  not  only 
because  we  can  enter  into  and  search 
ourselves.  We  have  a still  nobler  power, 
that  of  acting  on,  determining,  and  form- 
ing ourselves.  This  is  a fearful  as  well 
as  glorious  endowment,  for  it  is  the 
ground  of  human  responsibility.  We 
have  the  power  not  only  of  tracing  our 
powers,  but  of  guiding  and  impelling 
them  ; not  only  of  watching  our  passions, 
but  of  controlling  them  ; not  only  of  see- 
ing our  faculties  grow,  but  of  applying 
to  them  means  and  influences  to  aid  their 
growth.  We  can  stay  or  change  the 
current  of  thought.  We  can  concentrate 
the  intellect  on  objects  which  we  wish 
to  comprehend.  We  can  fix  our  eyes 
on  perfection,  and  make  almost  every 
thing  speed  towards  it.  This  is,  in- 
deed, a noble  prerogative  of  our  nature. 
Possessing  this,  it  matters  little  what  or 
where  we  are  now,  for  we  can  conquer 
a better  lot,  and  even  be  happier  for 
starting  from  the  lowest  point.  Of  all 
the  discoveries  which  men  need  to  make, 
the  most  important,  at  the  present  mo- 
ment, is  that  of  the  self-forming  power 
treasured  up  in  themselves.  They  little 
suspect  its  extent,  as  little  as  the  savage 
apprehends  the  energy  which  the  mind 
is  created  to  exert  on  the  material  world. 
It  transcends  in  importance  all  our  power 
over  outward  nature.  -"There  is  more  of 
divinity  in  it  than  in  the  force  which 
impels  the  outward  universe  ; and  yet 
how  little  we  comprehend  it ! How  it 
slumbers  in  most  men  unsuspected, 
unused  ! This  makes  self-culture  pos- 
sible, and  binds  it  on  us  as  a solemn  duty. 

I.  I am  first  to  unfold  the  idea  of 
self-culture  ; and  this,  in  its  most  gen- 
eral form,  may  easily  be  seized.  To 
cultivate  any  thing,  be  it  a plant,  an 
animal,  a mind,  is  to  make  grow. 
Growth,  expansion,  is  the  end.  Noth- 
ing admits  culture  but  that  which  has  a 
principle  of  life,  capable  of  being  ex- 
panded. He,  therefore,  who  does  what 
he  can  to  unfold  all  his  powers  and 
capacities,  especially  his  nobler  ones, 


15 

so  as  to  become  a well-proportioned, 
vigorous,  excellent,  happy  being,  prac- 
tices self-culture.  , 

This  culture,  of  course,  has  various 
branches  corresponding  to  the  different 
capacities  of  human  nature  ; but,  though 
various,  they  are  intimately  united,  and 
make  progress  together.  The  soul, 
which  our  philosophy  divides  into  vari- 
ous capacities,  is  still  one  essence,  one 
life  ; and  it  exerts  at  the  same  moment, 
and  blends  in  the  same  act,  its  various 
energies  of  thought,  feeling,  and  voli- 
tion. Accordingly,  in  a wise  self-cult- 
ure, all  the  principles  of  our  nature 
grow  at  once  by  joint,  harmonious  ac- 
tion, just  as  all  parts  of  the  plant  are 
unfolded  together.  When,  therefore, 
you  hear  of  different  branches  of  self- 
improvement,  you  will  not  think  of  them 
as  distinct  processes  going  on  indepen- 
dently of  each  other,  and  requiring  each 
its  own  separate  means.  Still  a distinct 
consideration  of  these  is  needed  to  a 
full  comprehension  of  the  subject,  and 
these  I shall  proceed  to  unfold. 

First,  self-culture  is  moral,  a branch 
of  singular  importance.  When  a man 
looks  into  himself,  he  discovers  two  dis- 
tinct orders  or  kinds  of  principles,  which 
it  behoves  him  especially  to  comprehend. 
He  discovers  desires,  appetites,  pas- 
sions, which  terminate  in  himself,  which 
crave  and  seek  his  own  interest,  gratifi- 
cation, distinction ; and  he  discovers 
another  principle,  an  antagonist  to  these, 
which  is  impartial,  disinterested,  uni- 
versal, enjoining  on  him  a regard  to  the 
rights  and  happiness  of  other  beings, 
and  laying  on  him  obligations  which 
must  be  discharged,  cost  what  they  may, 
or  however  they  may  clash  with  his 
particular  pleasure  or  gain.  No  man, 
however  narrowed  to  his  own  interest, 
however  hardened  by  selfishness,  can 
deny  that  there  springs  up  within  him 
a great  idea  in  opposition  to  interest, 
the  idea  of  duty,  that  an  inward  voice 
calls  him,  more  or  less  distinctly,  to 
revere  and  exercise  impartial  justice 
and  universal  good-will.  This  disinter- 
ested principle  in  human  nature  we 
call  sometimes  reason,  sometimes  con- 
science, sometimes  the  moral  sense  or 
faculty.  But,  be  its  name  what  it  may, 
it  is  a real  principle  in  each  of  us,  and 
it  is  the  supreme  power  within  us,  to  be 
cultivated  above  all  others,  for  on  its 
culture  the  right  development  of  all 


1 6 


SELF-CULTURE . 


others  depends.  The  passions  indeed 
may  be  stronger  than  the  conscience, 
may  lift  up  a louder  voice  ; but  their 
clamor  differs  wholly  from  the  tone 
of  command  in  which  the  conscience 
speaks.  They  are  not  clothed  with  its 
authority,  its  binding  power.  In  their 
very  triumphs  they  are  rebuked  by  the 
moral  principle,  and  often  cower  before 
its  still,  deep,  menacing  voice.  No  part 
of  self-knowledge  is  more  important  than 
to  discern  clearly  these  two  great  prin- 
ciples, the  self-seeking  and  the  disinter- 
ested ; and  the  most  important  part  of 
self-culture  is  to  depress  the  former, 
and  to  exalt  the  latter,  or  to  enthrone 
the  sense  of  duty  within  us.  There  are 
no  limits  to  the  growth  of  this  moral 
force  in  man,  if  he  will  cherish  it  faith- 
fully. There  have  been  men,  whom  no 
power  in  the  universe  could  turn  from 
the  right,  by  whom  death  in  its  most 
dreadful  forms  has  been  less  dreaded 
than  transgression  of  the  inward  law  of 
universal  justice  and  love. 

In  the  next  place,  self-culture  is  re- 
ligious. When  we  look  into  ourselves, 
we  discover  powers  which  link  us  with 
this  outward,  visible,  finite,  ever-chang- 
ing world.  We  have  sight  and  other 
senses  to  discern,  and  limbs  and  various 
faculties  to  secure  and  appropriate  the 
material  creation.  And  we  have,  too,  a 
power  which  cannot  stop  at  what  we 
see  and  handle,  at  what  exists  within  the 
bounds  of  space  and  time,  which  seeks 
for  the  Infinite,  Uncreated  Cause,  which 
cannot  rest  till  it  ascend  to  the  Eternal, 
All-comprehending  Mind.  This  we  call 
the  religious  principle,  and  its  grandeur 
cannot  be  exaggerated  by  human  lan- 
guage ; for  it  marks  out  a being  destined 
for  higher  communion  than  with  the  vis- 
ible universe.  To  develop  this  is  emi- 
nently to  educate  ourselves.  The  true 
idea  of  God,  unfolded  clearly  and  liv- 
ingly  within  us,  and  moving  us  to  adore 
and  obey  him,  and  to  aspire  after  like- 
ness to  him,  is  the  noblest  growth  in 
human,  and,  I may  add,  in  celestial 
natures.  The  religious  principle  and 
the  moral  are  intimately  connected,  and 
grow  together.  The  former  is  indeed 
the  perfection  and  highest  manifestation 
of  the  latter.  They  are  both  disinter- 
ested. It  is  the  essence  of  true  religion 
to  recognize  and  adore  in  God  the  attri- 
butes of  Impartial  Justice  and  Univer- 
sal Love,  and  to  hear  him  commanding 


us  in  the  conscience  to  become  what 
we  adore. 

Again.  Self-culture  is  intellectual. 
We  cannot  look  into  ourselves  without 
discovering  the  intellectual  principle,  the 
power  which  thinks,  reasons,  and  judges, 
the  power  of  seeking  and  acquiring  truth. 
This,  indeed,  we  are  in  no  danger  of 
overlooking.  The  intellect  being  the 
great  instrument  by  which  men  compass 
their  wishes,  it  draws  more  attention 
than  any  of  our  other  powers.  When 
we  speak  to  men  of  improving  them- 
selves, the  first  thought  which  occurs 
to  them  is,  that  they  must  cultivate  their 
understanding,  and  get  knowledge  and 
skill.  By  education,  men  mean  almost 
exclusively  intellectual  training.  For 
this,  schools  and  colleges  are  instituted, 
and  to  this  the  moral  and  religious  dis- 
cipline of  the  young  is  sacrificed.  Now 
I reverence,  as  much  as  any  man,  the  in- 
tellect ; but  let  us  never  exalt  it  above 
the  moral  principle.  With  this  it  is 
most  intimately  connected.  In  this  its 
culture  is  founded,  and  to  exalt  this  is 
its  highest  aim.  Whoever  desires  that 
his  intellect  may  grow  up  to  soundness, 
to  healthy  vigor,  must  begin  with  moral 
discipline.  Reading  and  study  are  not 
enough  to  perfect  the  power  of  thought. 
One  thing  above  all  is  needful,  and  that 
is,  the  disinterestedness  which  is  the 
very  soul  of  virtue.  To  gain  truth,  which 
is  the  great  object  of  the  understanding, 
I must  seek  it  disinterestedly.  Here  is 
the  first  and  grand  condition  of  intel- 
lectual progress.  I must  choose  to  re- 
ceive the  truth,  no  matter  how  it  bears 
on  myself.  I must  follow  it,  no  matter 
where  it  leads,  what  interests  it  opposes, 
to  what  persecution  or  loss  it  lays  me 
open,  from  what  party  it  severs  me,  or  to 
what  party  it  allies.  Without  this  fair- 
ness of  mind,  which  is  only  another 
phrase  for  disinterested  love  of  truth, 
great  native  powers  of  understanding  are 
perverted  and  led  astray ; genius  runs 
wild ; “ the  light  within  us  becomes 
darkness.”  The  subtilest  reasoners  for 
want  of  this,  cheat  themselves  as  well  as 
others,  and  become  entangled  in  the  web 
of  their  own  sophistry.  It  is  a fact  well 
known  in  the  history  of  science  and 
philosophy,  that  men,  gifted  by  nature 
with  singular  intelligence,  have  broached 
the  grossest  errors,  and  even  sought  to 
undermine  the  grand  primitive  truths  on 
which  human  virtue,  dignity,  and  hope 


SELF-CULTURE . 


1 7 


depend.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  I have 
known  instances  of  men  of  naturally 
moderate  powers  of  mind  who,  by  a dis- 
interested love  of  truth  and  their  fellow- 
creatures,  have  gradually  risen  to  no 
small  force  and  enlargement  of  thought. 
Some  of  the  most  useful  teachers  in  the 
pulpit  and  in  schools  have  owed  their 
power  of  enlightening  others,  not  so 
much  to  any  natural  superiority  as  to  the 
simplicity,  impartiality,  and  disinterest- 
edness of  their  minds,  to  their  readiness 
to  live  and  die  for  the  truth.  A man 
who  rises  above  himself  looks  from  an 
eminence  on  nature  and  providence,  on 
society  and  life.  Thought  expands,  as 
by  a natural  elasticity,  when  the  pressure 
of  selfishness  is  removed.  The  moral 
and  religious  principles  of  the  soul, 
generously  cultivated,  fertilize  the  intel- 
lect. Duty,  faithfully  performed,  opens 
the  mind  to  truth,  both  being  of  one 
family,  alike  immutable,  universal,  and 
everlasting.  * 

I have  enlarged  on  this  subject,  be- 
cause the  connection  between  moral  and 
intellectual  culture  is  often  overlooked, 
and  because  the  former  is  often  sacrificed 
to  the  latter.  The  exaltation  of  talent, 
as  it  is  called,  above  virtue  and  religion, 
is  the  curse  of  the  age.  Education  is 
now  chiefly  a stimulus  to  learning,  and 
thus  men  acquire  power  without  the 
principles  which  alone  make  it  a good. 
Talent  is  worshipped  ; but,  if  divorced 
from  rectitude,  it  will  prove  more  of  a 
demon  than  a god. 

Intellectual  culture  consists,  not 
chiefly,  as  many  are  apt  to  think,  in 
accumulating  information,  though  this  is 
important,  but  in  building  up  a force  of 
thought  which  may  be  turned  at  will  on 
any  subjects  on  which  we  are  called  to 
pass  judgment.  This  force  is  manifested 
in  the  concentration^  the  attention,  in 
accurate,  penetrating  observation,  in  re- 
ducing complex  subjects  to  their  ele- 
ments, in  diving  beneath  the  effect  to 
the  cause,  in  detecting  the  more  subtile 
differences  and  resemblances  of  things, 
in  reading  the  future  in  the  present,  and 
especially  in  rising  from  particular  facts 
to  general  laws  or  universal  truths.  This 
last  exertion  of  the  intellect,  its  rising  to 
broad  views  and  great  principles,  consti- 
tutes what  is  called  the  philosophical 
mind,  and  is  especially  worthy  of  culture. 
What  it  means,  your  own  observation 
must  have  taught  you.  You  must  have 


taken  note  of  two  classes  of  men,  the 
one  always  employed  on  details,  on  par- 
ticular facts,  and  the  other  using  these 
facts  as  foundations  of  higher,  wider 
truths.  The  latter  are  philosophers.  For 
example,  men  had  for  ages  seen  pieces 
of  wood,  stones,  metals  falling  to  the 
ground.  Newton  seized  on  these  par- 
ticular facts,  and  rose  to  the  idea  that  all 
matter  tends,  or  is  attracted,  towards  all 
matter,  and  then  defined  the  law  accord- 
ing to  which  this  attraction  or  force  acts 
at  different  distances,  thus  giving  us  a 
grand  principle,  which,  we  have  reason 
to  think,  extends  to  and  controls  the 
whole  outward  creation.  One  man  reads 
a history,  and  can  tell  you  all  its  events, 
and  there  stops.  Another  combines 
these  events,  brings  them  under  one 
view,  and  learns  the  great  causes  which 
are  at  work  on  this  or  another  nation, 
and  what  are  its  great  tendencies, 
whether  to  freedom  or  despotism,  to  one 
or  another  form  of  civilization.  So,  one 
man  talks  continually  about  the  particu- 
lar actions  of  this  or  another  neighbor  ; 
whilst  another  looks  beyond  the  acts  to 
the  inward  principle  from  which  they 
spring,  and  gathers  from  them  larger 
views  of  human  nature.  In  a word,  one 
man  sees  all  things  apart  and  in  frag- 
ments, whilst  another  strives  to  discover 
the  harmony,  connection,  unity  of  all. 
One  of  the  great  evils  of  society  is,  that 
men,  occupied  perpetually  with  petty 
details,  want  general  truths,  want  broad 
and  fixed  principles.  Hence  many,  not 
wicked,  are  unstable,  habitually  incon- 
sistent, as  if  they  were  overgrown  chil- 
dren rather  than  men.  To  build  up  that 
strength  of  mind  which  apprehends  and 
cleaves  to  great  universal  truths,  is  the 
highest  intellectual  self-culture ; and 
here  I wish  you  to  observe  how  entirely 
this  culture  agrees  with  that  of  the  moral 
and  the  religious  principles  of  our  nature, 
of  which  I have  previously  spoken.  In 
each  of  these,  the  improvement  of  the 
soul  consists  in  raising  it  above  what  is 
narrow,  particular,  individual,  selfish,  to 
the  universal  and  unconfined.  To  im- 
prove a man  is  to  liberalize,  enlarge  him 
in  thought,  feeling,  and  purpose.  Nar- 
rowness of  intellect  and  heart,  this  is  the 
degradation  from  which  all  culture  aims 
to  rescue  the  human  being. 

Again.  Self-culture  is  social,  or  one 
of  its  great  offices  is  to  unfold  and  purify 
the  affections  which  spring  up  instinc- 


2 


i8 


SELF-CULTURE. 


tively  in  the  human  breast,  which  bind 
together  husband  and  wife,  parent  and 
child,  brother  and  sister ; which  bind  a 
man  to  friends  and  neighbors,  to  his 
country,  and  to  the  suffering  who  fall 
under  his  eye,  wherever  they  belong. 
The  culture  of  these  is  an  important  part 
of  our  work,  and  it  consists  in  converting 
them  from  instincts  into  principles,  from 
natural  into  spiritual  attachments,  in 
giving  them  a rational,  moral,  and  holy 
character.  For  example,  our  affection 
for  our  children  is  at  first  instinctive  ; 
and  if  it  continue  such,  it  rises  little 
above  the  brute’s  attachment  to  its 
young.  But  when  a parent  infuses  into 
his  natural  love  for  his  offspring  moral 
and  religious  principle  ; when  he  comes 
to  regard  his  child  as  an  intelligent, 
spiritual,  immortal  being,  and  honors 
him  as  such,  and  desires  first  of  all  to 
make  him  disinterested,  noble,  a worthy 
child  of  God  and  the  friend  of  his  race, 
then  the  instinct  rises  into  a generous 
and  holy  sentiment.  It  resembles  God’s 
paternal  love  for  his  spiritual  family.  A 
like  purity  and  dignity  we  must  aim  to 
give  to  all  our  affections. 

Again.  Self-culture  is  practical,  or  it 
proposes,  as  one  of  its  chief  ends,  to  fit 
us  for  action,  to  make  us  efficient  in 
whatever  we  undertake,  to  train  us  to 
firmness  of  purpose  and  to  fruitfulness 
of  resource  in  common  life,  and  espe- 
cially in  emergencies,  in  times  of  diffi- 
culty, danger,  and  trial.  But  passing  over 
this  and  other  topics  for  which  I have 
no  time,  I shall  confine  myself  to  two 
branches  of  self-culture  which  have  been 
almost  wholly  overlooked  in  the  educa- 
tion of  the  people,  and  which  ought  not 
to  be  so  slighted. 

In  looking  at  our  nature,  we  discover, 
among  its  admirable  endowments,  the 
sense  or  perception  of  beauty.  We  see 
the  germ  of  this  in  every  human  being, 
and  there  is  no  power  which  admits 
greater  cultivation ; and  why  should  it 
not  be  cherished  in  all  ? It  deserves  re- 
mark, that  the  provision  for  this  princi- 
ple is  infinite  in  the  universe.  There  is 
but  a very  minute  portion  of  the  creation 
which  we  can  turn  into  food  and  clothes, 
or  gratification  for  the  body ; but  the 
whole  creation  may  be  used  to  minister 
to  the  sense  of  beauty.  Beauty  is  an 
all-pervading  presence.  It  unfolds  in 
the  numberless  flowers  of  the  spring.  It 
waves  in  the  branches  of  the  trees  and 


the  green  blades  of  grass.  It  haunts 
the  depths  of  the  earth  and  sea,  and 
gleams  out  in  the  hues  of  the  shell  and 
the  precious  stone.  And  not  only  these 
minute  objects,  but  the  ocean,  the  moun- 
tains, the  clouds,  the  heavens,  the  stars, 
the  rising  and  setting  sun,  all  overflow 
with  beauty.  The  universe  is  its  tem- 
ple ; and  those  men  who  are  alive  to  it 
cannot  lift  their  eyes  without  feeling 
themselves  encompassed  with  it  on  every 
side.  Now  this  beauty  is  so  precious, 
the  enjoyments  it  gives  are  so  refined 
and  pure,  so  congenial  with  our  tender- 
est  and  noble  feelings,  and  so  akin  to 
worship,  that  it  is  painful  to  think  of  the 
multitude  of  men  as  living  in  the  midst 
of  it,  and  living  almost  as  blind  to  it  as 
if,  instead  of  this  fair  earth  and  glorious 
sky,  they  were  tenants  of  a dungeon. 
An  infinite  joy  is  lost  to  the  world  by 
the  want  of  culture  of  this  spiritual  en- 
dowment. Suppose  that  I were  to  visit 
a cottage,  and  to  see  its  walls  lined  with 
the  choicest  pictures  of  Raphael,  and 
every  spare  nook  filled  with  statues  of 
the  most  exquisite  workmanship,  and 
that  I were  to  learn  that  neither  man, 
woman,  nor  child  ever  cast  an  eye  at 
these  miracles  of  art,  how  should  I feel 
their  privation  ! — how  should  I want  to 
open  their  eyes,  and  to  help  them  to 
comprehend  and  feel  the  loveliness  and 
grandeur  which  in  vain  courted  their 
notice  ! But  every  husbandman  is  living 
in  sight  of  the  works  of  a diviner  Artist ; 
and  how  much  would  his  existence  be 
elevated  could  he  see  the  glory  which 
shines  forth  in  their  forms,  hues,  pro- 
portions, and  moral  expression  ! I have 
spoken  only  of  the  beauty  of  nature  ; but 
how  much  of  this  mysterious  charm  is 
found  in  the  elegant  arts,  and  especially 
in  literature ! The  best  books  have 
most  beauty.  The*  greatest  truths  are 
wronged  if  not  linked  with  beauty, 
and  they  win  their  way  most  surely  and 
deeply  into  the  soul  when  arrayed  in  this 
their  natural  and  fit  attire.  Now  no  man 
receives  the  true  culture  of  a man  in 
whom  the  sensibility  to  the  beautiful  is 
not  cherished  ; and  I know  of  no  condi- 
tion in  life  from  which  it  should  be  ex- 
cluded. Of  all  luxuries,  this  is  the 
cheapest  and  most  at  hand  ; and  it  seems 
to  me  to  be  most  important  to  those 
conditions  where  coarse  labor  tends  to 
give  a grossness  to  the  mind.  From  the 
diffusion  of  the  sense  of  beauty  in  ancient 


SELF-CULTURE. 


19 


Greece,  and  of  the  taste  for  music  in 
modern  Germany,  we  learn  that  the 
people  at  large  may  partake  of  refined 
gratifications,  which  have  hitherto  been 
thought  to  be  necessarily  restricted  to 
a few. 

What  beauty  is,  is  a question  which 
the  most  penetrating  minds  have  not 
satisfactorily  answered  ; nor,  were  I able, 
is  this  the  place  for  discussing  it.  But 
one  thing  I would  say ; the  beauty  of 
the  outward  creation  is  intimately  re- 
lated to  the  lovely,  grand,  interesting 
attributes  of  the  soul.  It  is  the  emblem 
or  expression  of  these.  Matter  becomes 
beautiful  to  us  when  it  seems  to  lose  its 
material  aspect,  its  inertness,  finiteness, 
and  grossness,  and  by  the  ethereal  light- 
ness of  its  forms  and  motions  seems  to 
approach  spirit ; when  it  images  to  us 
pure  and  gentle  affections ; when  it 
spreads  out  into  a vastness  which  is  a 
shadow  of  the  Infinite  ; or  when  in  more 
awful  shapes  and  movements  it  speaks 
of  the  Omnipotent.  Thus  outward 
beauty  is  akin  to  something  deeper  and 
unseen,  is  the  reflection  of  spiritual  at- 
tributes ; and  of  consequence  the  way  to 
see  and  feel  it  more  and  more  keenly  is 
to  cultivate  those  moral,  religious,  intel- 
lectual, and  social  principles  of  which  I 
have  already  spoken,  and  which  are  the 
glory  of  the  spiritual  nature  ; and  I name 
this  that  you  may  see,  what  I am  anx- 
ious to  show,  the  harmony  which  sub- 
sists among  all  branches  of  human 
culture,  or  how  each  forwards  and  is 
aided  by  all. 

There  is  another  power,  which  each 
man  should  cultivate  according  to  his 
ability,  but  which  is  very  much\  neg- 
lected in  the  mass  of  the  people,  and 
that  is,  the  power  of  utterance.  A man 
was  not  made  to  shut  up  his  mind  in  it- 
self ; but  to  give  it  voice  and  to  exchange 
it  for  other  minds.  Speech  is  one  of  our 
grand  distinctions  from  the  brute.  Our 
power  over  others  lies  not  so  much  in 
the  amount  of  thought  within  us  as  in 
the  power  of  bringing  it  out.  A man  of 
more  than  ordinary  intellectual  vigor 
may,  for  want  of  expression,  be  a cipher, 
without  significance,  in  society.  Ancl 
not  only  does  a man  influence  others, 
but  he  greatly  aids  his  own  intellect  by 
giving  distinct  and  forcible  utterance  to 
his  thoughts.  We  understand  ourselves 
better,  our  conceptions  grow  clearer,  by 
the  very  effort  to  make  them  clear  to  I 


another.  Our  social  rank,  too,  depends 
a good  deal  on  our  power  of  utterance. 
The  principal  distinction  between  what 
are  called  gentlemen  and  the  vulgar  lies 
in  this,  that  the  latter  are  awkward  in 
manners,  and  are  especially  wanting  in 
propriety,  clearness,  grace,  and  force  of 
utterance.  A man  who  cannot  open  his 
lips  without  breaking  a rule  of  grammar, 
without  showing  in  his  dialect  or  brogue 
or  uncouth  tones  his  want  of  cultivation, 
or  without  darkening  his  meaning  by  a 
confused,  unskilful  mode  of  communica- 
tion, cannot  take  the  place  to  which, 
perhaps,  his  native  good  sense  entitles 
him.  To  have  intercourse  with  respect- 
able people,  we  must  speak  their  lan- 
guage. On  this  account,  I am  glad  that 
grammar  and  a correct  pronunciation  are 
taught  in  the  common  schools  of  this 
city.  These  are  not  trifles ; nor  are 
they  superfluous  to  any  class  of  people. 
They  give  a man  access  to  social  advan- 
tages, on  which  his  improvement  very 
much  depends.  The  power  of  utterance 
should  be  included  by  all  in  their  plans 
of  self-culture. 

I have  now  given  a few  views  of  the 
culture,  the  improvement,  which  every 
man  should  propose  to  himself.  I have 
all  along  gone  on  the  principle  that  a 
man  has  within  him  capacities  of  growth 
which  deserve  and  will  reward  intense, 
unrelaxing  toil.  I do  not  look  on  a hu- 
man being  as  a machine,  made  to  be 
kept  in  action  by  a foreign  force,  to 
accomplish  an  unvarying  succession  of 
motions,  to  do  a fixed  amount  of  work, 
and  then  to  fall  to  pieces  at  death,  but 
as  a being  of  free  spiritual  powers  ; and 
I place  little  value  on  any  culture  but 
that  which  aims  to  bring  out  these,  and 
to  give  them  perpetual  impulse  and  ex- 
pansion. I am  aware  that  this  view  is 
far  from  being  universal.  The  common 
notion  has  been,  that  the  mass  of  the 
people  need  no  other  culture  than  is 
necessary  to  fit  them  for  their  various 
trades  ; and,  though  this  error  is  pass- 
ing away,  it  is  far  from  being  exploded. 
But  the  ground  of  a man’s  culture  lies 
in  his  nature,  not  in  his  calling.  His 
powers  are  to  be  unfolded  on  account  of 
their  inherent  dignity,  not  their  outward 
direction.,.  He  is  to  be  educated,  because 
he  is  a man,  not  because  he  is  to  make 
shoes,  nails,  or  pins.  A trade  is  plainly 
not  the  great  end  of  his  being,  for  his 
mind  cannot  be  shut  up  in  it ; his  force 


20 


SELF-CUL  TURK. 


of  thought  cannot  be  exhausted  on  it. 
He  has  faculties  to  which  it  gives  no 
action,  and  deep  wants  it  cannot  answer. 
Poems,  and  systems  of  theology  and 
philosophy,  which  have  made  some  noise 
in  the  world,  have  been  wrought  at  the 
work-bench  and  amidst  the  toils  of  the 
field.  How  often,  when  the  arms  are 
mechanically  plying  a trade,  does  the 
mind,  lost  in  reverie  or  day-dreams, 
escape  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  ! How 
often  does  the  pious  heart  of  woman 
mingle  the  greatest  of  all  thoughts,  that 
of  God,  with  household  drudgery  ! Un- 
doubtedly a man  is  to  perfect  himself  in 
his  trade,  for  by  it  he  is  to  earn  his 
bread  and  to  serve  the  community.  But 
bread  or  subsistence  is  not  his  highest 
good  ; for,  if  it  were,  his  lot  would  be 
harder  than  that  of  the  inferior  animals, 
for  whom  nature  spreads  a table  and 
weaves  a wardrobe,  without  a care  of 
their  own.  Nor  was  he  made  chiefly  to 
minister  to  the  wants  of  the  community. 
A rational,  moral  being  cannot,  without 
infinite  wrong,  be  converted  into  a mere 
instrument  of  others’  gratification.  He 
is  necessarily  an  end,  not  a means.  A 
mind,  in  which  are  sown  the  seeds  of 
wisdom,  disinterestedness,  firmness  of 
purpose,  and  piety,  is  worth  more  than 
all  the  outward  material  interests  of  a 
world.  It  exists  for  itself,  for  its  own 
perfection,  and  must  not  be  enslaved  to 
its  own  or  others’  animal  wants.  You 
tell  me  that  a liberal  culture  is  needed 
for  men  who  are  to  fill  high  stations,  but 
not  for  such  as  are  doomed  to  vulgar 
labor.  I answer,  that  man  is  a greater 
name  than  president  or  king.  Truth 
and  goodness  are  equally  precious,  in 
whatever  sphere  they  are  found.  Be- 
sides, men  of  all  conditions  sustain 
equally  the  relations  which  give  birth  to 
the  highest  virtues  and  demand  the 
highest  powers.  The  laborer  is  not  a 
mere  laborer.  He  has  close,  tender,  re- 
sponsible connections  with  God  and  his 
fellow-creatures.  He  is  a son,  husband, 
father,  friend,  and  Christian.  He  be- 
longs to  a home,  a country,  a church,  a 
race  ; and  is  such  a man  to  be  cultivated 
only  for  a trade  ? Was  he  not  sent  into 
the  world  for  a great  work?  To  edu- 
cate a child  perfectly  requires  pro- 
founder thought,  greater  wisdom,  than 
to  govern  a state  ; and  for  this  plain  rea- 
son, that  the  interests  and  wants  of  the 
latter  are  more  superficial,  coarser,  and 


more  obvious  than  the  spiritual  capaci- 
ties, the  growth  of  thought  and  feeling, 
and  the  subtile  laws  of  the  mind,  which 
must  all  be  studied  and  comprehended 
before  the  work  of  education  can  be 
thoroughly  performed;  and  yet  to  all 
conditions  this  greatest  work  on  earth 
is  equally  committed  by  God.  What 
plainer  proof  do  we  need  that  a higher 
culture  than  has  yet  been  dreamed  of  is 
needed  by  our  whole  race  ? 

II.  I now  proceed  to  inquire  into  the 
means  by  which  the  self-culture  just 
described  may  be  promoted  ; and  here 
I know  not  where  to  begin.  The  sub- 
ject is  so  extensive,  as  well  as  impor- 
tant, that  I feel  myself  unable  to  do 
any  justice  to  it,  especially  in  the  limits 
to  which  I am  confined.  I beg  you  to 
consider  me  as  presenting  but  hints, 
and  such  as  have  offered  themselves 
with  very  little  research  to  my  own 
mind. 

And,  first,  the  great  means  of  self- 
culture, that  which  includes  all  the  rest, 
is  to  fasten  on  this  culture  as  our  great 
end,  to  determine  deliberately  and  sol- 
emnly that  we  will  make  the  most  and 
the  best  of  the  powers  which  God  has 
given  us.  Without  this  resolute  pur- 
pose, the  best  means  are  worth  little, 
and  with  it  the  poorest  become  mighty. 
You  may  see  thousands,  with  every  op- 
portunity of  improvement  which  wealth 
can  gather,  with  teachers,  libraries,  and 
apparatus,  bringing  nothing  to  pass, 
and  others,  with  few  helps,  doing  won- 
ders ; and  simply  because  the  latter  are 
in  earnest,  and  the  former  not.  A man 
in  earnest  finds  means,  or,  if  he  cannot 
find,  creates  them.  A vigorous  purpose 
makes  much  out  of  little,  breathes 
power  into  weak  instruments,  disarms 
difficulties,  and  even  turns  them  into 
assistances.  Every  condition  has  means 
of  progress,  if  we  have  spirit  enough 
to  use  them.  Some  volumes  have  re- 
cently been  published,  giving  examples 
or  histories  of  “ knowledge  acquired 
under  difficulties  ; ” and  it  is  most  ani- 
mating to  see  in  these  what  a resolute 
man  can  do  for  himself.  A great  idea, 
like  this  of  self-culture,  if  seized  on 
clearly  and  vigorously,  burns  like  a liv- 
ing coal  in  the  soul.  He  who  deliber- 
ately adopts  a great  end,  has,  by  this 
act,  half  accomplished  it,  has  scaled  the 
chief  barrier  to  success. 

One  thing  is  essential  to  the  strong 


SELF-CULTURE. 


21 


purpose  of  self-culture  now  insisted  on ; 
namely,  faith  in  the  practicableness  of 
this  culture.  A great  object,  to  awaken 
resolute  choice,  must  be  seen  to  be 
within  our  reach.  The  truth,  that  prog- 
ress is  the  very  end  of  our  being, 
must  not  be  received  as  a tradition,  but 
comprehended  and  felt  as  a reality. 
Our  minds  are  apt  to  pine  and  starve, 
by  being  imprisoned  within  what  we  have 
already  attained.  A true  faith,  looking  up 
to  something  better,  catching  glimpses 
of  a distant  perfection,  prophesying  to 
ourselves  improvements  proportioned  to 
our  conscientious  labors,  gives  energy 
of  purpose,  gives  wings  to  the  soul; 
and  this  faith  will  continually  grow,  by 
acquainting  ourselves  with  our  own 
nature,  and  with  the  promises  of  Divine 
help  and  immortal  life  which  abound  in 
Revelation. 

Some  are  discouraged  from  proposing 
to  themselves  improvement,  by  the  false 
notion  that  the  study  of  books,  which 
their  situation  denies  them,  is  the  all- 
important  and  only  sufficient  means. 
Let  such  consider  that  the  grand  volumes, 
of  which  all  our  books  are  transcripts, 
— I mean  nature,  revelation,  the  human 
soul,  and  human  life,  — are  freely  un- 
folded to  every  eye.  The  great  sources 
of  wisdom  are  experience  and  observa- 
tion ; and  these  are  denied  to  none. 
To  open  and  fix  our  eyes  upon  what 
passes  without  and  within  us  is  the 
most  fruitful  study.  Books  are  chiefly 
useful  as  they  help  us  to  interpret 
what  we  see  and  experience.  When 
they  absorb  men,  as  they  sometimes 
do,  and  turn  them  from  observation  of 
nature  and  life,  they  generate  a learned 
folly,  for  which  the  plain  sense  of  the 
laborer  could  not  be  exchanged  but  at 
great  loss.  It  deserves  attention  that 
the  greatest  men  have  been  formed 
without  the  studies  which  at  present 
are  thought  by  many  most  needful  to 
improvement.  Homer,  Plato,  Demos- 
thenes, never  heard  the  name  of  chem- 
istry, and  knew  less  of  the  solar  system 
than  a boy  in  our  common  schools. 
Not  that  these  sciences  are  unimpor- 
tant ; but  the  lesson  is,  that  human 
improvement  never  wants  the  means, 
where  the  purpose  of  it  is  deep  and 
earnest  in  the  soul. 

The  purpose  of  self-culture,  this  is 
the  life  and  strength  of  all  the  methods 
we  use  for  our  own  elevation.  I reiter- 


ate this  principle  on  account  of  its  great 
importance  ; and  I would  add  a remark 
to  prevent  its  misapprehension.  When 
I speak  of  the  purpose  of  self-culture,  I 
mean  that  it  should  be  sincere.  In  other 
words,  we  must  make  self-culture  really 
and  truly  our  end,  or  choose  it  for  its 
own  sake,  and  not  merely  as  a means 
or  instrument  of  something  else.  And 
here  I touch  a common  and  very  per- 
nicious error.  Not  a few  persons  de- 
sire to  improve  themselves  only  to  get 
property  and  to  rise  in  the  world  ; but 
such  do  not  properly  choose  improve- 
ment, but  something  outward  and  for- 
eign to  themselves ; and  so  low  an 
impulse  can  produce  only  a stinted, 
partial,  uncertain  growth.  A man,  as 
I have  said,  is  to  cultivate  himself  be- 
cause he  is  a man.  He  is  to  start  with 
the  conviction  that  there  is  something 
greater  within  him  than  in  the  whole 
material  creation,  than  in  all  the  worlds 
which  press  on  the  eye  and  ear ; and 
that  inward  improvements  have  a worth 
and  dignity  in  themselves  quite  distinct 
from  the  power  they  give  over  outward 
things.  Undoubtedly  a man  is  to  labor 
to  better  his  condition,  but  first  to  bet- 
ter himself.  If  he  knows  no  higher 
use  of  his  mind  than  to  invent  and 
drudge  for  his  body,  his  case  is  des- 
perate as  far  as  culture  is  concerned. 

In  these  remarks,  I do  not  mean  to 
recommend  to  the  laborer  indifference 
to  his  outward  lot.  I hold  it  important 
that  every  man  in  every  class  should 
possess  the  means  of  comfort,  of  health, 
of  neatness  in  food  and  apparel,  and 
of  occasional  retirement  and  leisure. 
These  are  good  in  themselves,  to  be 
sought  for  their  own  sakes  ; and,  still 
more,  they  are  important  means  of  the 
self-culture  for  which  I am  pleading. 
A clean,  comfortable  dwelling,  with 
wholesome  meals,  is  no  small  aid  to 
intellectual  and  moral  progress.  A 
man  living  in  a damp  cellar  or  a garret 
open  to  rain  and  snow,  breathing  the 
foul  air  of  a filthy  room,  and  striving 
without  success  to  appease  hunger  on 
scanty  or  unsavory  food,  is  in  danger 
of  abandoning  himself  to  a desperate, 
selfish  recklessness.  Improve,  then, 
your  lot.  Multiply  comforts,  and,  still 
more,  get  wealth  if  you  can  by  honor- 
able means,  and  if  it  do  not  cost  too 
much.  A true  cultivation  of  the  mind 
is  fitted  to  forward  you  in  your  worldly 


22 


SELF-CULTURE . 


concerns,  and  yon  ought  to  use  it  for 
this  end.  Only,  beware  lest  this  end 
master  you  ; lest  your  motives  sink  as 
your  condition  improves  ; lest  you  fall 
victims  to  the  miserable  passion  of  vy- 
ing with  those  around  you  in  show, 
luxury,  and  expense.  Cherish  a true 
respect  for  yourselves.  Feel  that  your 
nature  is  worth  more  than  every  thing 
which  is  foreign  to  you.  He  who  has 
not  caught  a glimpse  of  his  own  rational 
and  spiritual  being,  of  something  within 
himself  superior  to  the  world  and  allied 
to  the  Divinity,  wants  the  true  spring  of 
that  purpose  of  self-culture  on  which 
I have  insisted  as  the  first  of  all  the 
means  of  improvement. 

I proceed  to  another  important  means 
of  self-culture  ; and  this  is  the  control 
of  the  animal  appetites.  To  raise  the 
moral  and  intellectual  nature,  we  must 
put  down  the  animal.  Sensuality  is  the 
abyss  in  which  very  many  souls  are 
plunged  and  lost.  Among  the  most 
prosperous  classes,  what  a vast  amount 
of  intellectual  life  is  drowned  in  luxuri- 
ous excesses  ! It  is  one  great  curse,  of 
wealth,  that  it  is  used  to  pamper  the 
senses  ; and  among  the  poorer  classes, 
though  luxury  is  wanting,  yet  a gross 
feeding  often  prevails,  under  which  the 
spirit  is  whelmed.  It  is  a sad  sight  to 
walk  through  our  streets,  and  to  see 
how  many  countenances  bear  marks 
of  a lethargy  and  a brutal  coarseness, 
induced  by  unrestrained  indulgence. 
Whoever  would  cultivate  the  soul  must 
restrain  the  appetites.  I am  not  an 
advocate  for  the  doctrine  that  animal 
food  was  not  meant  for  man  ; but  that 
this  is  used  among  us  to  excess,  that 
as  a people  we  should  gain  much  in 
cheerfulness,  activity,  and  buoyancy  of 
mind,  by  less  gross  and  stimulating 
food,  I am  strongly  inclined  to  believe. 
Above  all,  let  me  urge  on  those  who 
would  bring  out  and  elevate  their  higher 
nature,  to  abstain  from  the  use  of  spir- 
ituous liquors.  This  bad  habit  is  distin- 
guished from  all  others  by  the  ravages 
it  makes  on  the  reason,  the  intellect ; 
and  this  effect  is  produced  to  a mourn- 
ful extent,  even  when  drunkenness  is 
escaped.  Not  a few  men,  called  tem- 
perate, and  who  have  thought  them- 
selves such,  have  learned,  on  abstaining 
from  the  use  of  ardent  spirits,  that  for 
years  their  minds  had  been  clouded, 
impaired  by  moderate  drinking,  without 


their  suspecting  the  injury.  Multitudes 
in  this  city  are  bereft  of  half  their  intel- 
lectual energy,  by  a degree  of  indul- 
gence which  passes  for  innocent.  -Of 
all  the  foes  of  the  working  class,  this 
is  the  deadliest.  Nothing  has  done 
more  to  keep  down  this  class,  to  destroy 
their  self-respect,  to  rob  them  of  their 
just  influence  in  the  community,  to  ren- 
der profitless  the  means  of  improve- 
ment within  their  reach,  than  the  use 
of  ardent  spirits  as  a drink.  They  are 
called  on  to  withstand  this  practice, 
as  they  regard  their  honor,  and  would 
take  their  just  place  in  society.  They 
are  under  solemn  obligations  to  give 
their  sanction  to  every  effort  for  its 
suppression.  They  ought  to  regard  as 
their  worst  enemies  (though  uninten- 
tionally such),  as  the  enemies  of  their 
rights,  dignity,  and  influence,  the  men 
who  desire  to  flood  city  and  country 
with  distilled  poison.  I lately  visited 
a flourishing  village,  and  on  expressing 
to  one  of  the  respected  inhabitants  the 
pleasure  I felt  in  witnessing  so  many 
signs  of  progress,  he  replied  that  one 
of  the  causes  of  the  prosperity  I wit- 
nessed was  the  disuse  of  ardent  spirits 
by  the  people.  And  this  reformation 
we  may  be  assured  wrought  something 
higher  than  outward  prosperity.  In 
almost  every  family  so  improved,  we 
cannot  doubt  that  the  capacities  of  the 
parent  for  intellectual  and  moral  im- 
provement were  enlarged,  and  the 
means  of  education  made  more  effect- 
ual to  the  child.  I call  on  working  men 
to  take  hold  of  the  cause  of  temperance 
as  peculiarly  their  cause.  These  re- 
marks are  the  more  needed,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  efforts  made  far  and  wide 
to  annul  at  the  present  moment  a re- 
cent law  for  the  suppression  of  the  sale 
of  ardent  spirits  in  such  quantities  as 
favor  intemperance.  I know  that  there 
are  intelligent  and  good  men  who  be- 
lieve that,  in  enacting  this  law,  govern- 
ment transcended  its  limits,  left  its  true 
path,  and  established  a precedent  for 
legislative  interference  with  all  our  pur- 
suits and  pleasures.  No  one  here  looks 
more  jealously  on  government  than  my- 
self. But  I maintain  that  this  is  a case 
which  stands  by  itself,  which  can  be 
confounded  with  no  other,  and  on  which 
government,  from  its  very  nature  and 
end,  is  peculiarly  bound  to  act.  Let  it 
never  be  forgotten  that  the  great  end 


SELF-CULTURE . 


23 


of  government,  its  highest  function,  is, 
not  to  make  roads,  grant  charters,  orig- 
inate improvements,  but  to  prevent  or 
repress  crimes  against  individual  rights 
and  social  order.  For  this  end  it  or- 
dains a penal  code,  erects  prisons,  and 
inflicts  fearful  punishments.  Now,  if  it 
be  true  that  a vast  proportion  of  the 
crimes  which  government  is  instituted 
to  prevent  and  repress  have  their  ori- 
gin in  the  use  of  ardent  spirits  ; if  our 
poor-houses,  work-houses,  jails,  and  pen- 
itentiaries, are  tenanted  in  a great  degree 
by  those  whose  first  and  chief  impulse 
to  crime  came  from  the  distillery  and 
dram-shop  ; if  murder  and  theft,  the 
most  fearful  outrages  on  property  and 
life,  are  most  frequently  the  issues  and 
consummation  of  intemperance,  is  not 
government  bound  to  restrain  by  legis- 
lation the  vending  of  the  stimulus  to 
these  terrible  social  wrongs  ? Is  gov- 
ernment never  to  act  as  a parent,  never 
to  remove  the  causes  or  occasions  of 
wrong-doing  ? Has  it  but  one  instru- 
ment for  repressing  crime  ; namely, 
public,  infamous  punishment,  — an  evil 
only  inferior  to  crime  ? Is  government 
a usurper,  does  it  wander  beyond  its 
sphere,  by  imposing  restraints  on  an 
article  which  does  no  imaginable  good, 
which  can  plead  no  benefit  conferred 
on  body  or  mind,  which  unfits  the  cit- 
izen for  the  discharge  of  his  duty  to 
his  country,  and  which,  above  all,  stirs 
up  men  to  the  perpetration  of  most  of 
the  crimes  from  which  it  is  the  highest 
and  most  solemn  office  of  government 
to  protect  society  ? 

I come  now  to  another  important 
measure  of  self-culture,  and  this  is, 
intercourse  with  superior  minds.  I 
have  insisted  on  our  own  activity  as 
essential  to  our  progress  ; but  we  were 
riot  made  to  live  or  advance  alone. 
Society  is  as  needful  to  us  as  air  or 
food.  A child  doomed  to  utter  loneli- 
ness, growing  up  without  sight  or  sound 
of  human  beings,  would  not  put  forth 
equal  power  with  many  brutes  ; and  a 
man,  never  brought  into  contact  with 
minds  superior  to  his  own,  will  prob- 
ably run  one  and  the  same  dull  round 
of  thought  and  action  to  the  end  of  life. 

It  is  chiefly  through  books  that  we 
enjoy  intercourse  with  superior  minds, 
and  these  invaluable  means  of  commu- 
nication are  in  the  reach  of  all.  In  the 
best  books  great  men  talk  to  us,  give 


us  their  most  precious  thoughts,  and 
pour  their  souls  into  ours.  God  be 
thanked  for  books.  They  are  the  voices 
of  the  distant  and  the  dead,  and  make 
us  heirs  of  the  spiritual  life  of  past 
ages.  Books  are  the  true  levellers. 
They  give  to  all  who  will  faithfully  use 
them  the  society,  the  spiritual  pres- 
ence, of  the  best  and  greatest  of  our 
race.  No  matter  how  poor  I am.  No 
matter  though  the  prosperous  of  my 
own  time  will  not  enter  my  obscure 
dwelling.  If  the  Sacred  Writers  will 
enter  and  take  up  their  abode  under 
my  roof ; if  Milton  will  cross  my  thresh- 
old to  sing  to  me  of  Paradise,  and 
Shakspeare  to  open  to  me  the  worlds 
of  imagination  and  the  workings  of  the 
human  heart,  and  Franklin  to  enrich 
me  with  his  practical  wisdom,  I shall 
not  pine  for  want  of  intellectual  com- 
panionship, and  I may  become  a culti- 
vated man  though  excluded  from  what 
is  called  the  best  society  in  the  place 
where  I live. 

To  make  this  means  of  culture  effect- 
ual, a man  must  select  good  books,  such 
as  have  been  written  by  right-minded  and 
strong-minded  men,  real  thinkers,  who, 
instead  of  diluting  by  repetition  what 
others  say,  have  something  to  say  for 
themselves,  and  write  to  give  relief  to 
full,  earnest  souls  ; and  these  works 
must  not  be  skimmed  over  for  amuse- 
ment, but  read  with  fixed  attention  and 
a reverential  love  of  truth.  In  selecting 
books,  we  may  be  aided  much  by  those 
who  have  studied  more  than  ourselves. 
But,  after  all,  it  is  best  to  be  determined 
in  this  particular  a good  deal  by  our 
own  tastes.  The  best  books  for  a man 
are  not  always  those  which  the  wise 
recommend,  but  oftener  those  which 
meet  the  peculiar  wants,  the  natural 
thirst  of  his  mind,  and  therefore  awaken 
interest  and  rivet  thought.  And  here 
it  may  be  well  to  observe,  not  only  in 
regard  to  books  but  in  other  respects, 
that  self-culture  ^must  vary  with  the 
individual.  All  means  do  not  equally 
suit  us  all.  A man  must  unfold  himself 
freely,  and  should  respect  the  peculiar 
gifts  or  biases  by  which  nature  has  dis- 
tinguished him  from  others.  Self-cult- 
ure does  not  demand  the  sacrifice  of 
individuality.  It  does  not  regularly  ap- 
ply an  established  machinery,  for  the 
sake  of  torturing  every  man  into  one 
rigid  shape,  called  perfection.  As  the 


24 


SELF-CUL  TURE. 


human  countenance,  with  the  same 
features  in  us  all,  is  diversified  without 
end  in  the  race,  and  is  never  the  same 
in  any  two  individuals,  so  the  human 
soul,  with  the  same  grand  powers  and 
laws,  expands  into  an  infinite  variety 
of  forms,  and  would  be  wofully  stinted 
by  modes  of  culture  requiring  all  men 
to  learn  the  same  lesson  or  to  bend  to 
the  same  rules. 

I know  how  hard  it  is  to  some  men, 
especially  to  those  who  spend  much  time 
in  manual  labor,  to  fix  attention  on 
books.  Let  them  strive  to  overcome 
the  difficulty  by  choosing,  subjects  of 
deep  interest,  or  by  reading  in  company 
with  those  whom  they  love.  Nothing 
can  supply  the  place  of  books.  They 
are  cheering  or  soothing  companions  in 
solitude,  illness,  affliction.  The  wealth 
of  both  continents  would  not  compensate 
for  the  good  they  impart.  Let  every 
man,  if  possible,  gather  some  good  books 
under  his  roof,  and  obtain  access  for  him- 
self and  family  to  some  social  library. 
Almost  any  luxury  should  be  sacrificed 
to  this. 

One  of  the  very  interesting  features  of 
our  times  is  the  multiplication  of  books, 
and  their  distribution  through  all  con- 
ditions of  society.  At  a small  expense, 
a man  can  now  possess  himself  of  the 
most  precious  treasures  of  English  litera- 
ture. Books,  once  confined  to  a few  by 
their  costliness,  are  now  accessible  to  the 
multitude  ; and  in  this  way  a change  of 
habits  is  going  on  in  society,  highly  favor- 
able to  the  culture  of  the  people.  Instead 
of  depending  on  casual  rumor  and  loose 
conversation  for  most  of  their  knowledge 
and  objects  of  thought ; instead  of  form- 
ing their  judgments  in  crowds,  and  re- 
ceiving their  chief  excitement  from  the 
voice  of  neighbors,  men  are  now  learning 
to  study  and  reflect  alone,  to  follow  out 
subjects  continuously,  to  determine  for 
themselves  what  shall  engage  their 
minds,  and  to  call  to  their  aid  the  knowl- 
edge, original  views, *and  reasonings  of 
men  of  all  countries  and  ages  ; and  the 
results  must  be,  a deliberateness  and 
independence  of  judgment,  and  a thor- 
oughness and  extent  of  information,  un- 
known in  former  times.  The  diffusion 
of  these  silent  teachers,  books,  through 
the  whole  community,  is  to  work  greater 
effects  than  artillery,  machinery,  and 
legislation.  Its  peaceful  agency  is  to 
supersede  stormy  revolutions.  The  cult- 


ure which  it  is  to  spread,  whilst  an  un- 
speakable good  to  the  individual,  is  also 
to  become  the  stability  of  nations. 

Another  important  means  of  self-cult- 
ure is  to  free  ourselves  from  the  power 
of  human  opinion  and  example,  except 
as  far  as  this  is  sanctioned  by  our  own 
deliberate  judgment.  We  are  all  prone 
to  keep  the  level  of  those  we  live  with, 
to  repeat  their  words,  and  dress  our 
minds  as  well  as  bodies  after  their 
fashion  ; and  hence  the  spiritless  tame- 
ness of  our  characters  and  lives.  Our 
greatest  danger  is  not  from  the  grossly 
wicked  around  us,  but  from  the  worldly, 
unreflecting  multitude,  who  are  borne 
along  as  a stream  by  foreign  impulse,  and 
bear  us  along  with  them.  Even  the  in- 
fluence of  superior  minds  may  harm  us, 
by  bowing  us  to  servile  acquiescence  and 
damping  our  spiritual  activity.  The 
great  use  of  intercourse  with  other 
minds  is  to  stir  up  our  own,  to  whet 
our  appetite  for  truth,  to  carry  our 
thoughts  beyond  their  old  tracks.  We 
need  connections  with  great  thinkers  to 
make  us  thinkers  too.  One  of  the  chief 
arts  of  self-culture  is  to  unite  the  child- 
like teachableness,  which  gratefully  wel- 
comes light  from  every  human  being 
who  can  give  it,  with  manly  resistance 
of  opinions  however  current,  of  influ- 
ences however  generally  revered,  which 
do  not  approve  themselves  to  our  delib- 
erate judgment.  You  ought,  indeed,  pa- 
tiently and  conscientiously  to  strengthen 
your  reason  by  other  men’s  intelli- 
gence, but  you  must  not  prostrate  it 
before  them.  Especially  if  there  springs 
up  within  you  any  view  of  God’s  word  or 
universe,  any  sentiment  or  aspiration 
which  seems  to  you  of  a higher  order 
than  what  you  meet  abroad,  give  rever- 
ent heed  to  it ; inquire  into  it  earnestly, 
solemnly.  Do  not  trust  it  blindly,  for  it 
may  be  an  illusion  ; but  it  may  be  the 
Divinity  moving  within  you,  a new  rev- 
elation, not  supernatural,  but  still  most 
precious,  of  truth  or  duty ; and  if,  after 
inquiry,  it  so  appear,  then  let  no  clamor, 
or  scorn,  or  desertion  turn  you  from  it. 
Be  true  to  your  own  highest  convictions. 
Intimations  from  our  own  souls  of  some- 
thing more  perfect  than  others  teach,  if 
faithfully  followed,  give  us  a conscious- 
ness of  spiritual  force  and  progress, 
never  experienced  by  the  vulgar  of  high 
life  or  low  life,  who  march,  as  they  are 
drilled,  to  the  step  of  their  times. 


SELF-CULTURE. 


25 


Some,  I know,  will  wonder  that  I 
should  think  the  mass  of  the  people  ca- 
pable of  such  intimations  and  glimpses 
of  truth  as  I have  just  supposed.  These 
are  commonly  thought  to  be  the  pre- 
rogative of  men  of  genius,  who  seem 
to  be  born  to  give  law  to  the  minds  of 
the  multitude.  Undoubtedly  nature  has 
her  nobility,  and  sends  forth  a few  to  be 
eminently  “ lights  of  the  world.”  But  it 
is  also  true  that  a portion  of  the  same 
divine  fire  is  given  to  all ; for  the  many 
could  not  receive  with  a loving  reverence 
the  quickening  influences  of  the  few, 
were  there  not  essentially  the  same 
spiritual  life  in  both.  The  minds  of  the 
multitude  are  not  masses  of  passive  mat- 
ter, created  to  receive  impressions  unre- 
sistingly from  abroad.  They  are  not 
wholly  shaped  by  foreign  instruction ; 
but  have  a native  force,  a spring  of 
thought  in  themselves.  Even  the  child’s 
mind  outruns  its  lessons,  and  overflows 
in  questionings  which  bring  the  wisest 
to  a stand.  Even  the  child  starts  the 
great  problems,  which  philosophy  has 
labored  to  solve  for  ages.  But  on  this 
subject  I cannot  now  enlarge.  Let  me 
only  say  that  the  power  of  original 
thought  is  particularly  manifested  in 
those  who  thirst  for  progress,  who  are 
bent  on  unfolding  their  whole  nature.  A 
man  who  wakes  up  to  the  consciousness 
of  having  been  created  for  progress  and 
perfection,  looks  with  new  eyes  on  him- 
self and  on  the  world  in  which  he  lives. 
This  great  truth  stirs  the  soul  from  its 
depths,  breaks  up  old  associations  of 
ideas,  and  establishes  new  ones,  just  as 
a mighty  agent  of  chemistry,  brought 
into  contact  with  natural  substances, 
dissolves  the  old  affinities  which  had 
bound  their  particles  together,  and  ar- 
ranges them  anew.  This  truth  particu- 
larly aids  us  to  penetrate  the  mysteries 
of  human  life.  By  revealing  to  us  the 
end  of  our  being,  it  helps  us  to  compre- 
hend more  and  more  the  wonderful,  the 
infinite  system,  to  which  we  belong.  A 
man  in  the  common  walks  of  life,  who  has 
faith  in  perfection,  in  the  unfolding  of 
the  human  spirit,  as  the  great  purpose  of 
God,  possesses  more  the  secret  of  the 
universe,  perceives  more  the  harmonies 
or  mutual  adaptations  of  the  world  with- 
out and  the  world  within  him,  is  a wiser 
interpreter  of  Providence,  and  reads 
nobler  lessons  of  duty  in  the  events 
which  pass  before  him,  than  the  pro- 


foundest  philosopher  who  wants  this 
grand  central  truth.  Thus  illuminations, 
inward  suggestions,  are  not  confined  to 
a favored  few,  but  visit  all  who  devote 
themselves  to  a generous  self-culture. 

Another  means  of  self-culture  may  be 
found  by  every  man  in  his  condition  or 
occupation,  be  it  what  it  may.  Had  I 
time,  I might  go  through  all  conditions 
of  life,  from  the  most  conspicuous  to 
the  most  obscure,  and  might  show  how 
each  furnishes  continual  aids  to  im- 
provement. But  I will  take  one  exam- 
ple, and  that  is,  of  a man  living  by 
manual  labor.  This  may  be  made  the 
means  of  self-culture.  For  instance,  in 
almost  all  labor,  a man  exchanges  his 
strength  for  an  equivalent  in  the  form 
of  wages,  purchase-money,  or  some  other 
product.  In  other  words,  labor  is  a 
system  of  contracts,  bargains,  imposing 
mutual  obligations.  Now  the  man  who, 
in  working,  no  matter  in  what  way, 
strives  perpetually  to  fulfil  his  obliga- 
tions thoroughly,  to  do  his  whole  work 
faithfully,  to  be  honest,  not  because  hon- 
esty is  the  best  policy  but  for  the  sake 
of  justice,  and  that  he  may  render  to 
every  man  his  due,  such  a laborer  is 
continually  building  up  in  himself  one 
of  the  greatest  principles  of  morality 
and  religion.  Every  blow  on  the  anvil, 
on  the  earth,  or  whatever  material  he 
works  upon,  contributes  something  to 
the  perfection  of  his  nature. 

Nor  is  this  all.  Labor  is  a school  of 
benevolence  as  well  as  justice.  A man, 
to  support  himself,  must  serve  others. 
He  must  do  or  produce  something  for 
their  comfort  or  gratification.  This  is 
one  of  the  beautiful  ordinations  of 
Providence,  that,  to  get  a living,  a man 
must  be  useful.  Now  this  usefulness 
ought  to  be  an  end  in  his  labor  as  truly 
as  to  earn  his  living.  He  ought  to  think 
of  the  benefit  of  those  he  works  for,  as 
well  as  of  his  own  ; and  in  so  doing,  in 
desiring  amidst  his  sweat  and  toil  to 
serve  others  as  well  as  himself,  he  is 
exercising  and  growing  in  benevolence, 
as  truly  as  if  he  were  distributing  bounty 
with  a large  hand  to  the  poor.  Such  a 
motive  hallows  and  dignifies  the  com- 
monest pursuit.  It  is  strange  that  labor- 
ing men  do  not  think  more  of  the  vast 
usefulness  of  their  toils,  and  take  a be- 
nevolent pleasure  in  them  on  this  account. 
This  beautiful  city,  with  its  houses,  fur- 
niture, markets,  public  walks,  and  num- 


2 6 


SELF-CULTURE . 


berless  accommodations,  has  grown  up 
under  the  hands  of  artisans  and  other 
laborers;  and  ought  they  not  to  take  a 
disinterested  joy  in  their  work  ? One 
would  think  that  a carpenter  or  mason, 
on  passing  a house  which  he  had  reared, 
would  say  to  himself,  “ This  work  of 
mine  is  giving  comfort  and  enjoyment 
every  day  and  hour  to  a family,  and  will 
continue  to  be  a kindly  shelter,  a domes- 
tic gathering-place,  an  abode  of  affec- 
tion, for  a century  or  more  after  I sleep 
in  the  dust ; ” and  ought  not  a generous 
satisfaction  to  spring  up  at  the  thought  ? 
It  is  by  thus  interweaving  goodness  with 
common  labors  that  we  give  it  strength, 
and  make  it  a habit  of  the  soul. 

Again.  Labor  may  be  so  performed 
as  to  be  a high  impulse  to  the  mind. 
Be  a man’s  vocation  what  it  may,  his 
rule  should  be  to  do  its  duties  perfectly, 
to  do  the  best  he  can,  and  thus  to  make 
perpetual  progress  in  his  art.  In  other 
words,  perfection  should  be  proposed  ; 
and  this  I urge  not  only  for  its  useful- 
ness to  society,  nor  for  the  sincere  pleas- 
ure which  a man  takes  in  seeing  a work 
well  done.  This  is  an  important  means 
of  self-culture.  In  this  way  the  idea  of 
perfection  takes  root  in  the  mind,  and 
spreads  far  beyond  the  man’s  trade.  He 
gets  a tendency  towards  completeness  in 
whatever  he  undertakes.  Slack,  slov- 
enly performance  in  any  department  of 
life  is  more  apt  to  offend  him.  His 
standard  of  action  rises,  and  every  thing 
is  better  done  for  his  thoroughness  in 
his  common  vocation. 

There  is  one  circumstance  attending 
all  conditions  of  life  which  may  and 
ought  to  be  turned  to  the  use  of  self- 
culture. Every  condition,  be  it  what  it 
may,  has  hardships,  hazards,  pains.  We 
try  to  escape  them ; we  pine  for  a shel- 
tered lot,  for  a smooth  path,  for  cheering 
friends,  and  unbroken  success.  But 
Providence  ordains  storms,  disasters, 
hostilities,  sufferings ; and  the  great 
question,  whether  we  shall  live  to  any 
purpose  or  not,  whether  we  shall  grow 
strong  in  mind  and  heart,  or  be  weak 
and  pitiable,  depends  on  nothing  so  much 
as  on  our  use  of  these  adverse  circum- 
stances. Outward  evils  are  designed  to 
school  our  passions,  and  to  rouse  our 
faculties  and  virtues  into  intenser  action. 
Sometimes  they  seem  to  create  new 
powers.  Difficulty  is  the  element,  and 
resistance  the  true  work  of  a man.  Self- 


culture never  goes  on  so  fast  as  when 
embarrassed  circumstances,  the  opposi- 
tion of  men  or  the  elements,  unexpected 
changes  of  the  times,  or  other  forms  of 
suffering,  instead  of  disheartening,  throw 
us  on  our  inward  resources,  turn  us  for 
strength  to  God^  clear  up  to  us  the  great 
purpose  of  life,  and  inspire  calm  reso- 
lution. No  greatness  or  goodness  is 
worth  much  unless  tried  in  these  fires. 
Hardships  are  not  on  this  account  to  be 
sought  for.  They  come  fast  enough  of 
themselves,  and  we  are  in  more  danger 
of  sinking  under  than  of  needing  them. 
But  when  God  sends  them,  they  are 
noble  means  of  self-culture,  and  as  such 
let  us  meet  and  bear  them  cheerfully. 
Thus  all  parts  of  our  condition  may  be 
pressed  into  the  service  of  self-improve- 
ment. 

I have  time  to  consider  but  one  more 
means  of  self-culture.  We  find  it  in  our 
free  government,  in  our  political  rela- 
tions and  duties.  It  is  a great  benefit  of 
free  institutions,  that  they  do  much  to 
awaken  and  keep  in  action  a nation’s 
mind.  We  are  told  that  the  education 
of  the  multitude  is  necessary  to  the  sup- 
port of  a republic  ; but  it  is  equally  true, 
that  a republic  is  a powerful  means  of 
educating  the  multitude.  It  is  the  peo- 
ple’s university.  In  a free  state,  solemn 
responsibilities  are  imposed  on  every 
citizen ; great  subjects  are  to  be  dis- 
cussed ; great  interests  to  be  decided. 
The  individual  is  called  to  determine 
measures  affecting  the  well-being  of 
millions  and  the  destinies  of  posterity. 
He  must  consider  not  only  the  internal 
relations  of  his  native  land,  but  its  con- 
nection with  foreign  states,  and  judge  of 
a policy  which  touches  the  whole  civil- 
ized world.  He  is  called,  by  his  partic- 
ipation in  the  national  sovereignty,  to 
cherish  public  spirit,  a regard  to  the 
general  weal.  A man  who  purposes  to 
discharge  faithfully  these  obligations,  is 
carrying  on  a generous  self-culture.  The 
great  public  questions  which  divide  opin- 
ion around  him  and  provoke  earnest  dis- 
cussion, of  necessity  invigorate  his 
intellect,  and  accustom  him  to  look 
beyond  himself.  He  grows  up  to  a 
robustness,  force,  enlargement  of  mind, 
unknown  under  despotic  rule. 

It  maybe  said  that  I am  describing 
what  free  institutions  ought  to  do  for  the 
character  of  the  individual,  not  their 
actual  effects  ; and  the  objection,  I must 


SELF-CUL  TURE. 


27 


own,  is  too  true.  Our  institutions  do 
not  cultivate  us,  as  they  might  and 
should  ; and  the  chief  cause  of  the  fail- 
ure is  plain.  It  is  the  strength  of  party- 
spirit  ; and  so  blighting  is  its  influence, 
so  fatal  to  self-culture,  that  I feel  my- 
self bound  to  warn  every  man  against  it, 
who  has  any  desire  of  improvement.  I 
do  not  tell  you  it  will  destroy  your  coun- 
try. It  wages  a worse  war  against 
yourselves.  Truth,  justice,  candor,  fair 
dealing,  sound  judgment,  self-control, 
and  kind  affections,  are  its  natural  and 
perpetual  prey. 

I do  not-  say  that  you  must  take  no 
side  in  politics.  The  parties  which  pre- 
vail around  you  differ  in  character, 
principles,  and  spirit,  though  far  less 
than  the  exaggeration  of  passion  affirms  ; 
and,  as  far  as  conscience  allows,  a man 
should  support  that  which  he  thinks 
best.  In  one  respect,  however,  all  par- 
ties agree.  They  all  foster  that  pesti- 
lent spirit  which  I now  condemn.  In 
all  of  them  party-spirit  rages.  Asso- 
ciate men  together  for  a common  cause, 
be  it  good  or  bad,  and  array  against 
them  a body  resolutely  pledged  to  an 
opposite  interest,  and  a new  passion, 
quite  distinct  from  the  original  senti- 
ment which  brought  them  together,  a 
fierce,  fiery  zeal,  consisting  chiefly  of 
aversion  to  those  who  differ  from  them, 
is  roused  within  them  into  fearful  activ- 
ity. Human  nature  seems  incapable  of 
a stronger,  more  unrelenting  passion.  It 
is  hard  enough  for  an  individual,  when 
contending  all  alone  for  an  interest  or 
an  opinion,  to  keep  down  his  pride,  wil- 
fulness, love  of  victory,  anger,  and  other 
personal  feelings.  But  let  him  join  a 
multitude  in  the  same  warfare,  and, 
without  singular  self-control,  he  receives 
into  his  single  breast  the  vehemence, 
obstinacy,  and  vindictiveness  of  all. 
The  triumph  of  his  party  becomes  im- 
measurably dearer  to  him  than  the  prin- 
ciple, true  or  false,  which  was  the 
original  ground  of  division.  The  con- 
flict becomes  a struggle,  not  for  prin- 
ciple but  for  power,  for  victory;  and 
the  desperateness,  the  wickedness  of 
such  struggles,  is  the  great  burden  of 
history.  In  truth,  it  matters  little  what 
men  divide  about,  whether  it  be  a foot 
of  land  or  precedence  in  a procession. 
Let  them  but  begin  to  fight  for  it,  and 
self-will,  ill-will,  the  rage  for  victory, 
the  dread  of  mortification  and  defeat, 


make  the  trifle  as  weighty  as  a matter 
of  life  and  death.  The  Greek  or  East- 
ern empire  was  shaken  to  its  foundation 
by  parties  which  differed  only  about  the 
merits  of  charioteers  at  the  amphithe- 
atre. Party-spirit  is  singularly  hostile 
to  moral  independence.  A man,  in  pro- 
portion as  he  drinks  into  it,  sees,  hears, 
judges  by  the  senses  and  understand- 
ings of  his  party.  He  surrenders  the 
freedom  of  a man,  the  right  of  using  and 
speaking  his  own  mind,  and  echoes  the 
applauses  or  maledictions  with  which 
the  leaders  or  passionate  partisans  see 
fit  that  the  country  should  ring.  ^ On  all 
points,  parties  are  to  be  distrusted  ; but 
on  no  one  so  much  as  on  the  character 
of  opponents.  These,  if  you  may  trust 
what  you  hear,  are  always  men  without 
principle  and  truth,  devoured  by  selfish- 
ness, and  thirsting  for  their  own  eleva^ 
tion,  though  on  their  country’s  ruin. 
When  I was  young,  I was  accustomed  t 
to  hear  pronounced  with  abhorrence, 
almost  with  execration,  the  names  of 
men  who  are  now  hailed  by  their  former 
foes  as  the  champions  of  grand  princi- 
ples, and  as  worthy  of  the  highest  public 
trusts.  This  lesson  of  early  experience, 
which  later  years  have  corroborated,  will 
never  be  forgotten. 

Of  our  present  political  divisions  I 
have  of  course  nothing  to  say.  But, 
among  the  current  topics  of  party,  there 
are  certain  accusations  and  recrimina- 
tions, grounded  on  differences  of  social 
condition,  which  seem  to  me  so  un- 
friendly to  the  improvement  of  individ- 
uals and  the  community,  that  I ask  the 
privilege  of  giving  them  a moment’s 
notice.  On  one  side  we  are  told,  that 
the  rich  are  disposed  to  trample  on  the 
poor ; and,  on  the  other,  that  the  poor 
look  with  evil  eye  and  hostile  purpose 
on  the  possessions  of  the  rich.  These 
outcries  seem  to  me  alike  devoid  of 
truth  and  alike  demoralizing.  As  for 
the  rich,  who  constitute  but  a handful  of 
our  population,  who  possess  not  one 
peculiar  privilege,  and,  what  is  more, 
who  possess  comparatively  little  of  the 
property  of  the  country,  it  is  wonderful 
that  they  should  be  objects  of  alarm. 
The  vast  and  ever-growing  property  of 
this  country,  where  is  it  ? Locked  up 
in  a few  hands  ? hoarded  in  a few  strong 
boxes?  It  is  diffused  like  the  atmos- 
phere, and  almost  as  variable,  changing 
hands  with  the  seasons,  shifting  from 


28 


SELF-CULTURE . 


rich  to  poor,  not  by  the  violence  but  by 
the  industry  and  skill  of  the  latter  class. 
The  wealth  of  the  rich  is  as  a drop  in 
the  ocean ; and  it  is  a well-known  fact, 
that  those  men  among  us  who  are  noted 
for  their  opulence  exert  hardly  any 
political  power  on  the  community.  That 
the  rich  do  their  whole  duty ; that  they 
adopt,  as  they  should,  the  great  object  of 
the  social  state,  which  is  the  elevation 
of  the  people  in  intelligence,  character, 
and  condition,  cannot  be  pretended  ; but 
that  they  feel  for  the  physical  sufferings 
of  their  brethren,  that  they  stretch  out 
liberal  hands  for  the  succor  of  the  poor, 
and  for  the  support  of  useful  public 
institutions,  cannot  be  denied.  Among 
them  are  admirable  specimens  of  human- 
ity. There  is  no  warrant  for  holding 
them  up  to  suspicion  as  the  people’s 
foes. 

Nor  do  I regard  as  less  calumnious 
, the  outcry  against  the  working  classes, 
as  if  they  were  aiming  at  the  subversion 
of  property.  When  we  think  of  the 
general  condition  and  character  of  this 
part  of  our  population  ; when  we  recol- 
lect that  they  were  born  and  have  lived 
amidst  schools  and  churches,  that  they 
have  been  brought  up  to  profitable  in- 
dustry, that  they  enjoy  many  of  the 
accommodations  of  life,  that  most  of 
them  hold  a measure  of  property  and 
are  hoping  for  more,  that  they  possess 
unprecedented  means  of  bettering  their 
lot,  that  they  are  bound  to  comfortable 
homes  by  strong  domestic  affections, 
that  they  are  able  to  give  their  children 
an  education  which  places  within  their 
reach  the  prizes  of  the  social  state,  that 
they  are  trained  to  the  habits  and  famil- 
iarized to  the  advantages  of  a high  civil- 
ization ; when  we  recollect  these  things, 
can  we  imagine  that  they  are  so  insanely 
blind  to  their  interests,  so  deaf  to  the 
claims  of  justice  and  religion,  so  profli- 
gately thoughtless  of  the  peace  and 
safety  of  their  families,  as  to  be  pre- 
pared to  make  a wreck  of  social  order, 
for  the  sake  of  dividing  among  them- 
selves the  spoils  of  the  rich,  which 
would  not  support  the  community  for  a 
month  ? Undoubtedly  there  is  insecu- 
rity in  all  stages  of  society,  and  so  there 
must  be  until  communities  shall  be 
regenerated  by  a higher  culture,  reach- 
ing and  quickening  all  classes  of  the 
people  ; but  there  is  not,  I believe,  a 
spot  on  earth  where  property  is  safer 


than  here,  because  nowhere  else  is  it  so 
equally  and  righteously  diffused.  In 
aristocracies,  where  wealth  exists  in 
enormous  masses,  which  have  been  en- 
tailed for  ages  by  a partial  legislation  on 
a favored  few,  and  where  the  multitude, 
after  the  sleep  of  ages,  are  waking  up  to 
intelligence,  to  self-respect,  and  to  a 
knowledge  of  their  rights,  property  is 
exposed  to  shocks  which  are  not  to  be 
dreaded  among  ourselves.  Here,  in- 
deed, as  elsewhere,  among  the  less  pros- 
perous members  of  the  community,  there 
are  disappointed,  desperate  men,  ripe  for 
tumult  and  civil  strife  ; but  it  is  also 
true,  that  the  most  striking  and  honor- 
able distinction  of  this  country  is  to  be 
found  in  the  intelligence,  character,  and 
condition  of  the  great  working  class. 
To  me  it  seems  that  the  great  danger  to 
property  here  is  not  from  the  laborer, 
but  from  those  who  are  making  haste  to 
be  rich.  For  example,  in  this  Common- 
wealth, no  act  has  been  thought  by  the 
alarmists  or  the  conservatives  so  sub- 
versive of  the  rights  of  property  as  a 
recent  law  authorizing  a company  to 
construct  a free  bridge  in  the  immediate 
neighborhood  of  another  which  had  been 
chartered  by  a former  legislature,  and 
which  had  been  erected  in  the  expecta- 
tion of  an  exclusive  right.  And  with 
whom  did  this  alleged  assault  on  prop- 
erty originate  ? With  levellers  ? with 
needy  laborers  ? with  men  bent  on  the 
prostration  of  the  rich  ? No  ; but  with 
men  of  business,  who  are  anxious  to 
push  a more  lucrative  trade.  Again, 
what  occurrence  among  us  has  been  so 
suited  to  destroy  confidence,  and  to  stir 
up  the  people  against  the  moneyed  class, 
as  the  late  criminal  mismanagement  of 
some  of  our  banking  institutions  ? And 
whence  came  this  ? from  the  rich,  or 
the  poor?  From  the  agrarian,  or  the 
man  of  business  ? Who,  let  me  ask, 
carry  on  the  work  of  spoliation  most 
extensively  in  society?  Is  not  more 
property  wrested  from  its  owners  by 
rash  or  dishonest  failures  than  by  pro- 
fessed highwaymen  and  thieves  ? Have 
not  a few  unprincipled  speculators  some- 
times inflicted  wider  wrongs  and  suf- 
ferings than  all  the  tenants  of  a state 
prison  ? Thus  property  is  in  more  dan- 
ger from  those  who  are  aspiring  after 
wealth  than  from  those  who  live  by  the 
sweat  of  their  brow.  I do  not  believe, 
however,  that  the  institution  is  in  serious 


SELF-CULTURE. 


29 


danger  from  either.  All  the  advances 
of  society  in  industry,  useful  arts,  com- 
merce, knowledge,  jurisprudence,  frater- 
nal union,  and  practical  Christianity, 
are  so  many  hedges  around  honestly 
acquired  wealth,  so  many  barriers  against 
revolutionary  violence  and  rapacity.  Let 
us  not  torture  ourselves  with  idle  alarms, 
and,  still  more,  let  us  not  inflame  our- 
selves against  one  another  by  mutual 
calumnies.  Let  not  class  array  itself 
against  class,  where  all  have  a common 
interest.  One  way  of  provoking  men  to 
crime  is  to  suspect  them  of  criminal 
designs.  We  do  not  secure  our  prop- 
erty against  the  poor  by  accusing  them 
of  schemes  of  universal  robbery ; nor 
render  the  rich  better  friends  of  the 
community  by  fixing  on  them  the  brand 
of  hostility  to  the  people.  Of  all  par- 
ties, those  founded  on  different  social 
conditions  are  the  most  pernicious  ; and 
in  no  country  on  earth  are  they  so 
groundless  as  in  our  own. 

Among  the  best  people,  especially 
among  the  more  religious,  there  are 
some  who,  through  disgust  with  the 
violence  and  frauds  of  parties,  with- 
draw themselves  from  all  political  ac- 
tion. Such,  I conceive,  do  wrong. 
God  has  placed  them  in  the  relations, 
and  imposed  on  them  the  duties,  of  cit- 
izens ; and  they  are  no  more  authorized 
to  shrink  from  these  duties  than  from 
those  of  sons,  husbands,  or  fathers. 
They  owe  a great  debt  to  their  country, 
and  must  discharge  it  by  giving  support 
to  what  they  deem  the  best  men  and 
the  best  measures.  Nor  let  them  say 
that  they  can  do  nothing.  Every  good 
man,  if  faithful  to  his  convictions,  ben- 
efits his  country.  All  parties  are  kept 
in  check  by  the  spirit  of  the  better  por- 
tion of  people  whom  they  contain. 
Leaders  are  always  compelled  to  ask 
what  their  party  will  bear,  and  to  mod- 
ify their  measures,  so  as  not  to  shock 
the  men  of  principle  within  their  ranks. 
A good  man,  not  tamely  subservient  to 
the  body  with  which  he  acts,  but  judg- 
ing it  impartially,  criticising  it  freely, 
bearing  testimony  against  its  evils,  and 
withholding  his  support  from  wrong, 
does  good  to  those  around  him,  and  is 
cultivating  generously  his  own  mind. 

I respectfully  counsel  those  whom  I 
address  to  take  part  in  the  politics  of 
their  country.  These  are  the  true  dis- 
cipline of  a people,  and  do  much  for 


their  education.  I counsel  you  to  labor 
for  a clear  understanding  of  the  sub- 
jects which  agitate  the  community,  to 
make  them  your  study,  instead  of  wast- 
ing your  leisure  in  vague,  passionate 
talk  about  them.  The  time  thrown 
away  by  the  mass  of  the  people  on  the 
rumors  of  the  day  might,  if  better  spent, 
give  them  a good  acquaintance  with 
the  constitution,  laws,  history,  and  in- 
terests of  their  country,  and  thus  estab- 
lish them  in  those  great  principles  by 
which  particular  measures  are  to  be 
determined.  In  proportion  as  the  peo- 
ple thus  improve  themselves,  they  will 
cease  to  be  the  tools  of  designing  pol- 
iticians. Their  intelligence,  not  their 
passions  and  jealousies,  will  be  ad- 
dressed by  those  who  seek  their  votes. 
They  will  exert,  not  a nominal,  but  a 
real  influence  on  the  government  and 
the  destinies  of  the  country,  and  at 
the  same  time  will  forward  their  own 
growth  in  truth  and  virtue. 

I ought  not  to  quit  this  subject  of 
politics,  considered  as  a means  of  self- 
culture, without  speaking  of  newspa- 
pers ; because  these  form  the  chief 
reading  of  the  bulk  of  the  people. 
They  are  the  literature  of  multitudes. 
Unhappily,  their  importance  is  not  un- 
derstood ; their  bearing  on  the  intel- 
lectual and  moral  cultivation  of  the 
community  little  thought  of.  A news- 
paper ought  to  be  conducted  by  one  of 
our  most  gifted  men,  and  its  income 
should  be  such  as  to  enable  him  to  se- 
cure the  contributions  of  men  as  gifted 
as  himself.  But  we  must  take  news- 
papers as  they  are  ; and  a man,  anxious 
for  self-culture,  may  turn  them  to  ac- 
count, if  he  will  select  the  best  within 
his  reach.  He  should  exclude  from  his 
house  such  as  are  venomous  or  scurril- 
ous, as  he  would  a pestilence.  He  should 
be  swayed  in  his  choice,  not  merely  by 
the  ability  with  which  a paper  is  con- 
ducted, but  still  more  by  its  spirit,  by  its 
justice,  fairness,  and  steady  adherence 
to  great  principles.  Especially,  if  he 
would  know  the  truth,  let  him  hear  both 
sides.  Let  him  read  the  defence  as  well 
as  the  attack.  Let  him  not  give  his  ear 
to  one  party  exclusively.  We  condemn 
ourselves,  when  we  listen  to  reproaches 
thrown  on  an  individual  and  turn  away 
from  his  exculpation ; and  is  it  just 
to  read  continual,  unsparing  invective 
against  large  masses  of  men,  and  refuse 


30 


SELF-CULTURE. 


them  the  opportunity  of  justifying  them- 
selves ? 

A new  class  of  daily  papers  has 
sprung  up  in  our  country,  sometimes 
called  cent  papers,  and  designed  for 
circulation  among  those  who  cannot 
afford  costlier  publications.  My  inter- 
est in  the  working  class  induced  me 
some  time  ago  to  take  one  of  these, 
and  I was  gratified  to  find  it  not  want- 
ing in  useful  matter.  Two  things,  how- 
ever, gave  me  pain.  The  advertising 
columns  were  devoted  very  much  to 
patent  medicines  ; and  when  I consid- 
ered that  a laboring  man’s  whole  for- 
tune is  his  health,  I could  not  but  lament 
that  so  much  was  done  to  seduce  him 
to  the  use  of  articles  more  fitted,  I fear, 
to  undermine  than  to  restore  his  consti- 
tution. 1 was  also  shocked  by  accounts 
of  trials  in  the  police  court.  These 
were  written  in  a style  adapted  to  the 
most  uncultivated  minds,  and  intended 
to  turn  into  matters  of  sport  the  most 
painful  and  humiliating  events  of  life. 
Were  the  newspapers  of  the  rich  to 
attempt  to  extract  amusement  from  the 
vices  and  miseries  of  the  poor,  a cry 
would  be  raised  against  them,  and  very 
justly.  But  is  it  not  something  worse, 
that  the  poorer  classes  themselves  should 
seek  occasions  of  laughter  and  merri- 
ment in  the  degradation,  the  crimes,  the 
woes,  the  punishments  of  their  brethren, 
of  those  who  are  doomed  to  bear  like 
themselves  the  heaviest  burdens  of  life, 
and  who  have  sunk  under  the  tempta- 
tions of  poverty  ? Better  go  to  the 
hospital,  and  laugh  over  the  wounds 
and  wri things  of  the  sick  or  the  ravings 
of  the  insane,  than  amuse  ourselves 
with  brutal  excesses  and  infernal  pas- 
sions, which  not  only  expose  the  crim- 
inal to  the  crushing  penalties  of  human 
laws,  but  incur  the  displeasure  of  Heav- 
en, and,  if  not  repented  of,  will  be  fol- 
lowed by  the  fearful  retribution  of  the 
life  to  come. 

One  important  topic  remains.  That 
great  means  of  self-improvement,  Chris- 
tianity, is  yet  untouched,  and  its  great- 
ness forbids  me  now  to  approach  it.  I 
will  only  say,  that  if  you  study  Chris- 
tianity in  its  original  records,  and  not 
in  human  creeds  ; if  you  consider  its 
clear  revelations  of  God,  its  life-giv- 
ing promises  of  pardon  and  spiritual 
strength,  its  correspondence  to  man’s  rea- 
son, conscience,  and  best  affections,  and 


its  adaptation  to  his  wants,  sorrows,  anx- 
ieties, and  fears ; if  you  consider  the 
strength  of  its  proofs,  the  purity  of  its 
precepts,  the  divine  greatness  of  the 
character  of  its  author,  and  the  immor- 
tality which  it  opens  before  us,  you  will 
feel  yourselves  bound  to  welcome  it  joy- 
fully, gratefully,  as  affording  aids  and 
incitements  to  self-culture  which  would 
vainly  be  sought  in  all  other  means. 

I have  thus  presented  a few  of  the 
means  of  self-culture.  The  topics  now 
discussed  will,  I hope,  suggest  others 
to  those  who  have  honored  me  with 
their  attention,  and  create  an  interest 
which  will  extend  beyond  the  present 
hour.  I owe  it,  however,  to  truth  to 
make  one  remark.  I wish  to  raise  no 
unreasonable  hopes.  I must  say,  then, 
that  the  means  now  recommended  to 
you,  though  they  will  richly  reward 
every  man  of  every  age  who  will  faith- 
fully use  them,  will  yet  not  produce 
their  full  and  happiest  effect,  except  in 
cases  where  early  education  has  pre- 
pared the  mind  for  future  improvement. 
They  whose  childhood  has  been  neg- 
lected, though  they  may  make  progress 
in  future  life,  can  hardly  repair  the  loss 
of  their  first  years  ; and  I say  this,  that 
we  may  all  be  excited  to  save  our  chil- 
dren from  this  loss,  that  we  may  pre- 
pare them,  to  the  extent  of  our  power, 
for  an  effectual  use  of  all  the  means  of 
self-culture  which  adult  age  may  bring 
with  it.  With  these  views,  I ask  you 
to  look  with  favor  on  the  recent  exer- 
tions of  our  legislature  and  of  private 
citizens  in  behalf  of  our  public  schools, 
the  chief  hope  of  our  country.  The 
legislature  has  of  late  appointed  a board 
of  education,  with  a secretary,  who  is 
to  devote  his  whole  time  to  the  improve- 
ment of  public  schools.  An  individual 
more  fitted  to  this  responsible  office 
than  the  gentleman  who  now  fills  it  * 
cannot,  I believe,  be  found  in  our  com- 
munity ; and  if  his  labors  shall  be 
crowned  with  success,  he  will  earn  a 
title  to  the  gratitude  of  the  good  peo- 
ple of  this  State  unsurpassed  by  that 
of  any  other  living  citizen.  Let  me 
also  recall  to  your  minds  a munificent 
individual,  f who,  by  a generous  dona- 
tion, has  encouraged  the  legislature  to 
resolve  on  the  establishment  of  one  or 
more  institutions  called  Normal  Schools, 

* Horace  Mann,  Esq. 

t Edmund  Dwight,  Esq. 


SELF-CULTURE. 


31 


the  object  of  which  is  to  prepare  ac- 
complished teachers  of  youth,  — a work 
on  which  the  progress  of  education  de- 
pends more  than  on  any  other  measure. 
The  efficient  friends  of  education  are 
the  true  benefactors  of  their  country, 
and  their  names  deserve  to  be  handed 
down  to  that  posterity  for  whose  highest 
wants  they  are  generously  providing. 

There  is  another  mode  of  advancing 
education  in  our  whole  country,  to  which 
I ask  your  particular  attention.  You  are 
aware  of  the  vast  extent  and  value  of 
the  public  lands  of  the  Union.  By  an- 
nual sales  of  these,  large  amounts  of 
money  are  brought  into  the  national 
treasury,  which  are  applied  to  the  cur- 
rent expenses  of  the  government.  For 
this  application  there  is  no  need.  In 
truth,  the  country  has  received  detri- 
ment from  the  excess  of  its  revenues. 
Now,  I ask,  why  shall  not  the  public 
lands  be  consecrated  (in  whole  or  in 
part,  as  the  case  may  require)  to  the 
education  of  the  people  ? This  meas- 
ure would  secure  at  once  what  the 
country  most  needs  ; that  is,  able,  ac- 
complished, quickening  teachers  of  the 
whole  rising  generation.  The  present 
poor  remuneration  of  instructors  is  a 
dark  omen,  and  the  only*  real  obstacle 
which  the  cause  of  education  has  to 
contend  with.  We  need  for  our  schools 
gifted  men  and  women,  worthy,  by  their 
intelligence  and  their  moral  power,  to 
be  intrusted  with  a nation’s  youth  ; and, 
to  gain  these,  we  must  pay  them  liber- 
ally, as  well  as  afford  other  proofs  of 
the  consideration  in  which  we  hold 
them.  In  the  present  state  of  the 
country,  when  so  many  paths  of  wealth 
and  promotion  are  opened,  superior  men 
cannot  be  won  to  an  office  so  responsi- 
ble and  laborious  as  that  of  teaching, 
without  stronger  inducements  than  are 
now  offered,  except  in  some  of  our  large 
cities.  The  office  of  instructor  ought 
to  rank  and  be  recompensed  as  one  of 
the  most  honorable  in  society  ; and  I 
see  not  how  this  is  to  be  done,  at  least 
in  our  day,  without  appropriating  to  it 
the  public  domain.  This  is  the  people’s 
property,  and  the  only  part  of  their 
property  which  is  likely  to  be  soon  de- 
voted to  the  support  of  a high  order  of 
institutions  for  public  education.  This 
object,  interesting  to  all  classes  of  soci- 
ety, has  peculiar  claims  on  those  whose 
means  of  improvement  are  restricted  by 


| narrow  circumstances.  The  mass  of 
the  people  should  devote  themselves  to 
it  as  one  man,  should  toil  for  it  with  one 
soul.  Mechanics,  farmers,  laborers  ! let 
the  country  echo  with  your  united  cry, 
“ The  Public  Lands  for  Education.’’ 
Send  to  the  public  councils  men  who 
will  plead  this  cause  with  power.  No 
party  triumphs,  no  trades-unions,  no 
associations,  can  so  contribute  to  ele- 
vate you  as  the  measure  now  proposed. 
Nothing  but  a higher  education  can 
raise  you  in  influence  and  true  dignity. 
The  resources  of  the  public  domain, 
wisely  applied  for  successive  genera- 
tions to  the  culture  of  society  and  of 
the  individual,  would  create  a new  peo- 
ple, would  awaken  through  this  commu- 
nity intellectual  and  moral  energies, 
such  as  the  records  of  no  country  dis- 
play, and  as  would  command  the  re- 
spect and  emulation  of  the  civilized 
world.  In  this  grand  object,  the  work- 
ing men  of  all  parties,  and  in  all  di- 
visions of  the  land,  should  join  with 
an  enthusiasm  not  to  be  withstood. 
They  should  separate  it  from  all  nar- 
row and  local  strifes.  They  should  not 
suffer  it  to  be  mixed  up  with  the 
schemes  of  politicians.  In  it,  they  and 
their  children  have  an  infinite  stake. 
May  they  be  true  to  themselves,  to  pos- 
terity, to  their  country,  to  freedom,  to 
the  cause  of  mankind  ! 

III.  I am  aware  that  the  whole  doc- 
trine of  this  discourse  will  meet  with  op- 
position. There  are  not  a few  who  will 
say  to  me,  “ What  you  tell  us  sounds 
well ; but  it  is  impracticable.  Men  who 
dream  in  their  closets  spin  beautiful 
theories  ; but  actual  life  scatters  them, 
as  the  wind  snaps  the  cobweb.  You 
would  have  all  men  to  be  cultivated  ; 
but  necessity  wills  that  most  men  shall 
work  ; and  which  of  the  two  is  likely  to 
prevail  ? A weak  sentimentality  may 
shrink  from  the  truth  ; still  it  is  true 
that  most  men  were  made,  not  for  self- 
culture, but  for  toil.” 

I have  put  the  objection  into  strong 
language,  that  we  may  all  look  it  fairly 
in  the  face.  For  one  I deny  its  validity. 
Reason,  as  well  as  sentiment,  rises  up 
against  it.  The  presumption  is  certainly 
very  strong,  that  the  All-wise  Father, 
who  has  given  to  every  human  being 
reason  and  conscience  and  affection,  in- 
tended that  these  should  be  unfolded  ; 
and  it  is  hard  to  believe  that  lie  who, 


32 


SELF-CULTURE. 


by  conferring  this  nature  on  all  men,  has 
made  all  his  children,  has  destined  the 
great  majority  to  wear  out  a life  of 
drudgery  and  unimproving  toil,  for  the 
benefit  of  a few.  God  cannot  have  made 
spiritual  beings  to  be  dwarfed.  In  the 
body  we  see  no  organs  created  to  shrivel 
by  disuse  ; much  less  are  the  powers  of 
the  soul  given  to  be  locked  up  in  per- 
petual lethargy. 

Perhaps  it  will  be  replied,  that  the 
purpose  of  the  Creator  is  to  be  gathered, 
not  from  theory,  but  from  facts ; and 
that  it  is  a plain  fact,  that  the  order  and 
prosperity  of  society,  which  God  must 
be  supposed  to  intend,  require  from  the 
multitude  the  action  of  their  hands,  and 
not  the  improvement  of  their  minds.  I 
reply,  that  a social  order  demanding  the 
sacrifice  of  the  mind  is  very  suspicious, 
that  it  cannot,  indeed,  be  sanctioned  by 
the  Creator.  Were  I,  on  visiting  a 
strange  country,  to  see  the  vast  majority 
of  the  people  maimed,  crippled,  and 
bereft  of  sight,  and  were  I told  that 
social  order  required  this  mutilation,  I 
should  say,  Perish  this  order.  Who 
would  not  think  his  understanding  as 
well  as  best  feelings  insulted,  by  hear- 
ing this  spoken  of  as  the  intention  of 
God  ? Nor  ought  we  to  look  with  less 
aversion  on  a social  system  which  can 
only  be  upheld  by  crippling  and  blinding 
the  minds  of  the  people. 

But  to  come  nearer  to  the  point.  Are 
labor  and  self-culture  irreconcilable  to 
each  other  ? In  the  first  place,  we  have 
seen  that  a man,  in  the  midst  of  labor, 
may  and  ought  to  give  himself  to  the 
most  important  improvements,  that  he 
may  cultivate  his  sense  of  justice,  his 
benevolence,  and  the  desire  of  perfection. 
Toil  is  the  school  for  these  high  princi- 
ples ; and  we  have  here  a strong  pre- 
sumption that,  in  other  respects,  it  does 
not  necessarily  blight  the  soul.  Next, 
we  have  seen  that  the  most  fruitful 
sources  of  truth  and  wisdom  are  not 
books,  precious  as  they  are,  blit  experi- 
ence and  observation  ; and  these  belong 
to  all  conditions.  It  is  another  important 
consideration,  that  almost  all  labor  de- 
mands intellectual  activity,  and  is  best 
carried  on  by  those  who  invigorate  their 
minds  ; so  that  the  two  interests,  toil  and 
self-culture,  are  friends  to  each  other. 
It  is  mind,  after  all,  which  does  the 
work  of  the  world,  so  that  the  more  there 
is  of  mind,  the  more  work  will  be  ac- 


complished. A man,  in  proportion  as 
he  is  intelligent,  makes  a given  force  ac- 
complish a greater  task,  makes  skill  take 
the  place  of  muscles,  and,  with  less  labor, 
gives  a better  product.  Make  men  in- 
telligent, and  they  become  inventive. 
They  find  shorter  processes.  Their 
knowledge  of  nature  helps  them  to  turn 
its  laws  to  account,  to  understand  the 
substances  on  which  they  work,  and  to 
seize  on  useful  hints,  which  experience 
continually  furnishes.  1 1 is  among  work- 
men that  some  of  the  most  useful  ma- 
chines have  been  contrived.  Spread 
education,  and,  as  the  history  of  this 
country  shows,  there  will  be  no  bounds 
to  useful  inventions.  You  think  that  a 
man  without  culture  will  do  all  the  better 
what  you  call  the  drudgery  of  life.  Go, 
then,  to  the  Southern  plantation.  There 
the  slave  is  brought  up  to  be  a mere 
drudge.  He  is  robbed  of  the  rights  of  a 
man,  his  whole  spiritual  nature  is  starved, 
that  he  may  work,  and  do  nothing  but 
work  ; and  in  that  slovenly  agriculture, 
in  that  worn-out  soil,  in  the  rude  state  of 
the  mechanic  arts,  you  may  find  a com- 
ment on  your  doctrine,  that,  by  degrad- 
ing men,  you  make  them  more  productive 
laborers. 

But  it  is  said,  that  any  considerable 
education  lifts  men  above  their  work, 
makes  them  look  with  disgust  on  their 
trades  as  mean  and  low,  makes  drudgery 
intolerable.  I reply,  that  a man  becomes 
interested  in  labor  just  in  proportion  as 
the  mind  works  with  the  hands.  An  en- 
lightened farmer,  who  understands  agri- 
cultural chemistry,  the  laws  of  vegetation, 
the  structure  of  plants,  the  properties  of 
manures,  the  influences  of  climate,  who 
looks  intelligently  on  his  work,  and 
brings  his  knowledge  to  bear  on  exigen- 
cies, is  a much  more  cheerful,  as  well  as 
more  dignified  laborer,  than  the  peasant 
whose  mind  is  akin  to  the  clod  on  which 
he  treads,  and  whose  whole  life  is  the 
same  dull,  unthinking,  unimproving  toil. 
But  this  is  not  all.  Why  is  it,  I ask, 
that  we  call  manual  labor  low,  that  we 
associate  with  it  the  idea  of  meanness, 
and  think  that  an  intelligent  people  must 
scorn  it  ? The  great  reason  is,  that,  in 
most  countries,  so  few  intelligent  people 
have  been  engaged  in  it.  Once  let  cul- 
tivated men  plough,  and  dig,  and  follow 
the  commonest  labors,  and  ploughing, 
digging,  and  trades  will  cease  to  be 
mean.  It  is  the  man  who  determines  the 


SELF-CULTURE . 


33 


dignity  of  the  occupation,  not  the  oc- 
cupation which  measures  the  dignity  of 
the  man.  Physicians  and  surgeons  per- 
form operations  less  cleanly  than  fall  to 
the  lot  of  most  mechanics.  I have  seen 
a distinguished  chemist  covered  with 
dust  like  a laborer.  Still  these  men  were 
not  degraded.  Their  intelligence  gave 
dignity  to  their  work,  and  so  our  labor- 
ers, once  educated,  will  give  dignity  to 
their  toils.  — Let  me  add,  that  I see  little 
difference  in  point  of  dignity  between  the 
various  vocations  of  men.  When  I see 
a clerk  spending  his  days  in  adding 
figures,  perhaps  merely  copying,  or  a 
teller  of  a bank  counting  money,  or  a 
merchant  selling  shoes  and  hides,  I can- 
not see  in  these  occupations  greater  re- 
spectableness than  in  making  leather, 
shoes,  or  furniture.  I do  not  see  in  them 
greater  intellectual  activity  than  in  sev- 
eral trades.  A man  in  the  fields  seems  to 
have  more  chances  of  improvement  in 
his  work  than  a man  behind  the  counter, 
or  a man  driving  the  quill.  It  is  the  sign 
of  a narrow  mind  to  imagine,  as  many 
seem  to  do,  that  there  is  a repugnance 
between  the  plain,  coarse  exterior  of  a 
laborer,  and  mental  culture,  especially 
the  more  refining  culture.  The  laborer, 
under  his  dust  and  sweat,  carries  the 
grand  elements  of  humanity,  and  he  may 
put  forth  its  highest  powers.  I doubt 
not  there  is  as  genuine  enthusiasm  in  the 
contemplation  of  nature,  and  in  the  pe- 
rusal of  works  of  genius,  under  a home- 
spun  garb  as  under  finery.  We  have 
heard  of  a distinguished  author  who 
never  wrote  so  well  as  when  he  was  full 
dressed  for  company.  But  profound 
thought  and  poetical  inspiration  have 
most  generally  visited  men  when,  from 
narrow  circumstances  or  negligent  habits, 
the  rent  coat  and  shaggy  face  have  made 
them  quite  unfit  for  polished  saloons.  A 
man  may  see  truth,  and  may  be  thrilled 
with  beauty,  in  one  costume  or  dwelling 
as  well  as  another ; and  he  should  re- 
spect himself  the  more  for  the  hardships 
under  which  his  intellectual  force  has 
been  developed. 

But  it  will  be  asked,  how  can  the  la- 
boring classes  find  time  for  self-culture  ? 

I answer,  as  I have  already  intimated, 
that  an  earnest  purpose  finds  time  or 
makes  time.  It  seizes  on ‘spare  mo- 
ments, and  turns  large  fragments  of 
leisure  to  golden  account.  A man  who 
follows  his  calling  with  industry  and 


spirit,  and  uses  his  earnings  econom- 
ically, will  always  have  some  portion  of 
the  day  at  command  ; and  it  is  astonish- 
ing how  fruitful  of  improvement  a short 
season  becomes,  when  eagerly  seized 
and  faithfully  used.  It  has  often  been 
observed,  that  they  who  have  most  time 
at  their  disposal  profit  by  it  least.  A 
single  hour  in  the  day,  steadily  given  to 
the  study  of  an  interesting  subject,  brings 
unexpected  accumulations  of  knowl- 
edge. The  improvements  made  by  well- 
disposed  pupils  in  many  of  our  country 
schools,  which  are  open  but  three  months 
in  the  year,  and  in  our  Sunday  schools, 
which  are  kept  but  one  or  two  hours  in 
the  week,  show  what  can  be  brought  to 
pass  by  slender  means.  The  affections, 
it  is  said,  sometimes  crowd  years  into 
moments,  and  the  intellect  has  something 
of  the  same  power.  Volumes  have  not 
only  been  read,  but  written,  in  flying 
journeys.  I have  known  a man  of  vig- 
orous intellect,  who  had  enjoyed  few 
advantages  of  early  education,  and  whose 
mind  was  almost  engrossed  by  the  details 
of  an  extensive  business,  but  who  com- 
posed a book  of  much  original  thought, 
in  steamboats  and  on  horseback,  while 
visiting  distant  customers.  The  suc- 
cession of  the  seasons  gives  to  many  of 
the  working  class  opportunities  for  intel- 
lectual improvement.  The  winter  brings 
leisure  to  the  husbandman,  and  winter 
evenings  to  many  laborers  in  the  city. 
Above  all,  in  Christian  countries,  the 
seventh  day  is  released  from  toil.  The 
seventh  part  of  the  year,  no  small  por- 
tion of  existence,  may  be  given  by 
almost  every  one  to  intellectual  and 
moral  culture.  Why  is  it  that  Sunday 
is  not  made  a more  effectual  means  of 
improvement  ? U ndoubtedly  the  seventh 
day  is  to  have  a religious  character ; 
but  religion  connects  itself  with  all  the 
great  subjects  of  human  thought,  and 
leads  to  and  aids  the  study  of  all.  God 
is  in  nature.  God  is  in  history.  In- 
struction in  the  works  of  the  Creator,  so 
as  to  reveal  his  perfection  in  their  har- 
mony, beneficence,  and  grandeur ; in- 
struction in  the  histories  of  the  church 
and  the  world,  so  as  to  show  in  all 
events  his  moral  government,  and  to 
bring  out  the  great  moral  lessons  in 
which  human  life  abounds  ; instruction 
in  the  lives  of  philanthropists,  of  saints, 
of  men  eminent  for  piety  and  virtue, — 
all  these  branches  of  teaching  enter  into 


34 


SELF-CULTURE. 


religion,  and  are  appropriate  to  Sunday ; 
and,  through  these,  a vast  amount  of 
knowledge  may  be  given  to  the  people. 
Sunday  ought  not  to  remain  the  dull 
and  fruitless  season  that  it  now  is  to 
multitudes.  It  may  be  clothed  with  a 
new  interest  and  a new  sanctity.  It 
may  give  a new  impulse  to  the  nation's 
soul.  — I have  thus  shown  that  time  may 
be  found  for  improvement ; and  the  fact 
is,  that  among  our  most  improved  peo- 
ple a considerable  part  consists  of  per- 
sons who  pass  the  greatest  portion  of 
every  day  at  the  desk,  in  the  counting- 
room,  or  in  some  other  sphere,  chained 
to  tasks  which  have  very  little  tendency 
to  expand  the  mind.  In  the  progress  of 
society,  with  the  increase  of  machinery, 
and  with  other  aids  which  intelligence 
and  philanthropy  will  multiply,  we  may 
expect  that  more  and  more  time  will  be 
redeemed  from  manual  labor  for  intel- 
lectual and  social  occupations. 

But  some  will  say,  “ Be  it  granted  that 
the  working  classes  may  find  some  lei- 
sure ; should  they  not  be  allowed  to 
spend  it  in  relaxation  ? Is  it  not  cruel 
to  summon  them  from  toils  of  the  hand 
to  toils  of  the  mind  ? They  have  earned 
pleasure  by  the  day’s  toil,  and  ought  to 
partake  it.”  Yes,  let  them  have  pleas- 
ure. Far  be  it  from  me  to  dry  up  the 
fountains,  to  blight  the  spots  of  verdure, 
where  they  refresh  themselves  after  life’s 
labors.  But  I maintain  that  self-culture 
multiplies  and  increases  their  pleasures, 
that  it  creates  new  capacities  of  enjoy- 
ment, that  it  saves  their  leisure  from 
being,  what  it  too  often  is,  dull  and 
wearisome,  that  it  saves  them  from  rush- 
ing for  excitement  to  indulgences  de- 
structive to  body  and  soul.  It  is  one  of 
the  great  benefits  of  self-improvement, 
that  it  raises  a people  above  the  grati- 
fications of  the  brute,  and  gives  them 
pleasures  worthy  of  men.  In  conse- 
quence of  the  present  intellectual  cult- 
ure of  our  country,  imperfect  as  it  is,  a 
vast  amount  of  enjoyment  is  communi- 
cated to  men,  women,  and  children,  of 
all  conditions,  by  books,  — an  enjoy- 
ment unknown  to  ruder  times.  At  this 
moment,  a number  of  gifted  writers  are 
employed  in  multiplying  entertaining 
works.  Walter  Scott,  a name  conspic- 
uous among  the  brightest  of  his  day, 
poured  out  his  inexhaustible  mind  in 
fictions,  at  once  so  sportive  and  thrilling, 
that  they  have  taken  their  place  among 


the  delights  of  all  civilized  nations. 
How  many  millions  have  been  chained 
to  his  pages  ! How  many  melancholy 
spirits  has  he  steeped  in  forgetfulness  of 
their  cares  and  sorrows  ! What  multi- 
tudes, wearied  by  their  day’s  work,  have 
owed  some  bright  evening  hours  and 
balmier  sleep  to  his  magical  creations  ? 
And  not  only  do  fictions  give  pleasure. 
In  proportion  as  the  mind  is  cultivated, 
it  takes  delight  in  history  and  biography, 
in  descriptions  of  nature,  in  travels,  in 
poetry,  and  even  graver  works.  Is  the 
laborer  then  defrauded  of  pleasure  by 
improvement  ? There  is  another  class 
of  gratifications  to  which  self- culture 
introduces  the  mass  of  the  people.  I 
refer  to  lectures,  discussions,  meetings 
of  associations  for  benevolent  and  liter- 
ary purposes,  and  to  other  like  methods 
of  passing  the  evening,  which  every  year 
is  multiplying  among  us.  A popular 
address  from  an  enlightened  man,  who 
has  the  tact  to  reach  the  minds  of  the 
people,  is  a high  gratification,  as  well  as 
a source  of  knowledge.  The  profound 
silence  in  our  public  halls,  where  these 
lectures  are  delivered  to  crowds,  shows 
that  cultivation  is  no  foe  to  enjoyment. 
— I have  a strong  hope,  that  by  the  prog- 
ress of  intelligence,  taste,  and  morals 
among  all  portions  of  society,  a class  of 
public  amusements  will  grow  up  among 
us,  bearing  some  resemblance  to  the 
theatre,  but  purified  from  the  gross  evils 
which  degrade  our  present  stage,  and 
which,  I trust,  will  seal  its  ruin.  Dra- 
matic performances  and  recitations  are 
means  of  bringing  the  mass  of  the  peo- 
ple into  a quicker  sympathy  with  a 
writer  of  genius,  to  a profounder  com- 
prehension of  his  grand,  beautiful,  touch- 
ing conceptions,  than  can  be  effected  by 
the  reading  of  the  closet.  No  commen- 
tary throws  such  a light  on  a great  poem 
or  any  impassioned  work  of  literature, 
as  the  voice  of  a reader  or  speaker  who 
brings  to  the  task  a deep  feeling  of  his 
author  and  rich  and  various  powers  of 
expression.  A crowd,  electrified  by  a 
sublime  thought,  or  softened  into  a 
humanizing  sorrow,  under  such  a voice, 
partake  a pleasure  at  once  exquisite  and 
refined ; and  I cannot  but  believe  that 
this  and  other  amusements,  at  which  the 
delicacy  of  woman  and  the  purity  of  the 
Christian  can  take  no  offence,  are  to 
grow  up  under  a higher  social  culture.  — 
Let  me  only  add,  that,  in  proportion  as 


SELF-CULTURE . 


35 


culture  spreads  among  a people,  the 
cheapest  and  commonest  of  all  pleas- 
ures, conversation,  increases  in  delight. 
This,  after  all,  is  the  great  amusement 
of  life,  cheering  us  round  our  hearths, 
often  cheering  our  work,  stirring  our 
hearts  gently,  acting  on  us  like  the 
balmy  air  or  the  bright  light  of  heaven, 
so  silently  and  continually,  that  we 
hardly  think  of  its  influence.  This 
source  of  happiness  is  too  often  lost  to 
men  of  all  classes  for  want  of  knowl- 
edge, mental  activity,  and  refinement  of 
feeling ; and  do  we  defraud  the  laborer 
of  his  pleasure  by  recommending  to  him 
improvements  which  will  place  the  daily, 
hourly  blessings  of  conversation  within 
his  reach  ? 

I have  thus  considered  some  of  the 
common  objections  which  start  up  when 
the  culture  of  the  mass  of  men  is  in- 
sisted on  as  the  great  end  of  society. 
For  myself,  these  objections  seem  wor- 
thy little  notice.  The  doctrine  is  too 
shocking  to  need  refutation,  that  the 
great  majority  of  human  beings,  en- 
dowed as  they  are  with  rational  and 
immortal  powers,  are  placed  on  earth 
simply  to  toil  for  their  own  animal  sub- 
sistence, and  to  minister  to  the  luxury 
and  elevation  of  the  few.  It  is  mon- 
strous, it  approaches  impiety,  to  sup- 
pose that  God  has  placed  insuperable 
barriers  to  the  expansion  of  the  free, 
illimitable  soul.  True,  there  are  ob- 
structions in  the  way  of  improvement. 
But  in  this  country,  the  chief  obstruc- 
tions lie,  not  in  our  lot,  but  in  ourselves  ; 
not  in  outward  hardships,  but  in  our 
worldly  and  sensual  propensities  ; and 
one  proof  of  this  is,  that  a true  self- 
culture is  as  little  thought  of  on  ex- 
change as  in  the  workshop,  as  little 
among  the  prosperous  as  among  those 
of  narrower  conditions.  The  path  to 
perfection  is  difficult  to  men  in  every 
lot ; there  is  no  royal  road  for  rich  or 
poor.  But  difficulties*  are  meant  to 
rouse,  not  discourage.  The  human 
spirit  is  to  grow  strong  by  conflict. 
And  how  much  has  it  already  over- 
come ! Under  what  burdens  of  oppres- 
sion has  it  made  its  way  for  ages ! 
What  mountains  of  difficulty  has  it 
cleared  ! And  with  all  this  experience, 
shall  we  say  that  the  progress  of  the 
mass  of  men  is  to  be  despaired  of ; that 
the  chains  of  bodily  necessity  are  too 
strong  and  ponderous  to  be  broken  by 


the  mind ; that  servile,  unimproving 
drudgery  is  the  unalterable  condition 
of  the  multitude  of  the  human  race  ? 

I conclude  with  recalling  to  you  the 
happiest  feature  of  our  age,  and  that  is, 
the  progress  of  the  mass  of  the  people 
in  intelligence,  self-respect,  and  all  the 
comforts  of  life.  What  a contrast  does 
the  present  form  with  past  times  ! Not 
many  ages  ago,  the  nation  was  the 
property  of  one  man,  and  all  its  inter- 
ests were  staked  in  perpetual  games  of 
war,  for  no  end  but  to  build  up  his  fam- 
ily, or  to  bring  new  territories  under 
his  yoke.  Society  was  divided  into  two 
classes,  the  high-born  and  the  vulgar, 
separated  from  one  another  by  a great 
gulf,  as  impassable  as  that  between  the 
saved  and  the  lost.  The  people  had  no 
significance  as  individuals,  but  formed 
a mass,  a machine,  to  be  wielded  at 
pleasure  by  their  lords.  In  war,  which 
was  the  great  sport  of  the  times,  those 
brave  knights,  of  whose  prowess  we 
hear,  cased  themselves  and  their  horses 
in  armor,  so  as  to  be  almost  invulner- 
able, whilst  the  common  people  on  foot 
were  left,  without  protection,  to  be  hewn 
in  pieces  or  trampled  down  by  their 
betters.  Who  that  compares  the  con- 
dition of  Europe  a few  years  ago  with 
the  present  state  of  the  world,  but  must 
bless  God  for  the  change  ? The  grand 
distinction  of  modern  times  is,  the 
emerging  of  the  people  from  brutal 
degradation,  the  gradual  recognition  of 
their  rights,  the  gradual  diffusion  among 
them  of  the  means  of  improvement  and 
happiness,  the  creation  of  a new  power 
in  the  state,  — the  power  of  the  people. 
And  it  is  worthy  remark,  that  this  rev- 
olution is  due  in  a great  degree  to  re- 
ligion, which,  in  the  hands  of  the  crafty 
and  aspiring,  had  bowed  the  multitude 
to  the  dust,  but  which,  in  the  fulness  of 
time,  began  to  fulfil  its  mission  of  free- 
dom. It  was  religion  which,  by  teach- 
ing men  their  near  relation  to  God, 
awakened  in  them  the  consciousness  of 
their  importance  as  individuals.  It  was 
the  struggle  for  religious  rights  which 
opened  men’s  eyes  to  all  their  rights. 
It  was  resistance  to  religious  usurpation 
which  led  men  to  withstand  political 
oppression.  It  was  religious  discussion 
which  roused  the  minds  of  all  classes 
to  free  and  vigorous  thought.  It  was 
religion  which  armed  the  martyr  and 
patriot  in  England  against  arbitrary 


ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF 


36 

power,  which  braced  the  spirits  of  our 
fathers  against  the  perils  of  the  ocean 
and  wilderness,  and  sent  them  to  found 
here  the  freest  and  most  equal  state  on 
earth. 

Let  us  thank  God  for  what  has  been 
gained.  But  let  us  not  think  every 
thing  gained.  Let  the  people  feel  that 
they  have  only  started  in  the  race.  How 
much  remains  to  be  done  ! What  a 
vast  amount  of  ignorance,  intemperance, 
coarseness,  sensuality,  may  still  be  found 
in  our  community  ! What  a vast  amount 
of  mind  is  palsied  and  lost ! When  we 
think  that  every  house  might  be  cheered 
by  intelligence,  disinterestedness,  and 
refinement,  and  then  remember  in  how 
many  houses  the  higher  powers  and 
affections  of  human  nature  are  buried 
as  in  tombs,  what  a darkness  gathers 
over  society  ! And  how  few  of  us  are 
moved  by  this  moral  desolation  ! How 
few  understand,  that  to  raise  the  de- 
pressed, by  a wise  culture,  to  the  dig- 
nity of  men,  is  the  highest  end  of  the 
social  state  ? Shame  on  us,  that  the 
worth  of  a fellow-creature  is  so  little  felt. 

I would  that  I could  speak  with  an 
awakening  voice  to  the  people  of  their 
wants,  their  privileges,  their  responsi- 


bilities. I would  say  to  them,  You  can- 
not, without  guilt  and  disgrace,  stop 
where  you  are.  The  past  and  the  pres- 
ent call  on  you  to  advance.  Let  what 
you  have  gained  be  an  impulse  to  some- 
thing higher.  Your  nature  is  too  great 
to  be  crushed.  You  were  not  created 
what  you  are,  merely  to  toil,  eat,  drink, 
and  sleep,  like  the  inferior  animals.  If 
you  will,  you  can  rise.  No  power  in 
society,  no  hardship  in  your  condition 
can  depress  you,  keep  you  down,  in 
knowledge,  power,  virtue,  influence,  but 
by  your  own  consent.  Do  not  be  lulled 
to  sleep  by  the  flatteries  which  you  hear, 
as  if  your  participation  in  the  national 
sovereignty  made  you  equal  to  the  no- 
blest of  your  race.  You  have  many 
and  great  deficiencies  to  be  remedied  ; 
and  the  remedy  lies,  not  in  the  ballot- 
box,  not  in  the  exercise  of  your  political 
powers,  but  in  the  faithful  education  of 
yourselves  and  your  children.  These 
truths  you  have  often  heard  and  slept 
over.  Awake ! Resolve  earnestly  on 
Self-culture.  Make  yourselves  worthy 
of  your  free  institutions,  and  strengthen 
and  perpetuate  them  by  your  intelligence 
and  your  virtues. 


ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF  THE  LABORING 

CLASSES. 


Introductory  Remarks. 

The  following  lectures  were  prepared 
for  two  meetings  of  mechanics,  one  of 
them  consisting  of  apprentices,  the  other 
of  adults.  For  want  of  strength  they 
were  delivered  only  to  the  former, 
though,  in  preparing  them,  I had  kept 
the  latter  also  in  view.  “ The  Mechanic 
Apprentices’  Library  Association,”  at 
whose  request  the  lectures  are  pub- 
lished, is  an  institution  of  much  prom- 
ise, not  only  furnishing  a considerable 
means  of  intellectual  improvement,  but 
increasing  the  self-respect  and  conduc- 
ing to  the  moral  safety  of  the  members. 

When  I entered  on  this  task,  I 
thought  of  preparing  only  one  lecture 
of  the  usual  length.  But  I soon  found 
that  I could  not  do  justice  to  my  views 


in  so  narrow  a compass.  I therefore 
determined  to  write  at  large,  and  to 
communicate  through  the  press  the  re- 
sults of  my  labor,  if  they  should  be 
thought  worthy  of  publication.  With 
this  purpose,  I introduced  topics  which 
I did  not  deliver,  and  which  I thought 
might  be  usefully  presented  to  some 
who  might  not  hear  me.  I make  this 
statement  to  prevent  the  objection,  that 
the  lectures  are  not,  in  all  things, 
adapted  to  those  to  whom  they  were 
delivered.  Whilst  written  chiefly  for  a 
class,  they  were  also  intended  for  the 
community. 

As  the  same  general  subject  is  dis- 
cussed in  these  lectures  as  in  the 
“ Lecture  on  Self-Culture,”  published 
last  winter,  there  will,  of  course,  be 


THE  LABORING  CLASSES. 


37 


found  in  them  that  coincidence  of 
thoughts  which  always  takes  place  in 
the  writings  of  a man  who  has  the  in- 
culcation of  certain  great  principles 
much  at  heart.  Still,  the  point  of  view, 
the  mode  of  discussion,  and  the  choice 
of  topics,  differ  much  in  the  two  pro- 
ductions ; so  that  my  state  of  mind 
would  be  given  very  imperfectly  were 
the  present  lectures  withheld. 

This  is,  probably,  the  last  opportu- 
nity I shall  have  for  communicating 
with  the  laboring  classes  through  the 
press.  I may,  therefore,  be  allowed  to 
express  my  earnest  wishes  for  their 
happiness,  and  my  strong  hope  that 
they  will  justify  the  confidence  of  their 
friends,  and  will  prove  by  their  example 
the  possibility  of  joining  with  labor  all 
the  improvements  which  do  honor  to 
our  nature.  — W.  E.  C.  Boston , Feb. 
i ilk,  1840. 


Lecture  I. 

It  is  with  no  common  pleasure  that 
I take  part  in  the  present  course  of  lect- 
ures. Such  a course  is  a sign  of  the 
times,  and  very  interesting  to  all  who 
are  interested  in  the  progress  of  their 
fellow-creatures.  We  hear  much  of  the 
improvements  of  our  age.  The  won- 
ders achieved  by  machinery  are  the 
common  talk  of  every  circle  ; but  I 
confess  that,  to  me,  this  gathering  of 
mechanics’  apprentices,  whose  chief 
bond  of  union  is  a library,  and  who 
come  together  weekly  to  refresh  and 
improve  themselves  by  the  best  instruc- 
tion which  the  state  of  society  places 
within  their  reach,  is  more  encouraging 
than  all  the  miracles  of  the  machinist. 
In  this  meeting  I see,  what  I desire 
most  to  see,  that  the  mass  of  the  peo- 
ple are  beginning  to  comprehend  them- 
selves and  their  true  happiness,  that 
they  are  catching  glimpses  of  the  great 
work  and  vocation  of  human  beings, 
and  are  rising  to  their  true  place  in  the 
social  state.  The  present  meeting 
indicates  a far  more  radical,  more  im- 
portant change  in  the  world  than  the 
steam-engine,  or  the  navigation  of  the 
Atlantic  in  a fortnight.  That  members 
of  the  laboring  class,  at  the  close  of 
a day’s  work,  should  assemble  in  such 
a hall  as  this,  to  hear  lectures  on  sci- 
ence, history,  ethics,  and  the  most  stir- 
ring topics  of  the  day,  from  men  whose 


education  is  thought  to  fit  them  for  the 
highest  offices,  is  a proof  of  a social 
revolution  to  which  no  bounds  can  be 
set,  and  from  which  too  much  cannot 
be  hoped.  I see  in  it  a repeal  of  the 
sentence  of  degradation  passed  by  ages 
on  the  mass  of  mankind.  I see  in  it 
the  dawn  of  a new  era,  in  which  it  will 
be  understood  that  the  first  object  of 
society  is  to  give  incitements  and  means 
of  progress  to  all  its  members.  I see 
in  it  the  sign  of  the  approaching  tri- 
umph of  men’s  spiritual  over  their  out- 
ward and  material  interests.  In  the 
hunger  and  thirst  for  knowledge  and 
for  refined  pleasures  which  this  course 
of  lectures  indicates  in  those  who  labor, 
I see  that  the  spirit  of  man  is  not  al- 
ways to  be  weighed  down  by  toils  for 
animal  life  and  by  the  appetite  for  ani- 
mal indulgences.  I do  attach  great  im- 
portance to  this  meeting,  not  for  its 
own  sake  or  its  immediate  benefits,  but 
as  a token  and  pledge  of  a new  impulse 
given  to  society  through  all  its  condi- 
tions. On  this  account,  I take  more 
pleasure  in  speaking  here  than  I should 
feel  in  being  summoned  to  pronounce 
a show-oration  before  all  the  kings  and 
nobles  on  earth.  In  truth,  it  is  time  to 
have  done  with  shows.  The  age  is  too 
stirring,  we  are  pressed  on  by  too  sol- 
emn interests,  to  be  justified  in  making 
speeches  for  self-display  or  mere  amuse- 
ment. He  who  cannot  say  something 
in  sympathy  with,  or  in  aid  of,  the  great 
movements  of  humanity,  might  as  well 
hold  his  peace. 

With  these  feelings  and  convictions, 
I am  naturally,  almost  necessarily,  led 
to  address  you  on  a topic  which  must 
insure  the  attention  of  such  an  audi- 
ence ; namely,  the  elevation  of  that 
portion  of  the  community  who  subsist 
by  the  labor  of  the  hands.  This  work, 
I have  said,  is  going  on.  I may  add, 
that  it  is  advancing  nowhere  so  rapidly 
as  in  this  city.  I do  not  believe  that, 
on  the  face  of  the  earth,  the  spirit  of 
improvement  has  anywhere  seized  so 
strongly  on  those  who  live  by  the  sweat 
of  the  brow  as  among  ourselves.  Here 
it  is  nothing  rare  to  meet  the  union  of 
intellectual  culture  and  self-respect  with 
hard  work.  Here  the  prejudice  against 
labor  as  degrading  has  very  much  given 
way.  This,  then,  is  the  place  where 
the  subject  which  I have  proposed 
should  be  discussed.  We  ought  to 


ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF 


38 

consider  in  what  the  true  elevation  of 
the  laboring  portion  consists,  how  far 
it  is  practicable,  and  how  it  may  be 
helped  onward.  The  subject,  I am 
aware,  is  surrounded  with  much  preju- 
dice and  error.  Great  principles  need 
to  be  brought  out,  and  their  application 
plainly  stated.  There  are  serious  ob- 
jections to  be  met,  fears  to  be  disarmed, 
and  rash  hopes  to  be  crushed.  I do 
not  profess  to  have  mastered  the  topic. 
But  I can  claim  one  merit,  that  of  com- 
ing to  the  discussion  with  a feeling  of 
its  importance,  and  with  a deep  interest 
in  the  class  of  people  whom  it  concerns. 
I trust  that  this  expression  of  interest 
will  not  be  set  down  as  mere  words,  or 
as  meant  to  answer  any  selfish  purpose. 
A politician  who  professes  attachment 
to  the  people  is  suspected  to  love  them 
for  their  votes.  But  a man  who  neither 
seeks  nor  would  accept  any  place  within 
their  gift  may  hope  to  be  listened  to 
as  their  friend.  As  a friend,  I would 
speak  plainly.  I cannot  flatter.  I see 
defects  in  the  laboring  classes.  I think 
that,  as  yet,  the  greater  part  of  them 
have  made  little  progress  ; that  the 
prejudices  and  passions,  the  sensuality 
and  selfishness  of  multitudes  among 
them,  are  formidable  barriers  to  im- 
provement ; that  multitudes  have  not 
waked  as  yet  to  a dim  conception  of 
the  end  for  which  they  are  to  struggle. 
My  hopes  do  not  blind  me  to  what  ex- 
ists ; and  with  this  clear  sense  of  the 
deficiencies  of  the  multitude  of  men, 
I cannot,  without  guilt,  minister  to  their 
vanity.  Not  that  they  alone  are  to  be 
charged  with  deficiencies.  Look  where 
we  may,  we  shall  discern  in  all  classes 
ground  for  condemnation  ; and  who- 
ever would  do  good  ought  to  speak  the 
truth  of  all,  only  remembering  that  he 
is  to  speak  with  sympathy,  and  with  a 
consciousness  of  his  own  fallibleness 
and  infirmity. 

In  giving  my  views  of  the  elevation  of 
the  laboring  multitude,  I wish  that  it 
may  be  understood  that  I shall  often 
speak  prospectively,  or  of  changes  and 
improvements  which  are  not  to  be  ex- 
pected immediately,  or  soon  ; and  this  I 
say,  that  I may  not  be  set  down  as  a 
dreamer,  expecting  to  regenerate  the 
world  in  a day.  I fear,  however,  that 
this  explanation  will  not  shield  me  from 
this  and  like  reproaches.  There  are  men 
who,  in  the  face  of  all  history,  of  the  great 


changes  wrought  in  men’s  condition,  and 
of  the  new  principles  which  are  now 
acting  on  society,  maintain  that  the 
future  is  to  be  a copy  of  the  past,  and 
probably  a faded  rather  than  bright  copy. 
From  such  I differ,  and  did  I not  differ 
I would  not  stand  here.  Did  I expect 
nothing  better  from  human  nature  than 
I see,  I should  have  no  heart  for  the  pres- 
ent effort,  poor  as  it  may  be.  I see  the 
signs  of  a better  futurity,  and  especially 
signs  that  the  large  class  by  whose  toil 
we  all  live  are  rising  from  the  dust ; and 
this  faith  is  my  only  motive  to  what  I 
now  offer. 

The  elevation  of  the  laboring  portion 
of  society  : this  is  our  subject.  I shall 
first  consider  in  what  this  consists.  I 
shall  then  consider  some  objections  to 
its  practicableness,  and  to  this  point  shall 
devote  no  small  part  of  the  discussion ; 
and  shall  close  the  subject  with  giving 
some  grounds  of  my  faith  and  hope  in  re- 
gard to  the  most  numerous  class  of  our 
fellow-beings. 

I.  What  is  to  be  understood  by  the 
elevation  of  the  laboring  class  ? This  is 
our  first  topic.  To  prevent  misappre- 
hension, I will  begin  with  stating  what  is 
7iot  meant  by  it,  in  what  it  does  not  con- 
sist.— I say,  then,  that  by  the  elevation 
of  the  laborer,  I do  not  understand  that 
he  is  to  be  raised  above  the  need  of  labor. 
I do  not  expect  a series  of  improvements, 
by  which  he  is  to  be  released  from  his 
daily  work.  Still  more,  I have  no  desire 
to  dismiss  him  from  his  workshop  and 
farm,  to  take  the  spade  and  axe  from  his 
hand,  and  to  make  his  life  a long  holiday. 
I have  faith  in  labor,  and  I see  the  good- 
ness of  God  in  placing  us  in  a world 
where  labor  alone  can  keep  us  alive.  I 
would  not  change,  if  I could,  our  sub- 
jection to  physical  laws,  our  exposure  to 
hunger  and  cold,  and  the  necessity  of 
constant  conflicts  with  the  material  world. 
I would  not,  if  I could,  so  temper  the 
elements,  that  they  should  infuse  into  us 
only  grateful  sensations,  that  they  should 
make  vegetation  so  exuberant  as  to  an- 
ticipate every  want,  and  the  minerals  so 
ductile  as  to  offer  no  resistance  to  our 
strength  and  skill.  Such  a world  would 
make  a contemptible  race.  Man  owes 
his  growth,  his  energy,  chiefly  to  that 
striving  of  the  will,  that  conflict  with 
difficulty,  which  we  call  effort.  Easy, 
pleasant  work  does  not  make  robust 
minds,  does  not  give  men  a conscious- 


THE  LABORING  CLASSES. 


ness  of  their  powers,  does  not  train  them 
to  endurance,  to  perseverance,  to  steady 
force  of  will,  that  force  without  which  all 
other  acquisitions  avail  nothing.  Man- 
ual labor  is  a school  in  which  men  are 
placed  to  get  energy  of  purpose  and  char- 
acter, — a vastly  more  important  endow- 
ment than  all  the  learning  of  all  other 
schools.  They  are  placed,  indeed,  under 
hard  masters,  physical  sufferings  and 
wants,  the  power  of  fearful  elements,  and 
the  vicissitudes  of  all  human  things  ; but 
these  stern  teachers  do  a work  which 
no  compassionate,  indulgent  friend  could 
do  for  us  ; and  true  wisdom  will  bless 
Providence  for  their  sharp  ministry.  I 
have  great  faith  in  hard  work.  The  ma- 
terial world  does  much  for  the  mind  by 
its  beauty  and  order ; but  it  does  more 
for  our  minds  by  the  pains  it  inflicts  ; by 
its  obstinate  resistance,  which  nothing 
but  patient  toil  can  overcome  ; by  its  vast 
forces,  which  nothing  but  unremitting 
skill  and  effort  can  turn  to  our  use  ; by 
its  perils,  which  demand  continual  vigil- 
ance ; and  by  its  tendencies  to  decay.  I 
believe  that  difficulties  are  more  impor- 
tant to  the  human  mind  than  what  we 
call  assistances.  Work  we  all  must,  if  we 
mean  to  bring  out  and  perfect  our  nat- 
ure. Even  if  we  do  not  work  with  the 
hands,  we  must  undergo  equivalent  toil 
in  some  other  direction.  No  business  or 
study  which  does  not  present  obstacles, 
tasking  to  the  full  the  intellect  and  the 
will,  is  worthy  of  a man.  In  science,  he 
who  does  not  grapple  with  hard  ques- 
tions. who  does  not  concentrate  his  whole 
intellect  in  vigorous  attention,  who  does 
not  aim  to  penetrate  what  at  first  repels 
him,  will  never  attain  to  mental  force. 
The  uses  of  toil  reach  beyond  the  pres- 
ent world.  The  capacity  of  steady, 
earnest  labor  is,  I apprehend,  one  of  our 
great  preparations  for  another  state  of 
being.  When  I see  the  vast  amount  of 
toil  required  of  men,  I feel  that  it  must 
have  important  connection  with  their 
future  existence  ; and  that  he  who  has 
met  this  discipline  manfully  has  laid  one 
essential  foundation  of  improvement,  ex- 
ertion, and  happiness  in  the  world  to 
come.  You  will  here  see  that  to  me  labor 
has  great  dignity.  It  is  not  merely  the 
grand  instrument  by  which  the  earth  is 
overspread  with  fruitfulness  and  beauty, 
and  the  ocean  subdued,  and  matter 
wrought  into  innumerable  forms  for  com- 
fort and  ornament.  It  has  a far  higher 


39 

function,  which  is  to  give  force  to  the 
will,  efficiency,  courage,  the  capacity  of 
endurance,  and  of  persevering  devotion 
to  far-reaching  plans.  Alas , for  the  man 
who  has  not  learned  to  work  ! He  is  a 
poor  creature.  He  does  not  know  him- 
self. He  depends  on  others,  with  no 
capacity  of  making  returns  for  the  sup- 
port they  give  ; and  let  him  not  fancy 
that  he  has  a monopoly  of  enjoyment. 
Ease,  rest,  owes  its  deliciousness  to  toil ; 
and  no  toil  is  so  burdensome  as  the  rest 
of  him  who  has  nothing  to  task  and 
quicken  his  powers. 

I do  not,  then,  desire  to  release  the 
laborer  from  toil.  This  is  not  the  ele- 
vation to  be  sought  for  him.  Manual 
labor  is  a great  good  ; but,  in  so  saying, 
I must  be  understood  to  speak  of  labor 
in  its  just  proportions.  In  excess  it 
does  great  harm.  It  is  not  a good, 
when  made  the  sole  work  of  life.  It 
must  be  joined  with  higher  means  of 
improvement,  or  it  degrades  instead  of 
exalting.  Man  has  a various  nature, 
which  requires  a variety  of  occupation 
and  discipline  for  its  growth.  Study, 
meditation,  society,  and  relaxation 
should  be  mixed  up  with  his  physical 
toils.  He  has  intellect,  heart,  imagina- 
tion, taste,  as  well  as  bones  and  mus- 
cles ; and  he  is  grievously  wronged 
when  compelled  to  exclusive  drudgery 
for  bodily  subsistence.  Life  should  be 
an  alternation  of  employments,  so  di- 
versified as  to  call  the  wtoole  man  into 
action.  Unhappily  our  present  civiliza- 
tion is  far  from  realizing  this  idea.  It 
tends  to  increase  the  amount  of  manual 
toil,  at  the  very  time  that  it  renders  this 
toil  less  favorable  to  the  culture  of  the 
mind.  The  division  of  labor,  which 
distinguishes  civilized  from  savage  life, 
and  to  which  we  owe  chiefly  the  per- 
fection of  the  arts,  tends  to  dwarf  the 
intellectual  powers,  by  confining  the 
activity  of  the  individual  to  a narrow 
range,  to  a few  details,  perhaps  to  the 
heading  of  pins,  the  pointing  of  nails, 
or  the  tying  together  of  broken  strings  ; 
so  that  while  the  savage  has  his  facul- 
ties sharpened  by  various  occupations, 
and  by  exposure  to  various  perils,  the 
civilized  man  treads  a monotonous,  stu- 
pefying round  of  unthinking  toil.  This 
cannot,  must  not,  always  be.  Variety 
of  action,  corresponding  to  the  variety 
of  human  powers,  and  fitted  to  develop 
all,  is  the  most  important  element  of 


40 


ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF 


human  civilization.  It  should  be  the 
aim  of  philanthropists.  In  proportion 
as  Christianity  shall  spread  the  spirit  of 
brotherhood,  there  will  and  must  be  a 
more  equal  distribution  of  toils  and 
means  of  improvement.  That  system 
of  labor  which  saps  the  health,  and 
shortens  life,  and  famishes  intellect, 
needs,  and  must  receive,  great  modifica- 
tion. Still,  labor  in  due  proportion  is 
an  important  part  of  our  present  lot. 
It  is  the  condition  of  all  outward  com- 
forts and  improvements,  whilst,  at  the 
same  time,  it  conspires  with  higher 
means  and  influences  in  ministering  to 
the  vigor  and  growth  of  the  soul.  Let 
us  not  fight  against  it.  We  need  this 
admonition,  because  at  the  present  mo- 
ment there  is  a general  disposition  to 
shun  labor  ; and  this  ought  to  be  re- 
garded as  a bad  sign  of  our  times. 
The  city  is  thronged  with  adventurers 
from  the  country,  and  the  liberal  pro- 
fessions are  overstocked,  in  the  hope 
of  escaping  the  primeval  sentence  of 
living  by  the  sweat  of  the  brow  ; and 
to  this  crowding  of  men  into  trade  we 
owe  not  only  the  neglect  of  agriculture, 
but,  what  is  far  worse,  the  demoraliza- 
tion of  the  community.  It  generates  ex- 
cessive competition,  which  of  necessity 
generates  fraud.  Trade  is  turned  to 
gambling  ; and  a spirit  of  mad  specula- 
tion exposes  public  and  private  interests 
to  a disastrous  instability.  It  is,  then, 
no  part  of  theflphilanthropy  which  would 
elevate  the  laboring  body,  to  exempt 
them  from  manual  toil.  In  truth,  a 
wise  philanthropy  would,  if  possible, 
persuade  all  men  of  all  conditions  to 
mix  up  a measure  of  this  toil  with  their 
other  pursuits.  The  body  as  well  as 
the  mind  needs  vigorous  exertion,  and 
even  the  studious  would  be  happier 
were  they  trained  to  labor  as  well  as 
thought.  Let  us  learn  to  regard  manual 
toil  as  the  true  discipline  of  a man. 
Not  a few  of  the  wisest,  grandest  spir- 
its have  toiled  at  the  work-bench  and 
the  plough. 

I have  said  that,  by  the  elevation  of 
the  laboring  mass,  I do  not  mean  that 
they  are  to  be  released  from  labor.  I 
add,  in  the  next  place,  that  this  eleva- 
tion is  not  to  be  gained  by  efforts  to 
force  themselves  into  what  are  called 
the  upper  ranks  of  society.  I wish 
them  to  rise,  but  I have  no  desire  to 
transform  them  into  gentlemen  or  la- 


dies, according  to  the  common  accep- 
tation of  these  terms.  I desire  for 
them  not  an  outward  and  showy,  but 
an  inward  and  real  change  ; not  to  give 
them  new  titles  and  an  artificial  rank, 
but  substantial  improvements  and  real 
claims  to  respect.  I have  no  wish  to 
dress  them  from  a Parisian  tailor’s  shop, 
or  to  teach  them  manners  from  a danc- 
ing-school. I have  no  desire  to  see 
them,  at  the  end  of  the  day,  doff  their 
working  dress,  that  they  may  play  a 
part  in  richly  attired  circles.  I have  no 
desire  that  they  should  be  admitted  to 
luxurious  feasts,  or  should  get  a taste 
for  gorgeous  upholstery.  There  is 
nothing  cruel  in  the  necessity  which 
sentences  the  multitude  of  men  to  eat, 
dress,  and  lodge  plainly  and  simply, 
especially  where  the  sentence  is  exe- 
cuted so  mildly  as  in  this  country.  In 
this  country,  where  the  demand  for 
labor  is  seldom  interrupted,  and  the 
openings  for  enterprise  are  numerous 
beyond  precedent,  the  laboring  class, 
with  few  exceptions,  may  well  be  sat- 
isfied with  their  accommodations.  Very 
many  of  them  need  nothing  but  a higher 
taste  for  beauty,  order,  and  neatness,  to 
give  an  air  of  refinement  and  grace  as 
well  as  comfort  to  their  establishments. 
In  this  country,  the  mass  of  laborers 
have  their  share  of  outward  good. 
Their  food,  abundant  and  healthful, 
seasoned  with  the  appetite  which  labor 
gives,  is,  on  the  whole,  sweeter  as 
well  as  healthier  than  the  elaborate 
luxuries  of  the  prosperous  ; and  their 
sleep  is  sounder  and  more  refreshing 
than  falls  to  the  lot  of  the  less  em- 
ployed. Were  it  a possible  thing,  I 
should  be  sorry  to  see  them  turned  into 
men  and  women  of  fashion.  Fashion 
is  a poor  vocation.  Its  creed,  that  idle- 
ness is  a privilege,  and  work  a disgrace, 
is  among  the  deadliest  errors.  Without 
depth  of  thought,  or  earnestness  of  feel- 
ing, or  strength  of  purpose,  living  an 
unreal  life,  sacrificing  substance  to 
show,  substituting  the  factitious  for  the 
natural,  mistaking  a crowd  for  society, 
finding  its  chief  pleasure  in  ridicule, 
and  exhausting  its  ingenuity  in  expedi- 
ents for  killing  time,  fashion  is  among 
the  last  influences  under  which  a human 
being,  who  respects  himself  or  who 
comprehends  the  great  end  of  life, 
would  desire  to  be  placed.  I use 
strong  language,  because  I would  com- 


THE  LABORING  CLASSES. 


41 


bat  the  disposition,  too  common  in  the 
laboring  mass,  to  regard  what  is  called 
the  upper  class  with  envy  or  admira- 
tion. This  disposition  manifests  itself 
among  them  in  various  forms.  Thus, 
when  one  of  their  number  prospers,  he 
is  apt  to  forget  his  old  acquaintance, 
and  to  work  his  way,  if  possible,  into 
a more  fashionable  caste.  As  far,  in- 
deed, as  he  extends  his  acquaintance 
among  the  intelligent,  refined,  generous, 
and  truly  honorable,  he  makes  a sub- 
stantial improvement  of  his  condition  ; 
but  if,  as  is  too  often  the  case,  he  is 
admitted  by  way  of  favor  into  a circle 
which  has  few  claims  beyond  those  of 
greater  luxury  and  show,  and  which 
bestows  on  him  a patronizing,  conde- 
scending notice,  in  exchange  for  his 
old,  honorable  influence  among  his 
original  associates,  he  does  any  thing 
but  rise.  Such  is  not  the  elevation  I 
desire  for  the  laborer.  I do  not  desire 
him  to  struggle  into  another  rank.  Let 
him  not  be  a servile  copyist  of  other 
classes,  but  aim  at  something  higher 
than  has  yet  been  realized  in  any  body  of 
men.  Let  him  not  associate  the  idea 
of  dignity  or  honor  with  certain  modes 
of  living,  or  certain  outward  connec- 
tions. I would  have  every  man  stand 
on  his  own  ground,  and  take  his  place 
among  men  according  to  personal  en- 
dowments and  worth,  and  not  according 
to  outward  appendages  ; and  I would 
have  every  member  of  the  community 
furnished  with  such  means  of  improve- 
ment, that,  if  faithful  to  himself,  he 
may  need  no  outward  appendage  to 
attract  the  respect  of  all  around  him. 

I have  said,  that  the  people  are  not  to 
be  elevated  by  escaping  labor,  or  by 
pressing  into  a different  rank.  Once 
more,  I do  not  mean  by  the  elevation  of 
the  people,  that  they  should  become  self- 
important  politicians  ; that,  as  individ- 
uals or  a class,  they  should  seize  on 
political  power ; that  by  uniting  their 
votes  they  should  triumph  over  the  more 
prosperous  ; or  that  they  should  succeed 
in  bending  the  administration  of  govern- 
ment to  their  particular  interests.  An 
individual  is  not  elevated  by  figuring  in 
public  affairs,  or  even  by  getting  into 
office.  He  needs  previous  elevation  to 
save  him  from  disgrace  in  his  public  re- 
lations. To  govern  one’s  self,  not  others, 
is  true  glory.  To  serve  through  love, 
not  to  rule,  is  Christian  greatness.  Office 


is  not  dignity.  The  lowest  men,  because 
most  faithless  in  principle,  most  servile 
to  opinion,  are  to  be  found  in  office.  I 
am  sorry  to  say  it,  but  the  truth  should 
be  spoken,  that,  at  the  present  moment, 
political  action  in  this  country  does  little 
to  lift  up  any  who  are  concerned  in  it. 
It  stands  in  opposition  to  a high  morality. 
Politics,  indeed,  regarded  as  the  study 
and  pursuit  of  the  true,  enduring  good 
of  a community,  as  the  application  of 
great  unchangeable  principles  to  public 
affairs,  is  a noble  sphere  of  thought  and 
action  ; but  politics,  in  its  common  sense, 
or  considered  as  the  invention  of  tem- 
porary shifts,  as  the  playing  of  a subtile 
game,  as  the  tactics  of  party  for  gaining 
power  and  the  spoils  of  office,  and  for 
elevating  one  set  of  men  above  another, 
is  a paltry  and  debasing  concern.  The 
laboring  class  are  sometimes  stimulated 
to  seek  power  as  a class,  and  this  it  is 
thought  will  raise  them.  But  no  class, 
as  such,  should  bear  rule  among  us.  All 
conditions  of  society  should  be  repre- 
sented in  the  government,  and  alike  pro- 
tected by  it ; nor  can  any  thing  be  ex- 
pected but  disgrace  to  the  individual  and 
the  country  from  the  success  of  any 
class  in  grasping  at  a monopoly  of  politi- 
cal power.  I would  by  no  means  dis- 
courage the  attention  of  the  people  to 
politics.  They  ought  to  study  in  earnest 
the  interests  of  the  country,  the  princi- 
ples of  our  institutions,  the  tendencies 
of  public  measures.  But  the  unhappiness 
is,  they  do  not  study  j and,  until  they  do, 
they  cannot  rise  by  political  action.  A 
great  amount  of  time,  which,  if  well  used, 
would  form  an  enlightened  population, 
is  now  wasted  on  newspapers  and  con- 
versations, which  inflame  the  passions, 
which  unscrupulously  distort  the  truth, 
which  denounce  moral  independence  as 
treachery  to  one’s  party,  which  agitate 
the  country  for  no  higher  end  than  a 
triumph  over  opponents  ; and  thus  mul- 
titudes are  degraded  into  men-worship- 
pers  or  men-haters,  into  the  dupes  of  the 
ambitious,  or  the  slaves  of  a faction.  To 
rise,  the  people  must  substitute  reflection 
for  passion.  There  is  no  other  way.  By 
these  remarks,  I do  not  mean  to  charge 
on  the  laboring  class  all  the  passionate- 
ness of  the  country.  All  classes  partake 
of  the  madness,  and  all  are  debased  by  it. 
The  fiery  spirits  are  not  confined  to  one 
portion  of  the  community.  The  men, 
whose  ravings  resound  through  the  halls 


42 


ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF 


of  Congress,  and  are  then  circulated 
through  the  country  as  eloquence,  are 
not  taken  from  among  those  who  toil. 
Party  prejudices  break  out  as  fiercely  on 
the  exchange,  and  even  in  the  saloon,  as 
in  the  workshop.  The  disease  has  spread 
everywhere.  Yet  it  does  not  dishearten 
me,  for  I see  that  it  admits  of  mitigation, 
if  not  of  cure.  I trust  that  these  lectures, 
and  other  sources  of  intellectual  enjoy- 
ment now  opening  to  the  public,  will 
abate  the  fever  of  political  excitement, 
by  giving  better  occupation  to  the  mind. 
Much,  too,  may  be  hoped  from  the 
growing  self-respect  of  the  people,  which 
will  make  them  shrink  indignantly  from 
the  disgrace  of  being  used  as  blinded 
partisans  and  unreflecting  tools.  Much 
also  is  to  be  hoped  from  the  discovery, 
which  must  sooner  or  later  be  made,  that 
the  importance  of  government  is  enor- 
mously overrated,  that  it  does  not  de- 
serve all  this  stir,  that  there  are  vastly 
more  effectual  means  of  human  happi- 
ness. Political  institutions  are  to  be  less 
and  less  deified,  and  to  shrink  into  a 
narrower  space  ; and  just  in  proportion 
as  a wiser  estimate  of  government  pre- 
vails, the  present  frenzy  of  political  ex- 
citement will  be  discovered  and  put  to 
shame. 

I have  now  said  what  I do  not  mean  by 
the  elevation  of  the  laboring  classes.  It 
is  not  an  outward  change  of  condition.  It 
is  not  release  from  labor.  It  is  not  strug- 
gling for  another  rank.  It  is  not  polit- 
ical power.  I understand  something 
deeper.  I know  but  one  elevation  of  a 
human  being,  and  that  is  elevation  of 
soul.  Without  this,  it  matters  nothing 
where  a man  stands  or  what  he  pos- 
sesses ; and  with  it,  he  towers,  he  is  one 
of  God’s  nobility,  no  matter  what  place 
he  holds  in  the  social  scale.  There  is 
but  one  elevation  for  a laborer,  and  for 
all  other  men.  There  are  not  different 
kinds  of  dignity  for  different  orders  of 
men,  but  one  and  the  same  to  all.  The 
only  elevation  of  a human  being  consists 
in  the  exercise,  growth,  energy  of  the 
higher  principles  and  powers  of  his  soul. 
A bird  may  be  shot  upward  to  the  skies 
by  a foreign  force  ; but  it  rises,  in  the 
true  sense  of  the  word,  only  when  it 
spreads  its  own  wings  and  soars  by  its 
own  living  power.  So  a man  may  be 
thrust  upward  into  a conspicuous  place 
by  outward  accidents  ; but  he  rises,  only 
in  so  far  as  he  exerts  himself,  and  ex- 


pands his  best  faculties,  and  ascends  by 
a free  effort  to  a nobler  region  of  thought 
and  action.  Such  is  the  elevation  I de- 
sire for  the  laborer,  and  I desire  no  other. 
This  elevation  is  indeed  to  be  aided  by 
an  improvement  of  his  outward  condi- 
tion, and  in  turn  it  greatly  improves  his 
outward  lot ; and  thus  connected,  out- 
ward good  is  real  and  great ; but  sup- 
posing it  to  exist  in  separation  from 
inward  growth  and  life,  it  would  be 
nothing  worth,  nor  would  I raise  a finger 
to  promote  it. 

I know  it  will  be  said,  that  such  eleva- 
tion as  I have  spoken  of  is  not  and  can- 
not be  within  the  reach  of  the  laboring 
multitude,  and  of  consequence  they 
ought  not  to  be  tantalized  with  dreams 
of  its  attainment.  It  will  be  said,  that 
the  principal  part  of  men  are  plainly  de- 
signed to  work  on  matter  for  the  acquisi- 
tion of  material  and  corporeal  good,  and 
that,  in  such,  the  spirit  is  of  necessity 
too  wedded  to  matter  to  rise  above  it. 
This  objection  will  be  considered  by  and 
by  ; but  I would  just  observe,  in  passing, 
that  the  objector  must  have  studied  very 
carelessly  the  material  world,  if  he  sup- 
pose that  it  is  meant  to  be  the  grave  of 
the  minds  of  most  of  those  who  occupy 
it.  Matter  was  made  for  spirit,  body  for 
mind.  The  mind,  the  spirit,  is  the  end 
of  this  living  organization  of  flesh  and 
bones,  of  nerves  and  muscles ; and  the 
end  of  this  vast  system  of  sea  and  land, 
and  air  and  skies.  This  unbounded 
creation  of  sun,  and  moon,  and  stars, 
and  clouds,  and  seasons,  was  not  or- 
dained merely  to  feed  and  clothe  the 
body,  but  first  and  supremely  to  awaken, 
nourish,  and  expand  the  soul,  to  be  the 
school  of  the  intellect,  the  nurse  of 
thought  and  imagination,  the  field  for 
the  active  powers,  a revelation  of  the 
Creator,  and  a bond  of  social  union.  We 
were  placed  in  the  material  creation,  not 
to  be  its  slaves,  but  to  master  it,  and  to 
make  it  a minister  to  our  highest  powers. 
It  is  interesting  to  observe  how  much  the 
material  world  does  for  the  mind.  Most 
of  the  sciences,  arts,  professions,  and 
occupations  of  life,  grow  out  of  our  con- 
nection with  matter.  The  natural  phi- 
losopher, the  physician,  the  lawyer,  the 
artist,  and  the  legislator,  find  the  objects 
or  occasions  of  their  researches  in  mat- 
ter. The  poet  borrows  his  beautiful  im- 
agery from  matter.  The  sculptor  and 
painter  express  their  noble  conceptions 


THE  LABORING  CLASSES. 


43 


through  matter.  Material  wants  rouse 
the  world  to  activity.  The  material 
organs  of  sense,  especially  the  eye,  wake 
up  infinite  thoughts  in  the  mind.  To 
maintain,  then,  that  the  mass  of  men  are 
and  must  be  so  immersed  in  matter,  that 
their  souls  cannot  rise,  is  to  contradict 
the  great  end  of  their  connection  with 
matter.  I maintain  that  the  philosophy 
which  does  not  see,  in  the  laws  and 
phenomena  of  outward  nature,  the  means 
of  awakening  mind,  is  lamentably  short- 
sighted ; and  that  a state  of  society 
which  leaves  the  mass  of  men  to  be 
crushed  and  famished  in  soul  by  exces- 
sive toils  on  matter  is  at  war  with  God's 
designs,  and  turns  into  means  of  bondage 
what  was  meant  to  free  and  expand  the 
soul. 

Elevation  of  soul,  this  is  to  be  desired 
for  the  laborer  as  for  every  human  being ; 
and  what  does  this  mean  ? The  phrase, 
I am  aware,  is  vague,  and  often  serves 
for  mere  declamation.  Let  me  strive  to 
convey  some  precise  ideas  of  it ; and  in 
doing  this,  I can  use  no  language  which 
will  save  the  hearer  from  the  necessity  of 
thought.  The  subject  is  a spiritual  one. 
It  carries  us  into  the  depths  of  our  own 
nature,  and  I can  say  nothing  about  it 
worth  saying,  without  tasking  your  pow- 
ers of  attention,  without  demanding  some 
mental  toil.  I know  that  these  lectures 
are  meant  for  entertainment  rather  than 
mental  labor ; but,  as  I have  told  you,  I 
have  great  faith  in  labor,  and  I feel  that 
I cannot  be  more  useful  than  in  exciting 
the  hearer  to  some  vigorous  action  of 
mind. 

Elevation  of  soul,  in  what  does  this 
consist  ? Without  aiming  at  philoso- 
phical exactness,  I shall  convey  a suffi- 
ciently precise  idea  of  it,  by  saying  that 
it  consists,  first,  in  force  of  thought 
exerted  for  the  acquisition  of  truth  ; 
secondly,  in  force  of  pure  and  generous 
feeling ; thirdly,  in  force  of  moral  pur- 
pose. Each  of  these  topics  needs  a lect- 
ure for  its  development.  I must  confine 
myself  to  the  first ; from  which,  however, 
you  may  learn  in  a measure  my  views  of 
the  other  two.  — Before  entering  on  this 
topic,  let  me  offer  one  preliminary  re- 
mark. To  every  man  who  would  rise  in 
dignity  as  a man,  be  he  rich  or  poor, 
ignorant  or  instructed,  there  is  one  es- 
sential condition,  one  effort,  one  purpose, 
without  which  not  a step  can  be  taken. 
He  must  resolutely  purpose  and  labor  to 


free  himself  from  whatever  he  knows  to 
be  wrong  in  his  motives  and  life.  He 
who  habitually  allows  himself  in  any 
known  crime  or  wrong-doing,  effectually 
bars  his  progress  towards  a higher  in- 
tellectual and  moral  life.  On  this  point 
every  man  should  deal  honestly  with 
himself.  If  he  will  not  listen  to  his  con- 
science, rebuking  him  for  violations  of 
plain  duty,  let  him  not  dream  of  self- 
elevation. The  foundation  is  wanting. 
He  will  build,  if  at  all,  in  sand. 

I now  proceed  to  my  main  subject.  I 
have  said  that  the  elevation  of  a man  is 
to  be  sought,  or  rather  consists,  first, 
in  force  of  thought  exerted  for  the  ac- 
quisition of  truth  ; and  to  this  I ask  your 
serious  attention.  Thought,  thought,  is 
the  fundamental  distinction  of  mind,  and 
the  great  work  of  life.  All  that  a man 
does  outwardly  is  but  the  expression  and 
completion  of  his  inward  thought.  To 
work  effectually,  he  must  think  clearly. 
To  act  nobly,  he  must  think  nobly.  In- 
tellectual force  is  a principal  element  of 
the  soul’s  life,  and  should  be  proposed 
by  every  man  as  a principal  end  of  his 
being.  It  is  common  to  distinguish  be- 
tween the  intellect  and  the  conscience, 
between  the  power  of  thought  and  virtue, 
and  to  say  that  virtuous  action  is  worth 
more  than  strong  thinking.  But  we  mu- 
tilate our  nature  by  thus  drawing  lines 
between  actions  or  energies  of  the  soul, 
which  are  intimately,  indissolubly  bound 
together.  The  head  and  the  heart  are 
not  more  vitally  connected  than  thought 
and  virtue.  Does  not  conscience  include, 
as  a part  of  itself,  the  noblest  action  of 
the  intellect  or  reason  ? Do  we  not  de- 
grade it  by  making  it  a mere  feeling  ? Is 
it  not  something  more  ? Is  it  not  a wise 
discernment  of  the  right,  the  holy,  the 
good  ? Take  away  thought  from  virtue, 
and  what  remains  worthy  of  a man  ? Is 
not  high  virtue  more  than  blind  instinct  ? 
Is  it  not  founded  on,  and  does  it  not  in- 
clude clear,  bright  perceptions  of  what  is 
lovely  and  grand  in  character  and  action  ? 
Without  power  of  thought,  what  we  call 
conscientiousness,  ora  desire  to  do  right, 
shoots  out  into  illusion,  exaggeration, 
pernicious  excess.  The  most  cruel  deeds 
on  earth  have  been  perpetrated  in  the 
name  of  conscience.  Men  have  hated 
and  murdered  one  another  from  a sense 
of  duty.  The  worst  frauds  have  taken 
the  name  of  pious.  Thought,  intelli- 
gence, is  the  dignity  of  a man,  and  no 


44 


ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF 


man  is  rising  but  in  proportion  as  he  is 
learning  to  think  clearly  and  forcibly,  or 
directing  the  energy  of  his  mind  to  the 
acquisition  of  truth.  Every  man,  in 
whatsoever  condition,  is  to  be  a student. 
No  matter  what  other  vocation  he  may 
have,  his  chief  vocation  is  to  Think. 

I say  every  man  is  to  be  a student,  a 
thinker.  This  does  not  mean  that  he  is 
to  shut  himself  within  four  walls,  and 
bend  body  and  mind  over  books.  Men 
thought  before  books  were  written,  and 
some  of  the  greatest  thinkers  never  en- 
tered what  we  call  a study.  Nature, 
Scripture,  society,  and  life,  present  per- 
petual subjects  for  thought ; and  the 
man  who  collects,  concentrates,  employs 
his  faculties  on  any  of  these  subjects 
for  the  purpose  of  getting  the  truth,  is 
so  far  a student,  a thinker,  a philosopher, 
and  is  rising  to  the  dignity  of  a man.  It 
is  time  that  we  should  cease  to  limit  to 
professed  scholars  the  titles  of  thinkers, 
philosophers.  Whoever  seeks  truth  with 
an  earnest  mind,  no  matter  when  or  how, 
belongs  to  the  school  of  intellectual  men. 

In  a loose  sense  of  the  word,  all  men 
may  be  said  to  think  ; that  is,  a suc- 
cession of  ideas,  notions,  passes  through 
their  minds  from  morning  to  night ; but 
in  as  far  as  this  succession  is  passive, 
undirected,  or  governed  only  by  acci- 
dent and  outward  impulse,  it  has  little 
more  claim  to  dignity  than  the  experi- 
ence of  the  brute,  who  receives,  with 
like  passivenes,  sensations  from  abroad 
through  his  waking  hours.  Such  thought, 
if  thought  it  may  be  called,  having  no 
aim,  is  as  useless  as  the  vision  of  an 
eye  which  rests  on  nothing,  which  flies 
without  pause  over  earth  and  sky,  and 
of  consequence  receives  no  distinct  im- 
age. Thought,  in  its  true  sense,  is  an 
energy  of  intellect.  In  thought,  the 
mind  not  only  receives  impressions  or 
suggestions  from  without  or  within,  but 
reacts  upon  them,  collects  its  attention, 
concentrates  its  forces  upon  them, 
breaks  them  up  and  analyzes  them  like 
a living  laboratory,  and  then  combines 
them  anew,  traces  their  connections, 
and  thus  impresses  itself  on  all  the  ob- 
jects which  engage  it. 

The  universe  in  which  we  live  was 
plainly  meant  by  God  to  stir  up  such 
thought  as  has  now  been  described.  It 
is  full  of  difficulty  and  mystery,  and 
can  only  be  penetrated  and  unravelled 
by  the  concentration  of  the  intellect. 


Every  object,  even  the  simplest  in  nat- 
ure and  society,  every  event  of  life,  is 
made  up  of  various  elements  subtly 
bound  together  ; so  that,  to  understand 
any  thing,  we  must  reduce  it  from  its 
complexity  to  its  parts  and  principles, 
and  examine  their  relations  to  one  an- 
other. Nor  is  this  all.  Every  thing 
which  enters  the  mind  not  only  contains 
a depth  of  mystery  in  itself,  but  is  con- 
nected by  a thousand  ties  with  all  other 
things.  The  universe  is  not  a disor- 
derly, disconnected  heap,  but  a beau- 
tiful whole,  stamped  throughout  with 
unity,  so  as  to  be  an  image  of  the  One 
Infinite  Spirit.  Nothing  stands  alone. 
All  things  are  knit  together,  each  ex- 
isting for  all  and  all  for  each.  The 
humblest  object  has  infinite  connec- 
tions. The  vegetable,  which  you  saw 
on  your  table  to-day,  came  to  you  from 
the  first  plant  which  God  made  to  grow 
on  the  earth,  and  was  the  product  of 
the  rains  and  sunshine  of  six  thousand 
years.  Such  a universe  demands  thought 
to  be  understood  ; and  we  are  placed  in 
it  to  think,  to  put  forth  the  power  within, 
to  look  beneath  the  surface  of  things, 
to  look  beyond  particular  facts  and 
events  to  their  causes  and  effects,  to 
their  reasons  and  ends,  their  mutual 
influences,  their  diversities  and  resem- 
blances, their  proportions  and  harmo- 
nies, and  the  general  laws  which  bind 
them  together.  This  is  what  I mean 
by  thinking  ; and  by  such  thought  the 
mind  rises  to  a dignity  which  humbly 
represents  the  greatness  of  the  Divine 
intellect ; that  is,  it  rises  more  and  more 
to  consistency  of  views,  to  broad  gen- 
eral principles,  to  universal  truths,  to 
glimpses  of  the  order  and  harmony  and 
infinity  of  the  Divine  system,  and  thus 
to  a deep,  enlightened  veneration  of  the 
Infinite  Father.  Do  not  be  startled,  as 
if  I were  holding  out  an  elevation  of 
mind  utterly  to  be  despaired  of ; for 
all  thinking,  which  aims  honestly  and 
earnestly  to  see  things  as  they  are,  to 
see  them  in  their  connections,  and  to 
bring  the  loose,  conflicting  ideas  of  the 
mind  into  consistency  and  harmony,  all 
such  thinking,  no  matter  in  what  sphere, 
is  an  approach  to  the  dignity  of  which 
I speak.  You  are  all  capable  of  the 
thinking  which  I recommend.  You 
have  all  practised  it  in  a degree.  The 
child,  who  casts  an  inquiring  eye  on  a 
new  toy,  and  breaks  it  to  pieces  that 


THE  LABORING  CLASSES. 


45 


he  may  discover  the  mysterious  cause 
of -its  movements,  has  begun  the  work 
of  which  I speak,  has  begun  to  be  a 
philosopher,  has  begun  to  penetrate  the 
unknown,  to  seek  consistency  and  har- 
mony of  thought  ; and  let  him  go  on 
as  he  has  begun,  and  make  it  one  great 
business  of  life  to  inquire  into  the  ele- 
ments, connections,  and  reasons  of 
whatever  he  witnesses  in  his  own  breast, 
or  in  society,  or  in  outward  nature,  and, 
be  his  condition  what  it  may,  he  will 
rise  by  degrees  to  a freedom  and  force 
of  thought,  to  a breadth  and  unity  of 
views,  which  will  be  to  him  an  inward 
revelation  and  promise  of  the  intel- 
lectual greatness  for  which  he  was  cre- 
ated. 

You  will  observe,  that  in  speaking  of 
force  of  thought  as  the  elevation  of  the 
laborer  and  of  every  human  being,  I 
have  continually  supposed  this  force  to 
be  exerted  for  the  purpose  of  acquiring 
truth.  I beg  you  never  to  lose  sight 
of  this  motive,  for  it  is  essential  to  in- 
tellectual dignity.  Force  of  thought 
may  be  put  forth  for  other  purposes,  — 
to  amass  wealth  for  selfish  gratification, 
to  give  the  individual  power  over  oth- 
ers, to  blind  others,  to  weave  a web  of 
sophistry,  to  cast  a deceitful  lustre  on 
vice,  to  make  the  worse  appear  the  bet- 
ter cause.  But  energy  of  thought,  so 
employed,  is  suicidal.  The  intellect,  in 
becoming  a pander  to  vice,  a tool  of 
the  passions,  an  advocate  of  lies,  be- 
comes not  only  degraded,  but  diseased. 
It  loses  the  capacity  of  distinguishing 
truth  from  falsehood,  good  from  evil, 
right  from  wrong  ; it  becomes  as  worth- 
less as  an  eye  which  cannot  distinguish 
between  colors  or  forms.  Woe  to  that 
mind  which  wants  the  love  of  truth  ! 
For  want  of  this,  genius  has  become  a 
scourge  to  the  world,  its  breath  a poi- 
sonous exhalation,  its  brightness  a se- 
ducer into  paths  of  pestilence  and 
death.  Truth  is  the  light  of  the  Infi- 
nite Mind,  and  the  image  of  God  in 
his  creatures.  Nothing  endures  but 
truth.  The  dreams,  fictions,  theories, 
which  men  would  substitute  for  it,  soon 
die.  Without  its  guidance  effort  is 
vain,  and  hope  baseless.  Accordingly, 
the  love  of  truth,  a deep  thirst  for  it, 
a deliberate  purpose  to  seek  it  and  hold 
it  fast,  may  be  considered  as  the  very 
foundation  of  human  culture  and  dig- 
nity. Precious  as  thought  is,  the  love 


of  truth  is  still  more  precious  ; for  with- 
out it,  thought  — thought  wanders  and 
wastes  itself,  and  precipitates  men  into 
guilt  and  misery.  There  is  no  greater 
defect  in  education  and  the  pulpit  than 
that  they  inculcate  so  little  an  impar- 
tial, earnest,  reverential  love  of  truth, 
a readiness  to  toil,  to  live  and  die  for 
it.  Let  the  laboring  man  be  imbued  in 
a measure  with  this  spirit ; let  him  learn 
to  regard  himself  as  endowed  with  the 
power  of  thought,  for  the  very  end  of 
acquiring  truth  ; let  him  learn  to  re- 
gard truth  as  more  precious  than  his 
daily  bread  ; and  the  spring  of  true  and 
perpetual  elevation  is  touched  within 
him.  He  has  begun  to  be  a man  ; he 
becomes  one  of  the  elect  of  his  race. 
Nor  do  I despair  of  this  elevation  of 
the  laborer.  Unhappily  little,  almost 
nothing,  has  been  done  as  yet  to  inspire 
either  rich  or  poor  with  the  love  of 
truth  for  its  own  sake,  or  for  the  life, 
and  inspiration,  and  dignity  it  gives  to 
the  soul.  The  prosperous  have  as  little 
of  this  principle  as  the  laboring  mass. 
I think,  indeed,  that  the  spirit  of  lux- 
urious, fashionable  life,  is  more  hostile 
to  it  than  the  hardships  of  the  poor. 
Under  a wise  culture,  this  principle 
may  be  awakened  in  all  classes,  and 
wherever  awakened,  it  will  form  phi- 
losophers, successful  and  noble  think- 
ers. These  remarks  seem  to  me  par- 
ticularly important,  as  showing  how 
intimate  a union  subsists  between  the 
moral  and  intellectual  nature,  and  how 
both  must  work  together  from  the  be- 
ginning. All  human  culture  rests  on  a 
moral  foundation,  on  an  impartial,  dis- 
interested spirit,  on  a willingness  to 
make  sacrifices  to  the  truth.  Without 
this  moral  power,  mere  force  of  thought 
avails  nothing  towards  our  elevation. 

I am  aware  that  I shall  be  told  that 
the  work  of  thought  which  I have  in- 
sisted on  is  difficult,  — that  to  collect 
and  concentrate  the  mind  for  the  truth  is 
harder  than  to  toil  with  the  hands.  Be 
it  so.  But  are  we  weak  enough  to  hope 
to  rise  without  toil  ? Does  any  man, 
laborer  or  not,  expect  to  invigorate 
body  or  mind  without  strenuous  effort  ? 
Does  not  the  child  grow  and  get 
strength  by  throwing  a degree  of  hard- 
ship and  vehemence  and  conflict  into 
his  very  sports  ? Does  not  life  with- 
out difficulty  become  insipid  and  joy- 
less ? Cannot  a strong  interest  turn 


ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF 


46 

difficulty  into  pleasure  ? Let  the  love 
of  truth,  of  which  I have  spoken,  be 
awakened,  and  obstacles  in  the  way  to 
it  will  whet,  not  discourage,  the  mind, 
and  inspire  a new  delight  into  its  acqui- 
sition. 

I have  hitherto  spoken  of  force  of 
thought  in  general.  My  views  will  be 
given  more  completely  and  distinctly, 
by  considering,  next,  the  objects  on 
which  this  force  is  to  be  exerted. 
These  may  be  reduced  to  two  classes, 
matter  and  mind,  — the  physical  world 
which  falls  under  our  eyes,  and  the 
spiritual  world.  The  working  man  is 
particularly  called  to  make  matter  his 
study,  because  his  business  is  to  work 
on  it,  and  he  works  more  wisely,  effect- 
ually, cheerfully,  and  honorably,  in  pro- 
portion as  he  knows  what  he  acts  upon, 
knows  the  laws  and  forces  of  which  he 
avails  himself,  understands  the  reason 
of  what  he  does,' and  can  explain  the 
changes  which  fall  under  his  eye.  Labor 
becomes  a new  thing  when  thought  is 
thrown  into  it,  when  the  mind  keeps 
pace  with  the  hands.  Every  farmer 
should  study  chemistry,  so  as  to  under- 
stand the  elements  or  ingredients  which 
enter  into  soils,  vegetation,  and  manures, 
and  the  laws  according  to  which  they 
combine  with  and  are  loosened  from 
one  another.  So,  the  mechanic  should 
understand  the  mechanic  powers,  the 
laws  of  motion,  and  the  history  and 
composition  of  the  various  substances 
which  he  works  on.  Let  me  add,  that 
the  farmer  and  the  mechanic  should  cul- 
tivate the  perception  of  beauty.  What  a 
charm  and  new  value  might  the  farmer 
add  to  his  grounds  and  cottage,  were  he 
a man  of  taste  ? The  product  of  the 
mechanic,  be  it  great  or  small,  a house 
or  a shoe,  is  worth  more,  sometimes 
much  more,  if  he  can  succeed  in  giv- 
ing it  the  grace  of  proportion.  In 
France,  it  is  not  uncommon  to  teach 
drawing  to  mechanics,  that  they  may  get 
a quick  eye  and  a sure  hand,  and  may 
communicate  to  their  works  the  attrac- 
tion of  beauty.  Every  man  should  aim 
to  impart  this  perfection  to  his  labors. 
The  more  of  mind  we  carry  into  toil,  the 
better.  Without  a habit  of  thought,  a 
man  works  more  like  a brute  or  machine 
than  like  a man.  With  it,  his  soul  is 
kept  alive  amidst  his  toils.  He  learns 
to  fix  an  observing  eye  on  the  processes 
of  his  trade,  catches  "hints  which  abridge 


labor,  gets  glimpses  of  important  dis- 
coveries, and  is  sometimes  able  to  per- 
fect his  art.  Even  now,  after  all  the 
miracles  of  invention  which  honor  our 
age,  we  little  suspect  what  improve- 
ments of  machinery  are  to  spring  from 
spreading  intelligence  and  natural  sci- 
ence among  workmen. 

But  I do  not  stop  here.  Nature  is  to 
engage  our  force  of  thought,  not  simply 
for  the  aid  which  the  knowledge  of  it 
gives  in  working,  but  for  a higher  end. 
Nature  should  be  studied  for  its  own 
sake,  because  so  wonderful  a work  of 
God,  because  impressed  with  his  per- 
fection, because  radiant  with  beauty, 
and  grandeur,  and  wisdom,  and  benef- 
icence. A laborer,  like  every  other 
man,  is  to  be  liberally  educated,  that  is, 
he  is  to  get  knowledge,  not  only  for  his 
bodily  subsistence,  but  for  the  life,  and 
growth,  and  elevation  of  his  mind.  Am 
I asked,  whether  I expect  the  laborer 
to  traverse  the  whole  circle  of  the  phys- 
ical sciences  ? Certainly  not  ; nor  do 
I expect  the  merchant,  or  the  lawyer, 
or  preacher  to.  do  it.  Nor  is  this  at 
all  necessary  to  elevation  of  soul.  The 
truths  of  physical  science,  which  give 
greatest  dignity  to  the  mind,  are  those 
general  laws  of  the  creation  which  it  has 
required  ages  to  unfold,  but  which  an 
active  mind,  bent  on  self-enlargement, 
may  so  far  study  and  comprehend, 
as  to  interpret  the  changes  of  nature 
perpetually  taking  place  around  us,  as 
to  see  in  all  the  forces  of  the  universe 
the  workings  of  one  Infinite  Power,  and 
in  all  its  arrangements  the  manifestation 
of  one  unsearchable  wisdom. 

And  this  leads  me  to  observe  the  sec- 
ond great  object  on  which  force  of 
thought  is  to  be  exerted,  and  that  is  mind, 
spirit,  comprehending  under  this  word 
God  and  all  his  intelligent  offspring. 
This  is  the  subject  of  what  are  called 
the  metaphysical  and  moral  sciences. 
This  is  the  grand  field  for  thought ; 
for  the  outward,  material  world  is  the 
shadow  of  the  spiritual,  and  made  to 
minister  to  it.  This  study  is  of  vast 
extent.  It  comprehends  theology,  met- 
aphysics, moral  philosophy,  political 
science,  history,  literature.  This  is  a 
formidable  list,  and  it  may  seem  to  in- 
clude a vast  amount  of  knowledge  which 
is  necessarily  placed  beyond  the  reach 
of  the  laborer.  But  it  is  an  interesting 
thought,  that  the  key  to  these  various 


THE  LABORING  CLASSES. 


47 


sciences  is  given  to  every  human  being 
in  his  own  nature,  so  that  they  are  pe- 
culiarly accessible  to  him.  How  is  it 
that  I get  my  ideas  of  God,  of  my  fel- 
low-creatures, of  the  deeds,  suffering, 
motives,  which  make  up  universal  his- 
tory ? I comprehend  all  these  from  the 
consciousness  of  what  passes  in  my  own 
soul.  The  mind  within  me  is  a type 
representative  of  all  others,  and  there- 
fore I can  understand  all.  Whence  come 
my  conceptions  of  the  intelligence,  and 
justice,  and  goodness,  and  power  of 
God  ? It  is  because  my  own  spirit  con- 
tains the  germs  of  these  attributes.  The 
ideas  of  them  are  first  derived  from  my 
own  nature,  and  therefore  I comprehend 
them  in  other  beings.  Thus  the  foun- 
dation of  all  the  sciences  which  treat 
of  mind  is  laid  in  every  man’s  breast. 
The  good  man  is  exercising  in  his 
business  and  family  faculties  and  affec- 
tions which  bear  a likeness  to  the  attri- 
butes of  the  Divinity,  and  to  the  energies 
which  have  made  the  greatest  men 
illustrious  ; so  that  in  studying  himself, 
in  learning  the  highest  principles  and 
laws  of  his  own  soul,  he  is  in  truth 
studying  God,  studying  all  human  his- 
tory, studying  the  philosophy  which  has 
immortalized  the  sages  of  ancient  and 
modern  times.  In  every  man’s  mind 
and  life  all  other  minds  and  lives  are 
more  01^  less  represented  and  wrapped 
up.  To  study  other  things,  I must  go 
into  the  outward  world,  and  perhaps  go 
far.  To  study  the  science  of  spirit,  I 
must  come  home  and  enter  my  own 
soul.  The  profoundest  books  that  have 
ever  been  written  do  nothing  more  than 
bring  out,  place  in  clear  light,  what  is 
passing  in  each  of  your  minds.  So  near 
you,  so  within  you,  is  the  grandest  truth. 

I have,  indeed,  no  expectation  that  the 
laborer  is  to  understand  in  detail  the 
various  sciences  which  relate  to  mind. 
Few  men  in  any  vocation  do  so  under- 
stand them.  Nor  is  it  necessary ; though, 
where  time  can  be  commanded,  the  thor- 
ough study  of  some  particular  branch, 
in  which  the  individual  has  a special 
interest,  will  be  found  of  great  utility. 
What  is  needed  to  elevate  the  soul  is, 
not  that  a man  should  know  all  that  has 
been  thought  and  written  in  regard  to 
the  spiritual  nature,  not  that  a man 
should  become  an  encyclopaedia,  but 
that  the  great  ideas,  in  which  all  dis- 
coveries terminate,  which  sum  up  all 


sciences,  which  the  philosopher  extracts 
from  infinite  details,  may  be  compre- 
hended and  felt.  It  is  not  the  quantity, 
but  the  quality  of  knowledge,  which  de- 
termines the  mind’s  dignity.  A man  of 
immense  information  may,  through  the 
want  of  large  and  comprehensive  ideas, 
be  far  inferior  in  intellect  to  a laborer, 
who,  with  little  knowledge,  has  yet  seized 
on  great  truths.  For  example,  I do  not 
expect  the  laborer  to  study  theology  in 
the  ancient  languages,  in  the  writings  of 
the  Fathers,  in  the  history  of  sects,  &c., 
&c.  ; nor  is  this  needful.  All  theology, 
scattered  as  it  is  through  countless  vol- 
umes, is  summed  up  in  the  idea  of  God  ; 
and  let  this  idea  shine  bright  and  clear 
in  the  laborer’s  soul,  and  he  has  the  es- 
sence of  theological  libraries,  and  a far 
higher  light  than  has  visited  thousands 
of  renowned  divines.  A great  mind  is 
formed  by  a few  great  ideas,  not  by  an 
infinity  of  loose  details.  I have  known 
very  learned  men  who  seemed  to  me 
very  poor  in  intellect,  because  they  had 
no  grand  thoughts.  What  avails  it  that 
a man  has  studied  ever  so  minutely 
the  histories  of  Greece  and  Rome,  if 
the  great  ideas  of  freedom,  and  beauty, 
and  valor,  and  spiritual  energy,  have 
not  been  kindled  by  these  records  into 
living  fires  in  his  soul  ? The  illumina- 
tion of  an  age  does  not  consist  in  the 
amount  of  its  knowledge,  but  in  the 
broad  and  noble  principles  of  which  that 
knowledge  is  the  foundation  and  inspirer. 
The  truth  is,  that  the  most  laborious  and 
successful  student  is  confined  in  his  re- 
searches to  a very  few  of  God’s  works  ; 
but  this  limited  knowledge  of  things  may 
still  suggest  universal  laws,  broad  princi- 
ples, grand  ideas,  and  these  elevate  the 
mind.  There  are  certain  thoughts,  prin- 
ciples, ideas,  which,  by  their  nature,  rule 
over  all  knowledge,  which  are  intrinsi- 
cally glorious,  quickening,  all-compre- 
hending, eternal,  and  with  these  I desire 
to  enrich  the  mind  of  the  laborer  and  of 
every  human  being. 

To  illustrate  my  meaning,  let  me  give 
a few  examples  of  the  great  ideas  which 
belong  to  the  study  or  science  of  mind. 
Of  course,  the  first  of  these,  the  grand- 
est, the  most  comprehensive,  is  the  idea 
of  God,  the  Parent  Mind,  the  Primitive 
and  Infinite  Intelligence.  Every  man’s 
elevation  is  to  be  measured  first  and 
chiefly  by  his  conception  of  this  Great 
Being ; and  to  attain  a just,  and  bright, 


48 


ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF 


and  quickening  knowledge  of  Him,  is 
the  highest  aim  of  thought.  In  truth, 
the  great  end  of  the  universe,  of  revela- 
tion, of  life,  is  to  develop  in  us  the  idea 
of  God.  Much  earnest,  patient,  labori- 
ous thought  is  required  to  see  this  In- 
finite Being  as  He  is,  to  rise  above  the 
low,  gross  notions  of  the  Divinity,  which 
rush  in  upon  us  from  our  passions,  from 
our  selfish  partialities,  and  from  the  low- 
minded  world  around  us.  There  is  one 
view  of  God  particularly  suited  to  ele- 
vate us.  I mean  the  view  of  Him  as  the 
“ Father  of  our  spirits  as  having  cre- 
ated us  with  great  powers  to  grow  up  to 
perfection  ; as  having  ordained  all  out- 
ward things  to  minister  to  the  progress 
of  the  soul ; as  always  present  to  inspire 
and  strengthen  us,  to  wake  us  up  to  in- 
ward life,  and  to  judge  and  rebuke  our 
wrong-doing  ; as  looking  with  parental 
joy  on  our  resistance  of  evil ; as  desiring 
to  communicate  himself  to  our  minds  for 
ever.  This  one  idea,  expanded  in  the 
breast  of  the  laborer,  is  a germ  of  eleva- 
tion more  fruitful  than  all  science,  no 
matter  how  extensive  or  profound,  which 
treats  only  of  outward  finite  things.  It 
places  him  in  the  first  rank  of  human 
beings.  You  hear  of  great  theologians. 
He  only  deserves  the  name,  be  his  con- 
dition what  it  may,  who  has,  by  thought 
and  obedience,  purified  and  enlarged  his 
conception  of  God. 

From  the  idea  of  God,  I proceed  to 
another  grand  one,  that  of  man,  of 
human  nature  ; and  this  should  be  the 
object  of  serious,  intense  thought.  Few 
men  know,  as  yet,  what  a man  is.  They 
know  his  clothes,  his  complexion,  his 
property,  his  rank,  his  follies,  and  his 
outward  life.  But  the  thought  of  his  in- 
ward being,  his  proper  humanity,  has 
hardly  dawned  on  multitudes  ; and  yet, 
who  can  live  a man’s  life  that  does  not 
know  what  is  the  distinctive  worth  of  a 
human  being  ? It  is  interesting  to  ob- 
serve how  faithful  men  generally  are  to 
their  idea  of  a man  ; how  they  act  up  to 
it.  Spread  the  notion  that  courage  is 
true  manhood,  and  how  many  will  die 
rather  than  fall  short  of  that  standard  ; 
and  hence,  the  true  idea  of  a man, 
brought  out  in  the  laborer’s  mind,  ele- 
vates him  above  every  other  class  who 
may  want  it.  Am  I asked  for  my  con- 
ception of  the  dignity  of  a human  being  ? 
I should  say,  that  it  consists,  first,  in 
that  spiritual  principle,  called  sometimes 


the  reason,  sometimes  the  conscience, 
which,  rising  above  what  is  local  and 
temporary,  discerns  immutable  truth  and 
everlasting  right ; which,  in  the  midst  of 
imperfect  things,  conceives  of  perfec- 
tion ; which  is  universal  and  impartial, 
standing  in  direct  opposition  to  the  par- 
tial, selfish  principles  of  human  nature  ; 
which  says  to  me  with  authority,  that  my 
neighbor  is  as  precious  as  myself,  and 
his  rights  as  sacred  as  my  own  : which 
commands  me  to  receive  all  truth,  how- 
ever it  may  war  with  my  pride,  and  to  do 
all  justice,  however  it  may  conflict  with 
my  interest ; and  which  calls  me  to  re- 
joice with  love  in  all  that  is  beautiful, 
good,  holy,  happy,  in  whatever  being 
these  attributes  may  be  found.  This 
principle  is  a ray  of  Divinity  in  man. 
We  do  not  know  what  man  is,  still  some- 
thing of  the  celestial  grandeur  of  this 
principle  in  the  soul  may  be  discerned. 
There  is  another  grand  view  of  man,  in- 
cluded indeed  in  the  former,  yet  deserv- 
ing distinct  notice.  He  is  a free  being ; 
created  to  act  from  a spring  in  his  own 
breast,  to  form  himself  and  to  decide  his 
own  destiny  ; connected  intimately  with 
nature,  but  not  enslaved  to  it ; connected 
still  more  strongly  with  God,  yet  not  en- 
slaved even  to  the  Divinity,  but  having 
power  to  render  or  withhold  the  service 
due  to  his  Creator ; encompassed  by  a 
thousand  warring  forces,  by  physical  ele- 
ments which  inflict  pleasure  and  pain,  by 
dangers  seen  and  unseen,  by  the  influ- 
ences of  a tempting,  sinful  world,  yet  en- 
dued by  God  with  power  to  contend  with 
all,  to  perfect  himself  by  conflict  with  the 
very  forces  which  threaten  to  overwhelm 
him.  Such  is  the  idea  of  a man.  Happy 
he  in  whom  it  is  unfolded  by  earnest 
thought ! 

Had  I time,  I should  be  glad  to  speak 
of  other  great  ideas  belonging  to  the 
science  of  mind,  and  which  sum  up  and 
give  us,  in  one  bright  expression,  the 
speculations  of  ages.  The  idea  of  hu- 
man life,  of  its  true  end  and  greatness  ; 
the  idea  of  virtue,  as  the  absolute  and 
ultimate  good  ; the  idea  of  liberty,  which 
is  the  highest  thought  of  political  sci- 
ence, and  which,  by  its  intimate  pres- 
ence to  the  minds  of  the  people,  is  the 
chief  spring  of  our  country’s  life  and 
greatness, — all  these  might  be  enlarged 
on  ; and  I might  show  how  these  may  be 
awakened  in  the  laborer,  and  may  give 
him  an  elevation  which  many  who  are 


THE  LABORING  CLASSES. 


49 


above  labor  want.  But,  leaving  all  these, 
I will  only  refer  to  another,  one  of  the 
most  important  results  of  the  science  of 
mind,  and  which  the  laborer,  in  common 
with  every  man,  may  and  should  receive, 
and  should  strengthen  by  patient  thought. 
It  is  the  idea  of  his  importance  as  an  in- 
dividual. He  is  to  understand  that  he 
has  a value,  not  as  belonging  to  a com- 
munity, and  contributing  to  a general 
good  which  is  distinct  from  himself,  but 
on  his  own  account.  He  is  not  a mere 
part  of  a machine.  In  a machine  the 
parts  are  useless,  but  as  conducing  to 
the  end  of  the  whole,  for  which  alone 
they  subsist.  Not  so  a man.  He  is  not 
simply  a means,  but  an  end,  and  exists 
for  his  own  sake,  for  the  unfolding  of 
his  nature,  for  his  own  virtue  and  happi- 
ness. True,  he  is  to  work  for  others, 
but  not  servilely,  not  with  a broken  spirit, 
not  so  as  to  degrade  himself ; he  is  to 
work  for  others  from  a wise  self-regard, 
from  principles  of  justice  and  benevo- 
lence, and  in  the  exercise  of  a free  will 
and  intelligence,  by  which  his  own  char- 
acter is  perfected.  His  individual  dignity, 
not  derived  from  birth,  from  success, 
from  wealth,  from  outward  show,  but 
consisting  in  the  indestructible  princi- 
ples of  his  soul,  — this  ought  to  enter 
into  his  habitual  consciousness.  I do 
not  speak  rhetorically  or  use  the  cant  of 
rhapsodists,  but  I utter  my  calm,  delib- 
erate conviction,  when  I say  that  the 
laborer  ought  to  regard  himself  with  a 
self-respect  unknown  to  the  proudest 
monarch  who  rests  on  outward  rank. 

I have  now  illustrated  what  I mean  by 
the  great  ideas  which  exalt  the  mind. 
Their  worth  and  power  cannot  be  exag- 
gerated. They  are  the  mightiest  influ- 
ences on  earth.  One  great  thought 
breathed  into  a man  may  regenerate 
him.  The  idea  of  freedom  in  ancient 
and  modern  republics,  the  idea  of  in- 
spiration in  various  religious  sects,  the 
idea  of  immortality,  how  have  these  tri- 
umphed over  worldly  interests  ! How 
many  heroes  and  martyrs  have  they 
formed  ! Great  ideas  are  mightier  than 
the  passions.  To  awaken  them  is  the 
highest  office  of  education.  As  yet  it 
has  been  little  thought  of.  The  educa- 
tion of  the  mass  of  the  people  has  con- 
sisted in  giving  them  mechanical  habits, 
in  breaking  them  to  current  usages  and 
modes  of  thinking,  in  teaching  religion 
and  morality  as  traditions.  It  is  time 


that  a rational  culture  should  take  the 
place  of  mechanical ; that  men  should 
learn  to  act  more  from  ideas  and  princi- 
ples, and  less  from  blind  impulse  and 
undiscerning  imitation. 

Am  I met  here  by  the  constantly 
recurring  objection,  that  such  great 
thoughts  as  have  now  been  treated  of 
are  not  to  be  expected  in  the  multitude 
of  men  whose  means  of  culture  are  so 
confined  ? To  this  difficulty  I shall 
reply  in  the  next  lecture  ; but  I wish  to 
state  a fact,  or  law  of  our  nature,  very 
cheering  to  those  who,  with  few  means, 
still  pant  for  generous  improvement. 
It  is  this,  that  great  ideas  come  to  us 
less  from  outward,  direct,  laborious 
teaching,  than  from  indirect  influences, 
and  from  the  native  working  of  our 
own  minds  ; so  that  those  who  want 
the  outward  apparatus  for  extensive 
learning  are  not  cut  off  from  them. 
Thus,  laborious  teachers  may  instruct 
us  for  years  in  God,  and  virtue,  and  the 
soul,  and  we  may  remain  nearly  as  ig- 
norant of  them  as  at  the  beginning  ; 
whilst  a look,  a tone,  an  act  of  a fellow- 
creature,  who  is  kindled  by  a grand 
thought,  and  who  is  thrown  in  our  path 
at  some  susceptible  season  of  life,  will 
do  much  to  awaken  and  expand  this 
thought  within  us.  It  is  a matter  of 
experience  that  the  greatest  ideas  often 
come  to  us,  when  right-minded,  we 
know  not  how.  They  flash  on  us  as 
lights  from  heaven.  A man  seriously 
given  to  the  culture  of  his  mind  in 
virtue  and  truth  finds  himself  under 
better  teaching  than  that  of  man.  Rev- 
elations of  his  own  soul,  of  God’s  inti- 
mate presence,  of  the  grandeur  of  the 
creation,  of  the  glory  of  disinterested- 
ness, of  the  deformity  of  wrong-doing, 
of  the  dignity  of  universal  justice,  of 
the  might  of  moral  principle,  of  the 
immutableness  of  truth,  of  immortality, 
and  of  the  inward  sources  of  happiness  ; 
these  revelations,  awakening  a thirst  for 
something  higher  then  he  is  or  has, 
come  of  themselves  to  an  humble,  self- 
improving man.  Sometimes  a common 
scene  in  nature,  one  of  the  common  re- 
lations of  life,  will  open  itself  to  us 
with  a brightness  and  pregnancy  of 
meaning  unknown  before.  Sometimes 
a thought  of  this  kind  forms  an  era  in 
life.  It  changes  the  whole  future 
course.  It  is  a new  creation.  And 
these  great  ideas  are  not  confined  to 


4 


50 


ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF 


men  of  any  class.  They  are  communi- 
cations of  the  Infinite  Mind  to  all  minds 
which  are  open  to  their  reception  ; and 
labor  is  a far  better  condition  for  their 
reception  than  luxurious  or  fashionable 
life.  It  is  even  better  than  a studious 
life,  when  this  fosters  vanity,  pride,  and 
the  spirit  of  jealous  competition.  A 
childlike  simplicity  attracts  these  rev- 
elations more  than  a selfish  culture  of 
intellect,  however  far  extended.  — Per- 
haps a caution  should  be  added  to  these 
suggestions.  In  speaking  of  great  ideas, 
as  sometimes  springing  up  of  them- 
selves, as  sudden  illuminations,  I have 
no  thought  of  teaching  that  we  are  to 
wait  for  them  passively,  or  to  give  up 
our  minds  unthinkingly  to  their  con- 
trol. We  must  prepare  ourselves  for 
them  by  faithfulness  to  our  own  powers, 
by  availing  ourselves  of  all  means  of 
culture  within  our  reach  ; and,  what  is 
more,  these  illuminations,  if  they  come, 
are  not  distinct,  complete,  perfect  views, 
but  glimpses,  suggestions,  flashes,  given 
us,  like  all  notices  and  impressions  from 
the  outward  world,  to  be  thought  upon, 
to  be  made  subjects  of  patient  reflec- 
tion, to  be  brought  by  our  own  intellect 
and  activity  into  their  true  connection 
with  all  our  other  thoughts.  A great 
idea,  without  reflection,  may  dazzle 
and  bewilder,  may  destroy  the  balance 
and  proportion  of  the  mind,  and  impel 
to  dangerous  excess.  It  is  to  awaken 
the  free,  earnest  exertion  of  our  powers, 
to  rouse  us  from  passiveness  to  activity 
and  life,  that  inward  inspirations,  and 
the  teachings  of  outward  nature,  are 
accorded  to  the  mind. 

I have  thus  spoken  at  large  of  that 
force  of  thought  which  the  laborer  is 
to  seek  as  his  true  elevation  ; and  I will 
close  the  subject  with  observing,  that 
on  whatever  objects,  or  for  whatever 
purposes  this  force  may  be  exerted,  one 
purpose  should  be  habitually  predomi- 
nant, and  that  is,  to  gain  a larger, 
clearer  comprehension  of  all  the  duties 
of  life.  Thought  cannot  take  too  wide 
a range  ; but  its  chief  aim  should  be  to 
acquire  juster  and  brighter  perceptions 
of  the  right  and  the  good,  in  every 
relation  and  condition  in  which  we  may 
be  placed.  Do  not  imagine  that  I am 
here  talking  professionally,  or  sliding 
unconsciously,  by  the  force  of  habit, 
into  the  tone  of  the  pulpit.  The  sub- 
ject of  duty  belongs  equally  to  all  pro- 


fessions and  all  conditions.  It  were  as 
wise  to  think  of  living  without  breath, 
or  of  seeing  without  light,  as  to  exclude 
moral  and  religious  principle  from  the 
work  of  self-elevation.  And  I say  this, 
because  you  are  in  danger  of  mistak- 
ing mere  knowledge  for  improvement. 
Knowledge  fails  of  its  best  end  when 
it  does  not  minister  to  a high  virtue. 
I do  not  say  that  we  are  never  to  think, 
read,  or  study,  but  for  the  express  pur- 
pose of  learning  our  duties.  The  mind 
must  not  be  tied  down  by  rigid  rules. 
Curiosity,  amusement,  natural  tastes, 
may  innocently  direct  reading  and  study 
to  a certain  extent.  Even  in  these 
cases,  however,  we  are  bound  to 
improve  ourselves  morally  as  well  as 
intellectually,  by  seeking  truth  and  re- 
jecting falsehood,  and  by  watching 
against  the  taint  which  inheres  in  al- 
most all  human  productions.  What 
avails  intellectual  without  moral  powrer  ? 
How  little  does  it  avail  us  to  study  the 
outward  world,  if  its  greatness  inspire 
no  reverence  of  its  Author,  if  its  benefi- 
cence awaken  no  kindred  love  towards 
our  fellow-creatures  ! How  little  does 
it  avail  us  to  study  history,  if  the  past 
do  not  help  us  to  comprehend  the  dan- 
gers and  duties  of  the  present  ; if  from 
the  sufferings  of  those  who  have  gone 
before  us,  we  do  not  learn  how  to  suf- 
fer, and  from  their  great  and  good  deeds 
how  to  act  nobly ; if  the  development 
of  the  human  heart,  in  different  ages 
and  countries,  do  not  give  us  a better 
knowledge  of  ourselves ! How  little 
does  literature  benefit  us,  if  the  sketches 
of  life  and  character,  the  generous  sen- 
timents, the  testimonies  to  disinterest- 
edness and  rectitude,  with  which  it 
abounds,  do  not  incite  and  guide  us  to 
wiser,  purer,  and  more  graceful  action  ! 
How  little  substantial  good  do  we  de- 
rive from  poetry  and  the  fine  arts,  if 
the  beauty,  which  delights  the  imagina- 
tion, do  not  warm  and  refine  the  heart, 
and  raise  us  to  the  love  and  admiration 
of  what  is  fair,  and  perfect,  and  lofty, 
in  character  and  life  ! Let  our  studies 
be  as  wide  as  our  condition  will  allow  ; 
but  let  this  be  their  highest  aim,  to  in- 
struct us  in  our  duty  and  happiness,  in 
the  perfection  of  our  nature,  in  the  true 
use  of  life,  in  the  best  direction  of  our 
powers.  Then  is  the  culture  of  intel- 
lect an  unmixed  good,  when  it  is  sa- 
credly used  to  enlighten  the  conscience, 


THE  LABORING  CLASSES. 


to  feed  the  flame  of  generous  senti- 
ment, to  perfect  us  in  our  common  em- 
ployments, to  throw  a grace  over  our 
common  actions,  to  make  us  sources  of 
innocent  cheerfulness  and  centres  of 
holy  influence,  and  to  give  us  courage, 
strength,  stability,  amidst  the  sudden 
changes  and  sore  temptations  and  trials 
of  life. 


Lecture  II. 

In  my  last  lecture  I invited  your  atten- 
tion to  a subject  of  great  interest,  — the 
elevation  of  the  laboring  portion  of  the 
community.  I proposed  to  consider,  first, 
in  what  this  elevation  consists  ; secondly, 
the  objections  which  may  be  made  to 
its  practicableness  ; thirdly,  the  circum- 
stances which  now  favor  it,  and  give  us 
hope  that  it  will  be  more  and  more  ac- 
complished. In  considering  the  first 
head,  I began  with  stating  in  what  the 
elevation  of  the  laboring  class  does  not 
consist,  and  then  proceeded  to  show  posi- 
tively what  it  is,  what  it  does  consist  in. 
I want  time  to  retrace  the  ground  over 
which  we  then  travelled.  I must  trust 
to  your  memories.  I was  obliged  by  my 
narrow  limits  to  confine  myself  chiefly 
to  the  consideration  of  the  intellectual 
elevation  which  the  laborer  is  to  pro- 
pose ; though,  in  treating  this  topic,  I 
showed  the  moral,  religious,  social  im- 
provements which  enter  into  his  true 
dignity.  I observed  that  the  laborer  was 
to  be  a student,  a thinker,  an  intellectual 
man,  as  well  as  a laborer ; and  suggested 
the  qualifications  of  this  truth  which  are 
required  by  his  peculiar  employment,  by 
his  daily  engagement  in  manual  toil.  I 
now  come  to  consider  the  objections 
which  spring  up  in  many  minds,  when 
such  views  of  the  laborer’s  destiny  are 
given.  This  is  our  second  head. 

First,  it  will  be  objected,  that  the  la- 
boring multitude  cannot  command  a va- 
riety of  books,  or  spend  much  time  in 
reading ; and  how,  then,  can  they  gain 
the  force  of  thought,  and  the  great  ideas, 
which  were  treated  of  in  the  former  lect- 
ure ? This  objection  grows  out  of  the 
prevalent  disposition  to  confound  intel- 
lectual improvement  with  book-learning. 
Some  seem  to  think  that  there  is  a kind 
of  magic  in  a printed  page,  that  types 
give  a higher  knowledge  than  can  be 
gained  from  other  sources.  Reading  is 
considered  as  the  royal  road  to  intel- 


51 

lectual  eminence.  This  prejudice  I have 
virtually  set  aside  in  my  previous  rf 
marks  ; but  it  has  taken  so  strong  a hold 
of  many  as  to  need  some  consideration. 
I shall  not  attempt  to  repel  the  objection 
by  decrying  books.  Truly  good  books 
are  more  than  mines  to  those  who  can 
understand  them.  They  are  the  breath- 
ings of  the  great  souls  of  past  times. 
Genius  is  not  embalmed  in  them,  as  is 
sometimes  said,  but  lives  in  them  per- 
petually. But  we  need  not  many  books 
to  answer  the  great  ends  of  reading.  A 
few  are  better  than  many,  and  a little 
time  given  to  a faithful  study  of  the  few 
will  be  enough  to  quicken  thought  and 
enrich  the  mind.  'The  greatest  men 
have  not  been  book-men.  Washington,  it 
has  often  been  said,  was  no  great  reader. 
The  learning  commonly  gathered  from 
books  is  of  less  worth  than  the  truths 
we  gain  from  experience  and  reflection. 
Indeed,  most  of  the  knowledge  from 
reading,  in  these  days,  being  acquired 
with  little  mental  action,  and  seldom  or 
never  reflected  on  and  turned  to  use,  is 
very  much  a vain  show.  Events  stirring 
the  mind  to  earnest  thought  and  vigorous 
application  of  its  resources,  do  vastly 
more  to  elevate  the  mind  than  most  of 
our  studies  at  the  present  time.  Few  of 
the  books  read  among  us  deserve  to  be 
read.  Most  of  them  have  no  principle 
of  life,  as  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  they 
die  the  year  of  their  birth.  They  do  not 
come  from  thinkers,  and  how  can  they 
awaken  thought  ? A great  proportion 
of  the  reading  of  this  city  is  useless,  I 
had  almost  said  pernicious.  I should  be 
sorry  to  see  our  laborers  exchanging 
their  toils  for  the  reading  of  many  of  our 
young  ladies  and  young  gentlemen,  who 
look  on  the  intellect  as  given  them  for 
amusement,  who  read,  as  they  visit,  for 
amusement,  who  discuss  no  great  truths 
and  put  forth  no  energy  of  thought  on 
the  topics  which  fly  through  their  minds. 
With  this  insensibility  to  the  dignity  of 
the  intellect,  and  this  frittering  away  of 
the  mind  on  superficial  reading,  I see  not 
with  what  face  they  can  claim  superior- 
ity to  the  laboring  mass,  who  certainly 
understand  one  thing  thoroughly,  that 
is,  their  own  business,  and  who  are  do- 
ing something  useful  for  themselves  and 
their  fellow-creatures.  The  great  use  of 
books  is  to  rouse  us  to  thought ; to  turn 
us  to  questions  which  great  men  have 
been  working  on  for  ages  ; to  furnish  us 


52 


ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF 


with  materials  for  the  exercise  of  judg- 
ment, imagination,  and  moral  feeling  ; to 
breathe  into  us  a moral  life  from  higher 
spirits  than  our  own  ; and  this  benefit  of 
books  may  be  enjoyed  by  those  who  have 
not  much  time  for  retired  study. 

It  must  not  be  forgotten,  by  those  who 
despair  of  the  laboring  classes  because 
they  cannot  live  in  libraries,  that  the 
highest  sources  of  truth,  light,  and  eleva- 
tion of  mind,  are  not  libraries,  but  our 
inward  and  outward  experience.  Human 
life,  with  its  joys  and  sorrows,  its  bur- 
dens and  alleviations,  its  crimes  and  virt- 
ues, its  deep  wants,  its  solemn  changes, 
and  its  retributions,  always  pressing  on 
us  ; what  a library  is  this  ! and  who 
may  not  study  it  ? Every  human  being 
is  a volume  worthy  to  be  studied.  The 
books  which  circulate  most  freely  through 
the  community  are  those  which  give  us 
pictures  of  human  life.  How  much  more 
improving  is  the  original,  did  we  know 
how  to  read  it  ? The  laborer  has  this 
page  always  open  before  him  ; and,  still 
more,  the  laborer  is  every  day  writing  a 
volume  more  full  of  instruction  than  all 
human  productions,  — I mean  his  own 
life.  No  work  of  the  most  exalted  gen- 
ius can  teach  us  so  much  as  the  revela- 
tion of  human  nature  in  the  secrets  of 
our  own  souls,  in  the  workings  of  our 
own  passions,  in  the  operations  of  our 
own  intelligence,  in  the  retributions 
which  follow  our  own  good  and  evil 
deeds,  in  the  dissatisfaction  with  the 
present,  in  the  spontaneous  thoughts  and 
aspirations  which  form  part  of  every 
man’s  biography.  The  study  of  our  own 
history  from  childhood,  of  all  the  stages 
of  our  development,  of  the  good  and  bad 
influences  which  have  beset  us,  of  our 
mutations  of  feeling  and  purpose,  and  of 
the  great  current  which  is  setting  us  to- 
wards future  happiness  or  woe,  — this  is  a 
study  to  make  us  nobly  wise  : and  who 
of  us  has  not  access  to  this  fountain  of 
eternal  truth  ? May  not  the  laborer 
study  and  understand  the  pages  which 
he  is  writing  in  his  own  breast  ? 

In  these  remarks,  I have  aimed  to  re- 
move the  false  notion  into  which  laborers 
themselves  fall,  that  they  can  do  little 
towards  acquiring  force  and  fulness  of 
thought,  because  in  want  of  books.  I 
shall  next  turn  to  prejudices  more  con- 
fined to  other  classes.  A very  common 
one  is,  that  the  many  are  not  to  be 
called  to  think,  study,  improve  their 


minds,  because  a privileged  few  are  in- 
tended by  God  to  do  their  thinking  for 
them.  “ Providence,”  it  is  said,  “ raises 
up  superior  minds,  whose  office  it  is  to 
discover  truth  for  the  rest  of  the  race. 
Thinking  and  manual  toil  are  not  meant 
to  go  together.  The  division  of  labor  is 
a great  law  of  nature.  One  man  is  to 
serve  society  by  his  head,  another  by 
his  hands.  Let  each  class  keep  to  its 
proper  work.”  These  doctrines  I pro- 
test against.  I deny  to  any  individual 
or  class  this  monopoly  of  thought.  Who 
among  men  can  show  God’s  commission 
to  think  for  his  brethren,  to  shape  pas- 
sively the  intellect  of  the  mass,  to  stamp 
his  own  image  on  them  as  if  they  were 
wax  ? As  well  might  a few  claim  a 
monopoly  of  light  and  air,  of  seeing  and 
breathing,  as  of  thought.  Is  not  the  in- 
tellect as  universal  a gift  as  the  organs 
of  sight  and  respiration  ? Is  not  truth 
as  freely  spread  abroad  as  the  atmos- 
phere or  the  sun’s  rays  ? Can  we 
imagine  that  God's  highest  gifts  of  intel- 
ligence, imagination,  and  moral  power, 
were  bestowed  to  provide  only  for  ani- 
mal wants  ? to  be  denied  the  natural 
means  of  growth,  which  is  action  ? to  be 
starved  by  drudgery  ? Were  the  mass 
of  men  made  to  be  monsters  ? to  grow 
only  in  a few  organs  and  faculties,  and 
to  pine  away  and  shrivel  in  others  ? 
or  were  they  made  to  put  forth  all  the 
powers  of  men,  especially  the  best  and 
most  distinguishing  ? No  man,  not  the 
lowest,  is  all  hands,  all  bones  and  muscles. 
The  mind  is  more  essential  to  human 
nature,  and  more  enduring,  than  the 
limbs  ; and  was  this  made  to  lie  dead  ? 
Is  not  thought  the  right  and  duty  of  all  ? 
Is  not  truth  alike  precious  to  all  ? Is 
not  truth  the  natural  aliment  of  the 
mind,  as  plainly  as  the  wholesome  grain 
is  of  the  body  ? Is  not  the  mind  adapt- 
ed to  thought,  as  plainly  as  the  eye  to 
light,  the  ear  to  sound  ? Who  dares  to 
withhold  it  from  its  natural  action,  its 
natural  element  and  joy?  Undoubtedly 
some  men  are  more  gifted  than  others, 
and  are  marked  out  for  more  studious 
lives.  But  the  work  of  such  men  is  not 
to  do  others’  thinking  for  them,  but  to 
help  them  to  think  more  vigorously  and 
effectually.  Great  minds  are  to  make 
others  great.  Their  superiority  is  to  be 
used,  not  to  break  the  multitude  to  intel- 
lectual vassalage,  not  to  establish  over 
them  a spiritual  tyranny,  but  to  rouse 


THE  LABORING  CLASSES. 


S3 


them  from  lethargy,  and  to  aid  them  to 
judge  for  themselves.  The  light  and 
life  which  spring  up  in  one  soul  are  to 
be  spread  far  and  wide.  Of  all  treasons 
against  humanity,  there  is  no  one  worse 
than  his  who  employs  great  intellectual 
force  to  keep  down  the  intellect  of  his 
less  favored  brother. 

It  is  sometimes  urged  by  those  who 
consider  the  multitude  as  not  intended 
to  think,  that  at  best  they  can  learn  but 
little,  and  that  this  is  likely  to  harm 
rather  than  to  do  them  good.  “ A little 
learning,”  we  are  told,  “is  a dangerous 
thing.”  “ Shallow  draughts  ” of  knowl- 
edge are  worse  than  ignorance.  The 
mass  of  the  people,  it  is  said,  can  go  to 
the  bottom  of  nothing  ; and  the  result  of 
stimulating  them  to  thought  will  be  the 
formation  of  a dangerous  set  of  half- 
thinkers. To  this  argument  I reply, 
first,  that  it  has  the  inconvenience  of 
proving  too  much  ; for,  if  valid,  it  shows 
that  none  of  any  class  ought  to  think. 
For  who,  I would  ask,  can  go  to 
the  bottom  of  any  thing  ? Whose 
“ learning  ” is  not  “ little  ” ? Whose 
“ draughts  ” of  knowledge  are  not 
“ shallow  ” ? Who  of  us  has  fathomed 
the  depths  of  a single  product  of  nature 
or  a single  event  in  history  ? Who  of  us 
is  not  baffled  by  the  mysteries  in  a grain 
of  sand  ? How  contracted  the  range  of 
the  widest  intellect ! But  is  our  knowl- 
edge, because  so  little,  of  no  worth  ? 
Are  we  to  despise  the  lessons  which  are 
taught  us  in  this  nook  of  creation,  in  this 
narrow  round  of  human  experience, 
because  an  infinite  universe  stretches 
around  us,  which  we  have  no  means  of 
exploring,  and  in  which  the  earth,  and 
sun,  and  planets,  dwindle  to  a point  ? We 
should  remember  that  the  known,  how- 
ever little  it  may  be,  is  in  harmony  with 
the  boundless  unknown,  and  a step  tow- 
ards it.  We  should  remember,  too,  that 
the  gravest  truths  may  be  gathered  from 
a very  narrow  compass  of  information. 
God  is  revealed  in  his  smallest  work  as 
truly  as  in  his  greatest.  The  principles 
of  human  nature  may  be  studied  better 
in  a family  than  in  the  history  of  the 
world.  The  finite  is  a manifestation  of 
the  infinite.  The  great  ideas,  of  which 
I have  formerly  spoken,  are  within  the 
reach  of  every  man  who  thirsts  for 
truth,  and  seeks  it  with  singleness  of 
mind.  I will  only  add,  that  the  labor- 
ing class  are  not  now  condemned  to 


draughts  of  knowledge  so  shallow  as  to 
merit  scorn.  Many  of  them  know  more 
of  the  outward  world  than  all  the  philos- 
ophers of  antiquity ; and  Christianity 
has  opened  to  them  mysteries  of  the  spir- 
itual world  which  kings  and  prophets 
were  not  privileged  to  understand.  And 
are  they,  then,  to  be  doomed  to  spiritual 
inaction,  as  incapable  of  useful  thought  ? 

It  is  sometimes  said,  that  the  multi- 
tude may  think  on  the  common  busi- 
ness of  life,  but  not  on  higher  subjects, 
and  especially  on  religion.  This,  it  is 
said,  must  be  received  on  authority  ; on 
this,  men  in  general  can  form  no  judg- 
ment of  their  own.  But  this  is  the  last 
subject  on  which  the  individual  should 
be  willing  to  surrender  himself  to  others’ 
dictation.  In  nothing  has  he  so  strong 
an  interest.  In  nothing  is  it  so  impor- 
tant that  his  mind  and  heart  should  be 
alive  and  engaged.  In  nothing  has  he 
readier  means  of  judging  for  himself. 
In  nothing,  as  history  shows,  is  he  more 
likely  to  be  led  astray  by  such  as  assume 
the  office  of  thinking  for  him.  Relig- 
ion is  a subject  open  to  all  minds.  Its 
great  truths  have  their  foundation  in  the 
soul  itself,  and  their  proofs  surround 
us  on  all  sides.  God  has  not  shut  up 
the  evidence  of  his  being  in  a few 
books,  written  in  a foreign  language, 
and  locked  up  in  the  libraries  of  col- 
leges and  philosophers  ; but  has  written 
his  name  on  the  heavens  and  on  the 
earth,  and  even  on  the  minutest  animal 
and  plant ; and  his  word,  taught  by 
Jesus  Christ,  was  not  given  to  scribes 
and  lawyers,  but  taught  to  the  poor,  to 
the  mass  of  men,  on  mountains,  in  streets, 
and  on  the  sea-shore.  Let  me  not  be  told 
that  the  multitude  do  actually  receive 
religion  on  authority,  or  on  the  word  of 
others.  I reply,  that  a faith  so  received 
seems  to  me  of  little  worth.  The  pre- 
cious, the  living,  the  effectual  part  of  a 
poor  man’s  faith,  is  that  of  which  he 
sees  the  reasonableness  and  excellence  ; 
that  which  approves  itself  to  his  intelli- 
gence, his  conscience,  his  heart ; that 
which  answers  to  deep  wants  in  his  own 
soul,  and  of  which  he  has  the  witness  in 
his  own  inward  and  outward  experience. 
All  other  parts  of  his  belief,  those  which 
he  takes  on  blind  trust,  and  in  which  he 
sees  no  marks  of  truth  and  divinity,  do 
him  little  or  no  good.  Too  often  they  do 
him  harm,  by  perplexing  his  simple  rea- 
son, by  substituting  the  fictions  and  arti- 


54 


ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF 


ficial  systems  of  theologians  for  the  plain 
precepts  of  love,  and  justice,  and  humil- 
ity, and  filial  trust  in  God.  As  long  as  it 
was  supposed  that  religion  is  to  benefit 
the  world  by  laying  restraints,  awaken- 
ing fears,  and  acting  as  a part  of  the 
system  of  police,  so  long  it  was  natural 
to  rely  on  authority  and  tradition  as  the 
means  of  its  propagation  ; so  long  it  was 
desirable  to  stifle  thought  and  inquiry 
on  the  subject.  But  now  that  we  have 
learned  that  the  true  office  of  religion  is 
to  awaken  pure  and  lofty  sentiments, 
and  to  unite  man  to  God  by  rational 
homage  and  enlightened  love,  there  is 
something  monstrous  in  placing  religion 
beyond  the  thought  and  the  study  of  the 
mass  of  the  human  race. 

I proceed  to  another  prejudice.  It  is 
objected,  that  the  distinction  of  ranks 
is  essential  to  social  order,  and  that 
this  will  be  swept  away  by  calling  forth 
energy  of  thought  in  all  men.  This 
objection,  indeed,  though  exceedingly 
insisted  on  in  Europe,  has  nearly  died 
out  here  ; but  still  enough  of  it  lingers 
among  us  to  deserve  consideration.  I 
reply,  then,  that  it  is  a libel  on  social 
order  to  suppose  that  it  requires  for  its 
support  the  reduction  of  the  multitude 
of  human  beings  to  ignorance  and  ser- 
vility ; and  that  it  is  a libel  on  the  Cre- 
ator to  suppose  that  He  requires,  as  the 
foundation  of  communities,  the  sys- 
tematic depression  of  the  majority  of 
his  intelligent  offspring.  The  suppo- 
sition is  too  grossly  unreasonable,  too 
monstrous,  to  require  labored  refuta- 
tion. I see  no  need  of  ranks,  either 
for  social  order  or  for  any  other  pur- 
pose. A great  variety  of  pursuits  and 
conditions  is  indeed  to  be  desired. 
Men  ought  to  follow  their  genius,  and 
to  put  forth  their  powers  in  every  useful 
and  lawful  way.  I do  not  ask  for  a 
monotonous  world.  We  are  far  too 
monotonous  now.  The  vassalage  of 
fashion,  which  is  a part  of  rank,  pre- 
vents continually  the  free  expansion  of 
men’s  powers.  Let  us  have  the  great- 
est diversity  of  occupations.  But  this 
does  not  imply  that  there  is  a need 
of  splitting  society  into  castes  or  ranks, 
or  that  a certain  number  should  arro- 
gate superiority,  and  stand  apart  from 
the  rest  of  men  as  a separate  race. 
Men  may  work  in  different  departments 
of  life,  and  yet  recognize  their  brotherly 
relation,  and  honor  one  another,  and  hold 


friendly  communion  with  one  another. 
Undoubtedly,  men  will  prefer  as  friends 
and  common  associates  those  with 
whom  they  sympathize  most.  But  this 
is  not  to  form  a rank  or  caste.  For 
example,  the  intelligent  seek  out  the 
intelligent ; the  pious,  those  who  rever- 
ence God.  But  suppose  the  intellectual 
and  the  religious  to  cut  themselves  off 
by  some  broad,  visible  distinction  from 
the  rest  of  society,  to  form  a clan  of 
their  own,  to  refuse  admission  into  their 
houses  to  people  of  inferior  knowledge 
and  virtue,  and  to  diminish  as  far  as 
possible  the  occasions  of  intercourse 
with  them  ; would  not  society  rise  up, 
as  one  man,  against  this  arrogant-  ex- 
clusiveness ? And  if  intelligence  and 
piety  may  not  be  the  foundations  of  a 
caste,  on  what  ground  shall  they,  who 
have  no  distinction  but  wealth,  supe- 
rior costume,  richer  equipages,  finer 
houses,  draw  lines  around  themselves 
and  constitute  themselves  a higher 
class  ? That  some  should  be  richer 
than  others  is  natural,  and  is  necessary, 
and  could  only  be  prevented  by  gross 
violations  of  right.  Leave  men  to  the 
free  use  of  their  powers,  and  some  will 
accumulate  more  than  their  neighbors. 
But  to  be  prosperous  is  not  to  be  supe- 
rior, and  should  form  no  barrier  between 
men.  Wealth  ought  not  to  secure  to 
the  prosperous  the  slightest  consider- 
ation. The  only  distinctions  wrhich 
should  be  recognized  are  those  of  the 
soul,  of  strong  principle,  of  incorrupti- 
ble integrity,  of  usefulness,  of  culti- 
vated intellect,  of  fidelity  in  seeking 
for  truth.  A man,  in  proportion  as  he 
has  these  claims,  should  be  honored 
and  welcomed  everywhere.  I see  not 
why  such  a man,  however  coarsely  if 
neatly  dressed,  should  not  be  a re- 
spected guest  in  the  most  splendid 
mansions,  and  at  the  most  brilliant 
meetings.  A man  is  worth  infinitely 
more  than  the  saloons,  and  the  cos- 
tumes, and  the  show  of  the  universe. 
He  was  made  to  tread  all  these  be- 
neath his  feet.  What  an  insult  to  hu- 
manity is  the  present  deference  to  dress 
and  upholstery,  as  if  silk-w-orms,  and 
looms,  and  scissors,  and  needles  could 
produce  something  nobler  than  a man  ! 
Every  good  man  should  protest  against 
a caste  founded  on  outward  prosperity, 
because  it  exalts  the  outward  above  the 
inward,  the  material  above  the  spir- 


THE  LABORING  CLASSES. 


55 


itual  ; because  it  springs  from  and 
cherishes  a contemptible  pride  in  su- 
perficial and  transitory  distinctions  ; 
because  it  alienates  man  from  his 
brother,  breaks  the  tie  of  common 
humanity,  and  breeds  jealousy,  scorn, 
and  mutual  ill-will.  Can  this  be  needed 
to  social  order  ? 

It  is  true,  that  in  countries  where  the 
mass  of  the  people  are  ignorant  and 
servile,  the  existence  of  a higher  and 
a worshipped  rank  tends  to  keep  them 
from  outrage.  It  infuses  a sentiment 
of  awe,  which  prevents  more  or  less 
the  need  of  force  and  punishment. 
But  it  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  the 
means  of  keeping  order  in  one  state 
of  society  may  become  the  chief  ex- 
citement of  discontent  and  disorder  in 
another,  and  this  is  peculiarly  true  of 
aristocracy  or  high  rank.  In  rude  ages, 
this  keeps  the  people  down  ; but  when 
the  people  by  degrees  have  risen  to 
some  consciousness  of  their  rights  and 
essential  equality  with  the  rest  of  the 
race,  the  awe  of  rank  naturally  subsides, 
and  passes  into  suspicion,  jealousy,  and 
sense  of  injury,  and  a disposition  to 
resist.  The  very  institution  which  once 
restrained,  now  provokes.  Through 
this  process  the  Old  World  is  now  pass- 
ing. The  strange  illusion,  that  a man, 
because  he  wears  a garter  or  a riband,  or 
was  born  to  a title,  belongs  to  another 
race,  is  fading  away  ; and  society  must 
pass  through  a series  of  revolutions, 
silent  or  bloody,  until  a more  natural 
order  takes  place  of  distinctions  which 
grew  originally  out  of  force.  Thus, 
aristocracy,  instead  of  giving  order  to 
society,  now  convulses  it.  So  impos- 
sible is  it  for  arbitrary  human  ordina- 
tions permanently  to  degrade  human 
nature,  or  subvert  the  principles  of 
justice  and  freedom. 

I am  aware  that  it  will  be  said,  “that 
the  want  of  refinement  of  manners  and 
taste  in  the  lower  classes  will  neces- 
sarily keep  them  an  inferior  caste,  even 
though  all  political  inequalities  be  re- 
moved.” I acknowledge  this  defect  of 
manners  in  the  multitude,  and  grant 
that  it  is  an  obstacle  fo  intercourse  with 
the  more  improved,  though  often  exag- 
gerated. But  this  is  a barrier  which 
must  and  will  yield  to  the  means  of 
culture  spread  through  our  community. 
The  evil  is  not  necessarily  associated 
with  any  condition  of  human  life.  An 


intelligent  traveller*  tells  us,  that  in 
Norway,  a country  wanting  many  of 
our  advantages,  good  manners  and  po- 
liteness are  spread  through  all  condi- 
tions ; and  that  the  “ rough  way  of 
talking  to  and  living  with  each  other, 
characteristic  of  the  lower  classes  of 
society  in  England,  is  not  found  there.” 
Not  many  centuries  ago,  the  intercourse 
of  the  highest  orders  in  Europe  was 
sullied  by  indelicacy  and  fierceness  ; 
but  time  has  worn  out  these  stains,  and 
the  same  cause  is  now  removing  what 
is  repulsive  among  those  who  toil  with 
their  hands.  I cannot  believe  that 
coarse  manners,  boisterous  conversa- 
tion, slovenly  negligence,  filthy  customs, 
surliness,  indecency,  are  to  descend  by 
necessity  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion in  any  portion  of  the  community. 
I do  not  see  why  neatness,  courtesy, 
delicacy,  ease,  and  deference  to  others’ 
feelings,  may  not  be  made  the  habits  of 
the  laboring  multitude.  A change  is 
certainly  going  on  among  them  in  re- 
spect to  manners.  Let  us  hope  that  it 
will  be  a change  for  the  better  ; that 
they  will  not  adopt  false  notions  of  re- 
finement ; that  they  will  escape  the 
servile  imitation  of  what  is  hollow  and 
insincere,  and  the  substitution  of  out- 
ward shows  for  genuine  natural  courtesy. 
Unhappily  they  have  but  imperfect 
models  on  which  to  form  themselves. 
It  is  not  one  class  alone  which  needs 
reform  in  manners.  We  all  need  a new 
social  intercourse,  which  shall  breathe 
genuine  refinement ; which  shall  unite 
the  two  great  elements  of  politeness, 
self-respect,  and  a delicate  regard  to  the 
rights  and  feelings  of  others  ; which 
shall  be  free  without  rudeness,  and 
earnest  without  positiveness  ; which 
shall  be  graceful,  yet  warm-hearted ; 
and  in  which  communication  shall  be 
frank,  unlabored,  overflowing,  through 
the  absence  of  all  assumption  and  pre- 
tence, and  through  the  consciousness 
of  being  safe  from  heartless  ridicule. 
This  grand  reform,  which  I trust  is  to 
come,  will  bring  with  it  a happiness 
little  known  in  social  life  ; and  whence 
shall  it  come  ? The  wise  and  disinter- 
ested of  all  conditions  must  contribute 
to  it ; and  I see  not  why  the  laboring 
classes  may  not  take  part  in  the  work. 
Indeed,  when  I consider  the  greater 

* See  Laing’s  Travels  in  Norway. 


ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF 


56 

simplicity  of  their  lives  and  their  greater 
openness  to  the  spirit  of  Christianity, 
I am  not  sure  but  that  the  “ golden 
age  ” of  manners  is  to  begin  among 
those  who  are  now  despaired  of  for 
their  want  of  refinement. 

I n these  remarks,  I have  given  the  name 
of  “ prejudices”  to  the  old  opinions  re- 
specting rank,  and  respecting  the  need 
of  keeping  the  people  from  much  thought 
But  allow  these  opinions  to  have  a 
foundation  in  truth  : suppose  high  fences 
of  rank  to  be  necessary  to  refinement  of 
manners  ; suppose  that  the  happiest  of 
all  ages  were  the  feudal,  when  aristoc- 
racy was  in  its  flower  and  glory,  when 
the  noble,  superior  to  the  laws,  com- 
mitted more  murders  in  one  year  than 
the  multitude  in  twenty.  Suppose  it 
best  for  the  laborer  to  live  and  die  in 
thoughtless  ignorance.  Allow  all  this, 
and  that  we  have  reason  to  look  with 
envy  on  the  past ; one  thing  is  plain,  the 
past  is  gone,  the  feudal  castle  is  dis- 
mantled, the  distance  between  classes 
greatly  reduced.  Unfortunate  as  it  may 
be,  the  people  have  begun  to  think,  to 
ask  reasons  for  what  they  do  and  suffer 
and  believe,  and  to  call  the  past  to  ac- 
count. Old  spells  are  broken,  old  reli- 
ances gone.  Men  can  no  longer  be  kept 
down  by  pageantry,  state-robes,  forms, 
and  shows.  Allowing  it  to  be  best  that 
society  should  rest  on  the  depression  of 
the  multitude,  the  multitude  will  no 
longer  be  quiet  when  they  are  trodden 
under  foot,  but  ask  impatiently  for  a 
reason  why  they  too  may  not  have  a 
share  in  social  blessings.  Such  is  the 
state  of  things,  and  we  must  make  the 
best  of  what  we  cannot  prevent.  Right 
or  wrong,  the  people  will  think ; and  is 
it  not  important  that  they  should  think 
justly  ? that  they  should  be  inspired  with 
the  love  of  truth,  and  instructed  how  to 
seek  it  ? that  they  should  be  established 
by  wise  culture  in  the  great  principles 
on  which  religion  and  society  rest,  and 
be  protected  from  scepticism  and  wild 
speculation  by  intercourse  with  enlight- 
ened and  virtuous  men?  It  is  plain 
that,  in  the  actual  state  of  the  world, 
nothing  can  avail  us  but  a real  improve- 
ment of  the  mass  of  the  people.  No 
stable  foundation  can  be  laid  for  us  but 
in  men’s  minds.  Alarming  as  the  truth 
is,  it  should  be  told,  that  outward  institu- 
tions cannot  now  secure  us.  Mightier 
powers  than  institutions  have  come  into 


play  among  us,  — the  judgment,  the  opin- 
ions, the  feelings  of  the  many ; and  all 
hopes  of  stability  which  do  not  rest  on 
the  progress  of  the  many  must  perish. 

But  a more  serious  objection  than  any 
yet  considered,  to  the  intellectual  ele- 
vation of  the  laboring  class,  remains  to 
be  stated.  It  is  said,  “that  the  laborer 
can  gain  subsistence  for  himself  and  his 
family  only  by  a degree  of  labor  which 
forbids  the  use  of  means  of  improve- 
ment. His  necessary  toils  leave  no  time 
or  strength  for  thought.  Political  econ- 
omy, by  showing  that  population  out- 
strips the  means  of  improvement,  passes 
an  irrepealable  sentence  of  ignorance  and 
degradation  on  the  laborer.  He  can  live 
but  for  one  end,  which  is  to  keep  him- 
self alive.  He  cannot  give  time  and 
strength  to  intellectual,  social,  and  moral 
culture,  without  starving  his  family,  and 
impoverishing  the  community.  Nature 
has  laid  this  heavy  law  on  the  mass  of 
the  people,  and  it  is  idle  to  set  up  our 
theories  and  dreams  of  improvement 
against  nature.” 

This  objection  applies  with  great  force 
to  Europe,  and  is  not  without  weight 
here.  But  it  does  not  discourage  me. 
I reply,  first,  to  this  objection,  that  it 
generally  comes  from  a suspicious  source. 
It  comes  generally  from  men  who  abound, 
and  are  at  ease ; who  think  more  of 
property  than  of  any  other  human  inter- 
est ; who  have  little  concern  for  the  mass 
of  their  fellow-creatures  ; who  are  willing 
that  others  should  bear  all  the  burdens 
of  life,  and  that  any  social  order  should 
continue  which  secures  to  themselves 
personal  comfort  or  gratification.  The 
selfish  epicure  and  the  thriving  man  of 
business  easily  discover  a natural  neces- 
sity for  that  state  of  things  which  accu- 
mulates on  themselves  all  the  blessings, 
and  on  their  neighbor  all  the  evils,  of 
life.  But  no  man  can  judge  what  is  good 
or  necessary  for  the  multitude  but  he 
who  feels  for  them,  and  whose  equity 
and  benevolence  are  shocked  by  the 
thought  that  all  advantages  are  to  be 
monopolized  by  one  set  of  men,  and  all 
disadvantages  by  another.  I wait  for 
the  judgment  of  profound  thinkers  and 
earnest  philanthropists  on  this  point,  — a 
judgment  formed  after  patient  study  of 
political  economy,  and  human  nature  and 
human  history  ; nor  even  on  such  au- 
thority shall  I readily  despair  of  the  mul- 
titude of  my  race. 


THE  LABORING  CLASSES.  57 


In  the  next  place,  the  objection  under 
consideration  is  very  much  a repetition 
of  the  old  doctrine,  that  what  has  been 
must  be  ; that  the  future  is  always  to  re- 
peat the  past,  and  society  to  tread  for 
ever  the  beaten  path.  But  can  any  thing 
be  plainer  than  that  the  present  condition 
of  the  world  is  peculiar,  unprecedented  ? 
that  new  powers  and  new  principles  are 
.at  work  ? that  the  application  of  science 
to  art  is  accomplishing  a stupendous  rev- 
olution ? that  the  condition  of  the  laborer 
is  in  many  places  greatly  improved,  and 
his  intellectual  aids  increased  ? that 
abuses,  once  thought  essential  to  so- 
ciety, and  which  seemed  entwined  with 
all  its  fibres,  have  been  removed  ? Do 
the  mass  of  men  stand  where  they  did  a 
few  centuries  ago  ? And  do  not  new 
circumstances,  if  they  make  us  fearful, 
at  the  same  time  keep  us  from  despair  ? 
The  future,  be  it  what  it  may,  will  not 
resemble  the  past.  The  present  has 
new  elements,  which  must  work  out  new 
weal  or  woe.  We  have  no  right,  then, 
on  the  ground  of  the  immutableness  of 
human  affairs,  to  quench,  as  far  as  we 
have  power,  the  hope  of  social  progress. 

Another  consideration,  in  reply  to  the 
objection  that  the  necessary  toils  of  life 
exclude  improvement,  may  be  drawn  not 
only  from  general  history,  but  from  the 
experience  of  this  country  in  particular. 
The  working  classes  here  have  risen 
and  are  still  rising  intellectually,  and 
yet  there  are  no  signs  of  starvation,  nor 
are  we  becoming  the  poorest  people  on 
earth.  By  far  the  most  interesting  view 
of  this  country  is  the  condition  of  the 
working  multitude.  Nothing  among  us 
deserves  the  attention  of  the  traveller 
so  much  as  the  force  of  thought  and 
character,  and  the  self-respect  awakened 
by  our  history  and  institutions  in  the 
mass  of*  the  people.  Our  prosperous 
classes  are  much  like  the  same  classes 
abroad,  though,  as  we  hope,  of  purer 
morals  ; but  the  great  working  multitude 
leave  far  behind  them  the  laborers  of 
other  countries.  No  man  of  observa- 
tion and  benevolence  can  converse  with 
them  without  being  struck  and  delighted 
with  the  signs  they  give  of  strong  and 
sound  intellect  and  manly  principle. 
And  who  is  authorized  to  set  bounds  to 
this  progress  ? In  improvement  the 
first  steps  are  the  hardest.  The  diffi- 
culty is  to  wake  up  men’s  souls,  not  to 
continue  their  action.  Every  accession 


of  light  and  strength  is  a help  to  new 
acquisitions. 

Another  consideration,  in  reply  to  the 
objection,  is,  that  as  yet  no  community 
has  seriously  set  itself  to  the  work  of 
improving  all  its  members,  so  that  what 
is  possible  remains  to  be  ascertained. 
No  experiment  has  been  made  to  deter- 
mine how  far  liberal  provision  can  be 
made  at  once  for  the  body  and  mind  of 
the  laborer.  The  highest  social  art  is 
yet  in  its  infancy.  Great  minds  have 
nowhere  solemnly,  earnestly  undertaken 
to  resolve  the  problem,  how  the  multi- 
tude of  men  may  be  elevated.  The  trial 
is  to  come.  Still  more,  the  multitude 
have  nowhere  comprehended  distinctly 
the  true  idea  of  progress,  and  resolved 
deliberately  and  solemnly  to  reduce 
it  to  reality.  This  great  thought,  how- 
ever, is  gradually  opening  on  them, 
and  it  is  destined  to  work  won- 
ders. From  themselves  their  salvation 
must  chiefly  come.  Little  can  be  done 
for  them  by  others,  till  a spring  is 
touched  in  their  own  breasts  ; and  this 
being  done,  they  cannot  fail.  The  peo- 
ple, as  history  shows  us,  can  accomplish 
miracles  under  the  power  of  a great 
idea.  How  much  have  they  often  done 
and  suffered  in  critical  moments  for 
country,  for  religion  ! The  great  idea 
of  their  own  elevation  is  only  beginning 
to  unfold  itself  within  them,  and  its 
energy  is  not  to  be  foretold.  A lofty 
conception  of  this  kind,  were  it  once 
distinctly  seized,  would  be  a new  life 
breathed  into  them.  Under  this  impulse 
they  would  create  time  and  strength  for 
their  high  calling,  and  would  not  only 
regenerate  themselves,  but  the  com- 
munity. 

Again,  I am  not  discouraged  by  the 
objection,  that  the  laborer,  if  encouraged 
to  give  time  and  strength  to  the  eleva- 
tion of  his  mind,  will  starve  himself  and 
impoverish  the  country,  when  I con- 
sider the  energy  and  efficiency  of  mind. 
The  highest  force  in  the  universe  is 
mind.  This  created  the  heavens  and 
earth.  This  has  changed  the  wilder- 
ness into  fruitfulness,  and  linked  distant 
countries  in  a beneficent  ministry  to  one 
another’s  wants.  It  is  not  to  brute 
force,  to  physical  strength,  so  much  as 
to  art,  to  skill,  to  intellectual  and  moral 
energy,  that  men  owe  their  mastery 
over  the  world.  It  is  mind  which  has 
conquered  matter.  To  fear,  then,  that 


ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF 


58 

by  calling  forth  a people’s  mind,  we 
shall  impoverish  and  starve  them,  is  to 
be  frightened  at  a shadow.  I believe, 
that  with  the  growth  of  intellectual  and 
moral  power  in  the  community,  its  pro- 
ductive power  will  increase,  that  indus- 
try will  become  more  efficient,  that  a 
wiser  economy  will  accumulate  wealth, 
that,  unimagined  resources  of  art  and 
nature  will  be  discovered.  I believe 
that  the  means  of  living  will  grow  easier, 
in  proportion  as  a people  shall  become 
enlightened,  self-respecting,  resolute, 
and  just.  Bodily  or  material  forces 
can  be  measured,  but  not  the  forces  of 
the  soul ; nor  can  the  results  of  in- 
creased mental  energy  be  foretold. 
Such  a community  will  tread  down  ob- 
stacles now  deemed  invincible,  and  turn 
them  into  helps.  The  inward  moulds 
the  outward.  The  power  of  a people 
lies  in  its  mind  ; and  this  mind,  if  forti- 
fied and  enlarged,  will  bring  external 
things  into  harmony  with  itself.  It  will 
create  a new  world  around  it,  corre- 
sponding to  itself.  If,  however,  I err  in 
this  belief ; if,  by  securing  time  and 
means  for  improvement  to  the  multi- 
tude, industry  and  capital  should  be- 
come less  productive,  I still  say,  Sacrifice 
the  wealth,  and  not  the  mind  of  a peo- 
ple. Nor  do  I believe  that  the  physical 
good  of  a community  would  in  this  way 
be  impaired.  The  diminution  of  a coun- 
try’s wealth,  occasioned  by  general  at- 
tention to  intellectual  and  moral  culture, 
would  be  followed  by  very  different 
effects  from  those  which  would  attend 
an  equal  diminution  brought  about  by 
sloth,  intemperance,  and  ignorance. 
There  would  indeed  be  less  production 
in  such  a country,  but  the  character  and 
spirit  of  the  people  would  effect  a much 
more  equal  distribution  of  what  would 
be  produced  ; and  the  happiness  of  a 
community  depends  vastly  more  on  the 
distribution  than  on  the  amount  of  its 
wealth.  In  thus  speaking  of  the  future, 
I do  not  claim  any  special  prophetical 
gift.  As  a general  rule,  no  man  is  able 
to  foretell  distinctly  the  ultimate,  per- 
manent results  of  any  great  social 
change.  But  as  to  the  case  before  us, 
we  ought  not  to  doubt.  It  is  a part  of 
religion  to  believe  that  by  nothing  can  a 
country  so  effectually  gain  happiness 
and  lasting  prosperity  as  by  the  eleva- 
tion of  all  classes  of  its  citizens.  To  ques- 
tion this  seems  an  approach  to  crime. 


“ If  this  fail, 

The  pillar’d  firmament  is  rottenness, 

And  earth’s  base  built  on  stubble  ” 

I am  aware  that,  in  reply  to  all  that 
has  been  said  in  favor  of  the  possibility 
of  uniting  self-improvement  with  labor, 
discouraging  facts  may  be  brought  for- 
ward from  our  daily  experience.  It 
may  be  said  that  in  this  country,  under 
advantages  unknown  in  other  lands, 
there  is  a considerable  number  on  whom 
the  burden  or  toil  presses  very  heavily, 
who  can  scarcely  live  with  all  their 
efforts,  and  who  are  cut  off  by  their 
hard  condition  from  the  means  of  intel- 
lectual culture  ; and  if  this  take  place 
now,  what  are  we  to  expect  hereafter 
in  a more  crowded  population  ? I ac- 
knowledge that  we  have  a number  of 
depressed  laborers,  whose  state  is  ex- 
ceedingly unpropitious  to  the  education 
of  the  mind : but  this  argument  will 
lose  much  of  its  power  when  we  inquire 
into  the  causes  of  this  evil.  We  shall 
then  see  that  it  comes,  not  from  outward 
necessity,  not  from  the  irresistible  ob- 
stacles abroad,  but  chiefly  from  the 
fault  or  ignorance  of  the  sufferers  them- 
selves ; so  that  the  elevation  of  the 
mind  and  character  of  the  laborer  tends 
directly  to  reduce,  if  not  remove,  the  evil. 
Of  consequence,  this  elevation  finds 
support  in  what  is  urged  against  it.  In 
confirmation  of  these  views,  allow  me 
just  to  hint  at  the  causes  of  that  de- 
pression of  many  laborers  which  is  said 
to  show  that  labor  and  self-improvement 
cannot  go  on  together. 

First,  how  much  of  this  depression  is 
to  be  traced  to  intemperance  ? What  a 
great  amount  of  time,  and  strength,  and 
money,  might  multitudes  gain  for  self- 
improvement,  by  a strict  sobriety  ! That 
cheap  remedy,  pure  water,  would  cure 
the  chief  evils  in  very  many  families  of 
the  ignorant  and  poor.  Were  the  sums 
which  are  still  lavished  on  ardent  spirits 
appropriated  wisely  to  the  elevation  of 
the  people,  what  a new  world  we  should 
live  in  ! Intemperance  not  only  wastes 
the  earnings,  but  the  health  and  the 
minds  of  men.  How  many,  were  they 
to  exchange  what  they  call  moderate 
drinking  for  water,  would  be  surprised 
to  learn  that  they  had  been  living  under 
a cloud,  in  half-stupefaction,  and  would 
become  conscious  of  an  intellectual  en- 
ergy of  which  they  had  not  before 
dreamed  ! Their  labors  would  exhaust 


THE  LA  BOEING  CLASSES. 


59 


them  less ; and  less  labor  would  be 
needed  for  their  support  ; and  thus  their 
inability  to  cultivate  their  high  nature 
would  in  a great  measure  be  removed. 
The  working  class,  above  all  men,  have  an 
interest  in  the  cause  of  temperance,  and 
they  ought  to  look  on  the  individual  who 
lives  by  scattering  the  means  and  ex- 
citements of  drunkenness  not  only  as  the 
general  enemy  of  his  race,  but  as  their 
own  worst  foe. 

In  the  next  place,  how  much  of  the 
depression  of  laborers  may  be  traced  to 
the  want  of  a strict  economy  ! The  pros- 
perity of  this  country  has  produced  a 
wastefulness  that  has  extended  to  the 
laboring  multitude.  A man,  here,  turns 
with  scorn  from  fare  that  in  many  coun- 
tries would  be  termed  luxurious.  It  is, 
indeed,  important  that  the  standard  of 
living  in  all  classes  should  be  high  ; that 
is,  it  should  include  the  comforts  of  life, 
the  means  of  neatness  and  order  in  our 
dwellings,  and  such  supplies  of  our  wants 
as  are  fitted  to  secure  vigorous  health. 
But  how  many  waste  their  earnings  on 
indulgences  which  may  be  spared,  and 
thus  have  no  resource  for  a dark  day, 
and  are  always  trembling  on  the  brink  of 
pauperism  ! Needless  expenses  keep 
many  too  poor  for  self-improvement. 
And  here  let  me  say,  that  expensive 
habits  among  the  more  prosperous  labor- 
ers often  interfere  with  the  mental  cult- 
ure of  themselves  and  their  families. 
How  many  among  them  sacrifice  im- 
provement to  appetite  ! How  many 
sacrifice  it  to  the  love  of  show,  to  the 
desire  of  outstripping  others,  and  to 
habits  of  expense  which  grow  out  of 
this  insatiable  passion  ! In  a country 
so  thriving  and  luxurious  as  ours,  the 
laborer  is  in  danger  of  contracting  arti- 
ficial wants  and  diseased  tastes  ; and  to 
gratify  these  he  gives  himself  wholly  to 
accumulation,  and  sells  his  mind  for 
gain.  Our  unparalleled  prosperity  has 
not  been  an  unmixed  good.  It  has  in- 
flamed cupidity,  has  diseased  the  imagi- 
nation with  dreams  of  boundless  success, 
and  plunged  a vast  multitude  into  exces- 
sive toils,  feverish  competitions,  and 
exhausting  cares.  A laborer  having 
secured  a neat  home  and  a wholesome 
table,  should  ask  nothing  more  for  the 
senses ; but  should  consecrate  his  leisure, 
and  what  may  be  spared  of  his  earnings, 
to  the  culture  of  himself  and  his  family, 
to  the  best  books,  to  the  best  teaching, 


to  pleasant  and  profitable  intercourse,  to 
sympathy  and  the  offices  of  humanity, 
and  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  beautiful  in 
nature  and  art.  Unhappily,  the  laborer, 
if  prosperous,  is  anxious  to  ape  the  rich 
man,  instead  of  trying  to  rise  above 
him,  as  he  often  may,  by  noble  acquisi- 
tions. The  young  in  particular,  the  ap- 
prentice and  the  female  domestic,  catch 
a taste  for  fashion,  and  on  this  altar 
sacrifice  too  often  their  uprightness,  and 
almost  always  the  spirit  of  improvement, 
dooming  themselves  to  ignorance,  if  not 
to  vice,  for  a vain  show.  Is  this  evil 
without  remedy  ? Is  human  nature 
always  to  be  sacrificed  to  outward  dec- 
oration ? Is  the  outward  always  to 
triumph  over  the  inward  man?  Is  noble- 
ness of  sentiment  never  to  spring  up 
among  us  ? May  not  a reform  in  this 
particular  begin  in  the  laboring  class, 
since  it  seems  so  desperate  among  the 
more  prosperous  ? Cannot  the  laborer, 
whose  condition  calls  him  so  loudly  to 
simplicity  of  taste  and  habits,  take  his 
stand  against  that  love  of  dress  which 
dissipates  and  corrupts  so  many  minds 
among  the  opulent  ? Cannot  the  labor- 
ing class  refuse  to  measure  men  by  out- 
ward success,  and  pour  utter  scorn  on  all 
pretensions  founded  on  outward  show  or 
condition  ? Sure  I am  that,  were  they 
to  study  plainness  of  dress  and  simplicity 
of  living,  for  the  purpose  of  their  own 
true  elevation,  they  would  surpass  in  in- 
tellect, in  taste,  in  honorable  qualities, 
and  in  present  enjoyment,  that  great 
proportion  of  the  prosperous  who  are 
softened  into  indulgence  or  enslaved  to 
empty  show.  By  such  self-denial,  how 
might  the  burden  of  labor  be  lightened, 
and  time  and  strength  redeemed  for  im- 
provement ! 

Another  cause  of  the  depressed  con- 
dition of  not  a few  laborers,  as  I believe, 
is  their  ignorance  on  the  subject  of 
health.  Health  is  the  working  man’s 
fortune,  and  he  ought  to  watch  over  it 
more  than  the  capitalist  over  his  largest 
investments.  Health  lightens  the  efforts 
of  body  and  mind.  It  enables  a man  to 
crowd  much  work  into  a narrow  com- 
pass. Without  it,  little  can  be  earned, 
and  that  little  by  slow,  exhausting  toil. 
For  these  reasons  I cannot  but  look  on 
it  as  a good  omen  that  the  press  is  cir- 
culating among  us  cheap  works,  in  which 
much  useful  knowledge  is  given  of  the 
structure,  and  functions,  and  laws  of  the 


6o 


ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF 


human  body.  It  is  in  no  small  measure 
through  our  own  imprudence  that  disease 
and  debility  are  incurred,  and  one  rem- 
edy is  to  be  found  in  knowledge.  Once 
let  the  mass  of  the  people  be  instructed 
in  their  own  frames  ; let  them  under- 
stand clearly  that  disease  is  not  an  acci- 
dent, but  has  fixed  causes,  many  of 
which  they  can  avert,  and  a great  amount 
of  suffering,  want,  and  consequent  intel- 
lectual depression  will  be  removed.  — I 
hope  I shall  not  be  thought  to  digress 
too  far,  when  I add,  that  were  the  mass 
of  the  community  more  enlightened  on 
these  points,  they  would  apply  their 
knowledge,  not  only  to  their  private 
habits,  but  to  the  government  of  the 
city,  and  would  insist  on  municipal  regu- 
lations favoring  general  health.  This 
they  owe  to  themselves.  They  ought  to 
require  a system  of  measures  for  effect- 
ually cleansing  the  city  ; for  supplying 
it  with  pure  water,  either  at  public  ex- 
pense or  by  a private  corporation ; and  for 
prohibiting  the  erection  or  the  letting  of 
such  buildings  as  must  generate  disease. 
What  a sad  Thought  is  it,  that  in  this 
metropolis,  the  blessings  which  God 
pours  forth  profusely  on  bird  and  beast, 
the  blessings  of  air,  and  light,  and  water, 
should,  in  the  case  of  many  families,  be 
so  stinted  or  so  mixed  with  impurities, 
as  to  injure  instead  of  invigorating  the 
frame  ! With  what  face  can  the  great 
cities  of  Europe  and  America  boast  of 
their  civilization,  when  within  their  lim- 
its thousands  and  ten  thousands  perish 
for  want  of  God’s  freest,  most  lavish 
gifts  ! . Can  we  expect  improvement 
among  people  who  are  cut  off  from 
nature’s  common  bounties,,  and  want 
those  cheering  influences  of  the  ele- 
ments which  even  savages  enjoy  ? In 
this  city,  how  much  health,  how  many 
lives  are  sacrificed  to  the  practice  of 
letting  cellars  and  rooms  which  cannot 
be  ventilated,  which  want  the  benefits 
of  light,  free  air,  and  pure  water,  and  the 
means  of  removing  filth  ! We  forbid  by 
law  the  selling  of  putrid  meat  in  the 
market.  Why  do  we  not  forbid  the 
renting  of  rooms  in  which  putrid,  damp, 
and  noisome  vapors  are  working  as  sure 
destruction  as  the  worst  food  ? Did 
people  understand  that  they  are  as  truly 
poisoned  in  such  dens  as  by  tainted 
meat  and  decaying  vegetables,  would 
they  not  appoint  commissioners  for 
houses  as  truly  as  commissioners  for 


markets  ? Ought  not  the  renting  of  un- 
tenantable rooms,  and  the  crowding  of 
such  numbers  into  a single  room  as  must 
breed  disease,  and  may  infect  a neigh- 
borhood, be  as  much  forbidden  as  the 
importation  of  a pestilence  ? I have 
enlarged  on  this  point,  because  I am 
persuaded  that  the  morals,  manners, 
decencies,  self-respect,  and  intellectual 
improvement,  as  well  as  the  health  and 
physical  comforts  of  a people,  depend  on 
no  outward  circumstances  more  than  on 
the  quality  of  the  houses  in  which  they 
live.  The  remedy  of  the  grievance  now 
stated  lies  with  the  people  themselves. 
The  laboring  people  must  require  that  the 
health  of  the  city  shall  be  a leading  ob- 
ject of  the  municipal  administration,  and 
in  so  doing  they  will  protect  at  once  the 
body  and  the  mind. 

I will  mention  one  more  cause  of  the 
depressed  condition  of  many  laborers, 
and  that  is,  sloth,  “ the  sin  which  doth 
most  easily  beset  us.”  How  many  are 
there  who,  working  languidly  and  re- 
luctantly, bring  little  to  pass,  spread 
^the  work  of  one  hour  over  many,  shrink- 
#from  difficulties  which  ought  to  excite 
them,  keep  themselves  poor,  and  ihus 
doom  their  families  to  ignorance  as  well 
as  to  want ! 

In  these  remarks  I have  endeavored 
to  show  that  the  great  obstacles  to  the 
improvement  of  the  laboring  classes 
are  in  themselves,  and  may  therefore 
■ be  overcome.  They  want  nothing  but 
the  will.  Outward  difficulty  will  shrink 
and  vanish  before  them,  just  as  far  as 
they  are  bent  on  progress,  just  as  far  as 
the  great  idea  of  their  own  elevation 
shall  take  possession  of  their  minds. 
I know  that  many  will  smile  at  the  sug- 
gestion, that  the  laborer  may  be  brought 
to  practise  thrift  and  self-denial,  for  the 
purpose  of  becoming  a nobler  being. 
But  such  sceptics,  having  never  expe- 
rienced the  power  of  a grand  thought 
or  generous  purpose,  are  no  judges  of 
others.  They  may  be  assured,  how- 
ever, that  enthusiasm  is  not  wholly  a 
dream,  and  that  it  is  not  wholly  unnat- 
ural for  individuals  or  bodies  to  get  the 
idea  of  something  higher  and  more  in- 
spiring than  their  past  attainments. 

III.  Having  now  treated  of  the  ele- 
vation of  the  laborer,  and  examined  the 
objections  to  it,  I proceed,  in  the  last 
place,  to  consider  some  of  the  circum- 
stances of  the  times  which  encourage 


THE  LABORING  CLASSES. 


6 1 


hopes  of  the  progress  of  the  mass  of 
the  people.  My  limits  oblige  me  to 
confine  myself  to  very  few.  — And, 
first,  it  is  an  encouraging  circumstance, 
that  the  respect  for  labor  is  increasing, 
or  rather  that  the  old  prejudices  against 
manual  toil,  as  degrading  a man  or  put- 
ting him  in  a lower  sphere,  are  wearing 
away  ; and  the  cause  of  this  change  is 
full  of  promise  ; for  it  is  to  be  found 
in  the  progress  of  intelligence,  Chris- 
tianity, and  freedom,  all  of  which  cry 
aloud  against  the  old  barriers  created 
between  the  different  classes,  and  chal- 
lenge especial  sympathy  and  regard  for 
those  who  bear  the  heaviest  burdens, 
and  create  most  of  the  comforts  of 
social  life.  The  contempt  of  labor  of 
which  I have  spoken  is  a relic  of  the 
old  aristocratic  prejudices  which  for- 
merly proscribed  trade  as  unworthy  of 
a gentleman,  and  must  die  out  with 
other  prejudices  of  the  same  low  origin. 
And  the  results  must  be  happy.  It  is 
hard  for  a class  of  men  to  respect  them- 
selves who  are  denied  respect  by  all 
around  them.  A vocation  looked  on  as 
degrading  will  have  a tendency  to  de- 
grade those  who  follow  it.  Away,  then, 
with  the  idea  of  something  low  in  man- 
ual labor.  There  is  something  shock- 
ing to  a religious  man  in  the  thought 
that  the  employment  which  God  has 
ordained  for  the  vast  majority  of  the 
human  race  should  be  unworthy  of  any 
man,  even  of  the  highest.  If,  indeed, 
there  were  an  employment  which  could 
not  be  dispensed  with,  and  which  yet 
tended  to  degrade  such  as  might  be  de- 
voted to  it,  I should  say  that  it  ought 
to  be  shared  by  the  whole  race,  and 
thus  neutralized  by  extreme  division, 
instead  of  being  laid,  as  the  sole  voca- 
tion, on  one  man  or  a few.  Let  no 
human  being  be  broken  in  spirit  or 
trodden  under  foot  for  the  outward 
prosperity  of  the  State.  So  far  is 
manual  labor  from  meriting  contempt 
or  slight,  that  it  will  probably  be  found, 
when  united  with  true  means  of  spir- 
itual culture,  to  foster  a sounder  judg- 
ment, a keener  observation,  a more 
creative  imagination,  and  a purer  taste, 
than  any' other  vocation.  Man  thinks 
of  the  few,  God  of  the  many  ; and  the 
many  will  be  found  at  length  to  have 
within  their  reach  the  most  effectual 
means  of  progress. 

Another  encouraging  circumstance  of 


the  times  is  the  creation  of  a popular 
literature,  which  puts  within  the  reach 
of  the  laboring  class  the  means  of 
knowledge  in  whatever  branch  they 
wish  to  cultivate.  Amidst  the  worthless 
volumes  which  are  every  day  sent  from 
the  press  for  mere  amusement,  there 
are  books  of  great  value  in  all  depart- 
ments, published  for  the  benefit  of  the 
mass  of  readers.  Mines  of  inestimable 
truth  are  thus  open  to  all  who  are  re- 
solved to  think  and  learn.  Literature 
is  now  adapting  itself  to  all  wants  ; and 
I have  little  doubt  that  a new  form  of 
if  will  soon  appear  for  the  special  ben- 
efit of  the  laboring  classes.  This  will 
have  for  its  object  to  show  the  progress 
of  the  various  useful  arts,  and  to  pre- 
serve the  memory  of  their  founders, 
and  of  men  who  have  laid  the  world 
under  obligation  by  great  inventions. 
Every  trade  has  distinguished  names  in 
its  history.  Some  trades  can  number, 
among  those  who  have  followed  them, 
philosophers,  poets,  men  of  true  gen- 
ius. I would  suggest  to  the  members 
of  this  Association  whether  a course  of 
lectures,  intended  to  illustrate  the  his- 
tory of  the  more  important  trades,  and 
of  the  great  blessings  they  have  con- 
ferred on  society,  and  of  the  eminent 
individuals  who  have  practised  them, 
might  not  do  much  to  instruct,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  to  elevate  them.  Such 
a course  would  carry  them  far  into  the 
past,  would  open  to  them  much  inter- 
esting information,  and  at  the  same  time 
introduce  them  to  men  whom  they  may 
well  make  their  models.  I would  go 
farther.  I should  be  pleased  to  see  the 
members  of  an  important  trade  setting 
apart  an  anniversary  for  the  commem- 
oration of  those  who  have  shed  lustre 
on  it  by  their  virtues,  their  discoveries, 
their  genius.  It  is  time  that  honor 
should  be  awarded  on  higher  principles 
than  have  governed  the  judgment  of 
past  ages.  Surely  the  inventor  of  the 
press,  the  discoverer  of  the  compass, 
the  men  who  have  applied  the  power  of 
steam  to  machinery,  have  brought  the 
human  race  more  largely  into  their 
debt  than  the  bloody  race  of  con- 
querors, and  even  than  many  benefi- 
cent princes.  Antiquity  exalted  into 
divinities  the  first  cultivators  of  wheat 
and  the  useful  plants,  and  the  first 
forgers  of  metals  ; and  we,  in  these 
maturer  ages  of  the  world,  have  still 


62 


ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF 


greater  names  to  boast  in  the  records 
of  useful  art.  Let  their  memory  be 
preserved  to  kindle  a generous  emula- 
tion in  those  who  have  entered  into  their 
labors. 

Another  circumstance,  encouraging 
the  hope  of  progress  in  the  laboring 
class,  is  to  be  found  in  the  juster  views 
they  are  beginning  to  adopt  in  regard 
to  the  education  of  their  children.  On 
this  foundation,  indeed,  our  hope  for  all 
classes  must  chiefly  rest.  All  are  to 
rise  chiefly  by  the  care  bestowed  on  the 
young.  Not  that  I would  say,  as  is 
sometimes  rashly  said,  that  none  but  the 
young  can  improve.  I give  up  no  age  as 
desperate.  Men  who  have  lived  thirty, 
or  fifty  years,  are  not  to  feel  as  if  the 
door  was  shut  upon  them.  Every  man 
who  thirsts  to  become  something  better 
has  in  that  desire  a pledge  that  his  labor 
will  not  be  in  vain.  None  are  too  old 
to  learn.  The  world,  from  our  first  to 
our  last  hour,  is  our  school,  and  the 
whole  of  life  has  but  one  great  purpose, 
— education.  Still,  the  child,  uncor- 
rupted, unhardened,  is  the  most  hopeful 
subject ; and  vastly  more,  I believe,  is 
hereafter  to  be  done  for  children,  than 
ever  before,  by  the  gradual  spread  of  a 
simple  truth,  almost  too  simple,  one 
would  think,  to  need  exposition,  yet  up 
to  this  day  wilfully  neglected  ; namely, 
that  education  is  a sham,  a cheat,  unless 
carried  on  by  able,  accomplished  teach- 
ers. The  dignity  of  the  vocation  of  a 
teacher  is  beginning  to  be  understood ; 
the  idea  is  dawning  on  us  that  no  office 
can  compare  in  solemnity  and  impor- 
tance with  that  of  training  the  child  ; that 
skill  to  form  the  young  to  energy,  truth, 
and  virtue,  is  worth  more  than  the 
knowledge  of  all  other  arts  and  sci- 
ences ; and  that,  of  consequence,  the 
encouragement  of  excellent  teachers  is 
the  first  duty  which  a community  owes 
to  itself.  I say  the  truth  is  dawning, 
and  it  must  make  its  way.  The  instruc- 
tion of  the  children  of  all  classes,  espe- 
cially of  the  laboring  class,  has  as  yet 
been  too  generally  committed  to  unpre- 
pared, unskilful  hands,  and  of  course  the 
school  is  in  general  little  more  than  a 
name.  The  whole  worth  of  a school  lies 
in  the  teacher.  You  may  accumulate 
the  most  expensive  apparatus  for  in- 
struction ; but  without  an  intellectual, 
gifted  teacher,  it  is  little  better  than 
rubbish  ; and  such  a teacher,  without 


apparatus,  may  effect  the  happiest  re- 
sults. Our  university  boasts,  and  with 
justice,  of  its  library,  cabinets,  and  phil- 
osophical instruments ; but  these  are 
lifeless,  profitless,  except  as  made  effect- 
ual by  the  men  who  use  them.  A few 
eminent  men,  skilled  to  understand, 
reach,  and  quicken  the  minds  of  the 
pupils,  are  worth  all  these  helps.  And 
I say  this,  because  it  is  commonly 
thought  that  the  children  of  the  labor- 
ing class  cannot  be  advanced,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  inability  of  parents  to 
furnish  a variety  of  books  and  other 
apparatus.  But  in  education,  various 
books  and  implements  are  not  the  great 
requisites,  but  a high  order  of  teachers. 
In  truth,  a few  books  do  better  than 
many.  The  object  of  education  is  not 
so  much  to  give  a certain  amount  of 
knowledge,  as  to  awaken  the  faculties, 
and  give  the  pupil  the  use  of  his  own 
mind  ; and  one  book,  taught  by  a man 
who  knows  how  to  accomplish  these  ends, 
is  worth  more  than  libraries  as  usually 
read.  It  is  not  necessary  that  much 
should  be  taught  in  youth,  but  that  a 
little  should  be  taught  philosophically, 
profoundly,  livingly.  For  example,  it  is 
not  necessary  that  the  pupil  be  carried 
over  the  history  of  the  world  from  the 
deluge  to  the  present  day.  Let  him  be 
helped  to  read  a single  history  wisely, 
to  apply  the  principles  of  historical  evi- 
dence to  its  statements,  to  trace  the 
causes  and  effects  of  events,  to  pene- 
trate into  the  motives  of  actions,  to 
observe  the  workings  of  human  nature 
in  what  is  done  and  suffered,  to  judge 
impartially  of  action  and  character,  to 
sympathize  with  what  is  noble,  to  detect 
the  spirit  of  an  age  in  different  forms 
from  our  own,  to  seize  the  great  truths 
which  are  wrapped  up  in  details,  and  to 
discern  a moral  Providence,  a retribu- 
tion, amidst  all  corruptions  and  changes  ; 
let  him  learn  to  read  a single  history 
thus,  and  he  has  learned  to  read  all  his- 
tories ; he  is  prepared  to  study,  as  he 
may  have  time  in  future  life,  the  whole 
course  of  human  events  ; he  is  better 
educated  by  this  one  book  than  he 
would  be  by  all  the  histories  in  all  lan- 
guages as  commonly  taught.  The  edu- 
cation of  the  laborer’s  children  need 
never  stop  for  want  of  books  and  appa- 
ratus. More  of  them  would  do  good,  but 
enough  may  be  easily  obtained.  What 
we  want  is,  a race  of  teachers  acquainted 


THE  LABORING  CLASSES . 


63 


with  the  philosophy  of  the  mind,  gifted 
men  and  women,  who  shall  respect 
human  nature  in  the  child,  and  strive 
to  touch  and  gently  bring  out  his  best 
powers  and  sympathies  ; and  who  shall 
devote  themselves  to  this  as  the  great 
end  of  life.  This  good,  I trust,  is  to 
come,  but  it  comes  slowly.  The  estab- 
lishment of  normal  schools  shows  that 
the  want  of  it  begins  to  be  felt.  This 
good  requires  that  education  shall  be 
recognized  by  the  community  as  its 
highest  interest  and  duty.  It  requires 
that  the  instructors  of  youth  shall  take 
precedence  of  the  money-getting  classes, 
and  that  the  woman  of  fashion  shall  fall 
behind  the  female  teacher.  It  requires 
that  parents  shall  sacrifice  show  and 
pleasure  to  the  acquisition  of  the  best 
possible  helps  and  guides  for  their  chil- 
dren. Not  that  a great  pecuniary  com- 
pensation is  to  create  good  teachers  ; 
these  must  be  formed  by  individual  im- 
pulse, by  a genuine  interest  in  educa- 
tion ; but  good  impulse  must  be  sec- 
onded by  outward  circumstances  ; and 
the  means  of  education  will  always  bear 
a proportion  to  the  respect  in  which  the 
office  of  teacher  is  held  in  the  commu- 
nity. 

Happily,  in  this  country,  the  true  idea 
of  education,  of  its  nature  and  supreme 
importance,  is  silently  working  and  gains 
ground.  Those  of  us  who  look  back 
on  half  a century,  see  a real,  great 
improvement  in  schools  and  in  the 
standard  of  instruction.  What  should 
encourage  this  movement  in  this  coun- 
try is,  that  nothing  is  wanting  here  to 
the  intellectual  elevation  of  the  laboring 
class  but  that  a spring  should  be  given 
to  the  child,  and  that  the  art  of  thinking 
justly  and  strongly  should  be  formed  in 
early  life  ; for,  this  preparation  being 
made,  the  circumstances  of  future  life 
will  almost  of  themselves  carry  on  the 
work  of  improvement.  It  is  one  of  the 
inestimable  benefits  of  free  institutions, 
that  they  are  constant  stimulants  to  the 
intellect ; that  they  furnish,  in  rapid  suc- 
cession, quickening  subjects  of  thought 
and  discussion.  A whole  people  at  the 
same  moment  are  moved  to  reflect,  rea- 
son, judge,  and  act  on  matters  of  deep 
and  universal  concern  ; and  where  the 
capacity  of  thought  has  received  wise 
culture,  the  intellect,  unconsciously,  by 
an  almost  irresistible  sympathy,  is  kept 
perpetually  alive.  The  mind,  like  the 


body,  depends  on  the  climate  it  lives  in, 
on  the  air  it  breathes  ; and  the  air  of 
freedom  is  bracing,  exhilarating,  ex- 
panding, to  a degree  not  dreamed  of 
under  a despotism.  This  stimulus  of 
liberty,  however,  avails  little,  except 
where  the  mind  has  learned  to  think  for 
the  acquisition  of  truth.  The  unthink- 
ing and  passionate  are  hurried  by  it  into 
ruinous  excess. 

The  last  ground  of  hope  for  the  ele- 
vation of  the  laborer,  and  the  chief  and 
the  most  sustaining,  is  the  clearer  de- 
velopment of  the  principles  of  Chris- 
tianity. The  future  influences  of  this 
religion  are  not  to  be  judged  from  the 
past.  Up  to  this  time  it  has  been  made 
a political  engine,  and  in  other  ways 
perverted.  But  its  true  spirit,  the  spirit 
of  brotherhood  and  freedom,  is  begin- 
ning to  be  understood,  and  this  will 
undo  the  work  which  opposite  princi- 
ples''have  been  carrying  on  for  ages. 
Christianity  is  the  only  effectual  remedy 
for  the  fearful  evils  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion, — a system  which  teaches  its  mem- 
bers to  grasp  at  every  thing,  and  to  rise 
above  everybody,  ns  the  great  aims  of 
life.  Of  such  a civilization  the  natural 
fruits  are,  contempt  of  others’  rights, 
fraud,  oppression,  a gambling  spirit  in 
trade,  reckless  adventure,  and  commer- 
cial convulsions,  all  tending  to  impover- 
ish the  laborer  and  to  render  every  con- 
dition insecure.  Relief  is  to  come,  and 
can  only  come,  from  the  new  application 
of  Christian  principles,  of  universal  jus- 
tice and  universal  love,  to  social  institu- 
tions, to  commerce,  to  business,  to  active 
life.  This  application  has  begun,  and 
the  laborer,  above  all  men,  is  to  feel  its 
happy  and  exalting  influences. 

Such  are  some  of  the  circumstances 
which  inspire  hopes  of  the  elevation  of 
the  laboring  classes.  To  these  might 
be  added  other  strong  grounds  of  en- 
couragement, to  be  found  in  the  princi- 
ples of  human  nature,  in  the  perfections 
and  providence  of  God,  and  in  the  pro- 
phetic intimations  of  his  word.  But 
these  I pass  over.  From  all  I derive 
strong  hopes  for  the  mass  of  men.  I do 
not,  cannot  see,  why  manual  toil  and 
self-improvement  may  not  go  on  in 
friendly  union.  I do  not  see  why  the 
laborer  may  not  attain  to  refined  habits 
and  manners  as  truly  as  other  men.  I 
do  not  see  why  conversation  under  his 
humble  roof  may  not  be  cheered  by  wit 


ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF 


64 

and  exalted  by  intelligence.  I do  not 
see  why,  amidst  his  toils,  he  may  not 
cast  his  eye  around  him  on  God’s  glo- 
rious creation,  and  be  strengthened  and 
refreshed  by  the  sight.  I do  not  see 
why  the  great  ideas  which  exalt  human- 
ity— those  of  the  Infinite  Father,  of 
perfection,  of  our  nearness  to  God,  and 
of  the  purpose  of  our  being  — may  not 
grow  bright  and  strong  in  the  laborer’s 
mind.  Society,  I trust,  is  tending  tow- 
ards a condition  in  which  it  will  look 
back  with  astonishment  at  the  present 
neglect  or  perversion  of  human  powers. 
In  the  development  of  a more  enlarged 
philanthropy,  in  the  diffusion  of  the 
Christian  spirit  of  brotherhood,  in  the 
recognition  of  the  equal  rights  of  every 
human  being,  we  have  the  dawn  and 
promise  of  a better  age,  when  no  man 
will  be  deprived  of  the  means  of  ele- 
vation but  by  his  own  fault ; when  the 
evil  doctrine,  worthy  of  the  arch-fiend, 
that  social  order  demands  the  depression 
of  the  mass  of  men,  will  be  rejected  with 
horror  and  scorn;  when  the  great  object 
of  the  community  will  be  to  accumulate 
means  and  influences  for  awakening  and 
expanding  the  best  powers  of  all  classes; 
when  far  less  will  be  expended  on  the 
body  and  far  more  on  the  mind  ; when 
men  of  uncommon  gifts  for  the  instruc- 
tion of  their  race  will  be  sent  forth  to 
carry  light  and  strength  into  every  sphere 
of  human  life  ; when  spacious  libraries, 
collections  of  the  fine  arts,  cabinets  of 
natural  history,  and  all  the  institutions 
by  which  the  people  may  be  refined  and 
ennobled,  will  be  formed  and  thrown 
open  to  all ; and  when  the  toils  of  life, 
by  a wise  intermixture  of  these  higher 
influences,  will  be  made  the  instruments 
of  human  elevation. 

Such  are  my  hopes  of  the  intellectual, 
moral,  religious,  social  elevation  of  the 
laboring  class.  I should  not,  however, 
be  true  to  myself,  did  I not  add  that  I 
have  fears  as  well  as  hopes.  Time  is 
not  left  me  to  enlarge  on  this  point ; but 
without  a reference  to  it  I should  not 
give  you  the  whole  truth.  I would  not 
disguise  from  myself  or  others  the  true 
character  of  the  world  we  live  in.  Hu- 
man imperfection  throws  an  uncertainty 
over  the  future.  Society,  like  the  nat- 
ural world,  holds  in  its  bosom  fearful 
elements.  Who  can  hope  that  the  storms 
which  have  howled  over  past  ages  have 
spent  all  their  force  ? It  is  possible 


that  the  laboring  classes,  by  their  reck- 
lessness, their  passionateness,  their  jeal- 
ousies of  the  more  prosperous,  and  their 
subserviency  to  parties  and  political 
leaders,  may  turn  all  their  bright  pros- 
pects into  darkness,  may  blight  the 
hopes  which  philanthropy  now  cherishes 
of  a happier  and  holier  social  state.  It 
is  also  possible,  in  this  mysterious  state 
of  things,  that  evil  may  come  to  them 
from  causes  which  are  thought  to  prom- 
ise them  nothing  but  good.  The  pres- 
ent anxiety  and  universal  desire  is  to 
make  the  country  rich,  and  it  is  taken 
for  granted  that  its  growing  wealth  is 
necessarily  to  benefit  all  conditions.  But 
is  this  consequence  sure  ? May  not  a 
country  be  rich,  and  yet  great  numbers 
of  the  people  be  wofully  depressed  ? In 
England,  the  richest  nation  under  heav- 
en, how  sad,  how  degraded  the  state  of 
the  agricultural  and  manufacturing 
classes  ! It  is  thought  that  the  institu- 
tions of  this  country  give  an  assurance 
that  growing  wealth  will  here  equally 
benefit  and  carry  forward  all  portions  of 
the  community.  I hope  so  ; but  I am 
not  sure.  At  the  present  time  a mo- 
mentous change  is  taking  place  in  our 
condition.  The  improvement  in  steam 
navigation  has  half  annihilated  the  space 
between  Europe  and  America,  and  by 
the  progress  of  invention  the  two  con- 
tinents are  to  be  more  and  more  placed 
side  by  side.  We  hail  this  triumph  of 
the  arts  with  exultation.  We  look  for- 
ward to  the  approaching  spring,  when 
this  metropolis  is  to  be  linked  with 
England  by  a line  of  steamboats,  as  a 
proud  era  in  our  history.  That  a great 
temporary  excitement  will  be  given  to 
industry,  and  that  our  wealth  and  num- 
bers will  increase,  admits  no  dispute  ; 
but  this  is  a small  matter.  The  great 
question  is,  Will  the  mass  of  the  people 
be  permanently  advanced  in  the  com- 
forts of  life,  and,  still  more,  in  intelli- 
gence and  character,  in  the  culture  of 
their  highest  powers  and  affections  ? It 
is  not  enough  to  grow,  if  our  growth  is 
to  resemble  that  of  other  populous 
places.  Better  continue  as  we  are,  bet- 
ter even  decline,  than  tread  in  the  steps 
of  any  great  city,  whether  of  past  or 
present  times.  I doubt  not  that,  under 
God’s  providence,  the  approximation  of 
Europe  and  America  is  ultimately  to  be 
a blessing  to  both  ; but  without  our  vig- 
ilance, the  nearer  effects  may  be  more 


THE  LABORING  CLASSES . 


65 


or  less  disastrous.  It  cannot  be  doubted 
that  for  a time  many  among  us,  espe- 
cially in  the  prosperous  classes,  will  be 
more  and  more  infected  from  abroad, 
will  sympathize  more  with  the  institu- 
tions, and  catch  more  the  spirit  and 
manners,  of  the  Old  World.  As  a people 
we  want  moral  independence.  We  bow 
to  “ the  great  ” of  other  countries,  and 
we  shall  become  for  a time  more  and 
more  servile  in  our  imitation.  But  this, 
though  bad,  may  not  be  the  worst  result. 
I would  ask,  What  is  to  be  the  effect 
of  bringing  the  laboring  classes  of 
Europe  twice  as  near  us  as  they  now 
are  ? Is  there  no  danger  of  a competi- 
tion that  is  to  depress  the  laboring 
classes  here  ? Can  the  workman  here 
stand  his  ground  against  the  half- 
famished,  ignorant  workmen  of  Europe, 
who  will  toil  for  any  wages,  and  who 
never  think  of  redeeming  an  hour  for 
personal  improvement  ? Is  there  no 
danger  that,  with  increasing  intercourse 
with  Europe,  we  shall  import  the  strik- 
ing, fearful  contrasts  which  there  divide 
one  people  into  separate  nations  ? Soon- 
er than  that  our  laboring  class  should 
become  a European  populace,  a good 
man  would  almost  wish  that  perpetual 
hurricanes,  driving  every  ship  from  the 
ocean,  should  sever  wholly  the  two  hem- 
ispheres from  each  other.  Heaven  pre- 
serve us  from  the  anticipated  benefits 
of  nearer  connection  with  Europe,  if 
with  these  must  come  the  degradation 
which  we  see  or  read  of  among  the 
squalid  poor  of  her  great  cities,  among 
the  overworked  operatives  of  her  manu- 
factories, among  her  ignorant  and  half- 
brutalized  peasants  ! Any  thing,  every 
thing  should  be  done  to  save  us  from 
the  social  evils  which  deform  the  Old 
World,  and  to  build  up  here  an  intelli- 
gent, right-minded,  self-respecting  popu- 
lation. If  this  end  should  require  us  to 
cfiange  our  present  modes  of  life,  to 
narrow  our  foreign  connections,  to  desist 
from  the  race  of  commercial  and  manu- 
facturing competition  with  Europe  ; if 
it  should  require  that  our  great  cities 
should  cease  to  grow,  and  that  a large 
portion  of  our  trading  population  should 
return  to  labor,  these  requisitions  ought 
to  be  obeyed.  One  thing  is  plain,  that 
our  present  civilization  contains  strong 
tendencies  to  the  intellectual  and  moral 
depression  of  a large  portion  of  the  com- 
munity ; and  this  influence  ought  to  be 


thought  of,  studied,  watched,  withstood, 
with  a stern,  solemn  purpose  of  with- 
holding no  sacrifice  by  which  it  may 
be  counteracted. 

Perhaps  the  fears  now  expressed 
may  be  groundless.  I do  not  ask  you 
to  adopt  them.  My  end  will  be  gained 
if  I can  lead  you  to  study,  habitually 
and  zealously,  the  influence  of  changes 
and  measures  on  the  character  and 
condition  of  the  laboring  class.  There 
is  no  subject  on  which  your  thoughts 
should  turn  more  frequently  than  on 
this.  Many  of  you  busy  yourselves 
with  other  questions,  such  as  the  prob- 
able result  of  the  next  election  of  Pres- 
ident, or  the  prospects  of  this  or  that 
party.  But  these  are  insignificant,  com- 
pared with  the  great  question,  Whether 
the  laboring  classes  here  are  destined 
to  the  ignorance  and  depression  of  the 
lower  ranks  of  Europe,  or  whether  they 
can  secure  to  themselves  the  means  of 
intellectual  and  moral  progress.  You 
are  cheated,  you  are  false  to  yourselves, 
when  you  suffer  politicians  to  absorb 
you  in  their  selfish  purposes,  and  to 
draw  you  away  from  this  great  question. 
Give  the  first  place  in  your  thoughts  to 
this.  Carry  it  away  with  you  from  the 
present  lecture  ; discuss  it  together  ; 
study  it  when  alone  ; let  your  best 
heads  work  on  it ; resolve  that  nothing 
shall  be  wanting  on  your  part  to  secure 
the  means  of  intellectual  and  moral 
well-being  to  yourselves,  and  to  those 
who  may  come  after  you. 

In  these  lectures,- 1 have  expressed  a 
strong  interest  in  the  laboring  portion 
of  the  community  ; but  I have  no  par- 
tiality to  them  considered  merely  as 
laborers.  My  mind  is  attracted  to  them 
because  they  constitute  the  majority  of 
the  human  race.  My  great  interest  is 
in  human  nature,  and  in  the  working 
classes  as  its  most  numerous  represent- 
atives. To  those  who  look  on  this 
nature  with  contempt  or  utter  distrust, 
such  language  may  seem  a mere  form, 
or  may  be  construed  as  a sign  of  the 
predominance  of  imagination  and  feel- 
ing over  the  judgment.  No  matter. 
The  pity  of  these  sceptics  I can  return. 
Their  wonder  at  my  credulity  cannot 
surpass  the  sorrowful  astonishment  with 
which  I look  on  their  indifference  to 
the  fortunes  of  their  race.  In  spite  of 
all  their  doubts  and  scoffs,  human  nat- 
ure is  still  most  dear  to  me.  When  I 


5 


66  ON  THE  ELEVATION  OF  THE  LABORING  CLASSES. 


behold  it  manifested  in  its  perfect  pro- 
portions in  Jesus  Christ,  I cannot  but 
revere  it  as  the  true  temple  of  the 
Divinity.  When  I see  it  as  revealed 
in  the  great  and  good  of  all  times,  I 
bless  God  for  those  multiplied  and 
growing  proofs  of  its  high  destiny. 
When  I see  it  bruised,  beaten  down, 
stifled  by  ignorance  and  vice,  by  op- 
pression, injustice,  and  grinding  toil,  I 
weep  for  it,  and  feel  that  every  man 
should  be  ready  to  suffer  for  its  redemp- 
tion. I do  and  I must  hope  for  its 
progress.  But  in  saying  this,  I am  not 
blind  to  its  immediate  dangers.  I am 
not  sure  that  dark  clouds  and  desolat- 
ing storms  are  not  even  now  gathering 
over  the  world.  When  we  look  back 
on  the  mysterious  history  of  the  human 
race,  we  see  that  Providence  has  made 
use  of  fearful  revolutions  as  the  means 
of  sweeping  away  the  abuses  of  ages, 
and  of  bringing  forward  mankind  to 
their  present  improvement.  Whether 
such  revolutions  may  not  be  in  store 
for  our  own  times,  I know  not.  The 
present  civilization  of  the  Christian 
world  presents  much  to  awaken  doubt 
and  apprehension.  It  stands  in  direct 
hostility  to  the  great  ideas  of  Christian- 
ity. It  is  selfish,  mercenary,  sensual. 
Such  a civilization  cannot,  must  not, 
endure  for  ever.  How  it  is  to  be  sup- 
planted, I know  not.  I hope,  however, 
that  it  is  not  doomed,  like  the  old  Ro- 
man civilization,  to  be  quenched  in 
blood.  I trust  that  the  works  of  ages 
are  not  to  be  laid  low  by  violence,  rap- 
ine, and  the  all-devouring  sword.  I 
trust  that  the  existing  social  state  con- 
tains in  its  bosom  something  better 
than  it  has  yet  unfolded.  I trust  that  a 
brighter  future  is  to  come,  not  from  the 
desolation,  but  from  gradual,  meliorating 
changes  of  the  present.  Among  the 
changes  to  which  I look  for  the  salva- 
tion of  the  modern  world,  one  of  the 
chief  is  the  intellectual  and  moral  ele- 
vation of  the  laboring  class.  The  im- 
pulses which  are  to  reform  and  quicken 
society  are  probably  to  come,  not  from 
its  more  conspicuous,  but  from  its  ob- 
scurer divisions ; and  among  these  I 
see  with  joy  new  wants,  principles,  and 
aspirations  beginning  to  unfold  them- 
selves. Let  what  is  already  won  give 
us  courage.  Let  faith  in  a parental 
Providence  give  us  courage  ; and  if  we 


are  to  be  disappointed  in  the  present, 
let  us  never  doubt  that  the  great  inter- 
ests of  human  nature  are  still  secure 
under  the  eye  and  care  of  an  Almighty 
Friend. 

Note  for  the  third  head . — Under  the 
third  head  of  the  lectures,  in  which 
some  of  the  encouraging  circumstances 
of  the  times  are  stated,  I might  have 
spoken  of  the  singular  advantages  and 
means  of  progress  enjoyed  by  the  laborer 
in  this  metropolis.  It  is  believed  that 
there  cannot  be  found  another  city  in  the 
world  in  which  the  laboring  classes  are 
as  much  improved,  possess  as  many 
helps,  enjoy  as  much  consideration,  exert 
as  much  influence,  as  in  this  place.  Had 
I pursued  this  subject,  I should  have 
done  what  I often  wished  to  do ; I 
should  have  spoken  of  the  obligations 
of  our  city  to  my  excellent  friend,  James 
Savage,  Esq.,  to  whose  unwearied  efforts 
we  are  chiefly  indebted  for  two  inesti- 
mable institutions, — the  Provident  In- 
stitution for  Savings  and  the  Primary 
Schools  ; the  former  giving  to  the  laborer 
the  means  of  sustaining  himself  in  times 
of  pressure,  and  the  latter  placing  almost 
at  his  door  the  means  of  instruction  for 
his  children  from  the  earliest  age.  The 
union  of  the  Primary  Schools  with  the 
Grammar  Schools  and  the  High  Schools 
in  this  place  constitutes  a system  of 
public  education  unparalleled,  it  is  be- 
lieved, in  any  country.  It  would  not  be 
easy  to  name  an  individual  to  whom  our 
city  is  under  greater  obligations  than  to 
Mr.  Savage.  In  the  enterprises  which 
I have  named,  he  was  joined  and  greatly 
assisted  by  the  late  Elisha  Ticknor,  Esq., 
whose  name  ought  also  to  be  associated 
with  the  Provident  Institution  and  the 
Primary  Schools.  The  subject  of  these 
lectures  brings  to  my  mind  the  plan  of 
an  institution  which  was  laid  before  me 
by  Mr.  Ticknor,  for  teaching  at  once 
agriculture  and  the  mechanic  arts.  He 
believed  that  a boy  might  be  made  a 
thorough  farmer,  both  in  theory  and 
practice,  and  might  at  the  same  time 
learn  a trade,  and  that  by  being  skilled 
in  both  vocations  he  would  be  more 
useful,  and  would  multiply  his  chances 
of  comfortable  subsistence.  I was  inter- 
ested by  the  plan,  and  Mr.  Ticknor’s 
practical  wisdom  led  me  to  believe  that 
it  might  be  accomplished. 


HONOR  DUE  TO  ALL  MEN. 


6/ 


HONOR  DUE 

x Peter  ii.  17:  ‘‘Honor  all  men.” 

Among  the  many  and  inestimable 
blessings  of  Christianity,  I regard  as  not 
the  least  the  new  sentiment  with  which 
it  teaches  man  to  look  upon  his  fellow- 
beings  ; the  new  interest  which  it  awak- 
ens in  us  towards  every  thing  human  ; 
the  new  importance  which  it  gives  to  the 
soul ; the  new  relation  which  it  estab- 
lishes between  man  and  man.  In  this 
respect  it  began  a mighty  revolution, 
which  has  been  silently  spreading  itself 
through  society,  and  which,  I believe,  is 
not  to  stop  until  new  ties  shall  have  taken 
the  place  of  those  which  have  hitherto, 
in  the  main,  connected  the  human  race. 
Christianity  has  as  yet  but  begun  its 
work  of  reformation.  Under  its  influ- 
ences a new  order  of  society  is  advancing, 
surely  though  slowly ; and  this  benefi- 
cent change  it  is  to  accomplish  in  no 
small  measure  by  revealing  to  men  their 
own  nature,  and  teaching  them  to  “ honor 
all”  who  partake  it. 

As  yet  Christianity  has  done  little, 
compared  with  what  it  is  to  do,  in  es- 
tablishing the  true  bond  of  union  between 
man  and  man.  The  old  bonds  of  society 
still  continue  in  a great  degree.  They 
are  instinct,  interest,  force.  The  true 
tie,  which  is  mutual  respect,  calling  forth 
mutual,  growing,  never-failing  acts  of 
love,  is  as  yet  little  known.  A new  rev- 
elation, if  I may  so  speak,  remains  to  be 
made  ; or  rather,  the  truths  of  the  old 
revelation  in  regard  to  the  greatness  of 
human  nature  are  to  be  brought  out 
from  obscurity  and  neglect.  The  soul 
is  to  be  regarded  with  a religious  rever- 
ence hitherto  unfelt ; and  the  solemn 
claims  of  every  being  to  whom  this  divine 
principle  is  imparted  are  to  be  established 
on  the  ruins  of  those  pernicious  princi- 
ples, both  in  church  and  state,  which 
have  so  long  divided  mankind  into  the 
classes  of  the  abject  many  and  the  self- 
exalting  few. 

There  is  nothing  of  which  men  know 
so  little  as  themselves.  They  understand 
incomparably  more  of  the  surrounding 
creation,  of  matter,  and  of  its  laws,  than 
of  that  spiritual  principle  to  which  mat- 
ter was  made  to  be  the  minister,  and 


TO  ALL  MEN. 

without  which  the  outward  universe 
would  be  worthless.  Of  course,  no  man 
can  be  wholly  a stranger  to  the  soul,  for 
the  soul  is  himself,  and  he  cannot  but 
be  conscious  of  its  most  obvious  work- 
ings. But  it  is  to  most  a chaos,  a region 
shrouded  in  ever-shifting  mists,  baffling 
the  eye  and  bewildering  the  imagination. 
The  affinity  of  the  mind  with  God,  its 
moral  power,  the  purposes  for  which  its 
faculties  were  bestowed,  its  connection 
with  futurity,  and  the  dependence  of  its 
whole  happiness  on  its  own  right  action 
and  progress,  — these  truths,  though 
they  might  be  expected  to  absorb  us,  are 
to  most  men  little  more  than  sounds,  and 
to  none  of  us  those  living  realities  which, 
I trust,  they  are  to  become.  That  con- 
viction, without  which  we  are  all  poor, 
of  the  unlimited  and  immortal  nature  of 
the  soul,  remains  in  a great  degree  to  be 
developed.  Men  have  as  yet  no  just  re- 
spect for  themselves,  and  of  consequence 
no  just  respect  for  others.  The  true 
bond  of  society  is  thus  wanting ; and 
accordingly  there  is  a great  deficiency  of 
Christian  benevolence.  There  is,  indeed, 
much  instinctive,  native  benevolence, 
and  this  is  not  to  be  despised  ; but  the 
benevolence  of  Jesus  Christ,  which  con- 
sists in  a calm  purpose  to  suffer,  and,  if 
need  be,  to  die,  for  our  fellow-creatures, 
the  benevolence  of  Christ  on  the  cross, 
which  is  the  true  pattern  to  the  Christian, 
this  is  little  known ; and  what  is  the 
cause  ? It  is  this.  We  see  nothing  in 
human  beings  to  entitle  them  to  such 
sacrifices  ; we  do  not  think  them  worth 
suffering  for.  Why  should  we  be  mar- 
tyrs for  beings  who  awaken  in  us  little 
more  of  moral  interest  than  the  brutes  ? 

I hold  that  nothing  is  to  make  man 
a true  lover  of  man  but  the  discovery 
of  something  interesting  and  great  in 
human  nature.  We  must  see  and  feel 
that  a human  being  is  something  impor- 
tant, and  of  immeasurable  importance. 
We  must  see  and  feel  the  broad  distance 
between  the  spiritual  life  within  us  and 
the  vegetable  or  animal  life  which  acts 
around  us.  I cannot  love  the  flower, 
however  beautiful,  with  a disinterested 
affection  which  will  make  me  sacrifice  to 


68 


HONOR  DUE  TO  ALL  MEN 


it  my  own  prosperity.  You  will  in  vain 
exhort  me  to  attach  myself,  with  my 
whole  strength  of  affection,  to  the  in- 
ferior animals,  however  useful  or  attrac- 
tive ; and  why  not  ? They  want  the 
capacity  of  truth,  virtue,  and  progress. 
They  want  that  principle  of  duty  which 
alone  gives  permanence  to  a being  ; and 
accordingly  they  soon  lose  their  indi- 
vidual nature,  and  go  to  mingle  with  the 
general  mass.  A human  being  deserves 
a different  affection  from  what  we  bescow 
on  inferior  creatures,  for  he  has  a rational 
and  moral  nature,  by  which  he  is  to  en- 
dure for  ever,  by  which  he  may  achieve 
an  unutterable  happiness,  or  sink  into 
an  unutterable  woe.  He  is  more  inter- 
esting, through  what  is  in  him,  than  the 
earth  or  heavens  ; and  the  only  way  to 
love  him  aright  is  to  catch  some  glimpse 
of  this  immortal  power  within  him.  U ntil 
this  is  done,  all  charity  is  little  more 
than  instinct ; we  shall  embrace  the 
great  interests  of  human  nature  with 
coldness. 

It  may  be  said,  that  Christianity  has 
done  much  to  awaken  benevolence,  and 
that  it  has  taught  men  to  call  one  another 
brethren.  Yes,  to  call  one  another  so  ; 
but  has  it  as  yet  given  the  true  feeling  of 
brotherhood  ? We  undoubtedly  feel  our- 
selves to  be  all  of  one  race,  and  this  is 
well.  We  trace  ourselves  up  to  one  pair, 
and  feel  the  same  blood  flowing  in  our 
veins.  But  do  we  understand  our  spirit- 
ual brotherhood  ? Do  we  feel  ourselves 
to  be  derived  from  one  Heavenly  Parent, 
in  whose  image  we  are  all  made,  and 
whose  perfection  we  may  constantly  ap- 
proach ? Do  we  feel  that  there  is  one 
divine  life  in  our  own  and  in  all  souls  ? 
This  seems  to  me  the  only  true  bond  of 
man  to  man.  Here  is  a tie  more  sacred, 
more  enduring,  than  all  the  ties  of  this 
earth.  Is  it  felt,  and  do  we  in  conse- 
quence truly  honor  one  another  ? 

Sometimes,  indeed,  we  see  men  giving 
sincere,  profound,  and  almost  unmeas- 
ured respect  to  their  fellow-creatures ; 
but  to  whom?  To  great  men  ; to  men 
distinguished  by  a broad  line  from  the 
multitude ; to  men  pre-eminent  by  genius, 
force  of  character,  daring  effort,  high 
station,  brilliant  success.  To  such  honor 
is  given ; but  this  is  not  to  “ honor  all 
men  ; ” and  the  homage  paid  to  such  is 
generally  unfriendly  to  that  Christian  es- 
timate of  human  beings  for  which  I am 
now  pleading.  The  great  are  honored  at 


the  expense  of  their  race.  They  absorb 
and  concentrate  the  world’s  admiration, 
and  their  less  gifted  fellow-beings  are 
thrown  by  their  brightness  into  a deeper 
shade,  and  passed  over  with  a colder 
contempt.  Now  I have  no  desire  to 
derogate  from  the  honor  paid  to  great 
men,  but  I say,  Let  them  not  rise  by  the 
depression  of  the  multitude.  I say,  that 
great  men,  justly  regarded,  exalt  our  es- 
timate of  the  human  race,  and  bind  us 
to  the  multitude  of  men  more  closely ; 
and  when  they  are  not  so  regarded,  when 
they  are  converted  into  idols,  when  they 
serve  to  wean  our  interest  from  ordinary 
men,  they  corrupt  us,  they  sever  the 
sacred  bond  of  humanity  which  should 
attach  us  to  all,  and  our  characters  be- 
come vitiated  by  our  very  admiration  of 
greatness.  The  true  view  of  great  men 
is,  that  they  are  only  examples  and  mani- 
festations of  our  common  nature,  show- 
ing what  belongs  to  all  souls,  though 
unfolded  as  yet  only  in  a few.  The  light 
which  shines  from  them  is,  after  all,  but 
a faint  revelation  of  the  power  which  is 
treasured  up  in  every  human  being.  They 
are  not  prodigies,  not  miracles,  but  nat- 
ural developments  of  the  human  soul. 
They  are  indeed  as  men  among  children, 
but  the  children  have  a principle  of 
growth  which  leads  to  manhood. 

That  great  men  and  the  multitude  of 
minds  are  of  one  family,  is  apparent,  I 
think,  in  the  admiration  which  the  great 
inspire  into  the  multitude.  A sincere, 
enlightened  admiration  always  springs 
from  something  congenial  in  him  who 
feels  it  with  him  who  inspires  it.  He 
that  can  understand  and  delight  in 
greatness  was  created  to  partake  of  it ; 
the  germ  is  in  him ; and  sometimes  this 
admiration,  in  what  we  deem  inferior 
minds,  discovers  a nobler  spirit  than 
belongs  to  the  great  man  who  awakens 
it ; for  sometimes  the  great  man  is  so 
absorbed  in  his  own  greatness  as  to 
admire  no  other ; and  I should  not  hes- 
itate to  say,  that  a common  mind,  which 
is  yet  capable  of  a generous  admira- 
tion, is  destined  to  rise  higher  than  the 
man  of  eminent  capacities,  who  can 
enjoy  no  power  or  excellence  but  his 
own.  When  I hear  of  great  men,  I 
wish  not  to  separate  them  from  their 
race,  but  to  blend  them  with  it.  I es- 
teem it  no  small  benefit  of  the  philos- 
ophy of  mind,  that  it  teaches  us  that 
the  elements  of  the  greatest  thoughts 


HONOR  DUE  TO  ALL  MEN 


of  the  man  of  genius  exist  in  his  hum- 
bler brethren,  and  that  the  faculties 
which  the  scientific  exert  in  the  pro- 
foundest  discoveries  are  precisely  the 
same  with  those  which  common  men 
employ  in  the  daily  labors  of  life. 

To  show  the  grounds  on  which  the 
obligation  to  honor  all  men  rests,  I 
might  take  a minute  survey  of  that  hu- 
man nature  which  is  common  to  all, 
and  set  forth  its  cJaims  to  reverence. 
But,  leaving  this  wide  range,  I observe 
that  there  is  one  principle  of  the  soul 
which  makes  all  men  essentially  equal, 
which  places  all  on  a level  as  to  means 
of  happiness,  which  may  place  in  the 
first  rank  of  human  beings  those  who 
are  the  most  depressed  in  worldly  con- 
dition, and  which  therefore  gives  the 
most  depressed  a title  to  interest  and 
respect.  I refer  to  the  sense  of  duty, 
to  the  power  of  discerning  and  doing 
right,  to  the  moral  and  religious  prin- 
ciple, to  the  inward  monitor  which 
speaks  in  the  name  of  God,  to  the  ca- 
pacity of  virtue  or  excellence.  This 
is  the  great  gift  of  God.  We  can  con- 
ceive no  greater.  In  seraph  and  arch- 
angel, we  can  conceive  no  higher  energy 
than  the  power  of  virtue,  or  the  power 
of  forming  themselves  after  the  will 
and  moral  perfections  of  God.  This 
power  breaks  down  all  barriers  between 
the  seraph  and  the  lowest  human  being ; 
it  makes  them  brethren.  Whoever  has 
derived  from  God  this  perception  and 
capacity  of  rectitude,  has  a bond  of 
union  with  the  spiritual  world  stronger 
than  all  the  ties  of  nature.  He  pos- 
sesses a principle  which,  if  he  is  faith- 
ful to  it,  must  carry  him  forward  for 
ever,  and  insures  to  him  the  improve- 
ment and  happiness  of  the  highest 
order  of  beings. 

It  is  this  moral  power  which  makes 
all  men  essentially  equal,  which  anni- 
hilates all  the  distinctions  of  this  world. 
Through  this,  the  ignorant  and  the  poor 
may  become  the  greatest  of  the  race  ; 
for  the  greatest  is  he  who  is  most  true 
to  the  principle  of  duty.  It  is  not  im- 
probable that  the  noblest  human  beings 
are  to  be  found  in  the  least  favored 
conditions  of  society,  among  those 
whose  names  are  never  uttered  beyond 
the  narrow  circle  in  which  they  toil  and 
suffer,  who  have  but  “ two  mites  ” to 
give  away,  who  have  perhaps  not  even 
that,  but  who  “ desire  to  be  fed  with 


69 

the  crumbs  which  fall  from  the  rich 
man’s  table  ; ” for  in  this  class  may 
be  found  those  who  have  withstood  the 
severest  temptation,  who  have  prac- 
tised the  most  arduous  duties,  who 
have  confided  in  God  under  the  heav- 
iest trials,  who  have  been  most  wronged 
and  have  forgiven  most ; and  these  are 
the  great,  the  exalted.  It  matters  noth- 
ing what  the  particular  duties  are  to 
which  the  individual  is  called,  — how 
minute  or  obscure  in  their  outward 
form.  Greatness  in  God’s  sight  lies, 
not  in  the  extent  of  the  sphere  which 
is  filled,  or  of  the  effect  which  is  pro- 
duced, but  altogether  in  the  power  of 
virtue  in  the  soul,  in  the  energy  with 
which  God’s  will  is  chosen,  with  which 
trial  is  borne,  and  goodness  loved  and 
pursued. 

The  sense  of  duty  is  the  greatest  gift 
of  God.  The  idea  of  right  is  the 
primary  and  the  highest  revelation  of 
God  to  the  human  mind,  and  all  out- 
ward revelations  are  founded  on  and 
addressed  to  it.  All  mysteries  of  sci- 
ence and  theology  fade  away  before  the 
grandeur  of  the  simple  perception  of 
duty  which  dawns  on  the  mind  of  the 
little  child.  That  perception  brings 
him  into  the  moral  kingdom  of  God. 
That  lays  on  him  an  everlasting  bond. 
He  in  whom  the  conviction  of  duty  is 
unfolded  becomes  subject  from  that 
moment  to  a law  which  no  power  in  the 
universe  can  abrogate.  He  forms  a 
new  and  indissoluble  connection  with 
God,  that  of  an  accountable  being. 
He  begins  to  stand  before  an  inward 
tribunal,  on  the  decisions  of  which  his 
whole  happiness  rests  ; he  hears  a 
voice  which,  if  faithfully  followed,  will 
guide  him  to  perfection,  and  in  neglect- 
ing which  he  brings  upon  himself  in- 
evitable misery.  We  little  understand 
the  solemnity  of  the  moral  principle  in 
every  human  mind.  We  think  not  how 
awful  are  its  functions.  We  forget  that 
it  is  the  germ  of  immortality.  Did  we 
understand  it,  we  should  look  with  a 
feeling  of  reverence  on  every  being  to 
whom  it  is  given. 

Having  shown,  in  the  preceding  re- 
marks, that  there  is  a foundation  in  the 
human  soul  for  the  honor  enjoined  in 
our  text  towards  all  men,  I proceed  to 
observe,  that,  if  we  look  next  into  Chris- 
tianity, we  shall  find  this  duty  enforced 
by  new  and  still  more  solemn  consider- 


70 


HONOR  DUE  TO  ALL  MEN. 


ations.  This  whole  religion  is  a testi- 
mony to  the  worth  of  man  in  the  sight 
of  God,  to  the  importance  of  human 
nature,  to  the  infinite  purposes  for 
which  we  were  framed.  God  is  there 
set  forth  as  sending  to  the  succor  of 
his  human  family  his  Beloved  Son,  the 
bright  image  and  representative  of  his 
own  perfections  ; and  sending  him,  not 
simply  to  roll  away  a burden  of  pain 
and  punishment  (for  this,  however  mag- 
nified in  systems  of  theology,  is  not  his 
highest  work),  but  to  create  men  after 
that  divine  image  which  he  himself 
bears,  to  purify  the  soul  from  every 
stain,  to  communicate  to  it  new  power 
over  evil,  and  to  open  before  it  immor- 
tality as  its  aim  and  destination,  — im- 
mortality, by  which  we  are  to  understand, 
not  merely  a perpetual,  but  an  ever-im- 
proving and  celestial  being.  Such  are 
the  views  of  Christianity.  And  these 
blessings  it  proffers,  not  to  a few,  not 
to  the  educated,  not  to  the  eminent,  but 
to  all  human  beings,  to  the  poorest  and 
the  most  fallen  ; and  we  know  that, 
through  the  power  of  its  promises,  it 
has  in  not  a few  instances  raised  the 
most  fallen  to  true  greatness,  and  given 
them  in  their  present  virtue  and  peace 
an  earnest  of  the  Heaven  which  it  un- 
folds. Such  is  Christianity.  Men, 
viewed  in  the  light  of  this  religion,  are 
beings  cared  for  by  God,  to  whom  he 
has  given  his  Son,  on  whom  he  pours 
forth  his  Spirit,  and  whom  he  has  cre- 
ated for  the  highest  good  in  the  uni- 
verse, for  participation  in  his  own 
perfections  and  happiness.  My  friends, 
such  is  Christianity.  Our  scepticism 
as  to  our  own  nature  cannot  quench  the 
bright  light  which  that  religion  sheds 
on  the  soul  and  on  the  prospects  of 
mankind  ; and  just  as  far  as  we  receive 
its  truth,  we  shall  honor  all  men. 

I know  I shall  be  told  that  Christian- 
ity speaks  of  man  as  a sinner,  and  thus 
points  him  out  to  abhorrence  and  scorn. 
I know  it  speaks  of  human  sin,  but  it 
does  not  speak  of  this  as  indissolubly 
bound  up  with  the  soul,  as  entering  into 
the  essence  of  human  nature,  but  as  a 
temporary' stain,  which  it  calls  on  us  to 
wash  away.  Its  greatest  doctrine  is, 
that  the  most  lost  are  recoverable,  that 
the  most  fallen  may  rise,  and  that  there 
is  no  height  of  purity,  power,  felicity  in 
the  universe,  to  which  the  guiltiest 
mind  may  not,  through  penitence,  at- 


tain. Christianity,  indeed,  gives  us  a 
deeper,  keener  feeling  of  the  guilt  of 
mankind  than  any  other  religion.  By 
the  revelation  of  perfection  in  the  char- 
acter of  Jesus  Christ,  it  shows  us  how 
imperfect  even  the  best  men  are.  But 
it  reveals  perfection  in  Jesus,  not  for 
our  discouragement,  but  as  our  model,  — 
reveals  it  only  that  we  may  thirst  for  and 
approach  it.  From  Jesus  I learn  what 
man  is  to  become,  that  is,  if  true  to  this 
new  light ; and  true  he  may  be. 

Christianity,  I have  said,  shows  man 
as  a sinner,  but  I nowhere  meet  in  it 
those  dark  views  of  our  race  which 
would  make  us  shrink  from  it  as  from 
a nest  of  venomous  reptiles.  Accord- 
ing to  the  courteous  style  of  theology, 
man  has  been  called  half  brute  and 
half  devil.  But  this  is  a perverse  and 
pernicious  exaggeration.  The  brute,  as 
it  is  called,  that  is,  animal,  appetite  is 
indeed  strong  in  human  beings  ; but  is 
there  nothing  within  us  but  appetite  ? 
Is  there  nothing  to  war  with  it  ? Does 
this  constitute  the  essence  of  the  soul  ? 
Is  it  not  rather  an  accident,  the  result 
of  the  mind’s  union  with  matter?  Is 
not  its  spring  in  the  body,  and  may  it 
not  be  expected  to  perish  with  the 
body  ? In  addition  to  animal  propen- 
sities, I see  the  tendency  to  criminal 
excess  in  all  men’s  passions.  I see  not 
one  only,  but  many  tempters  in  every 
human  heart.  Nor  am  I insensible  to 
the  fearful  power  of  these  enemies  to 
our  virtue.  But  is  there  nothing  in 
man  but  temptation,  but  propensity  to 
sin  ? Are  there  no  counterworking 
powers  ? no  attractions  in  virtue  ? no 
tendencies  to  God  ? no  sympathies  with 
sorrow  ? no  reverence  for  greatness  ? 
no  moral  conflicts  ? no  triumphs  of 
principle  ? This  very  strength  of  temp- 
tation seems  to  me  to  be  one  of  the 
indications  of  man’s  greatness.  It 
shows  a being  framed  to  make  progress 
through  difficulty,  suffering,  and  con- 
flict ; that  is,  it  shows  a being  designed 
for  the  highest  order  of  virtues  ; for 
we  all  feel  by  an  unerring  instinct  that 
virtue  is  elevated  in  proportion  to  the 
obstacles  which  it  surmounts,  to  the 
power  with  which  it  is  chosen  and  held 
fast.  I see  men  placed  by  their  Crea- 
tor on  a field  of  battle,  but  compassed 
with  peril  that  they  may  triumph  over 
it ; and,  though  often  overborne,  still 
summoned  to  new  efforts,  still  privi- 


HONOR  DUE  TO  ALL  MEN 


leged  to  approach  the  Source  of  all 
Power,  and  to  seek  “ grace  in  time  of 
need,”  and  still  addressed  in  tones  of 
encouragement  by  a celestial  Leader, 
who  has  himself  fought  and  conquered, 
and  holds  forth  to  them  his  own  crown 
of  righteousness  and  victory. 

From  these  brief  views  of  human 
nature  and  of  Christianity,  you  will  see 
the  grounds  of  the  solemn  obligation 
of  honoring  all  men,  of  attaching  infi- 
nite importance  to  human  nature,  and  of 
respecting  it,  even  in  its  present  infant, 
feeble,  tottering  state.  This  sentiment 
of  honor  or  respect  for  human  beings 
strikes  me  more  and  more  as  essential 
to  the  Christian  character.  I conceive 
that  a more  thorough  understanding 
and  a more  faithful  culture  of  this 
would  do  very  much  to  carry  forward  the 
church  and  the  world.  In  truth,  I attach 
to  this  sentiment  such  importance,  that 
I measure  by  its  progress  the  progress 
of  society.  I judge  of  public  events 
very  much  by  their  bearing  on  this.  I 
estimate  political  revolutions  chiefly  by 
their  tendency  to  exalt  men’s  concep- 
tions of  their  nature,  and  to  inspire 
them  with  respect  for  one  another’s 
claims.  The  present  stupendous  move- 
ments in  Europe  naturally  suggest,  and 
almost  force  upon  me,  this  illustration 
of  the  importance  which  I have  given 
to  the  sentiment  enjoined  in  our  text. 
Allow  me  to  detain  you  a few  moments 
on  this  topic. 

What  is  it,  then,  I ask,  which  makes 
the  present  revolutionary  movement 
abroad  so  interesting  ? I answer,  that 
I see  in  it  the  principle  of  respect  for 
human  nature  and  for  the  human  race 
developing  itself  more  powerfully,  and 
this  to  me  constitutes  its  chief  interest. 
I see  in  it  proofs,  indications,  that  the 
mind  is  awakening  to  a consciousness 
of  what  it  is,  and  of  what  it  is  made 
for.  In  this  movement  I see  man  be- 
coming to  himself  a higher  object.  I 
see  him  attaining  to  the  conviction  of 
the  equal  and  indestructible  rights  of 
every  human  being.  I see  the  dawning 
of  that  great  principle,  that  the  individ- 
ual is  not  made  to  be  the  instrument  of 
others,  but  to  govern  himself  by  an  in- 
ward law,  and  to  advance  towards  his 
proper  perfection  ; that  he  belongs  to 
himself  and  to  God,  and  to  no  human 
superior.  I know,  indeed,  that,  in  the 
present  state  of  the  world,  these  con- 


ceptions are  exceedingly  unsettled  and 
obscure  ; and,  in  truth,  little  effort  has 
hitherto  been  made  to  place  them  in  a 
clear  light,  and  to  give  them  a definite 
and  practical  form  in  men’s  minds. 
The  multitude  know  not  with  any  dis- 
tinctness what  they  want.  Imagination, 
unschooled  by  reason  and  experience, 
dazzles  them  with  bright  but  baseless 
visions.  They  are  driven  onward  with 
a perilous  violence,  by  a vague  con- 
sciousness of  not  having  found  their 
element ; by  a vague  yet  noble  faith  in 
a higher  good  than  they  have  attained  ; 
by  impatience  under  restraints  which 
they  feel  to  be  degrading.  In  this  vio- 
lence, however,  there  is  nothing  strange, 
nor  ought  it  to  discourage  us.  It  is, 
I believe,  universally  true,  that  great 
principles,  in  their  first  development, 
manifest  themselves  irregularly.  It  is 
so  in  religion.  In  history  we  often 
see  religion,  especially  after  long  de- 
pression, breaking  out  in  vehemence 
and  enthusiasm,  sometimes  stirring  up 
bloody  conflicts,  and  through  struggles 
establishing  a calmer  empire  over  soci- 
ety. In  like  manner,  political  history 
shows  us  that  men’s  consciousness  of 
their  rights  and  essential  equality  has  at 
first  developed  itself  passionately.  Still 
the  consciousness  is  a noble  one,  and 
the  presage  of  a better  social  state. 

Am  I asked,  what  I hope  from  the  pres- 
ent revolutionary  movements  in  Europe  ? 
I answer,  that  I hope  a good  which  in- 
cludes all  others,  and  which  almost  hides 
all  others  from  my  view.  I hope  the  sub- 
version of  institutions  by  which  the  true 
bond  between  man  and  man  has  been 
more  or  less  dissolved,  by  which  the  will 
of  one  or  a few  has  broken  down  the  will, 
the  heart,  the  conscience  of  the  many ; 
and  I hope  that,  in  the  place  of  these, 
are  to  grow  up  institutions  which  will 
express,  cherish,  and  spread  far  and  wide 
a just  respect  for  human  nature,  which 
will  strengthen  in  men  a consciousness 
of  their  powers,  duties,  and  rights,  which 
will  train  the  individual  to  moral  and  re- 
ligious independence,  which  will  propose 
as  their  end  the  elevation  of  all  orders  of 
the  community,  and  which  will  give  full 
scope  to  the  best  minds  in  this  work  of 
general  improvement.  I do  not  say  that 
I expect  it  to  be  suddenly  realized.  The 
sun,  which  is  to  bring  on  a brighter  day, 
is  rising  in  thick  and  threatening  clouds. 
Perhaps  the  minds  of  men  were  never 


72 


HONOR  DUE  TO  ALL  MEN 


more  unquiet  than  at  the  present  moment. 
Still  I do  not  despair.  That  a higher 
order  of  ideas  or  principles  is  beginning 
to  be  unfolded  ; that  a wider  philan- 
thropy is  beginning  to  triumph  over  the 
distinctions  of  ranks  and  nations  ; that 
a new  feeling  of  what  is  due  to  the  igno- 
rant, poor,  and  depraved,  has  sprung  up  ; 
that  the  right  of  every  human  being  to 
such  an  education  as  shall  call  forth  his 
best  faculties,  and  train  him  more  and 
more  to  control  himself,  is  recognized  as 
it  never  was  before ; and  that  govern- 
ment is  more  and  more  regarded  as  in- 
tended not  to  elevate  the  few,  but  to 
guard  the  rights  of  all ; that  these  great 
revolutions  in  principle  have  commenced 
and  are  spreading,  who  can  deny  ? and  to 
me  they  are  prophetic  of  an  improved 
condition  of  human  nature  and  human 
affairs. — 'O,  that  this  melioration  might 
be  accomplished  without  blood  ! As  a 
Christian,  I feel  a misgiving,  when  I re- 
joice in  any  good,  however  great,  for 
which  this  fearful  price  has  been  paid. 
In  truth,  a good  so  won  is  necessarily 
imperfect  and  generally  transient.  War 
may  subvert  a despotism,  but  seldom 
builds  up  better  institutions.  Even  when 
joined,  as  in  our  own  history,  with  high 
principles,  it  inflames  and  leaves  behind 
it  passions  which  make  liberty  a feverish 
conflict  of  jealous  parties,  and  which  ex- 
pose a people  to  the  tyranny  of  faction 
under  the  forms  of  freedom.  Few  things 
impair  men’s  reverence  for  human  nature 
more  than  war ; and  did  I not  see  other 
and  holier  influences  than  the  sword 
working  out  the  regeneration  of  the  race, 
I should  indeed  despair. 

In  this  discourse  I have  spoken  of  the 
grounds  and  importance  of  that  honor  or 
respect  which  is  due  from  us,  and  en- 
joined on  us,  towards  all  human  beings. 
The  various  forms  in  which  this  princi- 
ple is  to  be  exercised  or  manifested,  I 
want  time  to  enlarge  on.  I would  only 
say,  “ Honor  all  men.”  Honor  man, 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his 
earthly  course.  Honor  the  child.  Wel- 
come into  being  the  infant,  with  a feel- 
ing of  its  mysterious  grandeur,  with  the 
feeling  that  an  immortal  existence  has 
begun,  that  a spirit  has  been  kindled 
which  is  never  to  be  quenched.  Honor 
the  child.  On  this  principle  all  good 
education  rests.  Never  shall  we  learn 
to  train  up  the  child  till  we  take  it  in 
our  arms,  as  Jesus  did,  and  feel  distinctly 


that  “ of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.” 
In  that  short  sentence  is  taught  the  spirit 
of  the  true  system  of  education  ; and  for 
want  of  understanding  it,  little  effectual 
aid,  I fear,  is  yet  given  to  the  heavenly 
principle  in  the  infant  soul.  — Again. 
Honor  the  poor.  This  sentiment  of  re- 
spect is  essential  to  improving  the  con- 
nection between  the  more  and  less 
prosperous  conditions  of  society.  This 
alone  makes  beneficence  truly  godlike. 
Without  it,  almsgiving  degrades  the  re- 
ceiver. We  must  learn  how  slight  and 
shadowy  are  the  distinctions  between  us 
and  the  poor ; and  that  the  last  in  out- 
ward condition  may  be  first  in  the  best 
attributes  of  humanity.  A fraternal  union, 
founded  on  this  deep  conviction,  and  in- 
tended to  lift  up  and  strengthen  the  ex- 
posed and  tempted  poor,  is  to  do  infinitely 
more  for  that  suffering  class  than  all  our 
artificial  associations  ; and  till  Christi- 
anity shall  have  breathed  into  us  this 
spirit  of  respect  for  our  nature,  where- 
ever  it  is  found,  we  shall  do  them  little 
good.  I conceive  that,  in  the  present 
low  state  of  Christian  virtue,  we  little 
apprehend  the  power  which  might  be 
exerted  over  the  fallen  and  destitute  by 
a benevolence  which  should  truly,  thor- 
oughly recognize  in  them  the  image  of 
God. 

Perhaps  none  of  us  have  yet  heard  or 
can  comprehend  the  tone  of  voice  in 
which  a man,  thoroughly  impressed  with 
this  sentiment,  would  speak  to  a fellow- 
creature.  It  is  a language  hardly  known 
on  earth  ; and  no  eloquence,  I believe, 
has  achieved  such  wonders  as  it  is  des- 
tined to  accomplish.  I must  stop,  though 
I have  but  begun  the  application  of  the 
principle  which  I have  urged.  I will 
close  as  I began,  with  saying,  that  the 
great  revelation  which  man  now  needs 
is  a revelation  of  man  to  himself.  The 
faith  which  is  most  wanted  is  a faith  in 
what  we  and  our  fellow-beings  may  be- 
come, — a faith  in  the  divine  germ  or 
principle  in  every  soul.  In  regard  to 
most  of  what  are  called  the  mysteries  of 
religion,  we  may  innocently  be  ignorant. 
But  the  mystery  within  ourselves,  the 
mystery  of  our  spiritual,  accountable, 
immortal  nature,  it  behoves  us  to  explore. 
Happy  are  they  who  have  begun  to  pene- 
trate it,  and  in  whom  it  has  awakened 
feelings  of  awe  towards  themselves,  and 
of  deep  interest  and  honor  towards  their 
fellow-creatures. 


MINISTRY  FOR  THE  POOR. 


73 


MINISTRY  FOR  THE  POOR: 


Discourse  delivered  before  the  Benevolent  Fraternity  of  Churches , 
Boston,  April  9,  1 835. 


Luke  iv.  18 : “ The  spirit  of  the  Lord  is  upon  me, 

because  He  hath  anointed  me  to  preach  the  Gospel 

to  the  poor.” 

We  are  met  together  on  the  first  an- 
niversary of  the  Benevolent  Fraternity 
of  Churches,  — an  institution  formed  for 
the  purpose  of  providing  a ministry  for 
the  poor,  and  of  thus  communicating 
moral  and  spiritual  blessings  to  the  most 
destitute  portion  of  the  community.  We 
may  well  thank  God  for  living  in  a state 
of  society  in  which  such  a design  finds 
cordial  support.  We  should  rejoice  in 
this  token  of  human  progress.  Man  has 
always  felt  for  the  outward  wants  and 
sufferings  of  man.  This  institution 
shows  that  he  is  alive  to  the  higher  ca- 
pacities, the  deeper  cravings,  of  his  fel- 
low-beings. This  institution  is  one  of 
the  forms  in  which  the  spirit  of  Christi- 
anity is  embodied,  — a spirit  of  reverence 
and  love  for  the  human  soul,  of  sympathy 
with  its  fall,  of  intense  desire  for  its  re- 
demption. 

On  this  occasion  there  is  but  one  topic 
of  which  I can  speak,  and  that  is  the 
claims  of  the  poor  as  moral,  spiritual 
beings  ; and  it  is  a topic  on  which  I 
enter  with  a consciousness  of  insuffi- 
ciency. The  claims  of  outward  and  world- 
ly things  I can  comprehend.  I can  look 
through  wealth,  pomp,  rank.  I can  meet 
unmoved  the  most  imposing  forms  of 
earthly  dignity  ; but  the  immortal  princi- 
ple in  the  heart  of  the  poorest  human 
being  I approach  with  awe.  There  I 
see  a mystery  in  which  my  faculties  are 
lost.  I see  an  existence,  before  which 
the  duration  of  the  world  and  the  out- 
ward heavens  is  a span.  I say  that  I 
see  it.  I am  not  surrendering  myself  to 
imagination  ; I have  a consciousness  of 
truth,  or  rather  a consciousness  of  fall- 
ing beneath  the  truth.  I feel,  then,  my 
incompetency  to  be  just  to  this  subject. 
But  we  must  do  what  we  can.  No  testi- 
mony, however  feeble,  if  lifted  up  in 


sincerity  in  behalf  of  great  principles,  is 
ever  lost.  Through  weak  man,  if  sancti- 
fied by  a simple,  humble  love  of  truth,  a 
higher  Power  than  man’s  is  pleased  to 
work.  May  that  Power  overshadow  us, 
and  work  within  us,  and  open  every  soul 
to  truth  ! 

To  awaken  a spiritual  interest  in  the 
poor,  this  is  my  object.  I wish  not  to 
diminish  your  sympathy  with  their  out- 
ward condition ; I would  increase  it. 
But  their  physical  sufferings  are  not 
their  chief  evils.  The  great  calamity  of 
the  poor  is  not  their  poverty,  understand- 
ing this  word  in  the  usual  sense,  but  the 
tendency  of  their  privations,  and  of  their 
social  rank,  to  degradation  of  mind.  Give 
them  the  Christian  spirit,  and  their  lot 
would  not  be  intolerable.  Remove  from 
them  the  misery  which  they  bring  on 
themselves  by  evil-doing,  and  separate 
from  their  inevitable  sufferings  the  ag- 
gravations which  come  from  crime,  and 
their  burden  would  be  light  compared 
with  what  now  oppresses  them. 

The  outward  condition  of  the  poor  is 
a hard  one.  I mean  not  to  criticise  it 
with  the  apathy  of  the  stoic,  to  deny 
that  pain  is  an  evil,  privation  a loss  of 
good.  But  when  I compare  together 
different  classes  as  existing  at  this  mo- 
ment in  the  civilized  world,  I cannot 
think  the  difference  between  the  rich 
and  the  poor,  in  regard  to  mere  physical 
suffering,  so  great  as  is  sometimes  im- 
agined. That  some  of  the  indigent 
among  us  die  of  scanty  food  is  undoubt- 
edly true  ; but  vastly  more  in  this  com- 
munity die  from  eating  too  much  than 
from  eating  too  little  ; vastly  more  from 
excess  than  starvation.  So  as  to  cloth- 
ing, many  shiver  from  want  of  defences 
against  the  cold ; but  there  is  vastly 
more  suffering  among  the  rich  from  ab- 
surd and  criminal  modes  of  dress,  which 
fashion  has  sanctioned,  than  among  the 
poor  from  deficiency  of  raiment.  Our 


74 


MINISTRY  FOR  THE  POOR. 


daughters  are  oftener  brought  to  the 
grave  by  their  rich  attire  than  our  beg- 
gars by  their  nakedness.  So  the  poor 
are  often  overworked;  but  they  suffer 
less  than  many  among  the  rich  who  have 
no  work  to  do,  no  interesting  object  to 
fill  up  life,  to  satisfy  the  infinite  cravings 
of  man  for  action.  According  to  our 
present  modes  of  education,  how  many 
of  our  daughters  are  victims  of  ennui , a 
misery  unknown  to  the  poor,  and  more 
intolerable  than  the  weariness  of  exces- 
sive toil ! The  idle  young  man  spend- 
ing the  day  in  exhibiting  his  person  in 
the  street  ought  not  to  excite  the  envy 
of  the  overtasked  poor ; and  this  cum- 
berer  of  the  ground  is  found  exclusively 
among  the  rich. 

I repeat  it,  the  condition  of  the  poor 
deserves  sympathy  ; but  let  us  not,  by 
exaggeration  of  its  pains,  turn  away  our 
minds  from  the  great  inward  sources  of 
their  misery.  In  this  city,  the  condition 
of  a majority  of  the  indigent  is  such  as 
would  be  thought  eligible  elsewhere. 
Insure  to  a European  peasant  an  abun- 
dance of  wheaten  bread  through  every 
season  of  the  year,  and  he  would  bless 
his  easy  lot.  Among  us,  many  a poor 
family,  if  doomed  to  live  on  bread,  would 
murmur  at  its  hard  fare  ; and  accord- 
ingly the  table  of  the  indigent  is  daily 
spread  with  condiments  and  viands 
hardly  known  in  the  cottage  of  the  trans- 
atlantic laborer.  The  Greenlander  and 
Laplander,  dwelling  in  huts,  and  living 
on  food  compared  with  which  the  accom- 
modations of  our  poor  are  abundant,  are 
more  than  content.  They  would  not  ex- 
change their  wastes  for  our  richest  soils 
and  proudest  cities.  It  is  not,  then,  the 
physical  suffering  of  the  poor,  but  their 
relation  to  the  rest  of  society,  — the  want 
of  means  of  inward  life,  the  degrading 
influences  of  their  position,  — to  which 
their  chief  misery  is  to  be  traced. 

Let  not  the  condition  of  the  poor  be 
spoken  of  as  necessarily  wretched.  Give 
them  the  Christian  spirit,  and  they  would 
find  in  their  lot  the  chief  elements  of 
good.  For  example,  the  domestic  affec- 
tions may  and  do  grow  up  among  the 
poor,  and  these  are  to  all  of  us  the  chief 
springs  of  earthly  happiness.  And  it 
deserves  consideration  that  the  poor 
have  their  advantages  as  well  as  disad- 
vantages in  respect  to  domestic  ties. 
Their  narrow  condition  obliges  them  to 
do  more  for  one  another  than  is  done 


among  the  rich  ; and  this  necessity,  as  is 
well  known,  sometimes  gives  a vigor 
and  tenderness  to  the  love  of  parents 
and  children,  brothers  and  sisters,  not 
always  found  in  the  luxurious  classes, 
where  wealth  destroys  this  mutual  de- 
pendence, this  need  of  mutual  help.  Nor 
let  it  be  said  that  the  poor  cannot  enjoy 
domestic  happiness  for  want  of  the  means 
of  educating  their  children.  A sound 
moral  judgment  is  of  more  value  in  edu- 
cation than  all  wealth  and  all  talent. 
For  want  of  this,  the  children  of  men  of 
genius  and  opulence  are  often  the  worst 
trained  in  the  community  ; and  if,  by  our 
labors,  we  can  communicate  this  moral 
soundness  to  the  poor,  we  shall  open 
among  them  the  fountain  of  the  only 
pure  domestic  felicity. 

In  this  country,  the  poor  might  enjoy 
the  most  important  advantages  of  the 
rich  had  they  the  moral  and  religious 
cultivation  consistent  with  their  lot. 
Books  find  their  way  into  every  house, 
however  mean  ; and  especially  that  book 
which  contains  more  nutriment  for  the 
intellect,  imagination,  and  heart,  than  all 
others,  — I mean,  of  course,  the  Bible. 
And  I am  confident  that  among  the  poor 
are  those  who  find  in  that  one  book 
more  enjoyment,  more  awakening  truth, 
more  lofty  and  beautiful  imagery,  more 
culture  to  the  whole  soul,  than  thousands 
of  the  educated  find  in  their  general 
studies,  and  vastly  more  than  millions 
among  the  rich  find  in'  that  superficial, 
transitory  literature  which  consumes  all 
their  reading  hours. 

Even  the  pleasures  of  a refined  taste 
are  not  denied  to  the  poor,  but  might 
easily  be  opened  to  them  by  a wise 
moral  culture.  True,  their  rooms  are 
not  lined  with  works  of  art ; but  the 
living  beauty  of  nature  opens  on  the  eyes 
of  all  her  children ; and  we  know,  from 
the  history  of  self-educated  genius,  that 
sometimes  the  inhabitant  of  a hovel, 
looking  out  on  the  serene  sky,  the 
illumined  cloud,  the  setting  sun,  has  re- 
ceived into  his  rapt  spirit  impressions 
of  divine  majesty  and  loveliness,  to 
which  the  burning  words  of  poetry  give 
but  faint  utterance.  True,  the  rich  may 
visit  distant  scenery,  and  feed  their  eyes 
on  the  rarest  and  most  stupendous  mani- 
festations of  creative  power ; but  the  earth 
and  common  sky  reveal,  in  some  of  their 
changeful  aspects,  a grandeur  as  awful 
as  Niagara  or  the  Andes  ; and  nothing 


MINISTRY  FOR  THE  POOR. 


7 5 


is  wanting  to  the  poor  man  in  his  ordi- 
nary walks  but  a more  spiritual  eye  to 
discern  a beauty  which  has  never  yet 
been  embodied  in  the  most  inspired 
works  of  sculpture  or  painting. 

Thus  for  the  poor,  as  for  all  men, 
there  are  provisions  for  happiness  ; and 
it  deserves  remark  that  their  happiness 
has  a peculiar  dignity.  It  is  more  hon- 
orable to  be  content  with  few  outward 
means  than  with  many ; to  be  cheerful 
amidst  privation  than  amidst  overflowing 
plenty.  A poor  man,  living  on  bread 
and  water,  because  he  will  not  ask  for 
more  than  bare  sustenance  requires,  and 
leading  a quiet,  cheerful  life  through  his 
benevolent  sympathies,  his  joy  in  duty, 
his  trust  in  God,  is  one  of  the  true  he- 
roes of  the  race,  and  understands  better 
the  meaning  of  happiness  than  we,  who 
cannot  be  at  ease  unless  we  clothe  our- 
selves “ in  purple,  and  fare  sumptuously 
every  day,”  — unless  we  surround,  de- 
fend, and  adorn  ourselves  with  all  the 
products  of  nature  and  art.  His  scanti- 
ness of  outward  means  is  a sign  of  in- 
ward fulness,  whilst  the  slavery  in  which 
most  of  us  live  to  luxuries  and  accom- 
modations shows  the  poverty  within. 

I have  given  the  fair  side  of  the  poor' 
man’s  lot.  I have  shown  the  advantages 
placed  within  his  reach  ; but  I do  not 
therefore  call  him  happy.  His  advan- 
tages are  too  commonly  lost  for  want  of 
inward  culture.  The  poor  are  generally 
wretched,  with  many  means  of  good. 
Think  not  that  I mean  to  throw  one 
false  color  on  their  actual  state.  It  is 
miserable  enough  to  awaken  deep  sym- 
pathy ; but  their  misery  springs  not 
so  much  from  physical  causes,  which 
cannot  be  withstood,  as  from  moral 
want.  The  moral  influences  of  their 
condition,  of  their  rank  in  society,  of 
their  connection  with  other  classes,  — 
these  are  more  terrible  than  hunger  or 
cold,  and  to  these  I desire  to  turn  your 
chief  regard. 

What,  then,  are  the  moral  influences 
of  poverty,  its  influences  on  character, 
which  deserve  our  chief  attention  ? As 
one  of  its  most  fatal  effects,  I would 
observe,  in  the  first  place,  that  it  im- 
pairs, often  destroys,  self-respect.  I 
know,  and  rejoice  to  know,  that  the  in- 
stitutions of  this  country  do  much  to 
counteract  this  influence  of  poverty  ; but 
still  it  exists  and  works  frequent  debase- 
ment. It  is  hard  for  any  of  us  to  inter- 


pret justly  our  own  nature,  and  how 
peculiarly  hard  for  the  poor ! Unin- 
structed in  the  import  and  dignity  of 
their  rational  and  moral  powers,  they 
naturally  measure  themselves  by  their 
outward  rank.  Living  amidst  the  wor- 
shippers of  wealth,  they  naturally  feel 
as  if  degraded  by  the  want  of  it.  They 
read  in  the  looks,  tones,  and  manners 
of  the  world  the  evidences  of  being  re- 
garded as  an  inferior  race,  and  want 
inward  force  to  repel  this  cruel,  dis- 
heartening falsehood.  They  hear  the 
word  respectable  confined  to  other  con- 
ditions, and  the  word  low  applied  to 
their  own.  Now,  habitual  subjection  to 
slight  or  contempt  is  crushing  to  the 
spirit.  It  is  exceedingly  hard  for  a hu- 
man being  to  comprehend  and  appre- 
ciate himself  amidst  outward  humiliation. 
There  is  no  greater  man  than  he  who  is 
true  to  himself  when  all  around  deny 
and  forsake  him.  Can  we  wonder  that 
the  poor,  thus  abandoned,  should  iden- 
tify themselves  with  their  lot,  — that  in 
their  rags  they  should  see  the  sign  of 
inward  as  well  as  outward  degrada- 
tion ? 

Another  cause  which  blights  their  self- 
respect  is  their  dependence  for  pecu- 
niary aid.  It  is  hard  to  ask  alms  and 
retain  an  erect  mind.  Dependence 
breeds  servility,  and  he  who  has 
stooped  to  another  cannot  be  just  to 
himself.  The  want  of  self-respect  is  a 
preparation  for  every  evil.  Degraded 
in  their  own  and  others’  esteem,  the 
poor  are  removed  from  the  salutary  re- 
straint of  opinion  ; and,  having  no  caste 
to  lose,  no  honor  to  forfeit,  often  aban- 
don themselves  recklessly  to  the  gross- 
est vice. 

2.  The  condition  of  the  poor  is  un- 
friendly to  the  action  and  unfolding  of 
the  intellect,  — a sore  calamity  to  a ra- 
tional being.  In  most  men,  indeed,  the 
intellect  is  narrowed  by  exclusive  cares 
for  the  body.  In  most,  the  conscious- 
ness of  its  excellence  is  crushed  by  the 
low  uses  to  which  it  is  perpetually 
doomed.  But  still,  in  most,  a degree  of 
activity  is  given  to  the  mind  by  the  vari- 
ety and  extent  of  their  plans  for  wealth 
or  subsistence.  The  bodily  wants  of 
most  carry  them  in  a measure  into  the 
future,  engage  them  in  enterprises  re- 
quiring invention,  sagacity,  and  skill. 
It  is  the  unhappiness  of  the  poor  that 
they  are  absorbed  in  immediate  wants, 


MINISTRY  FOR  THE  POOR. 


76 

in  provisions  for  the  passing  day,  in  ob- 
taining the  next  meal,  or  in  throwing  off 
a present  burden.  Accordingly  their 
faculties  “live  and  move,”  or  rather 
pine  and  perish,  in  the  present  moment. 
Hope  and  imagination,  the  wings  of  the 
soul,  carrying  it  forward  and  upward, 
languish  in  the  poor ; for  the  future  'is 
uninviting.  The  darkness  of  the  pres- 
ent broods  over  coming  years.  The 
great  idea  which  stirs  up  in  other  men 
a world  of  thought,  the  idea  of  a better 
lot,  has  almost  faded  from  the  poor 
man’s  mind.  He  almost  ceases  to  hope 
for  his  children,  as  well  as  for  himself. 
Even  parental  love,  to  many  the  chief 
quickener  of  the  intellect,  stagnates 
through  despair.  Thus  poverty  starves 
the  mind. 

And  there  is  another  way  in  which  it 
produces  this  effect,  particularly  worthy 
the  notice  of  this  assembly.  The  poor 
have  no  society  beyond  their  own  class, 

- — that  is,  beyond  those  who  are  con- 
fined to  their  own  narrow  field  of  thought. 
We  all  know  that  it  is  contact  with  other 
minds,  and  especially  with  the  more 
active  and  soaring,  from  which  the  in- 
tellect receives  its  chief  impulse.  Few 
of  us  could  escape  the  paralyzing  in- 
fluence of  perpetual  intercourse  with 
the  uncultivated,  sluggish,  and  narrow- 
minded ; and  here  we  see — what  I wish 
particularly  to  bring  to  view  — how  the 
poor  suffer  from  the  boasted  civilization 
of  our  times,  which  is  built  so  much  on 
the  idea  of  property.  In  communities 
little  advanced  in  opulence,  no  impassa- 
ble barrier  separates  different  classes,  as 
among  ourselves.  The  least  improved 
are  not  thrown  to  a distance  from  those 
who,  through  natural  endowment  or  pe- 
culiar excitement,  think  more  strongly 
than  the  rest ; and  why  should  such  di- 
vision exist  anywhere  ? How  cruel  and 
unchristian  are  the  pride  and  prejudice 
which  form  the  enlightened  into  a caste, 
and  leave  the  ignorant  and  depressed  to 
strengthen  and  propagate  ignorance  and 
error  without  end  ! 

3.  I proceed  to  another  evil  of  pov- 
erty,— its  disastrous  influence  on  the 
domestic  affections.  Kindle  these  affec- 
tions in  the  poor  man’s  hut,  and  you 
give  him  the  elements  of  the  best  earthly 
happiness.  But  the  more  delicate  sen- 
timents find  much  to  chill  them  in  the 
abodes  of  indigence.  A family  crowded 
into  a single  and  often  narrow  apart- 


ment, which  must  answer  at  once  the 
ends  of  parlor,  kitchen,  bed-room,  nur- 
sery, and  hospital,  must,  without  great 
energy  and  self-respect,  want  neatness, 
order,  and  comfort.  Its  members  are 
perpetually  exposed  to  annoying,  petty 
interference.  The  decencies  of  life  can 
be  with  difficulty  observed.  Woman,  a 
drudge,  and  in  dirt,  loses  her  attractions. 
The  young  grow  up  without  the  modest 
reserve  and  delicacy  of  feeling  in  which 
purity  finds  so  much  of  its  defence. 
Coarseness  of  manners  and  language, 
too  sure  a consequence  of  a mode  of  life 
which  allows  no  seclusion,  becomes  the 
habit  almost  of  childhood,  and  hardens 
the  mind  for  vicious  intercourse  in  fut- 
ure years.  The  want  of  a neat,  orderly 
home  is  among  the  chief  evils  of  the 
poor.  Crowded  in  filth,  they  cease  to 
respect  one  another.  The  social  affec- 
tions wither  amidst  perpetual  noise, 
confusion,  and  clashing  interests.  In 
these  respects,  the  poor  often  fare  worse 
than  the  uncivilized.  True,  the  latter 
has  a ruder  hut,  but  his  habits  and  tastes 
lead  him  to  live  abroad.  Around  him  is 
a boundless,  unoccupied  nature,  where 
he  ranges  at  will,  and  gratifies  his  pas- 
sion for  liberty.  Hardened  from  in- 
fancy against  the  elements,  he  lives  in 
the  bright  light  and  pure  air  of  heaven. 
In  the  city,  the  poor  man  must  choose 
between  his  close  room  and  the  narrow 
street.  The  appropriation  of  almost 
every  spot  on  earth  to  private  use,  and 
the  habits  of  society,  do  not  allow  him  to 
gather  his  family,  or  meet  his  tribe,  un- 
der a spreading  tree.  He  has  a home, 
without  the  comforts  of  home.  He  can- 
not cheer  it  by  inviting  his  neighbors  to 
share  his  repast.  He  has  few  topics  of 
conversation  with  his  wife  and  children, 
except  their  common  wants.  Of  conse- 
quence, sensual  pleasures  are  the  only 
means  of  ministering  to  that  craving  for 
enjoyment  which  can  never  be  destroyed 
in  human  nature.  These  pleasures,  in 
other  dwellings,  are  more  or  less  refined 
by  taste.  The  table  is  spread  with  neat- 
ness and  order  ; and  a decency  pervades 
the  meal,  which  shows  that  man  is  more 
than  a creature  of  sense.  The  poor 
man’s  table,  strewed  with  broken  food, 
and  seldom  approached  with  courtesy 
and  self-respect,  serves  too  often  to 
nourish  only  a selfish,  animal  life,  and 
to  bring  the  partakers  of  it  still  nearer  to 
the  brute.  I speak  not  of  what  is  nec- 


77 


MINISTRY  FOR  THE  POOR, 
s 


essary  and  universal ; for  poverty,  under 
sanctifying  influences,  may  find  a heaven 
in  its  narrow  home  ; but  I speak  of  ten- 
dencies which  are  strong,  and  which  only 
a strong  religious  influence  can  over- 
come. 

4.  I proceed  to  another  unhappy  in- 
fluence exerted  on  the  poor.  They  live 
in  the  sight  and  in  the  midst  of  innu- 
merable indulgences  and  gratifications 
which  are  placed  beyond  their  reach. 
Their  connection  with  the  affluent, 
though  not  close  enough  for  spiritual 
communication,  is  near  enough  to  in- 
flame appetites,  desires,  wants,  which 
cannot  be  satisfied.  From  their  cheer- 
less rooms  they  look  out  on  the  abodes 
of  luxury.  At  their  cold,  coarse  meal, 
they  hear  the  equipage  conveying  others 
to  tables  groaning  under  plenty,  crowned 
with  sparkling  wines,  and  fragrant  with 
the  delicacies  of  every  clime.  Fainting 
with  toil,  they  meet  others  unburdened, 
as  they  think,  with  a labor  or  a care. 
They  feel  that  all  life’s  prizes  have  fallen 
toothers.  Hence  burning  desire.  Hence 
brooding  discontent.  Hence  envy  and 
hatred.  Hence  crime,  justified  in  a 
measure  to  their  own  minds,  by  what 
seem  to  them  the  unjust  and  cruel  in- 
equalities of  social  life.  Here  are  some 
of  the  miseries  of  civilization.  The  un- 
civilized man  is  not  exasperated  by  the 
presence  of  conditions  happier  than  his 
own.  There  is  no  disproportion  between 
his  idea  of  happiness  and  his  lot.  Among 
the  poor  the  disproportion  is  infinite. 
You  all  understand  how  much  we  judge 
our  lot  by  comparison.  Thus  the  very 
edifices,  which  a century  ago  seemed 
to  our  fathers  luxurious,  seem  now  to 
multitudes  hardly  comfortable,  because 
surrounded  by  more  commodious  and 
beautiful  dwellings.  We  little  think  of 
the  gloom  added  to  the  poor  by  the  con- 
tiguity of  the  rich.  They  are  preyed  on 
by  artificial  wants,  which  can  only  be 
gratified  by  crime.  They  are  surrounded 
by  enjoyments,  which  fraud  or  violence 
can  make  their  own.  Unhappily  the 
prevalent — I had  almost  said  the  whole 
— spirit  of  the  rich  increases  these  temp- 
tations of  the  poor.  Very  seldom  does 
a distinct,  authentic  voice  of  wisdom 
come  to  them  from  the  high  places  of 
society,  telling  them  that  riches  are  not 
happiness,  and  that  a felicity  which 
riches  cannot  buy  is  within  reach  of  all. 
Wealth- worship  is  the  spirit  of  the  pros- 


perous, and  this  is  the  strongest  possible 
inculcation  of  discontent  and  crime  on 
the  poor.  The  rich  satisfy  themselves 
with  giving  alms  to  the  needy.  They 
think  little  of  more  fatal  gifts,  which 
they  perpetually  bestow.  They  think 
little  that  their  spirit  and  lives,  their  self- 
indulgence  and  earthliness,  their  idolatry 
of  outward  prosperity,  and  their  con- 
tempt of  inferior  conditions,  are  perpet- 
ually teaching  the  destitute  that  there  is 
but  one  good  on  earth,  namely,  property, 
— the  very  good  in  which  the  poor  have 
no  share.  They  little  think  that  by  these 
influences  they  do  much  to  inflame,  em- 
bitter, and  degrade  the  minds  of  the  poor, 
to  fasten  them  to  the  earth,  to  cut  off 
their  communication  with  Heaven. 

5.  I pass  to  another  sore  trial  of  the 
poor.  Whilst  their  condition,  as  we 
have  seen,  denies  them  many  gratifica- 
tions which  on  every  side  meet  their 
view  and  inflame  desire,  it  places 
within  their  reach  many  debasing  gratifi- 
cations. Human  nature  has  a strong 
thirst  for  pleasures  which  excite  it  above 
its  ordinary  tone,  which  relieve  the  mo- 
notony of  life.  This  drives  the  prosper- 
ous from  their  pleasant  homes  to  scenes 
of  novelty  and  stirring  amusement.  How 
strongly  must  it  act  on  those  who  are 
weighed  down  by  anxieties  and  priva- 
tions ! How  intensely  must  the  poor 
desire  to  forget  for  a time  the  wearing 
realities  of  life  ! And  what  means  of 
escape  does  society  afford  or  allow  them  ? 
What  present  do  civilization  and  science 
make  to  the  poor  ? Strong  drink,  ardent 
spirits,  liquid  poison,  liquid  fire,  a type 
of  the  fire  of  hell ! In  every  poor  man’s 
neighborhood  flows  a Lethean  stream, 
which  laps  him  for  a while  in  oblivion  of 
all  his  humiliations  and  sorrows  ! The 
power  of  this  temptation  can  be  little 
understood  by  those  of  us  whose  thirst 
for  pleasure  is  regularly  supplied  by  a 
succession  of  innocent  pleasures,  who 
meet  soothing  and  exciting  objects  wher- 
ever we  turn.  The  uneducated  poor, 
without  resource  in  books,  in  their  fam- 
ilies, in  a well-spread  board,  in  cheer- 
ful apartments,  in  places  of  fashionable 
resort,  and  pressed  down  by  disappoint- 
ment, debt,  despondence,  and  exhausting 
toils,  are  driven,  by  an  impulse  dread- 
fully strong,  to  the  haunts  of  intemper- 
ance ; ana  there  they  plunge  into  a 
misery  sorer  than  all  the  tortures  in- 
vented by  man.  They  quench  the  light 


73 


MINISTRY  FOR  THE  POOR. 


of  reason,  cast  off  the  characteristics  of 
humanity,  blot  out  God's  image  as  far 
as  they  have  power,  and  take  their  place 
among  the  brutes.  Terrible  misery ! 
And  this,  I beg  you  to  remember,  comes 
to  them  from  the  very  civilization  in 
which  they  live.  They  are  victims  to 
the  progress  of  science  and  the  arts;  for 
these  multiply  the  poison  which  destroys 
them.  They  are  victims  to  the  rich  ; for 
it  is  the  capital  of  the  rich  which  erects 
the  distillery,  and  surrounds  them  with 
temptations  to  self-murder.  They  are 
victims  to  a partial  advancement  of  so- 
ciety, which  multiplies  gratifications  and 
allurements,  without  awakening  propor- 
tionate moral  power  to  withstand  them. 

Such  are  the  evils  of  poverty.  It  is 
a condition  which  offers  many  and  pe- 
culiar obstructions  to  the  development  of 
intellect  and  affection,  of  self-respect 
and  self-control  The  poor  are  pecul- 
iarly exposed  to  discouraging  views  of 
themselves,  of  human  nature,  of  human 
life.  The  consciousness  of  their  own 
intellectual  and  moral  power  slumbers. 
Their  faith  in  God's  goodness,  in  virtue, 
in  immortality,  is  obscured  by  the  dark- 
ness of  their  present  lot.  Ignorant,  de- 
sponding, and  sorely  tempted,  have  they 
not  solemn  claims  on  their  more  privi- 
leged brethren  for  aids  which  they  have 
never  yet  received  ? 

I have  thus  shown,  as  I proposed,  that 
the  chief  evils  of  poverty  are  moral  in 
their  origin  and  character  ; and  for  these 
I would  awaken  your  concern.  With 
physical  sufferings  we  sympathize. 
When  shall  the  greater  misery  move  our 
hearts  ? Is  there  nothing  to  startle  us 
in  the  fact  that  in  every  large  city  dwells 
a multitude  of  human  beings,  falling  or 
fallen  into  extreme  moral  degradation, 
living  in  dark,  filthy  houses,  or  in  damp, 
unventilated  cellars,  where  the  eye  lights 
on  no  beauty  and  the  ear  is  continually 
wounded  with  discord,  where  the  out- 
ward gloom  is  a type  of  the  darkened 
mind,  where  the  name  of  God  is  heard 
only  when  profaned,  where  charity  is 
known  only  as  a resource  for  sloth, 
where  the  child  is  trained  amidst  coarse 
manners,  impure  words,  and  the  fumes 
of  intemperance,  and  is  thence  sent 
forth  to  prowl  as  a beggar?  From  these 
abodes  issues  a louder,  more  piercing 
cry  for  help  and  strength  than  physical 
want  ever  uttered.  I do  not  mean  that 
. all  the  poor  are  such  as  I have  described. 


Far  from  it.  Among  them  are  the  “ salt 
of  the  earth,”  the  ‘‘lights  of  the  world,” 
the  elect  of  God.  There  is  no  neces- 
sary connection  of  poverty  and  crime. 
Christianity  knows  no  distinction  of  rank, 
and  has  proved  itself  equal  to  the  wants 
of  all  conditions  of  men.  Still  poverty 
has  tendencies  to  the  moral  degradation 
which  I have  described  ; and  to  counter- 
act these  should  be  esteemed  one  of  the 
most  solemn  duties  and  precious  priv- 
ileges bequeathed  by  Christ  to  his  fol- 
lowers. 

From  the  views  now  given  of  the 
chief  evils  of  poverty,  it  follows  that 
moral  and  religious  culture  is  the  great 
blessing  to  be  bestowed  on  the  poor. 
By  this  it  is  not  intended  that  their 
physical  condition  demands  no  aid. 
Let  charity  minister  to  their  pressing 
wants  and  sufferings.  But  let  us  bear 
it  in  mind  that  no  charity  produces  per- 
manent good  but  that  which  goes  be- 
neath the  body,  which  reaches  the  mind, 
which  touches  the  inward  springs  of  im- 
provement, and  awakens  some  strength 
of  purpose,  some  pious  or  generous 
emotion,  some  self-respect.  That  char- 
ity is  most  useful  which  removes  ob- 
structions to  well-doing  and  temptations 
to  evil  from  the  way  of  the  poor,  and 
encourages  them  to  strive  for  their  own 
true  good.  Something,  indeed,  may  be 
done  for  the  moral  benefit  of  the  in- 
digent by  wise  legislation ; I do  not 
mean  by  poor-laws,  but  by  enactments 
intended  to  remove,  as  far  as  possible, 
degrading  circumstances  from  their  con- 
dition. For  example,  the  laws  should 
prohibit  the  letting  of  an  apartment  to 
a poor  family  which  is  not  tenantable, 
which  cannot  but  injure  health,  which 
cannot  be  ventilated,  which  wants  the 
necessary  means  of  preventing  accumu- 
lations of  filth.  Such  ordinances,  con- 
nected with  provisions  for  cleansing 
every  alley,  and  for  carrying  pure, 
wholesome  water  in  abundance  to  every 
dwelling,  would  do  not  a little  for  the 
health,  cleanliness,  and  self-respect  of 
the  poor  ; and  on  these  their  moral 
well-being  in  no  small  degree  depends. 

Our  chief  reliance,  however,  must  be 
placed  on  more  direct  and  powerful 
means  than  legislation.  The  poor  need 
and  must  receive  moral  and  religious 
culture,  such  as  they  have  never  yet 
enjoyed.  I say  culture ; and  I select 
this  term  because  it  expresses  the  de- 


MINISTRY  FOR  THE  POOR. 


79 


velopment  of  inward  principles ; and 
without  this,  nothing  effectual  can  be 
done  for  rich  or  poor.  Unhappily,  re- 
ligion has  been,  for  the  most  part, 
taught  to  the  poor  mechanically,  super- 
ficially, as  a tradition.  It  has  been 
imposed  on  them  as  a restraint,  or  a 
form ; it  has  been  addressed  to  the 
senses,  or  to  the  sensual  imagination, 
and  not  to  the  higher  principles.  An 
outward  hell,  or  an  outward  heaven, 
has  too  often  been  the  highest  motive 
brought  to  bear  on  their  minds.  But 
something  more  is  wanted  ; a deeper 
work,  an  inward  culture,  the  develop- 
ment of  the  reason,  the  conscience,  the 
affections,  and  the  moral  will.  True 
religion  is  a life  unfolded  within,  not 
something  forced  on  us  from  abroad. 
The  poor  man  needs  an  elevating  power 
within  to  resist  the  depressing  tenden- 
cies of  his  outward  lot.  Spiritual  cult- 
ure is  the  only  effectual  service  we  can 
send  him,  and  let  his  misery  plead  with 
us  to  bestow  it  to  the  extent  of  our 
power. 

Had  I time,  I might  show  that  moral 
and  religious,  principles,  as  far  as  they 
are  strengthened  in  the  breasts  of  the 
poor,  meet  all  the  wants  and  evils  which 
have  now  been  portrayed ; that  they 
give  them  force  to  bear  up  against  all 
the  adverse  circumstances  of  their  lot, 
inspire  them  with  self-respect,  refine 
their  manners,  give  impulse  to  their  in- 
tellectual powers,  open  to  them  the 
springs  of  domestic  peace,  teach  them 
to  see  without  murmuring  the  superior 
enjoyments  of  others,  and  rescue  them 
from  the  excesses  into  which  multitudes 
are  driven  by  destitution  and  despair. 
But  these  topics  are  not  only  too  exten- 
sive, but  are  to  a degree  familiar,  though 
by  no  means  felt  as  they  should  be.  I 
conceive  that  I shall  better  answer  the 
purpose  of  awakening  a spiritual  inter- 
est in  this  class  of  society,  by  confining 
myself  to  a single  point,  by  showing 
that  the  moral  and  religious  culture 
which  I claim  for  the  poor  is  the  high- 
est cultivation  which  a human  being 
can  receive.  We  are  all  of  us,  I fear, 
blinded  on  this  subject  by  the  errors 
and  prejudices  of  our  own  education. 
We  are  apt  to  imagine  that  the  only  im- 
portant culture  of  a human  being  comes 
from  libraries,  literary  institutions,  and 
elegant  accomplishments  ; that  is,  from 
means  beyond  the  reach  of  the  poor. 


Advantages  offered  by  wealth  seem  to 
us  the  great  and  essential  means  of 
bringing  forward  the  human  mind.  Per- 
haps we  smile  at  hearing  the  word  cul- 
tivation applied  to  the  poor.  The  best 
light  which  their  condition  admits  seems 
darkness  compared  with  the  knowledge 
imparted  by  our  seminaries  of  learning  ; 
and  the  highest  activity  of  mind  to 
which  they  can  be  excited  is  scornfully 
contrasted  with  what  is  called  forth  in 
their  superiors  by  works  of  philosophy 
and  genius.  There  is,  among  not  a 
few,  a contemptuous  estimate  of  the 
culture  which  may  be  extended  to  the 
poor,  of  the  good  which  they  are  capa- 
ble of  receiving  ; and  hence  much  of 
the  prevalent  indifference  as  to  furnish- 
ing them  the  means  of  spiritual  growth. 
Now  this  is  a weak  and  degrading  prej- 
udice. I affirm  that  the  highest  culture 
is  open  alike  to  rich  and  poor.  I affirm 
that  the  rich  may  extend  their  most 
precious  acquisitions  to  the  poor.  There 
is  nothing  in  indigence  to  exclude  the 
noblest  improvements.  The  impartial 
Father  designs  his  best  gifts  for  all. 
Exclusive  good,  or  that  which  only  a 
few  can  enjoy,  is  comparatively  worth- 
less. Essential  good  is  the  most  freely 
diffused.  It  is  time  to  put  away  our 
childish  notions  as  to  human  improve- 
ment ; it  is  time  to  learn  that  advan- 
tages which  are  a monopoly  of  the  few 
are  not  necessary  to  the  development 
of  human  nature,  that  the  soul  grows 
best  by  helps  which  are  accessible  to  all. 

The  truth  is,  that  there  is  no  cultiva- 
tion of  the  human  being,  worthy  of  the 
name,  but  that  which  begins  and  ends 
with  the  moral  and  religious  nature. 
No  other  teaching  can  make  a man. 
We  are  striving,  indeed,  to  develop  the 
soul  almost  exclusively  by  intellectual 
stimulants  and  nutriment,  by  schools 
and  colleges,  by  accomplishments  and 
fine  arts.  We  are  hoping  to  form  men 
and  women  by  literature  and  science  ; 
but  all  in  vain.  We  shall  learn  in  time 
that  moral  and  religious  culture  is  the 
foundation  and  strength  of  all  true  cul- 
tivation ; that  we  are  deforming  human 
nature  by  the  means  relied  on  for  its 
growth,  and  that  the  poor  who  receive 
a care  which  awakens  their  consciences 
and  moral  sentiments,  start  under  hap- 
pier auspices  than  the  prosperous,  who 
place  supreme  dependence  on  the  edu- 
cation of  the  intellect  and  the  taste. 


8o 


MINISTRY  FOR  THE  POOR. 


It  is  common  to  measure  the  cultiva- 
tion of  men  by  their  knowledge  ; and 
this  is  certainly  an  important  element 
and  means  of  improvement  But  knowl- 
edge is  various,  differing  in  different 
men  according  to  the  objects  which 
most  engage  their  minds  ; and  by  these 
objects  its  worth  must  be  judged.  It  is 
not  the  extent  but  the  kind  of  knowl- 
edge which  determines  the  measure  of 
cultivation.  In  truth,  it  is  foolish  to 
talk  of  any  knowledge  as  extensive. 
The  most  eminent  philosopher  is  of 
yesterday,  and  knows  nothing.  New- 
ton felt  that  he  had  gathered  but  a few 
pebbles  on  the  shores  of  a boundless 
ocean.  The  moment  we  attempt  to 
penetrate  a subject,  we  learn  that  it  has 
unfathomable  depths.  The  known  is 
a sign  of  the  infinite  unknown.  Every 
discovery  conducts  us  to  an  abyss  of 
darkness.  In  every  thing,  from  the 
grain  of  sand  to  the  stars,  the  wise  man 
finds  mysteries,  before  which  his  knowl- 
edge shrinks  into  nothingness.  It  is 
the  kind  not  the  extent  of  knowledge 
by  which  the  advancement  of  a human 
being  must  be  measured  ; and  that  kind 
which  alone  exalts  a man  is  placed 
within  the  reach  of  all.  Moral  and  re- 
ligious truth,  this  is  the  treasure  of 
the  intellect,  and  all  are  poor  without 
it.  This  transcends  physical  truth  as 
far  as  mind  transcends*  matter,  or  as 
heaven  is  lifted  above  earth.  Indeed, 
physical  science  parts  with  its  chief 
dignity  when  separated  from  morals,  — 
when  it  is  not  used  to  shadow  forth, 
confirm,  and  illustrate  spiritual  truth. 

The  true  cultivation  of  a human  being 
consists  in  the  development  of  great 
moral  ideas  ; that  is,  the  ideas  of  God, 
of  duty,  of  right,  of  justice,  of  love,  of 
self-sacrifice,  of  moral  perfection  as 
manifested  in  Christ,  of  happiness,  of 
immortality,  of  Heaven.  The  elements 
or  germs  of  these  ideas  belong  to  every 
soul,  constitute  its  essence,  and  are  in- 
tended for  endless  expansion.  These 
are  the  chief  distinctions  of  our  nature  ; 
they  constitute  our  humanity.  To  un- 
fold these  is  the  great  work  of  our 
being.  The  light  in  which  these  ideas 
rise  on  the  mind,  the  love  which  they 
awaken,  and  the  force  of  will  with 
which  they  are  brought  to  sway  the  out- 
ward and  inward  life,  — here,  and  here 
only,  are  the  measures  of  human  culti- 
vation. 


These  views  show  us  that  the  highest 
culture  is  within  the  reach  of  the  poor. 
It  is  not  knowledge  poured  on  us  from 
abroad,  but  the  development  of  the  ele- 
mentary principles  of  the  soul  itself, 
which  constitutes  the  true  growth  of  a 
human  being.  Undoubtedly  knowledge 
from  abroad  is  essential  to  the  awaken- 
ing of  these  principles.  But  that  which 
conduces  most  to  this  end  is  offered 
alike  to  rich  and  poor.  Society  and 
experience,  nature  and  revelation,  our 
chief  moral  and  religious  teachers,  and 
the  great  quickeners  of  the  soul,  do  not 
open  their  schools  to  a few  favorites, 
do  not  initiate  a small  caste  into  their 
mysteries,  but  are  ordained  by  God  to 
be  lights  and  blessings  to  all. 

The  highest  culture,  I repeat  it,  is  in 
reach  of  the  poor,  and  is  sometimes  at- 
tained by  them.  Without  science,  they 
are  often  wiser  than  the  philosopher. 
The  astronomer  disdains  them,  but  they 
look  above  his  stars.  The  geologist 
disdains  them,  but  they  look  deeper 
than  the  earth’s  centre ; they  pene- 
trate their  own  souls,  and  find  there 
mightier,  diviner  elements  than  up- 
heaved  continents  attest.  In  other 
words,  the  great  ideas  of  which  I have 
spoken  may  be,  and  often  are,  unfolded 
mor^  in  the  poor  man  than  among  the 
learned  or  renowned  ; and  in  this  case 
the  poor  man  is  the  most  cultivated. 
For  example,  take  the  idea  of  justice. 
Suppose  a man,  eminent  for  acquisi- 
tions of  knowledge,  but  in  whom  this 
idea  is  but  faintly  developed.  By  jus- 
tice he  understands  little  more  than  re- 
spect for  the  rights  of  property.  That  it 
means  respect  for  all  the  rights,  and  es- 
pecially for  the  moral  claims,  of  every 
human  being,  of  the  lowest  as  well  as 
the  most  exalted,  has  perhaps  never  en- 
tered his  mind,  much  less  been  ex- 
panded and  invigorated  into  a broad, 
living  conviction.  Take  now  the  case 
of  a poor  man.  to  whom,  under  Christ’s 
teaching,  the  idea  of  the  Just  has  be- 
come real,  clear,  bright,  and  strong; 
who  recognizes,  to  its  full  extent,  the 
right  of  property,  though  it  operates 
against  himself  ; but  who  does  not  stop 
here  ; who  comprehends  the  higher 
rights  of  men  as  rational  and  moral 
beings,  their  right  to  exercise  and  un- 
fold all  their  powers,  their  right  to  the 
means  of  improvement,  their  right  to 
search  for  truth  and  to  utter  their  hon- 


MINISTRY  FOR  THE  POOR. 


8i 


est  convictions,  their  right  to  consult 
first  the  monitor  in  their  own  breasts, 
and  to  follow  wherever  it  leads,  their 
right  to  be  esteemed  and  honored  ac- 
cording to  their  moral  efforts,  their 
right,  when  injured,  to  sympathy  and  suc- 
cor against  every  oppressor.  Suppose, 
I say,  the  poor  man  to  rise  to  the  com- 
prehension of  this  enlarged  justice,  to 
revere  it,  to  enthrone  it  over  his  actions, 
to  render  to  every  human  being,  friend 
or  foe,  near  or  far  off,  whatever  is  his 
due,  to  abstain  conscientiously,  not  only 
from  injurious  deeds,  but  from  injuri- 
ous thoughts,  judgments,  feelings,  and 
words.  Is  he  not  a more  cultivated 
man,  and  has  he  not  a deeper  founda- 
tion and  surer  promise  of  truth,  than 
the  student,  who,  with  much  outward 
knowledge,  does  not  comprehend  men’s 
highest  rights,  whose  scientific  labors 
are  perhaps  degraded  by  injustice  tow- 
ards his  rivals,  who,  had  he  the  power, 
would  fetter  every  intellect  which  threat- 
ens to  outstrip  his  own  ? 

The  great  idea  on  which  human  culti- 
vation especially  depends  is  that  of  God. 
This  is  the  concentration  of  all  that  is 
beautiful,  glorious,  holy,  blessed.  It 
transcends  immeasurably  in  worth  and 
dignity  all  the  science  treasured  up  in 
cyclopaedias  or  libraries  ; and  this  may 
be  unfolded  in  the  poor  as  truly  as  in 
the  rich.  It  is  not  an  idea  to  be  elabo- 
rated by  studies,  which  cafi  be  pursued 
only  in  leisure  or  by  opulence.  Its  ele- 
ments belong  to  every  soul,  and  are  es- 
pecially to  be  found  in  our  moral  nature, 
in  the  idea  of  duty,  in  the  feeling  of  rev- 
erence, in  the  approving  sentence  which 
we  pass  on  virtue,  in  our  disinterested 
affections,  and  in  the  wants  and  aspira- 
tions which  carry  us  towards  the  Infi- 
nite. There  is  but  oneway  of  unfolding 
these  germs  of  the  idea  of  God,  and  that 
is,  faithfulness  to  the  best  convictions 
of  duty  and  of  the  Divine  Will  which 
we  have  hitherto  gained.  God  is  to 
be  known  by  obedience,  by  likeness, 
by  sympathy ; that  is,  by  moral  means, 
which  are  open  alike  to  rich  and  poor. 
Many  a man  of  science  has  not  known 
Him.  The  pride  of  science,  like  a thick 
cloud,  has  hidden  from  the  philosopher 
the  Spiritual  Sun,  the  only  true  light, 
and  for  want  of  this  quickening  ray  he 
has  fallen  in  culture  far,  very  far,  below 
the  poor. 

These  remarks  have  been  drawn  from 


me  by  the  proneness  of  our  times  to 
place  human  culture  in  physical  knowl- 
edge, and  especially  in  degrees  of  it 
denied  to  the  mass  of  the  people.  To 
this  knowledge  I would  on  no  account 
deny  great  value.  In  its  place,  it  is  an 
important  means  of  human  improve- 
ment. I look  with  admiration  on  the 
intellectual  force  which  combines  and 
masters  scattered  facts,  and  by  analy- 
sis and  comparison  ascends  to  the  gen- 
eral laws  of  the  material  universe.  But 
the  philosopher  who  does  not  see  in 
the  force  within  him  something  nobler 
than  the  outward  nature  which  he  ana- 
lyzes, who,  in  tracing  mechanical  and 
chemical  agencies,  is  unconscious  of  a 
higher  action  in  his  own  soul,  who  is 
not  led  by  all  finite  powers  to  the  Om- 
nipotent, and  who  does  not  catch,  in 
the  order  and  beauty  of  the  universe, 
some  glimpses  of  spiritual  perfection, 
stops  at  the  very  threshold  of  the  tem- 
ple of  truth.  Miserably  narrow  is  the 
culture  which  confines  the  soul  to  mat- 
ter, which  turns  it  to  the  outward  as  to 
something  nobler  than  itself.  I fear  the 
spirit  of  science  at  the  present  day  is 
too  often  a degradation  rather  than  the 
true  culture  of  the  soul.  It  is  the  bow- 
ing down  of  the  heaven-born  spirit  be- 
fore unthinking  mechanism.  It  seeks 
knowledge  rather  for  animal,  transitory 
purposes,  than  for  the  nutriment  of  the 
imperishable  inward  life  ; and  yet  the 
worshippers  of  science  pity  or  contemn 
the  poor,  because  denied  this  means  of 
cultivation.  Unhappy  poor  ! shut  out 
from  libraries,  laboratories,  and  learned 
institutes  ! In  view  of  this  world’s  wis- 
dom, it  avails  you  nothing  that  your 
own  nature,  manifested  in  your  own 
and  other  souls,  that  God’s  word  and 
works,  that  the  ocean,  earth,  and  sky, 
are  laid  open  to  you  ; that  you  may  ac- 
quaint yourselves  with  the  Divine  Per- 
fections, with  the  character  of  Christ, 
with  the  duties  of  life,  with  the  virtues, 
the  generous  sacrifices,  and  the  beautiful 
and  holy  emotions,  which  are  a revela- 
tion and  pledge  of  heaven.  All  these 
are  nothing,  do  not  lift  you  to  the  rank 
of  cultivated  men,  because  the  mysteries 
of  the  telescope  and  microscope,  of  the 
air-pump  and  crucible,  are  not  revealed 
to  you  ! I would  they  were  revealed  to* 
you.  I believe  the  time  is  coming  when 
Christian  benevolence  will  delight  in 
spreading  all  truth  and  all  refinements 

6 


82 


MINISTRY  FOR  THE  POOR. 


through  all  ranks  of  society.  But  mean- 
while be  not  discouraged.  One  ray  of 
moral  and  religious  truth  is  worth  all  the 
wisdom  of  the  schools.  One  lesson  from 
Christ  will  carry  you  higher  than  years 
of  study  under  those  who  are  too  en- 
lightened to  follow  this  celestial  guide. 

My  hearers,  do  not  contemn  the  poor 
man  for  his  ignorance.  Has  he  seen 
the  right  ? Has  he  felt  the  binding 
force  of  the  everlasting  moral  law  ? 
Has  the  beauty  of  virtue,  in  any  of  its 
forms,  been  revealed  to  him  ? Then  he 
has  entered  the  highest  school  of  wis- 
dom. Then  a light  has  dawned  within 
him  worth  all  the  physical  knowledge 
of  all  worlds.  It  almost  moves  me  to 
indignation  when  I hear  the  student 
exalting  his  science,  which  at  every 
step  meets  impenetrable  darkness,  above 
the  idea  of  duty  and  above  veneration 
for  goodness  and  God.  It  is  true,  and 
ought  to  be  understood,  that  outward 
nature,  however  tortured,  probed,  dis- 
sected, never  reveals  truths  so  sublime 
or  precious  as  are  wrapped  up  in  the 
consciousness  of  the  meanest  individual, 
and  laid  open  to  every  eye  in  the  word 
of  Christ. 

I trust  it  will  not  be  inferred  from 
what  I have  said  of  the  superiority  of 
moral  and  religious  culture  to  physical 
science,  that  the  former  requires  or  in- 
duces a neglect  or  disparagement  of  the 
latter.  No  ; it  is  the  friend  of  all  truth, 
the  enemy  of  none.  It  is  propitious  to 
intellect,  and  incites  to  the  investigation 
of  the  laws  and  order  of  the  universe. 
This  view  deserves  a brief  illustration, 
because  an  opposite  opinion  has  some- 
times prevailed,  because  reproach  has 
sometimes  been  thrown  on  religious  cult- 
ure, as  if  it  narrowed  the  mind  and 
barred  it  against  the  lights  of  physical 
science.  There  cannot  be  a more 
groundless  charge.  Superstition  con- 
tracts and  darkens  the  mind  ; but  that 
living  faith  in  moral  and  religious  truth, 
for  which  I contend  as  the  highest  cult- 
ure of  rich  and  poor,  is  in  no  respect 
narrow  or  exclusive.  It  does  not  fasten 
the  mind  for  ever  on  a few  barren  doc- 
trines. In  proportion  to  its  growth,  it 
cherishes  our  whole  nature,  gives  a wide 
range  to  thought,  opens  the  intellect  to 
the  true,  and  the  imagination  to  the 
beautiful.  The  great  principles  of  moral 
and  religious  science  are,  above  all 
others,  fruitful,  life-giving,  and  have  in- 


timate connections  with  all  other  truth. 
The  love  towards  God  and  man,  which 
is  the  centre  in  which  they  meet,  is  the 
very  spirit  of  research  into  nature.  It 
finds  perpetual  delight  in  tracing  out  the 
harmonies  and  vast  and  beneficent  ar- 
rangements of  creation,  and  inspires  an 
interest  in  the  works  of  the  universal 
Father,  more  profound,  intense,  endur- 
ing, than  philosophical  curiosity.  I con- 
ceive, too,  that  faith  in  moral  and 
religious  truth  has  strong  affinities  with 
the  scientific  spirit,  and  thus  contributes 
to  its  perfection.  Both,  for  example, 
have  the  same  objects,  — that  is,  uni- 
versal truths.  As  another  coincidence, 
I would  observe  that  it  is  the  highest 
prerogative  of  scientific  genius  to  inter- 
pret obscure  signs,  to  dart  from  faint 
hints  to  sublime  discoveries,  to  read  in 
a few  fragments  the  history  of  vanished 
worlds  and  ages,  to  detect  in  the  falling 
apple  the  law  which  rules  the  spheres. 
Now  it  is  the  property  of  moral  and 
religious  faith  to  see  in  the  finite  the 
manifestation  of  the  Infinite,  in  the 
present  the  germ  of  the  boundless 
future,  in  the  visible  the  traces  of  the 
Incomprehensible  Unseen,  in  the  powers 
and  wants  of  the  soul  its  imperishable 
destiny.  Such  is  the  harmony  between 
the  religious  and  the  philosophical 
spirit.  It  is  to  a higher  moral  and  re- 
ligious culture  that  I look  for  a higher 
interpretation  of  nature.  The  laws  of 
nature,  we  must  remember,  had  their 
origin  in  the  mind  of  God.  Of  this  they 
are  the  product,  expression,  and  type  ; 
and  I cannot  but  believe  that  the  human 
mind  which  best  understands,  and  which 
partakes  most  largely  of  the  divine,  has 
a power  of  interpreting  nature  which 
is  accorded  to  no  other.  It  has  har- 
monies with  the  system  which  it  is  to 
unfold.  It  contains  in  itself  the  princi- 
ples which  gave  birth  to  creation.  As  yet, 
science  has  hardly  penetrated  beneath 
the  surface  of  nature.  The  principles  of 
animal  and  vegetable  life,  of  which  all 
organized  beings  around  us  are  but 
varied  modifications,  the  forces  which 
pervade  or  constitute  matter,  and  the 
links  between  matter  and  mind,  are  as 
yet  wrapped  in  darkness  ; and  how  little 
is  known  of  the  adaptations  of  the  phys- 
ical and  the  spiritual  world  to  one 
another  ! Whence  is  light  to  break  in 
on  these  depths  of  creative  wisdom  ? 

I look  for  it  to  the  spirit  of  philosophy, 


MINISTRY  FOR  THE  POOR. 


baptized,  hallowed,  exalted,  made  pierc- 
ing by  a new  culture  of  the  moral  and 
religious  principles  of  the  human  soul. 
The  topic  opens  before  me  as  I advance. 
The  superiority  of  moral  and  religious 
to  all  other  culture  is  confirmed  by  a 
throng  of  arguments  not  yet  touched. 
The  peculiar  wisdom  which  this  culture 
gives,  by  revealing  to  us  the  end,  the 
ultimate  good  of  our  being,  which 
nothing  else  teaches  ; the  peculiar  power 
which  it  gives,  power  over  ourselves,  so 
superior  to  the  most  extensive  sway 
over  the  outward  universe  ; the  neces- 
sity of  moral  and  religious  culture  to 
make  knowledge  a blessing,  to  save  it 
from  being  a curse  ; these  are  weighty 
considerations  which  press  on  my  mind, 
but  cannot  be  urged.  They  all  go  to 
show  that  the  culture  which  the  poor 
may  receive  is  worth  all  others  ; that  in 
sending  among  them  religious  and  moral 
influences,  you  send  the  highest  good  of 
the  universe. 

My  friends,  I have  now  set  before 
you  the  chief  evils  of  the  poor,  and 
have  shown  you  the  greatness  and 
dignity  of  the  culture  which  is  within 
their  reach ; and  the  great  conviction 
which  I wish  by  these  views  to  carry  home 
to  every  mind  is,  that  we  are  solemnly 
bound  to  cherish  and  manifest  a 
strong  moral  and  religious  interest 
in  the  poor,  and  to  give  them,  as  far 
as  we  have  power,  the  means  of  moral 
and  religious  cultivation.  Your  sym- 
pathies with  their  bodily  wants  and 
pains  I,  of  course,  would  not  weaken. 
We  must  not  neglect  their  bodies  under 
pretence  of  caring  for  their  souls  ; nor 
must  we,  on  the  other  hand,  imagine 
that,  in  providing  for  their  outward 
wants,  we  have  acquitted  ourselves  of 
all  Christian  obligations.  To  scatter 
from  our  abundance  occasional  alms  is 
not  enough  ; we  must  bring  them  to  our 
minds  as  susceptible  of  deeper  evils 
than  hunger  and  cold,  and  as  formed  for 
higher  good  than  food  or  the  cheering 
flame.  The  love  of  Christ  towards 
them  should  seem  to  us  no  extravagance, 
no  blind  enthusiasm,  but  a love  due  to 
human  nature  in  all  its  forms.  To  look 
beyond  the  outward  to  the  spiritual  in 
man  is  the  great  distinction  of  Christian 
love.  The  soul  of  a fellow-creature 
must  come  out,  if  1 may  so  say,  and  be- 
come more  visible  and  prominent  to  us 
than  his  bodily  frame.  To  see  and  esti- 


83 

mate  the  spiritual  nature  of  the  poor  is 
greater  wisdom  than  to  span  earth  or 
heaven.  To  elevate  this  is  a greater 
work  than  to  build  cities.  To  give  moral 
life  to  the  fallen  is  a higher  achievement 
than  to  raise  the  dead  from  their  graves. 
Such  is  the  philanthropy  which  char- 
acterizes our  religion  ; and  without  this 
we  can  do  little  effectual  good  to  the 
poor. 

I am  here  teaching  a difficult  but  great 
duty.  To  acquire  and  maintain  an  un- 
affected conviction  of  the  superiority  of 
the  spiritual  in  man  to  every  thing  out- 
ward, is  a hard  task,  especially  to  the 
prosperous,  and  yet  among  the  most 
essential.  In  the  poor  man,  walking 
through  our  streets  with  a haggard 
countenance  and  tottering  step,  we 
ought  to  see  something  greater  than  all 
the  opulence  and  splendor  which  sur- 
round him.  On  this  foundation  of  re- 
spect for  every  soul  are  built  all  social 
duties,  and  none  can  be  thoroughly  per- 
formed without  it.  On  this  point  I feel 
that  I use  no  swollen  language.  Words 
cannot  exaggerate  the  worth  of  the  soul. 
We  have  all  felt,  when  looking  above  us 
into  the  atmosphere,  that  there  was  an 
infinity  of  space  which  we  could  not  ex- 
plore. When  I look  into  man’s  spirit, 
and  see  there  the  germs  of  an  immortal 
life,  I feel  more  deeply  that  an  infinity 
lies  hid  beyond  what  I see.  In  the  idea 
of  duty,  which  springs  up  in  every  hu- 
man heart,  I discern  a law  more  sacred 
and  boundless  than  gravitation,  which 
binds  the  soul  to  a more  glorious  uni- 
verse than  that  to  which  attraction  binds 
the  body,  and  which  is  to  endure  though 
the  laws  of  physical  nature  pass  away. 
Every  moral  sentiment,  every  intellect- 
ual action,  is  to  me  a hint,  a prophetic 
sign,  of  a spiritual  power  to  be  expanded 
for  ever,  just  as  a faint  ray  from  a dis- 
tant star  is  significant  of  unimaginable 
splendor.  And  if  this  be  true,  is  not  a 
human  being  wronged,  greatly  wronged, 
who  awakens  in  his  fellow-creatures  no 
moral  concern,  who  receives  from  them 
no  spiritual  care  ? 

It  is  the  boast  of  our  country  that  the 
civil  and  political  rights  of  every  human 
being  are  secured,  — that  impartial  law 
watches  alike  over  rich  and  poor.  But 
man  has  other,  and  more  important,  than 
civil  rights  ; and  this  is  especially  true 
of  the  poor.  To  him  who  owns  nothing, 
what  avails  it  that  he  lives  in  a country 


MINISTRY  FOR  THE  POOR. 


84 

where  property  is  inviolable  ; or  what 
mighty  boon  is  it  to  him,  that  every  citi- 
zen is  eligible  to  office,  when  his  condi- 
tion is  an  insuperable  bar  to  promotion  ? 
To  the  poor,  as  to  all  men,  moral  rights 
are  most  important ; the  right  to  be  re- 
garded according  to  their  nature,  to  be 
regarded,  not  as  animals  or  material  in- 
struments, but  as  men ; the  right  to  be 
esteemed  and  honored,  according  to  their 
fidelity  to  the  moral  law  ; and  their  right 
to  whatever  aids  their  fellow-beings  can 
offer  for  their  improvement,  for  the 
growth  of  their  highest  powers.  These 
rights  are  founded  on  the  supremacy  of 
the  moral  nature,  and  until  they  are  rec- 
ognized the  poor  are  deeply  wronged. 

Our  whole  connection  with  the  poor 
should  tend  to  awaken  in  them  the  con- 
sciousness of  their  moral  powers  and 
responsibility,  and  to  raise  them  in  spirit 
and  hope  above  their  lot.  They  should 
be  aided  to  know  themselves,  by  the  es- 
timate we  form  of  them.  They  should 
be  rescued  from  self-contempt,  by  seeing 
others  impressed  with  the  great  purpose 
of  their  being.  We  may  call  the  poor 
unfortunate,  but  never  call  them  low.  If 
faithful  to  their  light,  they  stand  among 
the  high.  They  have  no  superiors,  but 
in  those  who  follow  a brighter,  purer 
light ; and  to  withhold  from  them  re- 
spect, is  to  defraud  their  virtue  of  a 
support  which  is  among  the  most  sacred 
rights  of  man.  Are  they  morally  fallen 
and  lost?  They  should  still  learn,  in 
our  unaffected  concern,  the  worth  of  the 
fallen  soul,  and  learn  that  nothing  seems 
to  us  so  fearful  as  its  degradation. 

This  moral,  spiritual  interest  in  the 
poor,  we  should  express  and  make  effect- 
ual, by  approaching  them,  by  establish- 
ing an  intercourse  with  them,  as  far  as 
consists  with  other  duties.  We  must 
live  with  them,  not  as  another  race,  but 
as  brethren.  Our  Christian  principles 
must  work  a new  miracle,  must  exorcise 
and  expel  the  spirit  of  caste.  The  out- 
ward distinctions  of  life  must  seem  to 
us  not  “a  great  gulf,”  but  superficial 
lines,  which  the  chances  of  a day  may 
blot  out,  and  which  are  broad  only  to  the 
narrow-minded.  How  can  the  educated 
and  improved  communicate  themselves 
to  their  less  favored  fellow-creatures 
but  by  coming  near  them  ? The  strength, 
happiness,  and  true  civilization  of  a com- 
munity are  determined  by  nothing  more 
than  by  this  fraternal  union  among  all 


conditions  of  men.  Without  this,  a civil 
war  virtually  rages  in  a state.  For  the 
sake  of  rich  as  well  as  poor,  there  should 
be  a mutual  interest  binding  them  to- 
gether ; there  should  be  but  one  caste, 
that  of  humanity. 

To  render  this  connection  interesting 
and  useful,  we  must  value  and  cultivate 
the  power  of  acting  morally  on  the  poor. 
There  is  no  art  so  divine  as  that  of 
reaching  and  quickening  other  minds. 
Do  not  tell  me  you  are  unequal  to  this 
task.  What ! call  yourselves  educated, 
and  yet  want  power  to  approach  and  aid 
your  unimproved  fellow-creatures  ! Of 
what  use  is  education,  if  it  do  not  fit  us 
to  receive  and  give  freely  in  our  various 
social  connections  ? How  wasted  has 
been  our  youth,  if  it  has  taught  us  only 
the  dialect  and  manners  of  a select  class, 
and  not  taught  us  the  language  of  hu- 
manity, not  taught  us  to  mix  with  and 
act  on  the  mass  of  our  fellow-creatures ! 
How  far  are  you  raised  above  the  poor, 
if  you  cannot  comprehend,  guide,  or 
sway  them  ? The  chief  endowment  of 
a social  being — I mean  the  power 
of  imparting  what  is  true  and  good  in 
your  own  souls  — you  have  yet  to  learn. 
You  cannot  learn  it  too  soon. 

Yes,  I call  you  to  seek  and  use  the 
power  of  speaking  to  the  minds  of  the  ig- 
norant and  poor,  and  especially  of  the 
poor  child.  Strive,  each  of  you,  to  bring 
at  least  one  human  being  to  the  happi- 
ness for  which  God  made  him.  Awaken 
him  to  some  inward  moral  activity ; for 
on  this,  not  on  mere  outward  teaching, 
the  improvement  of  rich  and  poor  alike 
depends.  Strive  to  raise  him  above  the 
crushing  necessities  of  the  body,  by 
turning  him  to  the  great,  kindling  pur- 
pose of  his  being.  Show  him  that  the 
fountain  of  all  happiness  is  within  us, 
and  that  this  fountain  may  be  opened 
alike  in  every  soul.  Show  him  how 
much  virtue  and  peace  he  may  gain  by 
fidelity  to  his  domestic  relations  ; how 
much  progress  he  may  make  by  devout 
and  resolute  use  of  his  best  opportuni- 
ties ; what  a near  union  he  may  form 
with  God  ; how  beneficent  an  influence 
he  may  exert  in  his  narrow  sphere ; 
what  heroism  may  be  exercised  amidst 
privations  and  pains  ; how  suffering  may 
be  turned  to  glory  ; how  heaven  may 
begin  in  the  most  unprosperous  condi- 
tion on  earth.  Surely  he  who  can  carry 
such  truths  to  any  human  being  is 


MINISTRY  FOR  THE  POOR. 


85 


charged  with  a glorious  mission  from 
above. 

In  these  remarks  I have  urged  on 
all  who  hear  me  a personal  interest  in 
the  moral  well-being  of  the  poor.  I am 
aware,  however,  that  many  can  devote 
but  little  personal  care  to  this  work. 
But  what  they  cannot  do  themselves, 
they  can  do  by  others  ; and  this  I hold 
to  be  one  of  our  most  sacred  duties 
as  Christians.  If  we  cannot  often 
visit  the  poor  ourselves,  we  may  send 
those,  who  are  qualified  to  serve  them 
better.  We  can  support  ministers  to 
study  and  apply  the  means  of  enlight- 
ening, comforting,  reforming,  and  sav- 
ing the  ignorant  and  depressed.  Every 
man  whom  God  has  prospered  is  bound 
to  contribute  to  this  work.  The  Chris- 
tian ministry  is  indeed  a blessing  to  all, 
but  above  all  to  the  poor.  We,  who 
have  leisure  and  quiet  homes,  and  can 
gather  round  us  the  teachers  of  all  ages 
in  their  writings,  can  better  dispense 
with  the  living  teacher  than  the  poor, 
who  are  unused  to  learn  from  books, 
and  unaccustomed  to  mental  effort,  who 
can  only  learn  through  the  eye  and  ear, 
through  the  kind  look  and  the  thrill- 
ing voice.  Send  them  the  ministers  of 
God’s  truth  and  grace.  And  think  not 
that  this  office  may  be  filled  by  any  who 
will  take  it.  There  are  some,  I know, 
perhaps  not  a few,  who  suppose  the 
most  common  capacities  equal  to  the 
Christian  ministry  in  general,  and  who, 
of  course,  will  incline  to  devolve  the 
office  of  teaching  the  ignorant  and 
destitute  on  men  unfit  for  other  voca- 
tions. Away  with  this  disgraceful 
error  ! If  there  be  an  office  worthy  of 
angels,  it  is  that  of  teaching  Christian 
truth.  The  Son  of  God  hallowed  it,  by 
sustaining  it  in  his  own  person.  All 
other  labors  sink  before  it.  Royalty 
is  impotence  and  a vulgar  show,  com- 
pared with  the  deep  and  quickening 
power  which  many  a Christian  teacher 
has  exerted  on  the  immortal  soul.  Pro- 
found intellect,  creative  genius,  thrill- 
ing eloquence,  can  nowhere  find  such 
scope  and  excitement  as  in  the  study 
and  communication  of  moral  and  relig- 
ious truth,  as  in  breathing  into  other 
minds  the  wisdom  and  love  which  were 
revealed  in  Jesus  Christ ; and  the  time 
will  come  when  they  will  joyfully  con- 
secrate themselves  to  this  as  their  true 
sphere.  That  the  ministry  of  the  poor 


may  be  sustained  by  a man  wanting 
some  qualifications  for  a common  con- 
gregation, is  true  ; but  he  needs  no 
ordinary  gifts,  — a sound  judgment,  a 
clear  mind,  an  insight  into  human  nat- 
ure, a spirit  of  patient  research,  the 
power  of  familiar  and  striking  illustra- 
tion of  truth,  a glowing  heart,  an  un- 
affected self-devotion  to  the  service  of 
mankind.  Such  men  we  are  bound  to 
provide  for  the  poor,  if  they  can  be 
secured.  He  who  will  not  contribute 
to  the  moral  and  religious  culture  of 
the  destitute  is  unworthy  to  live  in 
Christendom.  He  deserves  to  be  ban- 
ished beyond  the  light  which  he  will 
not  spread.  Let  him  deny  his  religion 
if  he  will  ; but  to  believe  in  it,  and  yet 
not  seek  to  impart  it  to  those  who  can 
receive  no  other  treasure,  is  to  cast 
contempt  on  its  excellence,  and  to 
harden  himself  against  the  most  sacred 
claims  of  humanity. 

My  friends,  it  is  a cause  of  gratitude 
that  so  much  has  been  done  in  this  city 
to  furnish  such  a ministry  as  now  has 
been  described.  The  poor,  I believe, 
are  provided  for  here  as  in  no  other 
place  in  our  country.  The  Fraternity 
of  Churches,  which  I address,  have  in 
their  service  three  ministers  for  this 
work,  and  the  number,  it  is  expected, 
will  be  increased ; and  we  all  know 
that  they  have  not  labored  in  vain. 
Their  good  influence  we  cannot  doubt. 
The  cause  has  been  signally  prospered 
by  God.  Since  the  institution  of  this 
ministry,  it  has  not  only  carried  in- 
struction, counsel,  reproof,  hope,  and 
moral  strength  to  multitudes  who  would 
otherwise  have  heard  no  encouraging 
voice,  would  have  met  no  outward 
remembrances  of  Christian  duty,  — it 
has  produced  in  other  classes  of  so- 
ciety still  more  promising  effects ; it 
has  produced  a connection  of  the  rich 
with  the  poor,  a knowledge  of  their 
real  state  and  wants,  a sympathy  with 
them,  an  interest  in  their  well-being, 
which  are  the  signs  of  a lasting  im- 
provement in  society.  Th,s  ministry 
has  not  been  lifeless  machinery.  It 
has  vitality,  earnestness,  force.  It 
does  not  rest  in  a round  of  regular 
services,  but  seeks  new  means  of  reach- 
ing the  poor.  It  particularly  seeks  to 
act  on  the  children.  Not  content  with 
gathering  them  in  Sunday-schools,  it 
forms  congregations  of  them  for  wor- 


86 


MINISTRY  FOR  THE  POOR. 


ship,  and  adapts  to  them  the  ordinary 
services  of  the  church,  so  as  to  fix 
attention  and  touch  the  heart.  What 
an  invaluable  service  to  humanity ! 
Formerly,  these  children,  unprovided 
with  the  means  of  public  worship, 
never  guided  by  their  parents  to  the 
house  of  prayer,  wasted  and  worse 
than  wasted  the  Sunday  in  the  streets, 
and  found  or  made  this  holy  season  a 
day  of  peculiar  temptation  and  crime. 
Whilst  the  ministers  of  the  poor  are 
faithful  to  the  adult,  they  give  a spe- 
cial care  to  children,  and  through  the 
child  often  reach  the  parent’s  heart. 
Through  their  efforts,  the  young  who 
had  been  brought  up  to  beg  have  often 
been  sent  to  the  public  school  or  the 
Sunday-school,  and  in  this  way  many 
a heedless  foot,  going  down  to  ruin, 
has  been  turned  to  the  path  of  duty. 
It  is  confidently  stated  that,  since  the 
establishment  of  this  ministry  a few 
years  ago,  street  beggary  has  decreased, 
notwithstanding  the  rapid  growth  of 
our  population.  Happily,  men  of  in- 
telligence and  noble  hearts  are  willing 
to  enter  this  field,  and  new  laborers 
are  needed.  It  is  important  that  the 
ministers  of  the  poor  should  extend 
their  care  beyond  the  most  indigent, 
to  that  class  from  which  the  ranks  of 
indigence  are  recruited,  — I mean  to 
that  class  of  laborers  who  are  hov- 
ering over  the  brink  of  poverty,  who 
depend  on  each  day’s  toil  for  each 
day’s  food,  and  whom  a short  sickness 
or  deficiency  of  employment  reduces 
to  want.  Among  these,  the  degrading 
infidelity  of  our  days  finds  many  of  its 
victims,  and  on  this  account  they  pe- 
culiarly need  to  be  visited  by  Christian 
friendship  and  the  light  of  truth.  To 
connect  these  with  regular  congrega- 
tions, and  to  incite  them  to  contribute 
to  the  support  of  public  worship  some 
part  of  what  they  now  too  generally  ex- 
pend in  pernicious  indulgences,  would 
be  to  render  an  essential  service  to 
morals  and  religion. 

The  work  of  a minister  for  the  poor 
covers  much  ground,  and  it  demands 
superior  minds.  This  body  of  men  are 
set  apart,  not  only  to  act  on  individuals, 
but  to  study  poverty  in  all  its  aspects, 
in  its  causes,  its  influences,  its  various 
shapes,  its  growth,  and  its  decline,  and 
thus  to  give  light  to  the  legislator  and 
philanthropist  in  the  great  work  of  its 


prevention  and  cure.  To  me,  this  min- 
istry is  peculiarly  interesting,  regarded 
as  the  beginning  of  a series  of  opera- 
tions for  banishing  from  society  its 
chief  calamity  and  reproach,  and  for 
changing  the  face  of  the  civilized  and 
Christian  world.  I see  in  it  the  ex- 
pression of  a silently  growing  purpose, 
that  Christian  communities  shall  not 
always  be  deformed  and  disgraced  by 
the  presence  of  an  ignorant,  destitute, 
miserable  horde  ; that  in  the  bosom  of 
civilization  there  shall  no  longer  exist 
a more  wretched,  degraded  portion  of 
human  beings  than  can  be  found  in  sav- 
age life.  This  horrible  contrast  of  con- 
dition, which  all  large  cities  present, 
has  existed  too  long.  Shall  it  endure 
for  ever  ? My  friends,  we  all,  as  wejl 
as  others,  have  hitherto  been  dreadfully 
insensible  to  this  sorest  evil  under  the 
sun.  Long  use  has  hardened  us  to  it. 
We  have  lived  comfortably,  perhaps 
luxuriously,  in  our  dwellings,  whilst 
within  a stone’s  throw  were  fellow- 
creatures,  the  children  of  our  Father 
in  heaven,  as  nobly  born  and  gifted  as 
ourselves,  in  whose  countenances  might 
be  read  brutal  ignorance,  hopeless  mis- 
ery, and  degrading  vice.  We  have 
passed  them  in  the  street,  not  only 
without  a tear  but  without  a thought. 
Oh,  how  seldom  has  a pang  shot  through 
our  hearts  at  the  sight  of  our  ruined 
fellow-creatures ! Shall  this  insensi- 
bility continue  for  ever  ? Shall  not  a 
new  love  succeed  to  this  iron  hardness 
of  heart  ? Do  not  call  the  evil  reme- 
diless. Sure  I am,  that  at  this  moment 
there  is  enough  of  piety,  philanthropy, 
and  moral  power  in  this  community 
to  work  deep  changes  in  the  poorer 
classes,  could  these  energies,  now 
scattered  and  slumbering,  be  brought 
to  bear  wisely  and  perseveringly  on 
the  task.  Shall  we  decline  this  work  ? 
If  so,  we  decline  the  noblest  labor  cf 
philanthropy.  If  so,  we  must  suffer, 
and  we  ought  to  suffer.  Society  ought 
to  be  troubled,  to  be  shaken,  yea  con- 
vulsed, until  its  solemn  debt  to  the 
ignorant  and  poor  be  paid.  Poor  there 
will  be,  but  they  need  not,  must  not, 
exist  as  a degraded,  hopeless  caste. 
They  need  not,  must  not,  be  cut  off 
from  the  brotherhood  of  humanity. 
Their  children  must  not  be  left  to  inherit 
and  propagate  their  crimes  and  woes. 
To  put  an  end  to  such  a class  is  the 


MINISTRY  FOR  THE  POOR. 


87 


highest  office  of  Christian  philanthropy. 
Do  you  ask  how  it  is  to  be  done  ? I 
answer,  Christianity  has  wrought  mighty 
revolutions,  and  in  these  we  have  an 
earnest  of  what  it  is  able  and  destined 
to  accomplish.  Let  us  bring  this  into 
new  contact  with  the  poor.  Let  us 
send  forth  men,  imbued  with  its  spirit, 
to  preach  it  to  the  poor,  and  still  more 
to  study  poverty  in  all  its  forms,  that 
the  moral  pestilence  which  has  so  long 
ravaged  the  Christian  world  may  at  last 
be  stayed. 

I now  see  before  me  the  representa- 
tives of  several  congregations  of  this 
city,  which  have  united  to  support  the 
ministry  for  the  poor.  Thanks  to  God 
for  this  manifestation  of  the  spirit  and 
power  of  Christianity.  This  connec- 
tion, framed  only  for  purposes  of  Chris- 
tian philanthropy,  looking  only  to  the 
spiritual  relief  of  our  depressed  fel- 
low-creatures, and  incapable  of  being 
perverted  to  the  accumulation  of  eccle- 
siastical power,  is  the  happiest  means 
which  could  be  devised  to  bring  our 
churches  into  stronger  sympathy  and 
closer  friendship,  without  infringing,  in 
the  smallest  degree,  that  principle  of 
independence  or  self-government  on 
which  they  are  built.  Is  it  not  a plain 
truth,  that  every  Christian  congregation, 
besides  providing  for  its  own  spiritual 
wants,  is  bound  to  devote  itself  to  the 
general  cause  of  Christianity,  and  to 
provide  for  spreading  its  own  light  and 
privileges  to  the  destitute  ? By  this 
fraternity  we  are  discharging,  in  part, 
this  sacred  obligation.  May  it  be  sus- 
tained with  increasing  zeal,  with  un- 
shaken faith,  with  glorious  success  ! 

My  friends,  is  it  necessary  that  I 
should  urge  you  to  contribute  of  your 
substance  to  the  work  which  has  now 
been  laid  before  you  ? I am  speaking 
to  the  prosperous.  Let  the  Goodness 
which  has  prospered  you  teach  you  the 
spirit  in  which  your  wealth  or  compe- 
tence should  be  used.  What  is  the  true 
use  of  prosperity  ? Not  to  minister  to 
self-indulgence  and  ostentation  ; not  to 
widen  the  space  between  you  and  the 
less  prosperous  ; not  to  multiply  signs 
of  superior  rank  ; not  to  raise  us  to  an 
eminence,  whence  we  may  look  down  on 
the  multitude  as  an  inferior  race  ; but  to 
multiply  our  bonds  of  union  with  our 
fellow-creatures,  to  spread  our  sympa- 


thies far  and  wide,  to  give  us  nobler 
spheres  of  action,  to  make  us  more 
eminently  the  delegates  and  represent- 
atives of  divine  beneficence.  What  is 
the  true  use  of  increasing  wealth  in  a 
city  ? It  is  not  that  more  magnificent 
structures  should  be  reared,  but  that  our 
dwellings  should  be  inhabited  by  a more 
intelligent  and  virtuous  people  ; that  in- 
stitutions for  awakening  intellectual  and 
moral  life  should  be  brought  to  bear  on 
the  whole  community  ; that  the  individ- 
ual may  be  carried  forward  to  his  true 
happiness  and  perfection  ; that  society 
may  be  bound  together  by  stronger  and 
purer  bonds,  and  that  the  rigid  laws  of 
earthly  governments  may  be  more  and 
more  superseded  by  the  law  of  love. 
Without  such  influences,  wealth  is 
turned  into  a snare  and  curse.  If,  in- 
deed, our  prosperity  is  to  be  used  to 
spread  luxurious  and  selfish  modes  of 
life,  to  form  a frivolous  class  of  fashion, 
to  produce  more  striking  contrasts  be- 
tween unfeeling  opulence  and  abject 
penury,  to  corrupt  manners  and  harden 
the  heart,  better  were  it  for  us  that,  by 
the  just  judgment  of  God,  it  should  be 
sunk  into  the  depths  of  the  sea.  It 
avails  little  that  intercourse  is  more  pol- 
ished, and  a new  grace  is  thrown  over 
life.  The  simple  question  is,  Do  we 
better  understand  and  more  strongly 
feel  our  relations  to  God  and  to  our  fel- 
low-creatures ? Without  this,  our  boasted 
civilization  is  a whited  sepulchre,  fair  to 
the  eye,  but  inwardly  “ full  of  dead  men’s 
bones  and  all  uncleanness.”  — But  I can- 
not end  this  discourse  with  the  voice  of 
warning.  You  deserve  to  hear  the  voice 
of  encouragement  and  hope.  One  good 
work  you  are  carrying  on,  as  this  anni- 
versary testifies.  One  institution  for 
instructing  the  ignorant  and  raising  up 
the  fallen,  you  have  sustained.  Let  it 
not  fall.  Extend  and  strengthen  it. 
Make  it  permanent.  Bind  it  up  with 
the  institutions  which  you  support  for 
your  own  religious  improvement.  T rans- 
mit  it  to  your  children.  Let  your  chil- 
dren learn,  from  this  your  example,  to 
take  part  in  the  cause  of  Christ,  of 
prophets  and  apostles,  of  holy  men  of 
all  ages,  in  the  work  of  regenerating 
society,  and  of  extending  to  the  whole 
human  family  the  light  and  blessings  of 
the  Christian  faith. 


88 


ON  PREACHING  TO  THE  POOR- . 


ON  PREACHING  THE  GOSPEL  TO  THE  POOR: 

Charge  at  the  Ordination  of  Charles  F Barnard  and  Frederick  T.  Gray} 
as  Ministers  at  Largey  in  Boston . 


You  have  now  been  set  apart  to  the 
Christian  ministry,  according  to  the  rites 
of  the  Congregational  Church.  A princi- 
pal design  of  these  is  to  impress  you  with 
the  importance  and  responsibleness  of 
your  office.  That  this  impression  may 
be  strengthened,  and  that  the  duties  now 
imposed  on  you  may  be  brought  dis- 
tinctly to  your  minds,  I have  been  ap- 
pointed by  the  Council,  here  convened, 
to  deliver  to  you  the  usual  Charge. 
From  the  various  topics  which  naturally 
occur  to  me  on  this  occasion,  I can  se- 
lect but  a few.  For  full  instruction  in 
your  sacred  calling,  I refer  you  to  the 
Scriptures,  to  the  example  of  Christ, 
the  first  and  only  perfect  teacher  of  his 
religion,  to  the  labors  and  sufferings  of 
the  Apostles,  and  to  the  precepts  relat- 
ing to  the  ministry  scattered  through 
their  writings.  These  are  able  “to  fur- 
nish you  unto  every  good  work,  and  to 
make  you  wise  unto  salvation.” 

Preaching  and  private  intercourse 
with  the  poor  are  henceforth  to  be  the 
labors  of  your  lives.  First,  you  are  to 
preach  ; and  in  performing  this  office, 
let  me  exhort  you  to  the  scrupulous 
observance  of  a plain  but  often  neg- 
lected precept.  It  is  this,  reverence 
truth.  Preach  what  approves  itself 
clearly  to  your  own  minds  as  true,  and 
preach  nothing  else.  Teach  nothing 
because  others  teach  it.  Inculcate  noth- 
ing about  which  you  have  doubts,  be- 
cause expected  to  inculcate  it.  Speak 
from  no  human  master,  from  no  human 
creed.  Speak  from  your  own  calm  con- 
victions, and  from  nothing  else.  Do 
not  use  stronger  language  than  your 
own  minds  warrant,  for  the  sake  of 
making  greater  impression.  Do  not 
seek  the  reputation  of  eloquence,  by 
assuming  a bold,  confident  tone,  which 
exceeds  your  private  belief.  Exaggerate 
nothing.  Paint  nothing  beyond  the  life. 
Be  true,  — the  hardest  lesson  to  the  min- 


ister. Preach  nothing,  however  gratify- 
ing to  the  imagination  or  the  heart,  which 
cannot  stand  the  scrutiny  of  the  deliber- 
ate judgment.  Distort  no  truth  for  the 
sake  of  effect.  Never  hope  to  make  the 
sword  of  the  spirit  more  powerful  by  any 
human  alloy.  I have  said,  beware  of 
exaggeration.  Beware  also  of  the  op- 
posite vice,  of  softening  down,  diluting, 
obscuring  the  truth,  till  its  power  and 
pungency  are  gone,  in  order  to  accom- 
modate it  to  the  prejudices  and  passions 
of  men.  No  man  is  fit  to  preach  who 
is  not  ready  to  be  a martyr  to  truth. 
We  indeed  recommend  to  you  pru- 
dence ; but  the  great  office  of  prudence 
is  not  to  disfigure  or  conceal  the  truth, 
but  to  secure  it  against  misapprehen- 
sion, and  to  place  it  before  men’s  minds 
in  the  light  which  will  probably  gain 
for  it  the  readiest  reception.  Be  pru- 
dent for  the  truth’s  sake,  not  for  your 
own  sake,  not  for  the  sake  of  popu- 
larity, not  from  weakness  or  timidity. 
Be  cautious  lest  you  be  over-cautious. 
Fear  to  stifle  any  great  truth.  Let  your 
preaching  be  the  frank  expression  of  the 
workings  and  convictions  of  your  own 
minds.  There  is  a peculiar  freshness, 
charm,  energy,  in  perfect  sincerity.  The 
preaching  which  manifests  a profound 
reverence  for  truth,  which  is  seen  and 
felt  to  spring  from  an  inward  fountain, 
which  reveals  the  real  and  whole  mind 
of  the  speaker,  wins  confidence,  and 
works  conviction,  far  more  than  the 
most  vehement  outpourings  of  imagi- 
nation and  passion. 

I have  said,  preach  what  approves 
itself  to  your  own  minds  as  true,  and 
nothing  else.  I now  say,  preach  it  in 
your  own  style.  Give  it  forth  in  the 
form  to  which  your  own  minds  prompt 
you.  Be  not  imitators.  Be  not  anx- 
ious to  wield  other  men’s  weapons.  Do 
not  think  that  the  mode  of  preaching 
which  is  effectual  in  another  will  there- 


ON  PREACHING  TO  THE  POOR. 


fore  succeed  in  you.  You  surely  would 
not  mimic  his  tones,  because  they  pen- 
etrate his  hearers.  Look  at  subjects 
with  your  own  eyes.  Utter  them  in 
your  own  words.  Be  yourselves.  Be 
natural.  There  is  no  other  road  to  the 
human  heart. 

Would  you  be  increasingly  useful  ? 
Then  be  just  to  your  own  minds.  Let 
them  act  freely.  Form  yourselves  from 
within  more  than  from  without.  You 
ought,  indeed,  to  seek  benefit  by  hear- 
ing other  preachers  ; but  be  benefited 
through  sympathy,  and  by  catching  from 
them  generous  impulses,  and  not  by 
making  them  models.  So  you  must 
read  what  others  have  written ; but 
read,  that  the  action  of  other  minds  may 
awaken  your  own  intellectual  activity, 
and  not  be  a substitute  for  it.  Listen  in 
the  first  place  to  the  whispers  of  truth  in 
your  own  souls,  and  prize  them  more 
than  the  teachings  of  your  fellow-creat- 
ures. Whenever  you  catch  a new 
glimpse  of  God’s  character,  of  human 
nature,  of  human  perfection,  of  life,  of 
futurity,  of  the  Christian  spirit ; when- 
ever a familiar  truth  rises  before  you  in 
a new  aspect ; whenever  a new  princi- 
ple dawns  on  you  from  a number  of 
facts,  which  had  before  lain  with- 
out connection  in  your  minds  ; when- 
ever a sentence  in  a human  work,  or 
a text  of  Scripture,  reveals  to  you,  as  by 
a flash,  some  depths  in  your  own  souls, 
or  scatters  suddenly  the  mist  which  had 
before  hung  over  some  important  doc- 
trine ; whenever  a new  light  of  this 
kind  gleams  on  you,  prize  it  more  than 
vqlumes  or  libraries.  Feel  that  a higher 
teacher  than  man  has  approached  you. 
Pray  to  the  Father  of  lights  that  this 
new  ray  may  brighten  within  you.  It  is 
by  this  welcome  to  truth,  springing  up 
in  our  own  souls,  that  we  are  to  grow 
in  energy  of  thought  and  feeling ; and 
growth  is  the  great  condition  of  in- 
creasing usefulness.  We  charge  you, 
then,  to  be  just  and  generous  to  your 
own  minds.  Cherish  every  divine  inspi- 
ration. Be  no  man’s  slaves.  Seek  truth 
for  yourselves.  Speak  it  from  your- 
selves. Speak  it  in  your  own  natural 
tones.  You,  of  course,  desire  to  avoid 
the.  greatest  of  all  defects  in  a preacher, 
— that  of  being  tame  and  dull ; and  your 
security  from  this  is  to  be  found,  not  in 
starts  and  exclamations,  not  in  noise 
and  gesture,  not  in  the  commonplaces 


89 

of  passion,  but  in  keeping  your  minds 
and  hearts  in  free  and  powerful  action. 
This  inward  life  will  give  life  to  style 
and  delivery,  and  nothing  else  will. 
This  is  the  only  secret  of  eloquence. 
Eloquence  is  not  a trick  of  words.  It 
is  the  utterance  of  great  truths,  so  clearly 
discerned,  so  deeply  felt,  so  bright,  so 
burning,  that  they  cannot  be  confined, 
that  they  create  for  themselves  a style 
and  manner  which  carry  them  far  into 
other  souls  ; and  of  this  eloquence  there 
is  but  one  fount,  and  that  is  inward  life, 
force  of  thought,  force  of  feeling. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  said  that  these  re- 
marks apply  little  to  ministers  of  the 
poor ; that  the  poor  are  as  children ; 
and  that  little  spiritual  energy  is  re- 
quired for  their  instruction.  We  charge 
you,  my  friends,  to  beware  of  this  com- 
mon error.  Do  not  dishonor  your  high 
calling  by  supposing  it  to  require  little 
force  of  thought  and  feeling.  The  poor 
are  generally  ignorant,  but  in  some  re- 
spects they  are  better  critics  than  the 
rich,  and  make  greater  demands  on  their 
teachers.  A congregation  of  the  more 
affluent  and  educated  can  be  satisfied 
with  proprieties  of  style  and  manner, 
can  be  held  together  by  local  attach- 
ment, by  the  elegance  or  fashionable- 
ness of  the  edifice  in  which  it  worships, 
or  by  the  strong  bonds  of  a creed  or 
sect.  The  poor  care  for  none  of  these 
things.  Proprieties  of  style  and  man- 
ner, local  feeling,  fashion,  show,  or  sec- 
tarian zeal  are  not  attractions  to  them. 
They  can  only  be  brought  and  held 
together  by  a preaching  which  fastens 
their  attention,  or  pierces  their  con- 
sciences, or  moves  their  hearts.  They 
are  no  critics  of  words,  but  they  know 
when  they  are  touched  or  roused,  and 
by  this  test  — a far  truer  one  than 
you  find  in  fastidious  congregations  — 
they  judge  the  minister,  and  determine 
whether  to  follow  or  forsake  him.  The 
duty  of  preaching  to  the  poor  is  ac- 
cordingly a difficult  one.  Their  minis- 
ter has  much  to  learn,  and,  what  is 
harder,  much  to  forget.  He  must  forget 
the  modes  of  address  under  which  he 
was  himself  educated.  He  is  to  speak 
to  those  who  cannot  find  a meaning  in 
the  vague  language  which  he  has  gen- 
erally heard  from  the  pulpit.  He  must 
find  a new  tongue.  He  must  reach  the 
understanding  through  the  imagination 
and  the  heart.  He  must  look,  not  upon 


9o 


ON  PREACHING  TO  THE  POOR. 


his  notes,  but  into  the  eyes  of  his  hear- 
ers. He  must  appeal  to  the  simple,  uni- 
versal principles  of  human  nature.  There 
must  be  a directness,  freedom,  earnest- 
ness of  manner,  which  are  not  required 
in  the  church  of  more  refined  worship- 
pers. To  accomplish  all  this,  books  will 
do  him  little  good.  His  best  study  is 
the  poor  man’s  narrow  room.  His  best 
teacher  is  a keen  observation  of  the 
workings  of  the  poor  man’s  heart,  of  his 
passions,  perils,  and  spiritual  wants. 
We  charge  you  to  beware  of  aiming  to 
resemble  ministers  in  other  situations. 
You  must  invent  modes  of  action  for 
yourselves.  You  must  make  a new 
path.  Cultivate  by  perpetual  practice 
the  power  of  extemporaneous  address. 
Take  your  texts,  as  your  Master  did, 
from  scenes,  events,  objects  which  are 
pressing  on  the  notice  of  your  hearers. 
Find  your  way  to  their  minds  and  hearts. 
Be  any  thing  but  formal  and  mechanical. 
Better  forsake  your  ministry  than  make 
it  a monotonous  repetition  of  the  com- 
mon modes  of  teaching  and  action. 

But  preaching  is  not  your  whole  or 
chief  work.  Private  intercourse  is  to  you 
a more  important  instrument  than  the 
pulpit.  You  must  not  wait  for  the  poor  in 
the  church.  Go  to  them  in  their  houses. 
Go  where  no  other  will  go.  Let  no 
squalidness,  or  misery,  or  crime,  repel 
you.  Seek  the  friendless,  the  forsaken, 
the  desponding,  the  lost.  Penetrate  the 
depths  of  poverty,  the  haunts  of  intem- 
perance, the  strongholds  of  sin.  Feel 
an  attraction  in  what  others  shun,  in  the 
bleak  room  open  to  the  winter’s  wind,  in 
the  wasted  form  and  the  haggard  coun- 
tenance, in  the  very  degradation  of  your 
race.  Go  where  suffering  and  guilt  sum- 
mon you  ; and  what  weapon  shall  you 
take  with  you  for  this  contest  with  phys- 
ical and  moral  evil  ? You  will  be  told 
to  arm  yourselves  with  caution,  to  be- 
ware of  deception,  to  take  the  shield  of 
prudence,  and  to  put  on  the  breastplate 
of  distrust ; and  this  lesson  is  indeed 
important ; but  prudence  and  caution  are 
only  defensive  armor.  They  will  be  se- 
curity to  yourselves  ; they  give  no  power 
over  misery,  poverty,  and  vice.  That 
power  is  to  be  found  in  a higher  princi- 
ple ; and  take  heed  lest  this  be  quenched 
by  that  distrust  in  which  you  will  be  so 
plentifully  instructed.  The  only  power 
to  oppose  to  evil  is  love,  — strong,  en- 
during love,  — a benevolence  which  no 


crime  or  wretchedness  can  conquer,  and 
which  therefore  can  conquer  all.  Misera- 
ble indeed  will  be  your  office,  if  this  spirit 
do  not  possess  you,  if  a deep  sympathy 
with  your  suffering  fellow-creatures  do 
not  compel  you,  as  it  were,  to  seek  their 
abodes,  and  do  not  identify  you  with 
them.  Nothing  but  Christ’s  spirit,  that 
which  carried  him  to  his  cross,  can  carry 
you  through  your  work.  Go,  then,  with 
his  love  ; and  it  will  be  mightier  than  the 
sword  of  the  magistrate,  or  the  armies 
of  monarchs,  to  conquer  evil.  It  will 
touch  the  heart  which  has  hardened  it- 
self against  all  other  influences.  It  will 
pierce  the  conscience  which  is  impreg- 
nable against  the  most  vehement  rebuke. 
It  will  say  to  the  reckless  transgressor, 
in  the  only  language  he  can  under- 
stand, that  he  is  not  an  outcast  from 
his  race  ; and  it  will  reveal  to  the  de- 
sponding sufferer  a love  higher  than 
your  own,  and  bring  back  his  lost  faith 
in  God.  Love  gives  a new  tongue,  — 
the  only  one  which  all  men  can  compre- 
hend. But  by  this  I mean  something 
more  than  the  common  kindness  of  the 
world.  I mean  the  spirit  of  Christ  and 
his  Apostles,  a love  not  born  on  the 
earth,  but  which  came  from  heaven  in  the 
person  of  the  Saviour,  and  is  only  to  be 
nourished  by  communion  with  heaven. 
Seek  it  as  your  chief  power.  Guard  it 
against  the  contagion  of  the  spirit  of  this 
world.  Cherish  it  by  meditation  and 
prayer,  by  intimacy  with  Christ  and  his 
true  disciples,  and  by  perpetual  exercise 
in  your  intercourse  with  the  poor. 

You  must  love  the  poor  ; you  must 
also  respect  them  ; and,  in  truth,  respect 
is  the  very  soul  of  the  love  which  I have 
enjoined.  Honor  the  poor  man.  Let 
not  his  poverty  for  a moment  hide  you 
from  his  participation  of  your  own  nat- 
ure and  of  the  divine  image.  Never  let 
the  man  be  lost  in  the  beggar.  If  you 
have  not  power  to  penetrate  to  the  spirit 
within  him,  and  to  reverence  that  divine 
principle  more  than  all  outward  magnifi- 
cence, you  are  unfit  for  your  office.  If 
there  seem  to  you  exaggeration,  or  a false 
sentimentality,  in  the  language  which 
pronounces  the  soul  of  one  poor  man 
worth  more  than  the  wealth  of  worlds, 
or  than  all  material  nature,  then  you 
want  the  spirit  of  your  function,  and  can- 
not lay  it  aside  too  soon.  Go  to  the 
poor,  to  awaken  in  them  the  conscious- 
ness of  their  relation  to  God,  and  of 


ON  PREA  CHING  TO  THE  POOR. 


91 


their  immortality.  Do  not  go  as  the 
representatives  of  the  richer  classes,  to 
keep  them  in  order  ; but  go  in  the  name 
of  Christians,  to  make  them  partakers 
of  the  highest  distinctions  and  blessings 
in  which  any  of  us  rejoice.  Carry  to 
them  the  gospel,  not  for  purposes  of 
worldly  policy,  but  as  a life-giving  truth, 
imparted  by  God  to  lift  them  above  all 
worldly  greatness,  to  subject  them  to  a 
nobler  law  than  that  of  the  state,  to  make 
them  citizens  of  heaven.  Present  relig- 
ion to  them  in  a generous  form.  Carry 
to  them  the  very  truths  you  would  bear 
to  the  most  prosperous  and  enlightened. 
Stir  up  the  poor  man  to  be  active  for  his 
own  improvement,  and  teach  him  that 
the  power  of  improvement  is  communi- 
cated to  him  as  liberally  as  to  his  pros- 
perous neighbor.  Because  he  is  poor, 
do  not  think  that  he  is  put  into  your 
hands  as  a passive  material,  to  be  shaped 
at  your  pleasure.  Remember  that  he  is 
as  free  as  yourselves,  and  can  only  be 
carried  forward  by  a spring  of  improve- 
ment in  his  own  soul.  The  work  of 
his  salvation  you  cannot  do  for  him. 
Awaken  him  to  strive,  watch,  and  pray 
for  himself.  Do  not  depress  him.  Do 
not,  through  a false  sympathy,  speak 
discouragingly  of  his  condition.  Show 
him  that  in  his  poverty  he  still  has  God’s 
best  gifts,  — an  immortal  soul,  and  the 
means  of  its  redemption  and  glory. 
Show  him  how  much  can  be  done  for 
human  nature  in  the  humblest  lot.  Teach 
him  that  his  condition  has  all  the  ele- 
ments of  virtue  and  of  the  only  durable 
happiness  ; that  suffering  may  be  the 
occasion  and  incitement  of  fervent 
prayer,  filial  trust,  and  fervent  forti- 
tude ; that  the  dews  of  God’s  spirit  de- 
scend alike  on  rich  and  poor  ; that  every 
grace  may  strike  root  in  the  soil  of  pen- 
ury, and  may  gain  strength  from  life’s 
storms  ; that,  like  the  poor  widow  in  the 
gospel,  he  can  give  even  more  gener- 
ously, can  be  more  charitable  in  the 
sight  of  God,  than  the  richest  of  his 
race  ; and  that  even  greatness  is  within 
his  reach,  for  greatness  lies  not  in  what 
is  outwardly  done,  but  in  strength  of 
love  and  holy  purpose  put  forth  under 
sore  temptation.  Beware  of  depressing 
or  degrading  the  poor,  by  giving  them  a 
low  form  of  religion,  or  low  views  of 
their  lot.  Christ  has  pronounced  bless- 
ings on  them,  and  help  them  to  put  faith 
in  his  life-giving  words. 


There  is  one  particular  on  which  I 
cannot  forbear  speaking.  Would  you 
promote  the  present  as  well  as  future 
happiness  of  the  poor  ? Then  labor 
much,  let  it  be  a leading  aim,  to  cherish 
among  them  the  domestic  and  benev- 
olent affections.  Whoever  knows  the 
poor,  must  know  how  greatly  the  aspect 
of  their  abodes  would  be  changed,  and 
what  a large  proportion  of  their  suffer- 
ings would  be  removed,  by  the  substi- 
tution of  a true  love  for  selfishness, 
passion,  and  envy,  for  unkind  words  and 
unkind  deeds.  Open  within  them  the 
fountain  of  kindness.  Urge  on  them 
Christianity  as  a spring  of  disinterested 
and  tender  affection.  Teach  the  poor 
that  we  who  are  prosperous  find  our 
chief  earthly  happiness  in  our  domestic 
and  other  social  bonds,  and  not  in 
wealth ; and  that  without  love  mag- 
nificence is  a vain  show,  and  the  palace 
embosoms  less  peace  than  many  a hovel. 
I insist  on  this,  because  it  is  the  common 
doctrine  of  the  day,  that  the  poor  are  to 
be  raised  by  being  taught  to  save,  to 
hoard,  to  economize  their  scanty  earn- 
ings. By  all  means  teach  prudence,  but 
do  not  make  the  poor  anxious,  selfish, 
sordid.  Teach  prudence  ; but  still  more 
teach  love  ; and  so  doing  you  will  teach 
economy.  Inspire  the  poor  with  strong 
and  tender  affections  towards  their  fam- 
ilies and  fellow-creatures,  and  they  will 
deny  themselves,  and  practise  thrift 
with  a cheerfulness  and  fidelity,  not 
often  learned  from  the  maxims  of  worldly 
wisdom. 

I must  not  enlarge  more  on  particular 
duties.  In  general,  I would  say  to  you, 
Honor  your  work.  Think  of  it  rever- 
ently. I use  no  exaggeration  when  I 
give  it  a place  among  the  most  impor- 
tant labors  of  the  times  ; for  it  bears  on 
the  very  evil  from  which  the  social  state 
has  most  to  fear.  We  are  accustomed  to 
speak  of  the  improvement  of  society  ; 
but  its  progress  has  been  attended  with 
one  disastrous  circumstance,  which  at 
times  almost  makes  us  doubt  whether 
the  good  has  not  been  too  dearly  bought. 
I refer  to  the  fact  that  the  elevation  of 
one  part  of  the  community  has  been 
accompanied  with  the  depression  of 
another.  Society  has  not  gone  forward 
as  a whole.  By  the  side  of  splendid 
dwellings  you  descry  the  abodes  of 
squalid  poverty ; and  within  the  city 
walls,  which  enclose  the  educated  and 


92 


ON  PREACHING  TO  THE  POOR. 


refined,  you  may  meet  a half-civilized 
horde,  given  up  to  deeper  degradation 
than  the  inhabitants  of  the  wilderness. 
In  England,  the  country  advanced  above 
all  others  in  agriculture,  manufactures, 
refinement,  and  literary  institutions,  are 
miserable  multitudes,  degraded  by  de- 
pendence, uninstructed  even  in  the  being 
of  a God,  and  dying  of  want  before  their 
time  ; and  such  is  the  tendency  of  mod- 
ern civilization  through  the  world.  Soci- 
ety is  not  only  disfigured  but  endangered 
by  the  poverty,  and  ignorance,  and  vice 
of  a multitude  of  its  members  ; and  its 
security  and  happiness  demand  nothing 
so  imperiously  as  that  this  wretched 
mass  should  be  enlightened,  elevated, 
redeemed.  Here  is  the  chief  sphere  for 
philanthropy.  Inequalities  of  property 
must  indeed  exist.  But  can  it  be  neces- 
sary that  multitudes  of  human  beings 
should  writhe  under  wants  and  hard- 
ships which  palsy  and  almost  extinguish 
their  spiritual  and  moral  power  ? This 
greatest  social  evil  is  beginning  to  arrest 
the  attention  of  the  statesman  as  well 
as  of  the  philanthropist  and  Christian. 
A louder  and  louder  cry  is  beginning  to 
break  forth  through  the  civilized  world 
for  a social  reform  which  shall  reach  the 
most  depressed  ranks  of  the  community. 

I see  and  rejoice  to  see  in  your  office, 
my  friends,  a sign  of  this  new  move- 
ment, an  earnest  of  this  grand  and  holy 
revolution.  I see  in  it  a recognition  of 
the  right  of  every  human  being  to  the 
means  of  spiritual  development,  of  moral 
and  intellectual  life.  This  is  the  most 
sacred  right  of  humanity.  Blessed  are 
our  eyes  which  see  the  day  of  its  recog- 
nition. Feel,  then,  that  you  are  conse- 
crated to  the  greatest  work  of  your  age  ; 
and  feel  that  you  will  be  sustained  in  it 
by  the  prayers  and  zeal  of  our  churches 
and  their  pastors.  If,  indeed,  your  min- 
istry for  the  poor  should  be  suffered  to 
decline  and  fail,  it  would  be  a melan- 
choly proof  that  our  ministry  for  the 
rich  is  of  little  avail.  If  in  this  age, 
when  the  improvement  of  society  is  the 
theme  even  of  the  unbeliever ; if,  with 
every  help  from  the  spirit  of  the  times, 
we,  the  pastors  of  these  churches,  can- 
not awaken  in  them  a sensibility  to  the 


intellectual  and  moral  wants  of  multi- 
tudes around  them,  cannot  carry  home 
to  their  consciences  and  hearts  the  duty 
of  raising  up  their  depressed  fellow- 
creatures,  of  imparting  Christian  light, 
strength,  and  comfort  to  the  ignorant 
and  poor,  then  it  is  time  that  we  should 
give  up  our  pulpits  to  others  who  will 
better  understand  and  inculcate  the 
spirit  of  Christ  and  his  Apostles.  It  is 
time  that  our  lips  should  be  closed,  if 
we  can  do  nothing  towards  breathing 
into  men  the  peculiar  benevolence  of 
the  gospel,  — a benevolence  which  feels 
for,  and  seeks  to  elevate  and  save,  the 
human  soul.  It  is  time,  too,  that  as  a 
class  of  Christians  we  should  disappear, 
if  we  will  not  take  our  part  in  the  great 
work  of  regenerating  society.  It  is 
the  order  of  nature  that  the  dead  should 
be  buried  ; and  the  sooner  a dead,  life- 
less, soulless  sect  is  buried  and  forgotten 
the  better.  But,  my  friends,  I cannot 
fear  that  you  will  be  abandoned.  Chris- 
tian love,  I trust,  has  called  you  to  this 
work,  and  will  cheer  and  strengthen 
you  in  your  heavenly  mission. 

Go  forth,  then,  my  friends,  with  a con- 
fiding spirit.  Go  forth  in  the  strength 
of  faith,  hope,  and  charity.  Go  forth  to 
increase  the  holiness  of  earth  and  the 
happiness  of  heaven.  Go  to  the  dark 
alleys  and  the  darker  dwellings  of  the 
poor.  Go  in  the  spirit  of  that  God  to 
whom  the  soul  of  the  poor  man  is  as 
precious  as  your  own.  Go  in  the  spirit 
of  him  who  for  our  sakes  was  poor,  and 
had  not  where  to  lay  his  head.  Go  in 
reliance  on  that  omnipotent  grace  which 
can  raise  up  the  most  fallen,  cleanse  the 
most  polluted,  enrich  the  poorest  with 
more  than  royal  wealth,  console  the 
deepest  sorrows,  and  sanctify  the  sorest 
trials  of  life.  Go  cheerfully,  for  into 
the  darkest  dwellings  you  carry  the  light 
of  life.  And  think  not  that  you  alone 
visit  these  humble  habitations.  God  is 
there,  — Christ  is  there,  — angels  are 
there.  Feel  their  presence;  breathe 
their  love  ; and  through  your  wise,  un- 
wearied, effectual  labors,  may  the  poor 
man’s  dwelling  become  a consecrated 
place,  the  abode  of  love,  “ the  house  of 
God  and  the  gate  of  heaven  ! 55 


CHARGE  FOR  THE  ORDINATION  OF  REV.  R.  C.  WATERSTON.  93 


CHARGE  FOR  THE  ORDINATION  OF  MR.  ROBERT  C. 
WATERSTON,  AS  MINISTER  AT  LARGE, 

November  24,  1839. 


[The  following  Charge,  although  prepared  for  the  occasion,  was  not  delivered,  on  account  of  the 

Author’s  state  of  health.] 


My  Young  Friend  and  Brother, — 
The  Council  here  assembled  for  your 
ordination  have  assigned  me  the  office  of 
giving  you  the  Charge ; and  I perform 
this  work  the  more  cheerfully,  because  of 
the  relation  which  has  long  subsisted  be- 
tween you  and  myself.  You  have  grown 
up  from  childhood  under  my  ministry, 
and  you  have  given  me  reason  to  believe 
that  impressions  received  in  the  church 
where  you  have  worshipped  have,  in  con- 
currence with  other  causes,  led  you  to 
this  consecration  of  yourself  to  the  pas- 
toral office.  Another  consideration,  which 
renders  this  occasion  still  more  interest- 
ing, is,  that  you  seem  now  to  be  placed, 
by  a kind  Providence,  in  the  sphere  for 
which  you  are  particularly  fitted,  and  in 
which  all  your  faculties  and  affections 
may  be  expected  to  act  and  unfold  freely, 
cheerfully,  vigorously,  and  beneficially  to 
yourself  and  others.  I remember  how, 
long  ago,  you  felt  the  attraction  of  this 
ministry ; how  a thirst  for  it  followed 
you  to  your  place  of  business,  and  over- 
came the  spirit  of  gain  ; and  how  pa- 
tiently you  have  labored  to  furnish  your- 
self thoroughly  for  the  work.  These  are 
good  auguries,  and  they  shed  a bright 
hope  over  these  solemnities.  Listen  now, 
my  brother,  to  a few  counsels  which  may 
help  you  to  fulfil  our  hopes.  Many 
topics,  belonging  to  this  occasion,  I 
formerly  enlarged  upon,  in  the  Charge 
given  to  your  predecessor,  to  which  I 
refer  you.  There  are  others,  then  omitted 
or  slightly  touched  upon,  to  which  I now 
ask  attention. 

You  are  now  set  apart  to  be  a Minister 
at  Large.  This  is  the  distinction  of  your 
office.  Whilst  other  ministers  gather 
worshippers  into  their  churches  from  all 
the  conditions  of  life,  you  expect  to  labor 
chiefly  among  the  less  prosperous,  the 


destitute.  It  may  be  thought,  at  first, 
that  this  peculiarity  must  make  a wide 
distinction  between  your  office  and  the 
common  ministry ; that  it  must  demand 
almost  a totally  different  style  of  preach- 
ing ; that  all  your  labors  must  take  a hue 
and  impress  from  the  condition  of  those 
whom  you  teach.  I counsel  you  not  to 
be  misled  by  this  natural  impression.  I 
see  no  great  distinction  between  you  and 
other  ministers.  I advise  you  to  bring 
habitually  to  your  mind,  not  the  outward 
condition  of  men,  but  their  spiritual  nat- 
ure, their  participation  of  that  “ divine 
humanity”  which  is  the  only  wealth  of 
rich  or  poor.  The  distinction  of  rich  and 
poor,  what  is  it  in  the  eye  of  reason  ? 
And  what  should  it  be  to  the  Christian 
teacher  ? It  does  not  penetrate  the  skin, 
but  is  a distinction  of  clothes,  fuel,  meat, 
and  drink.  During  life,  it  avails  little  or 
nothing  against  pain,  illness,  bereave- 
ment. Death  turns  it  to  utter  scorn. 
The  costliest  winding-sheet,  the  most 
splendid  coffin,  cannot  shut  out  the  worm 
or  protect  against  the  humiliation  of  the 
tomb.  In  the  next  world,  how  often  will 
present  distinctions  be  reversed ! The 
first  will  be  last ; the  last  first.  It  be- 
longs, then,  to  the  Christian  teacher  to 
look  through,  and  for  the  most  part  to 
forget,  outward  distinctions.  To  the 
Christian  teacher  all  men  of  all  ranks  are 
much  the  same  ; all  rational,  spiritual, 
immortal ; all  stained  with  guilt ; all 
needing  to  be  born  again.  Undoubtedly 
he  is  to  adapt  himself  to  differences  of 
age  and  education.  But  in  all  there  is 
the  same  human  heart ; in  all  the  same 
deep  wants,  the  same  chords  to  be 
touched,  the  same  mighty  obstacles  to 
purity  to  be  overcome.  They  all  need 
essentially  the  same  truths,  though  modi- 
fied slightly  as  to  phraseology  and  form. 


94 


CHARGE  FOR  THE  ORDINATION 


There  are  not  different  gospels  for  differ- 
ent conditions  of  men  ; but  one  and  the 
same  truth  for  all ; just  as  the  same  sun 
sheds  the  same  beams  into  every  hu- 
man dwelling,  and  is  equally  needed  and 
equally  welcome  wherever  he  shines. 

I would  not  have  any  class  habitually 
addressed  with  reference  to  outward  con- 
dition. It  is  a great  object  in  all  preach- 
ing, no  matter  to  whom  addressed,  to 
raise  the  hearer  above  his  outward  con- 
dition, to  make  it  seem  as  nothing  to  him 
in  comparison  with  his  immortal  spirit 
and  his  inward  wants.  The  poor  should 
be  spoken  to  as  men,  and  as  standing 
on  the  same  ground  with  all  other  men. 
They  are  not  to  be  condoled  with  as  ob- 
jects of  peculiar  commiseration,  but  ad- 
dressed as  those  who  have  the  essential 
goods  of  life,  who  may  do  its  great  work, 
and  win  its  highest  prize.  The  deepest 
vice  of  our  present  civilization  is,  that 
we  count  the  distinction  between  wealth 
and  poverty  the  greatest  on  earth.  Do 
you  show  that  you  count  it  as  nothing. 

My  brother,  look  on  your  hearers  as 
children  and  heirs  of  God ; and  remem- 
ber that  your  work  is  to  call  out  and  to 
build  up  the  divine  nature  within  them  ; 
and  let  such  thoughts  give  you  a con- 
sciousness of  the  dignity  of  your  office. 
Do  not  measure  this  by  the  outward  con- 
dition of  those  to  whom  you  preach. 
Measure  it  by  their  souls,  and  feel  that 
these  are  the  equals  of  the  most  favored 
in  outward  lot.  Some  of  the  community 
undoubtedly  think  of  you  as  having  little 
more  to  do  than  to  aid  in  keeping  order 
in  the  city.  You  look  infinitely  above 
the  order  of  the  city,  though  that  in  its 
right  place  is  not  to  be  despised.  Your 
function  is  to  bring  men  to  obey,  not  the 
laws  of  the  land,  but  the  eternal,  immu- 
table, celestial  law  of  righteousness  ; not 
to  make  them  quiet  citizens,  but  members 
of  the  universal  kingdom  of  God.  It  is 
in  seeking  this  highest  end  that  you  will 
secure  the  lower.  Religion  only  serves 
the  state  when  it  is  infinitely  exalted 
above  the  state,  and  taught  and  cherished 
for  its  own  peerless  worth.  Nothing  has 
so  stripped  Christianity  of  its  power  as 
the  conversion  of  it  into  a state  machine, 
as  the  polluting  touch  of  the  politician, 
who  has  caused  it  to  be  preached  to  the 
lower  ranks,  and  to  be  professed  by  the 
higher,  in  order  that  the  old  polity,  with 
its  inveterate  abuses,  may  stand  fast,  and 
that  the  accumulation  of  property  in  a 


few  hands  may  be  undisturbed.  Relig- 
ion, taught  for  such  ends,  is  among  the 
worst  foes  of  social  progress.  It  loses 
its  vitality  ; it  paralyzes  the  intellect ; it 
strives  to  crush  by  persecution  or  dis- 
abilities those  who  would  restore  its 
primitive  purity,  or  unfold  more  distinctly 
its  higher  truths  ; it  teaches  pretence  to 
the  great,  and  breathes  servility  into  the 
multitude  whom  it  ought  especially  to 
imbue  with  nobleness  of  mind.  You, 
my  young  friend,  have  learned  that  re- 
ligion has  a higher  work  to  accomplish 
than  that  of  police  ; that  its  aim  is  to 
bring  the  individual,  be  his  rank  what  it 
may,  to  a comprehension  of  his  relation 
to  the  Infinite  Father  and  the  everlast- 
ing world,  and  to  inspire  him  with  dis- 
interested love  of  God  and  man  ; and  that 
in  this  way  alone  it  makes  good  citizens, 
tender  and  faithful  husbands  and  wives, 
parents  and  children,  brothers  and  sisters, 
neighbors  and  friends. 

In  these  remarks  I do  not  mean  that 
you  are  never  to  allude  to  outward  dis- 
tinctions. The  poor  have  peculiar  diffi- 
culties ; but  they  must  never  be  left  to 
imagine  that  they  have  all  the  difficulties  of 
life.  Their  burden  is  heavy,  but  there  are 
still  heavier  on  earth  ; and  the  same  high 
truths  are  needed  to  sustain  all  the  suffer- 
ing children  of  humanity.  So  they  have 
peculiar  temptations  ; and  yet,  tempta- 
tions to  the  very  vices  which  abound 
most  among  the  poor  are  exceedingly 
powerful  among  the  more  prosperous. 
The  poor,  it  is  said,  are  peculiarly  incited 
by  their  condition  to  envy ; and  yet  are 
we  sure  that  there  is  less  envy  among  the 
rich,  that  there  are  fewer  jealousies  and 
heartburnings  growing  out  of  competi- 
tions and  neglects  in  fashionable  life,  than 
spring  from  indigence  ? I am  not  sure 
that  there  is  more  discontent  among  the 
needy  than  among  those  who  abound.  I 
incline  to  think  that,  on  the  whole,  there 
is  among  the  latter  less  submission  to 
God’s  providence ; and  for  this  plain 
reason,  that  success  and  abundance  in- 
crease self-will.  You  must  not,  there- 
fore, preach  to  your  congregation  as  if 
they  monopolized  any  vice  ; but  speak  to 
all  as  partakers  of  the  universal  corrup- 
tion. Never  expect  to  reclaim  men  from 
a vice  by  singling  them  out  for  denun- 
ciation ; but  by  addressing  to  them  those 
solemn  truths  and  motives  which  are  to 
stir  up  all  men  to  resist  moral  evil. 

The  sum  of  what  I have  now  said  is, 


OF  REF  R.  C.  WATERSTON. 


95 


do  nothing  to  discourage  your  hearers. 
If  cheering,  animating  language  is  to  be 
used  anywhere,  it  is  among  the  poor. 
As  a minister  of  Christ,  you  are  to  en- 
courage. Unhappily  the  gospel  is  too 
often  used  to  break  men’s  spirits.  The 
gospel,  as  too  often  preached,  instead  of 
being  glad  tidings,  is  the  saddest  news 
ever  told  on  earth.  From  your  lips  may 
it  raise  the  dispirited  to  effort,  and  reveal 
to  the  indigent  their  boundless  wealth  ! 

At  the  beginning  of  this  ministry,  it 
was  thought  that  its  chief  benefit  would 
come  from  visiting ; and  little  compara- 
tively was  expected  from  the  pulpit.  Ex- 
perience, however,  has  proved  that  public 
preaching  is  a powerful  instrument  for 
the  moral  recovery  of  the  poor.  The 
multitudes  who  throng  the  Chapel  where 
you  are  to  labor,  and  who  devour  with 
earnest  attention  the  words  of  the  min- 
ister, indicate  that  this  is  a sphere  of 
action  to  which  you  are  to  devote  much 
of  your  energies.  You  must  labor  to 
perfect  yourself  as  a preacher.  I say  to 
perfect  yourself ; for  you  will  do  little 
unless  you  aim  at  perfection.  I might, 
had  I time,  repeat  many  exhortations  as 
to  preaching ; but  two  short  rules  may 
suffice  you.  They  are  these  : Preach  the 
truth,  and  preach  it  as  the  truth. 

First ; Preach  the  truth,  and  for  this 
end  you  must  seek  and  get  it ; and  this 
is  among  the  hardest  labors  of  life.  To 
see  things  as  they  are,  to  see  them 
through  a clear,  uncolored  medium,  to 
strip  them  of  every  disguise,  to  put  to 
silence  our  own  passions  and  prejudices, 
to  resist  the  intolerance,  the  servility, 
the  established  errors  and  earthly  modes 
of  thought,  the  arrogant  pretensions  and 
the  nervous  fears  of  the  multitude  around 
us,  and,  amidst  all  these  hindrances  and 
obscurations,  to  discern  the  truth  in  its 
simplicity  and  majesty,  — this  is  a labor 
which  turns  to  sport  the  toil  of  the  hands 
and  the  sweat  of  the  brow ; and  to  hold 
fast  this  truth  openly,  fearlessly,  amidst 
outcry,  scorn,  desertion,  persecution,  is 
a heroism  before  which  the  exploits  of 
conquerors  grow  vulgar  and  tame. 

It  is  a common  notion  that  it  is  no 
great  task  to  acquire  religious  truths  in 
a country  which  enjoys,  as  we  do,  a rev- 
elation from  God.  The  revelation  is 
thought  to  save  us  the  trouble  of  re- 
search, — to  do  our  work  for  us.  But 
this  is  a great  error.  You  should  learn 
that  the  very  familiarity  of  a revelation 


hides  its  truths  from  us,  or  is  an  obstacle 
to  clear  comprehension.  Abstract  words, 
continually  sounded  in  our  ears,  lose 
their  meaning  and  force,  and  are  among 
the  last  words  which  we  really  under- 
stand. The  language  of  Christianity, 
which  has  come  down  from  distant  ages  ; 
which  in  every  age  has  received  a color- 
ing from  prevalent  errors,  passions,  and 
corruptions  ; on  which  men  of  different 
conditions,  interest,  feelings,  and  mental 
powers,  have  fastened  different  interpre- 
tations ; which  we  heard  before  we  could 
think,  and  to  which  we  attached  the  nar- 
row, earthly  conceptions  of  the  opening 
intellect ; this  language  it  is  an  immense 
toil  to  divest  of  all  false  associations, 
and  to  restore  to  its  original  significance. 
Add  to  this  the  difficulty  which  springs 
from  the  refined,  spiritual,  sublime  char- 
acter of  moral  and  religious  truth,  and 
you  will  learn  what  you  must  do  to  seize 
this  pearl  of  great  price.  What  a work 
is  it  to  form  a true  idea  of  God  ; to 
separate  from  Him  all  material  forms  and 
attributes,  all  human  passions  and  hu- 
man limitations  ! How  hard  to  separate 
from  Him  all  self-reference  and  arbitrari- 
ness, all  love  of  rule,  of  homage,  and 
kingly  power ! How  hard  to  contemplate 
Him  as  calm,  unimpassioned  reason; 
as  impartial,  disinterested,  all-compre- 
hending love ; as  having  no  will  but 
the  everlasting  law  of  righteousness  ; as 
having  no  favorites  ; as  the  ever-present 
inspirer  and  judge  of  every  soul  ! How 
hard  to  look  through  the  multiplied 
forces  and  agencies  of  the  universe,  to 
one  central,  all-pervading  Power ; be- 
yond the  endless  mutations  and  conflicts 
of  human  life  to  one  unchangeable,  all- 
reconciling  Wisdom  ! The  true  idea  of 
God,  that  highest  thought  of  angels,  de- 
mands for  its  development  the  study  of 
a life.  How  hard,  too,  is  it  to  attain 
to  the  true  idea  of  Christian  duty;  to 
purify  this  from  all  debasing  mixtures  ; 
to  keep  it  from  being  stained  by  the 
sophistry  of  the  passions,  by  the  inter- 
pretations of  theologians,  by  the  moral 
standard  of  our  age,  by  the  spirit  and 
practice  of  the  world  and  the  church  ! 
How  hard,  again,  to  attain  to  the  true 
idea  of  a man  ; to  discern  the  greatness 
of  our  nature,  and  its  affinity  with  God, 
amidst  its  present  ruins  ; to  comprehend 
it  as  revealed  in  the  character  and  life 
of  Christ  ! 

My  brother,  do  not  think  that  you 


CHARGE  FOR  THE  ORDINATION 


96 

know  the  truth  because  you  are  familiar 
with  the  words  which  envelop  it.  I re- 
peat it,  the  very  commonness  of  Chris- 
tianity throws  over  it  a mist  not  easily 
penetrated.  You  have  to  break  the  spell 
of  habit,  the  spell  of  mental  associations 
stronger  than  adamant.  You  must  put 
forth  more  force  of  thought  on  the  relig- 
ion, because  it  is  so  familiar.  A true 
faith  is  as  hard  an  attainment  now  as  in 
the  first  age  of  Christianity.  A revela- 
tion is  not  given  to  deliver  us  from  the 
toil  of  seeking  truth.  This  is  the  great 
work  of  every  rational  being,  especially 
the  great  work  of  him  who  aspires  to  be 
a teacher.  Thirst  for  the  truth.  Study, 
inquire,  and  pray  for  it.  Welcome  it 
from  whatever  quarter  it  may  shine.  Be 
willing  to  pay  for  it  the  price  of  ease, 
honor,  life.  Of  all  crimes,  dread  none 
more  than  that  of  shutting  out  God’s 
light  from  your  mind. 

But  it  is  not  enough  to  get  the 
truth  ; you  must  preach  it  as  the  truth. 
Christianity  is  often  preached  as  false, 
or  at  least  as  a matter  of  doubt.  God, 
Christ,  duty,  immortality,  the  soul,  its 
greatness,  its  destiny,  — these  are  spoken 
of  as  vague  rumors  which  the  teacher 
has  chanced  to  hear,  and  not  as  realities  ; 
not  as  what  he  knows  ; not  as  matters  of 
deliberate  and  deep  conviction.  Preach- 
ing is  too  often  traditional,  conventional, 
professional,  the  repetition  of  what  is 
expected,  of  what  it  is  the  custom  to 
say ; not  the  free,  natural  utterance  of 
persuasion,  of  experience,  of  truths 
which  have  a substantial  being  within 
our  souls.  Undoubtedly  the  hearer  is 
culpable  for  remaining  dead  under  the 
light  of  God’s  word  ; but  how  often  does 
the  want  of  life  in  the  teacher  put  down 
the  life  of  the  taught ! Do  you  ask  me, 
how  you  may  come  to  feel  the  reality  of 
the  spiritual  truth  you  are  to  dispense  ? 
I answer,  do  not  hope  to  accomplish  this 
end  by  the  methods  commonly  used  by 
fanatics  ; that  is,  by  inflaming  the  im- 
agination ; by  representing  to  yourself, 
in  material  forms,  God,  heaven,  hell, 
the  suffering  of  Christ ; or  by  applying- 
perpetual  stimulants  to  the  passions. 
You  must  unite  the  forces  of  the  intellect, 
the  heart,  and  the  life,  and  bring  them 
all  to  bear  on  this  great  end.  You  must 
accustom  yourself  to  concentrate  thought 
on  the  truth  which  you  have  gained  ; 
you  must  cultivate  the  hard  but  neces- 
sary art  of  meditation ; and  must  exalt 


meditation  into  prayer  to  the  Father  of 
light  for  his  quickening  spirit.  Nor  is 
this  all.  You  must  inwardly  and  out- 
wardly live  up  to  the  truth.  You  must 
strive  against  those  appetites  and  pas- 
sions which  cloud  the  inward  eye  and 
shut  the  inward  ear.  You  must  be 
true  without  compromise  to  your  con- 
victions of  duty.  You  must  cherish 
and  express  disinterested  affection.  It 
is  only  by  this  joint  and  vigorous  action 
of  the  moral  and  intellectual  nature  that 
spiritual  vision  becomes  clear  ; that  the 
spiritual  world  is  opened  to  us ; that 
God,  and  duty,  and  immortality  come 
forth  from  the  clouds  which  ordinarily 
envelop  them  into  clear  and  beautiful 
light ; that  God’s  spirit  becomes  a dis- 
tinct voice  in  the  soul.  You  cannot 
labor  too  devoutly  that  the  religion 
which  you  preach  may  become  thus  real 
to  you,  may  live  in  your  understanding 
and  heart.  Without  this,  preaching  is 
a tinkling  cymbal,  a vain  show.  With- 
out it,  there  may  be  prodigies  of  theo- 
logical learning.  Without  it,  there  may 
be  eloquent  declaimers,  much  admired 
and  run  after.  But  they  work  on  the 
surface  only.  They  show  themselves, 
not  the  truth.  They  may  excite  transient 
emotions,  but  do  not  strike  the  deep 
fountains  of  thought  and  feeling  in  the 
human  soul.  He,  alone,  within  whom 
Christian  truth  is  a living,  substantial 
presence,  can  give  it  forth  in  fresh,  ge- 
nial, natural,  quickening  tones.  Covet, 
as  the  minister’s  best  gift,  the  divine  art 
of  speaking  the  truth  as  truth.  Do  not 
speak  as  a machine,  an  echo,  but  from  a 
living  soul. 

So  important  do  I hold  it  to  speak 
the  truth,  as  truth,  that,  were  I able,  I 
would  describe  more  particularly  this 
style  of  preaching.  But  words  do  little 
to  make  it  intelligible.  I might  say, 
that  the  truth-preacher  is  free  from  all 
artifices  and  affectation  of  style  and 
manner;  that  he  is  distinguished  by 
simplicity,  earnestness,  naturalness,  free- 
dom. But  your  own  observation  and 
consciousness  can  alone  explain  to  you 
the  characteristics  of  that  truth  in 
preaching  which  all  feel,  though  none 
can  describe.  I would  observe,  how- 
ever, that  all  who  are  distinguished  by 
this  style  bear  one  mark.  They  preach 
with  faith,  hope,  confidence.  Truth, 
when  seen  as  a reality,  always  breathes 
faith  and  trust.  Doubt  and  despondence 


OF  REV.  R.  C.  WATERSTON. 


97 


belong  to  error  or  superficial  views. 
Truth  is  of  God,  and  is  bright  with 
promise  of  that  infinite  good  which  all 
his  perfections  make  sure  to  his  crea- 
tion. God’s  supreme  interest  and  joy 
in  moral  excellence ; the  immutable 
glory  and  the  omnipotence  of  rectitude 
and  disinterested  love  ; and  the  utter 
feebleness  of  human  passion  and  prej- 
udice, of  sects  and  armies,  of  opinion 
and  physical  force,  when  arrayed  against 
the  cause  of  holiness,  of  Christ,  of  God, 
— these  are  among  the  clearest  manifes- 
tations of  truth,  arid  indeed  its  very 
essence  ; and,  of  consequence,  he  who 
knows  the  truth  must  be  strong  in  faith, 
must  tread  doubt  and  fear  under  foot,  and 
must  speak  with  the  energy  of  a living 
hope.  One  great  reason  of  the  inefficacy 
of  the  ministry  is,  the  want  of  faith  in  a 
higher  operation  of  Christianity,  in  a 
higher  development  of  humanity,  than  is 
now  witnessed.  As  long  as  the  present 
wretched  condition  of  the  Christian 
world  shall  be  regarded  as  ultimate  ; as 
long  as  our  religion  shall  be  thought  to 
have  done  already  its  chief  work  on 
earth  ; as  long  as  the  present  corruptions 
of  the  church  and  the  state  shall  be 
acquiesced  in  as  laws  of  nature,  and 
shall  stir  up  no  deep,  agonizing  desire 
of  reform,  so  long  the  ministry  will  be 
comparatively  dead. 

My  brother,  may  you  receive  from 
Christ  and  his  disciples  this  glorious 
inheritance,  a spirit  of  faith  ! May  you 
read  every  truth  of  the  gospel  with  a 
prophet’s  eye,  and  see  in  it  the  prom- 
ise of  that  new  spiritual  creation  which 
Christ  came  to  accomplish  on  earth  ! 
May  you  discover  in  God’s  attributes, 
in  the  perfection  of  the  Saviour,  in  the 
virtues  of  eminent  men,  and  in  the 
workings  and  aspirations  of  your  own 
soul,  pledges,  omens,  predictions  of  a 
higher  state  of  the  church  and  of  hu- 
manity ! This  is  indeed  to  know  the 
truth,  and  this  is  the  knowledge  which 
gives  power  to  preaching.  Alas  for 
that  community,  civil  or  religious,  which 
binds  itself  to  the  past,  and  has  no 
faith  in  a higher  futurity  ! That  com- 
munity which  ceases  to  grow,  begins 
to  dejay.  In  losing  hope,  it  loses  the 
breath  of  life.  Where  there  is  no  faith 
there  is  no  courage,  and,  of  consequence, 
no  victory  over  evil.  You,  in  particular, 
will  need  faith  ; for  you  will  have  con- 
tinually to  do  with  what  is  to  many 


minds  full  of  discouragement,  — I mean 
with  pauperism,  that  dark  cloud  which 
hangs  ominously  over  our  modern  civil- 
ization. But  fear  not.  Study  this  great 
social  evil,  its  causes,  its  prevention,  its 
cure,  with  full  confidence  that  in  soci- 
ety, as  in  the  natural  body,  there  is  a 
healing  power,  and  that  no  evil  is  des- 
perate except  despair. 

Had  I time,  I might  suggest  several 
rules  or  cautions  particularly  needed  in 
such  a ministry  as  yours.  I will  offer 
but  one  or  two  suggestions.  In  one 
important  respect  your  work  is  to  differ 
from  the  common  ministry,  — that  is,  in 
the  distribution  of  your  time.  Your  life 
is  to  be  spent,  not  in  retired  study,  but 
very  much  in  visits  from  house  to  house  ; 
and  this  has  its  advantages.  It  will 
bring  you  near  to  the  poor,  awaken  your 
sympathies  with  them,  acquaint  you  with 
their  wants,  and  give  them  a confidence 
in  your  attachment  which  will  open  their 
hearts  to  your  public  instructions.  But 
it  has,  too,  its  disadvantages.  There  is 
danger  that  your  mind  may  be  frittered 
away  by  endless  details,  by  listening 
continually  to  frivolous  communications 
and  suspicious  complaints.  To  escape 
these  narrowing  influences,  you  should 
steadily  devote  a part  of  every  day  to 
solitary  study ; and,  still  more,  you 
should  make  it  your  rule  to  regard  the 
events  and  experiences  of  every  day  as 
lessons,  and  strive  to  extract  from  them 
general  truths,  so  that  the  intellect  may 
enlarge  itself  in  the  midst  of  the  hum- 
blest concerns.  In  the  meanest  hovel, 
the  great  principles  of  human  nature  and 
of  God’s  moral  providence  will  be  set 
before  you  for  study  and  observation. 
Every  man  is  a volume,  if  you  know  how 
to  read  him.  To  seize  the  universal  in 
the  particular  is  the  great  art  of  wisdom, 
and  this  is  especially  important  to  one 
who  is  to  live  amidst  details. 

Another  peculiarity  of  your  ministry 
is,  that  you  are  to  see  human  nature 
more  undisguised,  naked,  than  as  it  falls 
under  our  common  notice.  You  are  to 
go  among  those  who  have  not  learned 
to  cover  up  the  deformities  of  the  soul 
by  courtesy  and  graceful  speech.  You 
will  see  more  of  the  coarser  appetites 
and  passions.  Not  that  you  are  to  meet 
more  guilt  than  the  rest  of  us.  The  self- 
ishness and  deceit  of  the  exchange  or 
of  fashionable  life,  however  wrapped  up 
in  refined  manners,  are  not  a whit  the 


9§  CHARGE  FOR  THE  ORDINATION  OF  REV.  R.  C.  WATERSTON. 


fairer  in  God’s  sight  than  the  artful  or 
grasping  habits  of  the  poor.  Still  we 
are  in  peculiar  danger  of  losing  our  re- 
spect for  human  nature  when  it  offers 
itself  to  us  in  repulsive,  uncouth,  vulgar 
forms  and  language.  Remember  to  be 
candid  and  just  to  the  poor.  Treasure 
up  in  memory  the  instances,  which  you 
will  often  meet  among  them,  of  generos- 
ity, patience,  domestic  love  and  self-con- 
trol ; and  do  not  forget  that  their  desti- 
tution and  suffering  add  to  these  virtues 
a moral  worth  not  belonging  to  the  good 
deeds  of  prosperous  life.  Look  beneath 
the  outward  to  the  spiritual,  the  immor- 
tal, the  divine.  Feel  that  each  of  the 
poor  is  as  dear  to  God  as  the  most  ex- 
alted in  condition,  and  approach  them 
with  humanity  and  respect.  I do  not 
mean  by  this  that  you  should  use  flat- 
tering words.  Be  true,  honest,  plain. 
Speak  to  them  your  mind.  Rebuke 
wrong-doing  openly,  firmly.  The  re- 
spect won  by  manly  courage  and  sim- 
plicity will  give  you  greater  power  than 
any  attachment  gained  by  soft  and  sooth- 
ing words.  Be  rough  rather  than  affect- 
edly complacent.  But  with  plain  dealing 
you  can  join  a sympathizing  heart,  and 
in  the  union  of  these  you  will  find 
strength. 

I might  multiply  instructions,  and  in- 
deed I know  not  where  to  stop  ; but  I 
have  already  transgressed  the  usual  lim- 
its of  this  service,  and  I will  add  but  a 
single  admonition,  which,  if  followed, 
will  render  all  others  useless.  Go  to 
Jesus  Christ  for  guidance,  inspiration, 
and  strength  in  your  office.  This  pre- 
cept is  easily  uttered,  but  not  easily 
obeyed.  Nothing,  indeed,  is  harder  than 
to  place  ourselves  near  Jesus  Christ. 
The  way  to  him  is  blocked  up  on  every 
side.  Interpreters,  churches,  sects,  past 
and  present,  creeds,  authorities,  the  in- 
fluences of  education,  all  stand  in  our 
way.  So  many  voices,  declaring  what 
Christ  has  said,  break  on  our  ears,  that 
his  own  voice  is 'drowned.  The  old  cry 
still  resounds,  “ Lo  here  ! and  lo  there  ! ” 
How  hard  is  it  to  get  near  the  true 
Christ,  to  see  him  as  he  was  and  is,  to 
hear  his  own  voice,  and  to  penetrate 
beneath  his  works  and  words  to  his 
spirit,  to  his  mind  and  heart,  to  the 
great  principles  of  his  religion,  to  the 
grand  spiritual  purpose  of  all  which  he 
said  and  did  ! How  hard  to  escape  our 
age,  to  penetrate  through  the  disguises 


in  which  works  of  art  and  of  theology 
have  wrapped  up  Jesus,  and  to  receive 
immediate,  unmixed  impulses  from  his 
teaching  and  life  ! And  yet  the  privilege 
of  communing  with  such  a spirit  is  so 
great,  and  the  duty  of  going  from  man 
to  Christ  is  so  solemn,  that  you  must 
spare  no  effort  to  place  yourself  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  Divine  Master.  Learn 
from  him  how  to  look  on  men,  how  to 
feel  for  them,  how  to  bear  with  them, 
how  to  meet  them  courageously  yet  ten- 
derly, how  to  awaken  in  them  the  con- 
sciousness of  their  spiritual  nature  and 
destiny,  and  how  to  stir  them  up  to  the 
desire  and  pursuit  of  a new,  inward, 
everlasting  life. 

My  brother,  I conclude  with  remind- 
ing you  of  your  great  responsibilities. 
Your  office  is  important  *,  but  this  is  not 
all.  You  enter  on  it  at  a critical  mo- 
ment. The  ministry  for  the  poor  has 
indeed  ceased  to  be  an  experiment ; its 
success  has  surpassed  our  hopes  ; and 
yet  it  is  not  established  as  firmly  as  it 
should  be.  It  awakens  little  interest  in 
our  churches.  It  receives  little  aid 
from  them.  The  contributions  to  it 
from  most  of  our  congregations  are 
small,  and  do  little  honor  to  us  as  a 
body  of  Christians.  The  success  of  the 
ministry  thus  far  is  due,  under  Provi- 
dence, not  to  the  zeal  of  the  churches, 
but  to  the  devotion,  the  martyr-spirit  of 
the  men  who  have  been  charged  with  its 
duties.  More  faithful  laborers,  I believe, 
are  not  to  be  found  in  the  ranks  of 
the  ministry  through  Christendom.  Our 
brother,  that  faithful  servant  of  God,  who 
began  this  work,  still  lives  ; but  almost, 
if  not  quite,  worn  down  by  unremitted 
toils,  he  is  waging  a doubtful  conflict 
with  disease  brought  on  him  in  the  pulpit 
and  in  the  hovels  of  the  poor.  How  his 
successor  has  labored  you  need  not  be 
told.  And  now  you  are  to  enter  into  the 
labors  of  these  faithful  men,  and  to  com- 
mend by  like  labors  the  cause  for  which 
they  have  struggled  to  the  honor  and 
confidence  of  our  churches.  Whether 
this  good  work  shall  go  on,  rests  not  a 
little  with  you.  This  I say,  not  to  stim- 
ulate you  to  labors  beyond  your  strength. 
I beseech  you  not  to  waste  in  a few  spas- 
modic efforts  the  strength  and  rueful- 
ness of  years.  I beseech  you  to  regard 
the  care  of  your  health  as  a duty  to 
yourself,  to  us,  and  to  the  poor.  But, 
within  this  limit,  work  with  life,  with 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE . 


99 


courage,  with  strength  of  purpose,  with 
unfaltering  faith  in  God.  My  brother, 
go  forth  to  your  labors  with  the  spirit 
and  power  of  him  who  first  preached 
the  gospel  to  the  poor  ; and  may  you,  in 
fulfilment  of  his  promise,  perform  greater 
works  than  those  outward  miracles 
which  signalized  his  earthly  ministry  ! 


Through  your  teaching,  may  the  spirit- 
ually blind  see  and  the  deaf. hear,  the 
lost  be  found  and  the  dead  raised  ! May 
the  blessing  of  them  that  are  ready  to 
perish  come  upon  you  ! May  the  poor, 
consoled,  strengthened,  sanctified  by 
your  ministry,  be  your  crown  and  joy 
in  the  day  of  the  Lord  ! 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE: 

Delivered  by  request  of  the  Council  of  the  Massachusetts  Tempera7ice 
Society , at  the  Odeon , Boston}  February  28,  183 7,  the  day  appointed 
for  the  simultaneous  Meeting  of  the  Friends  of  Temperance  through- 
out the  World. 


I see  before  me  the  representatives 
of  vafious  societies  for  the  promotion 
of  temperance.  It  is  a good  and  great 
cause,  and  I shall  be  grateful  to  God  if, 
by  the  service  now  allotted  me,  I can 
in  any  degree  encourage  them  in  their 
work,  or  throw  new  light  on  their  path. 
The  present  occasion  may  well  animate 
a Christian  minister.  What  a noble 
testimony  does  this  meeting  bear  to  the 
spirit  and  influences  of  the  Christian 
faith  ! Why  is  this  multitude  brought 
together  ? Not  for  selfish  gratification, 
not  for  any  worldly  end,  but  for  the 
purpose  of  arresting  a great  moral  and 
social  evil,  — of  promoting  the  virtue, 
dignity,  well-being  of  men.  And  whence 
comes  this  sympathy  with  the  fallen,  the 
guilty,  the  miserable  ? Have  we  derived 
it  from  the  schools  of  ancient  philos- 
ophy, or  from  the  temples  of  Greece  and 
Rome  ? No.  We  inherit  it  from  Jesus 
Christ.  We  have  caught  it  from  his 
lips,  his  life,  his  cross.  This  meeting, 
were  we  to  trace  its  origin,  would  carry 
us  back  to  Bethlehem  and  Calvary.  The 
impulse  which  Christ  gave  to  the  human 
soul,  having  endured  for  ages,  is  now 
manifesting  itself  more  and  more  in  new 
and  increasing  efforts  of  philanthropy 
for  the  redemption  of  the  world  from 
even^  form  of  evil.  Within  these  walls 
the  authority  of  Christ  has  sometimes 
been  questioned,  his  character  traduced. 
To  the  blasphemer  of  that  holy  name, 
what  a reply  is  furnished  by  the  crowd 
which  these  walls  now  contain  ! A re- 


ligion, which  thus  brings  and  knits  men 
together  for  the  help,  comfort,  salvation 
of  their  erring,  lost  fellow-creatures, 
bears  on  its  front  a broad,  bright,  un- 
ambiguous stamp  of  Divinity.  Let  us 
be  grateful  that  we  were  born  under  its 
light,  and  more  grateful  still  if  we  have 
been,  in  any  measure,  baptized  into 
its  disinterested  and  divine  love. 

I cannot  hope,  in  the  present  stage  of 
the  temperance  effort,  to  render  any 
important  aid  to  your  cause  by  novelty 
of  suggestion.  Its  friends  have  thor- 
oughly explored  the  ground  over  which 
I am  to  travel.  Still  every  man  who  is 
accustomed  to  think  for  himself,  is  nat- 
urally attracted  to  particular  views  or 
points  in  the  most  familiar  subject  ; and, 
bv  concentrating  his  thoughts  on  these, 
he  sometimes  succeeds  in  giving  them 
a new  prominence,  in  vindicating  their 
just  rank,  and  in  securing  to  them  an 
attention  which  they  may  not  have  re- 
ceived, but  which  is  their  due. 

On  the  subject  of  intemperance,  I 
have  sometimes  thought,  perhaps  with- 
out foundation,  that  its  chief,  essential 
evil  was  not  brought  out  as  thoroughly 
and  frequently  as  its  secondary  evils,  and 
that  there  was  not  a sufficient  conviction 
of  the  depth  of  its  causes  and  of  the  rem- 
edies which  it  demands.  With  these  im- 
pressions, I invite  your  attention  to  the 
following  topics: — the  great  essential 
evil  of  intemperance,  — the  extent  of  its 
temptations,  — its  causes,  — the  means 
of  its  prevention  or  cure. 


IOO 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE. 


I.  I begin  with  asking,  What  is  the 
great,  essential  evil  of  intemperance  ? 
The  reply  is  given  when  I say  that  in- 
temperance is  the  voluntary  extinction 
of  reason.  The  great  evil  is  inward  or 
spiritual.  The  intemperate  man  divests 
himself,  for  a time,  of  his  rational  and 
moral  nature,  casts  from  himself  self- 
consciousness  and  self-command,  brings 
on  frenzy,  and,  by  repetition  of  this  in- 
sanity, prostrates  more  and  more  his 
rational  and  moral  powers.  He  sins  im- 
mediately and  directly  against  the  rational 
nature,  — that  divine  principle  which  dis- 
tinguishes between  truth  and  falsehood, 
between  right  and  wrong  action,  which 
distinguishes  man  from  the  brute.  This 
is  the  essence  of  the  vice,  what  con- 
stitutes its  peculiar  guilt  and  woe,  and 
what  should  particularly  impress  and 
awaken  those  who  are  laboring  for  its 
suppression.  All  the  other  evils  of  in- 
temperance are  light  compared  with  this, 
and  almost  all  flow  from  this  ; and  it  is 
right,  it  is  to  be  desired,  that  all  other 
evils  should  be  joined  with  and  follow 
this.  It  is  to  be  desired,  when  a man 
lifts  a suicidal  arm  against  his  highest 
life,  when  he  quenches  reason  and  con- 
science, that  he  and  all  others  should  re- 
ceive solemn,  startling  warning  of  the 
greatness  of  his  guilt ; that  terrible  out- 
ward calamities  should  bear  witness  to 
the  inward  ruin  which  he  is  working ; 
that  the  handwriting  of  judgment  and 
woe  on  his  countenance,  form,  and  whole 
condition,  should  declare  what  a fearful 
thing  it  is  for  a man,  God’s  rational  off- 
spring, to  renounce  his  reason  and  be- 
come a brute.  It  is  common  for  those 
who  argue  against  intemperance  to  de- 
scribe the  bloated  countenance  of  the 
drunkard,  now  flushed  and  now  deadly 
pale.  They  describe  his  trembling,  pal- 
sied limbs.  They  describe  his  waning 
prosperity,  his  poverty,  his  despair. 
They  describe  his  desolate,  cheerless 
home,  his  cold  hearth,  his  scanty  board, 
his  heart-broken  wife,  the  squalidness  of 
his  children ; and  we  groan  in  spirit 
over  the  sad  recital.  But  it  is  right  that 
all  this  should  be.  It  is  right  that  he 
who,  forewarned,  puts  out  the  lights  of 
understanding  and  conscience  within 
him,  who  abandons  his  rank  among 
God’s  rational  creatures,  and  takes  his 
place  among  brutes,  should  stand  a 
monument  of  wrath  among  his  fellows, 
should  be  a teacher  wherever  he  is  seen, 


— a teacher,  in  every  look  and  motion, 
of  the  awful  guilt  of  destroying  reason. 
Were  we  so  constituted  that  reason 
could  be  extinguished,  and  the  counte- 
nance retain  its  freshness,  the  form  its 
grace,  the  body  its  vigor,  the  outward 
condition  its  prosperity,  and  no  striking 
change  be  seen  in  one’s  home,  so  far 
from  being  gainers,  we  should  lose  some 
testimonies  of  God’s  parental  care.  His 
care  and  goodness,  as  well  as  his  justice, 
are  manifested  in  the  fearful  mark  He 
has  set  on  the  drunkard,  in  the  blight 
which  falls  on  all  the  drunkard’s  joys. 
These  outward  evils,  dreadful  as  they 
seem,  are  but  faint  types  of  the  ruin 
within.  We  should  see  in  them  God’s 
respect  to  his  own  image  in  the  soul,  his 
parental  warnings  against  the  crime  of 
quenching  the  intellectual  and  moral  life. 

We  are  too  apt  to  fix  our  thoughts  on 
the  consequences  or  punishments  of 
crime,  and  to  overlook  the  crime  itself. 
This  is  not  turning  punishment  'to  its 
highest  use.  Punishment  is  an  outward 
sign  of  inward  evil.  It  is  meant  to  reveal 
something  more  terrible  than  itself.  The 
greatness  of  punishment  is  a mode  of 
embodying,  making  visible,  the  magni- 
tude of  the  crime  to  which  it  is  attached. 
The  miseries  of  intemperance,  its  loath- 
someness, ghastliness,  and  pains,  are  not 
seen  aright,  if  they  do  not  represent  to 
us  the  more  fearful  desolation  wrought 
by  this  sin  in  the  soul. 

Among  the  evils  of  intemperance, 
much  importance  is  given  to  the  poverty 
of  which  it  is  the  cayse.  But  this  evil, 
great  as  it  is,  is  yet  light  in  comparison 
with  the  essential  evil  of  intemperance, 
which  I am  so  anxious  to  place  distinctly 
before  you.  What  matters  it  that  a man 
be  poor,  if  he  carry  into  his  poverty  the 
spirit,  energy,  reason,  and  virtues  of  a 
man  ! What  matters  it  that  a man  must, 
for  a few  years,  live  on  bread  and  water  ! 
How  many  of  the  richest  are  reduced  by 
disease  to  a worse  condition  than  this  ! 
Honest,  virtuous,  noble-minded  poverty 
is  a comparatively  light  evil.  The  ancient 
philosopher  chose  it  as  the  condition  of 
virtue.  It  has  been  the  lot  of  many  a 
Christian.  The  poverty  of  the  intem- 
perate man  owes  its  great  misery  to  its 
cause.  He  who  makes  himself  a beggar, 
by  having  made  himself  a brute,  is  mis- 
erable indeed.  He  who  has  no  solace, 
who  has  only  agonizing  recollections  and 
harrowing  remorse,  as  he  looks  on  his 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE, . 


IOI 


cold  hearth,  his  scanty  table,  his  ragged 
children,  has  indeed  to  bear  a crushing 
weight  of  woe.  That  he  suffers,  is  a 
light  thing.  That  he  has  brought  on 
himself  this  suffering  by  the  voluntary 
extinction  of  his  reason,  this  is  the  ter- 
rible thought,  the  intolerable  curse. 

We  are  told  that  we  must  keep  this  or 
that  man  from  drunkenness,  to  save  him 
from  “ coming  on  the  town,”  from  being 
a burden  to  the  city.  The  motive  is  not 
to  be  overlooked  ; but  I cannot  keep  my 
thoughts  fixed  for  a moment  on  the  few 
hundred  or  thousand  dollars  which  the 
intemperate  cost.  When  I go  to  the 
poor-house,  and  see  the  degradation, 
the  spiritual  weakness,  the  abjectness, 
the  half-idiot  imbecility  written  on  the 
drunkard’s  countenance,  I see  a ruin 
which  makes  the  cost  of  his  support  a 
grain  of  dust  in  the  scale.  I am  not 
sorry  that  society  is  taxed  for  the  drunk- 
ard. I would  it  were  taxed  more.  I 
would  the  burden  of  sustaining  him  were 
so  heavy,  that  we  should  be  compelled  to 
wake  up,  and  ask  how  he  may  be  saved 
from  ruin.  It  is  intended,  wisely  in- 
tended by  God,  that  sin  shall  spread  its 
miseries  beyond  itself,  that  no  human 
being  shall  suffer  alone,  that  the  man 
who  falls  shall  draw  others  with  him,  if 
not  into  his  guilt,  at  least  into  a portion 
of  his  woe.  If  one  member  of  the  social 
body  suffer,  others  must  suffer  too  ; and 
this  is  well.  This  is  one  of  the  depend- 
encies by  which  we  become  interested 
in  one  another’s  moral  safety,  and  are 
summoned  to  labor  for  the  rescue  of  the 
fallen. 

Intemperance  is  to  be  pitied  and  ab- 
horred for  its  own  sake  much  more  than 
for  its  outward  consequences.  These 
consequences  owe  their  chief  bitterness 
to  their  criminal  source.  We  speak  of 
the  miseries  which  the  drunkard  carries 
into  his  family.  But  take  away  his  own 
brutality,  and  how  lightened  would  be 
these  miseries  1 We  talk  of  his  wife  and 
children  in  rags.  Let  the  rags  continue  ; 
but  suppose  them  to  be  the  effects  of  an 
innocent  cause.  Suppose  the  drunkard 
to  have  been  a virtuous  husband  and  an 
affectionate  father,  and  that  sickness, 
not  vice,  has  brought  his  family  thus 
low.  Suppose  his  wife  and  children 
bound  to  him  by  a strong  love,  which  a 
life  of  labor  for  their  support  and  of  un- 
wearied kindness  has  awakened ; sup- 
pose them  to  know  that  his  toils  for 


their  welfare  had  broken  down  his  frame  ; 
suppose  him  able  to  say,  “We  are  poor 
in  this  world’s  goods,  but  rich  in  affec- 
tion and  religious  trust.  I am  going 
from  you  ; but  I leave  you  to  the  Father 
of  the  fatherless  and  to  the  widow’s 
God.”  Suppose  this,  and  how  changed 
these  rags ! How  changed  the  cold, 
naked  room  ! The  heart’s  warmth  can 
do  much  to  withstand  the  winter’s  cold  ; 
and  there  is  hope,  there  is  honor,  in  this 
virtuous  indigence.  What  breaks  the 
heart  of  the  drunkard’s -wife  ? It  is  not 
that  he  is  poor,  but  that  he  is  a drunkard. 
Instead  of  that  bloated  face,  now  dis- 
torted with  passion,  now  robbed  of  every 
gleam  of  intelligence,  if  the  wife  could 
look  on  an  affectionate  countenance, 
which  had  for  years  been  the  interpreter 
of  a well-principled  mind  and  faithful 
heart,  what  an  overwhelming  load  would 
be  lifted  from  her ! It  is  a husband 
whose  touch  is  polluting,  whose  infirm- 
ities are  the  witnesses  of  his  guilt,  who 
has  blighted  all  her  hopes,  who  has 
proved  false  to  the  vow  which  made  her 
his  ; it  is  such  a husband  who  makes 
home  a hell,  not  one  whom  toil  and  dis- 
ease and  providence  have  cast  on  the 
care  of  wife  and  children. 

We  look  too  much  at  the  conse- 
quences of  vice,  too  little  at  the  vice 
itself.  It  is  vice  which  is  the  chief 
weight  of  what  we  call  its  consequence, 
— vice  which  is  the  bitterness  in  the 
cup  of  human  woe. 

II.  I proceed  now  to  offer  some  re- 
marks on  the  extent  of  temptations  to 
this  vice.  And  on  this  point  I shall 
not  avail  myself  of  the  statistics  of 
intemperance.  I shall  not  attempt  to 
number  its  victims.  I wish  to  awaken 
universal  vigilance,  by  shewing  that 
ther  temptations  to  this  excess  are 
spread  through  all  classes  of  society. 
We  are  apt  to  speak  as  if  the  laborious, 
uneducated,  unimproved,  were  alone  in 
danger,  and  as  if  we  ourselves  had  no 
interest  in  this  cause,  except  as  others 
are  concerned.  But  it  is  not  so  ; mul- 
titudes in  all  classes  are  in  danger.  In 
truth,  when  we  recall  the  sad  histories 
of  not  a few  in  every  circle,  who  once 
stood  among  the  firmest  and  then 
yielded  to  temptation,  we  are  taught 
that  none  of  us  should  dismiss  fear,  — 
that  we  too  may  be  walking  on  the  edge 
of  the  abyss.  The  young  are  exposed 
to  intemperance,  for  youth  wants  fore- 


102 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE . 


thought,  loves  excitement,  is  apt  to 
place  happiness  in  gayety,  is  prone  to 
convivial  pleasure,  and  too  often  finds 
or  makes  this  the  path  to  hell  ; nor  are 
the  old  secure,  for  age  unnerves  the 
mind  as  well  as  the  body,  and  silently 
steals  away  the  power  of  self-control. 
The  idle  are  in  scarcely  less  peril  than 
the  over-worked  laborer ; for  uneasy 
cravings  spring  up  in  the  vacant  mind, 
and  the  excitement  of  intoxicating 
draughts  is  greedily  sought  as  an  es- 
cape from  the  intolerable  weariness  of 
having  nothing  to  do.  Men  of  a coarse, 
unrefined  character  fall  easily  into  in- 
temperance, because  they  see  little  in 
its  brutality  to  disgust  them.  It  is  a 
sadder  thought  that  men  of  genius 
and  sensibility  are  hardly  less  exposed. 
Strong  action  of  the  mind  is  even  more 
exhausting  than  the  toil  of  the  hands. 
It  uses  up,  if  I may  so  say,  the  finer 
spirits,  and  leaves  either  a sinking  of 
the  system  which  craves  for  tonics,  or 
a restlessness  which  seeks  relief  in 
deceitful  sedatives.  Besides,  it  is  nat- 
ural for  minds  of  great  energy  to  hun- 
ger for  strong  excitement  ; and  this, 
when  not  found  in  innocent  occupation 
and  amusement,  is  too  often  sought  in 
criminal  indulgence.  These  remarks 
apply  peculiarly  to  men  whose  genius 
is  poetical,  imaginative,  allied  with, 
and  quickened  by,  peculiar  sensibility. 
Such  men,  living  in  worlds  of  their  own 
creation,  kindling  themselves  with  ideal 
beauty  and  joy,  and  too  often  losing 
themselves  in  reveries,  in  which  imag- 
ination ministers  to  appetite,  and  the 
sensual  triumphs  over  the  spiritual  nat- 
ure, are  peculiarly  in  danger  of  losing 
the  balance  of  the  mind,  of  losing  calm 
thought,  clear  judgment,  and  moral 
strength  of  will,  become  children  of 
impulse,  learn  to  despise  simple  and 
common  pleasures,  and  are  hurried  to 
ruin  by  a feverish  thirst  of  high-wrought, 
delirious  gratification.  In  such  men’ 
these  mental  causes  of  excess  are  often 
aggravated  by  peculiar  irritableness  of 
the  nervous  system.  Hence  the  rec- 
ords of  literature  are  so  sad.  Hence 
the  brightest  lights  of  the  intellectual 
world  have  so  often  undergone  disas- 
trous eclipse  ; and  the  inspired  voice 
of  genius,  so  thrilling,  so  exalting,  has 
died  away  in  the  brutal  or  idiot  cries 
of  intemperance.  I have  now  been 
speaking  of  the  highest  order  of  intel- 


lectual men  ; but  it  may  be  said  of  men 
of  education  in  general,  that  they  must 
not  feel  themselves  beyond  peril.  It 
is  said  that  as  large  a proportion  of 
intemperate  men  can  be  found  among 
those  who  have  gone  through  our  col- 
leges as  among  an  equal  number  of 
men  in  the  same  sphere  of  life  who 
have  not  enjoyed  the  same  culture.  It 
must  not,  however,  be  inferred  that  the 
cultivation  of  the  intellect  affords  no 
moral  aids.  The  truth  is,  that  its  good 
tendencies  are  thwarted.  Educated  men 
fall  victims  to  temptation  as  often  as 
other  men,  not  because  education  is 
inoperative,  but  because  our  public 
seminaries  give  a partial  training,  being 
directed  almost  wholly  to  the  develop- 
ment of  the  intellect,  and  very  little  to 
moral  culture,  and  still  less  to  the 
invigoration  of  the  physical  system. 
Another  cause  of  the  evil  is  probably 
this,  that  young  men,  liberally  educated, 
enter  on  professions  which  give  at  first 
little  or  no  occupation,  which  expose 
them,  perhaps  for  years,  to  the  tempta- 
tions of  leisure,  the  most  perilous  in  an 
age  of  inexperience  and  passion.  Ac- 
cordingly, the  ranks  of  intemperance 
are  recruited  from  that  class  which 
forms  the  chief  hope  of  society.  And 
I would  I could  stop  here.  But  there 
is  another  prey  on  which  intemperance 
seizes,  still  more  to  be  deplored,  and 
that  is  woman.  I know  no  sight  on 
earth  more  sad  than  woman’s  counte- 
nance, which  once  knew  no  suffusion 
but  the  glow  of  exquisite  feeling,  or 
the  blush  of  hallowed  modesty,  crim- 
soned, deformed  by  intemperance.  Even 
woman  is  not  safe.  The  delicacy  of 
her  physical  organization  exposes  her 
to  inequalities  of  feeling  which  tempt 
to  the  seductive  relief  given  by  cor- 
dials. Man  with  his  iron  nerves  lit- 
tle knows  what  the  sensitive  frame  of 
woman  suffers,  how  many  desponding 
imaginations  throng  on  her  in  her  sol- 
itudes, how  often  she  is  exhausted  by 
unremitting  cares,  and  how  much  the 
power  of  self-control  is  impaired  by 
repeated  derangements  of  her  frail  sys- 
tem. The  truth  should  be  told.  In 
all  our  families,  no  matter  what  their 
condition,  there  are  endangered  indi- 
viduals, and  fear  and  watchfulness  in 
regard  to  intemperance  belong  to  all. 

Do  not  say  that  I exaggerate  your 
exposure  to  intemperance.  Let  no  man 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE. 


103 


say,  when  he  thinks  of  the  drunkard, 
broken  in  health  and  spoiled  of  intel- 
lect, “ I can  never  so  fall.”  He  thought 
as  little  of  falling  in  his  earlier  years. 
The  promise  of  his  youth  was  as  bright 
as  yours  ; and  even  after  he  began  his 
downward  course  he  was  as  unsus- 
picious as  the  firmest  around  him,  and 
would  have  repelled  as  indignantly  the 
admonition  to  beware  of  intemperance. 
The  danger  of  this  vice  lies  in  its  almost 
imperceptible  approach.  Few  who  per- 
ish by  it  know  its  first  accesses.  Youth 
does  not  see  or  suspect  drunkenness 
in  the  sparkling  beverage  which  quick- 
ens all  its  susceptibilities  of  joy.  The 
invalid  does  not  see  it  in  the  cordial 
which  his  physician  prescribes,  and 
which  gives  new  tone  to  his  debilitated 
organs.  The  man  of  thought  and  gen- 
ius detects  no  palsying  poison  in  the 
draught  which  seems  a spring  of  inspi- 
ration to  intellect  and  imagination.  The 
lover  of  social  pleasure  little  dreams 
that  the  glass  which  animates  conver- 
sation will  ever  be  drunk  in  solitude, 
and  will  sink  him  too  low  for  the  inter- 
course in  which  he  now  delights.  In- 
temperance comes  with  noiseless  step, 
and  binds  its  first  cords  with  a touch  too 
light  to  be  felt.  This  truth  of  mournful 
experience  should  be  treasured  up  by 
us  all,  and  should  influence  the  habits 
and  arrangements  of  domestic  and  so- 
cial life  in  every  class  of  the  commu- 
nity. 

Such  is  the  extent  of  the  temptations 
of  this  vice.  It  is  true,  however,  that 
whilst  its  ravages  may  be  traced  through 
all  conditions,  they  are  chiefly  to  be 
found  in  the  poorer  and  laboring  por- 
tions of  society.  Here  its  crimes  and 
woes  swell  to  an  amount  which  startles 
and  appals  us.  Here  the  evil  is  to  be 
chiefly  withstood.  I shall,  therefore, 
in  my  following  remarks,  confine  my- 
self very  much  to  the  causes  and  rem- 
edies of  intemperance  in  this  class  of 
the  community. 

II I.  Among  the  causes  of  intemper- 
ance in  the  class  of  which  I have  spo- 
ken, not  a few  are  to  be  found  in  the 
present  state  of  society,  which  every 
man  does  something  to  confirm/  and 
which  brings  to  most  of  us  many  priv- 
ileges. On  these  I shall  now  insist, 
because  they  show  our  obligation  to  do 
what  we  can  to  remove  the  evil.  It  is 
just  that  they  who  receive  good  should 


aid  those  who  receive  harm  from  our 
present  social  organization.  Undoubt- 
edly, the  primary  cause  of  intemper- 
ance is  in  the  intemperate  themselves, 
in  their  moral  weakness  and  irresolu- 
tion, in  the  voluntary  surrender  of 
themselves  to  temptation.  Still,  so- 
ciety, by  increasing  temptation  and 
diminishing  men’s  power  to  resist, 
becomes  responsible  for  all  wide-spread 
vices,  and  is  bound  to  put  forth  all  its 
energy  for  their  suppression.  This 
leads  me  to  consider  some  of  the  causes 
of  intemperance  which  have  their  foun- 
dation in  our  social  state. 

One  cause  of  the  commonness  of 
intemperance  in  the  present  state  of 
things  is  the  heavy  burden  of  care  and 
toil  which  is  laid  on  a large  multitude 
of  men.  Multitudes,  to  earn  subsist- 
ence for  themselves  and  their  families, 
are  often  compelled  to  undergo  a degree 
of  labor  exhausting  to  the  spirits  and 
injurious  to  health.  Of  consequence, 
relief  is  sought  in  stimulants.  We  do 
not  find  that  civilization  lightens  men's 
toils  ; as  yet  it  has  increased  them  ; 
and  in  this  effect  I see  the  sign  of  a 
deep  defect  in  what  we  call  the  prog- 
ress of  society.  It  cannot  be  the  de- 
sign of  the  Creator  that  the  whole  of 
life  should  be  spent  in  drudgery  for  the 
supply  of  animal  wants.  That  civiliza- 
tion is  very  imperfect  in  which  the  mass 
of  men  can  redeem  no  time  from  bod- 
ily labor  for  intellectual,  moral,  and 
social  culture.  It  is  melancholy  to 
witness  the  degradation  of  multitudes 
to  the  'condition  of  beasts  of  burden. 
Exhausting  toils  unfit  the  mind  to  with- 
stand temptation.  The  man,  spent  with 
labor,  and  cut  off  by  his  condition  from 
higher  pleasures,  is  impelled  to  seek  a 
deceitful  solace  in  sensual  excess.  How 
the  condition  of  society  shall  be  so 
changed  as  to  prevent  excessive  pres- 
sure on  any  class,  is  undoubtedly  a 
hard  question.  One  thing  seems  plain, 
that  there  is  no  tendency  in  our  pres- 
ent institutions  and  habits  to  bring  re- 
lief. On  the  contrary,  rich  and  poor 
seem  to  be  more  and  more  oppressed 
with  incessant  toil,  exhausting  fore- 
thought, anxious  struggles,  feverish 
competitions.  Some  look  to  legislation 
to  lighten  the  burden  of  the  laboring 
class.  But  equal  laws  and  civil  liberty 
have  no  power  to  remove  the  shocking 
contrast  of  condition  which  all  civilized 


104 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE . 


communities  present.  Inward,  spirit- 
ual improvement,  I believe,  is  the  only 
sure  remedy  for  social  evils.  What  we 
need  is  a new  diffusion  of  Christian, 
fraternal  love,  to  stir  up  the  powerful 
and  prosperous  to  succor  liberally  and 
encourage  the  unfortunate  or  weak,  and 
a new  diffusion  of  intellectual  and  moral 
force  to  make  the  multitude  efficient 
for  their  own  support,  to  form  them  to 
self-control,  and  to  breathe  a spirit  of 
independence  which  will  scorn  to  ask 
or  receive  unnecessary  relief. 

Another  cause,  intimately  connected 
with  the  last,  is  the  intellectual  depres- 
sion and  the  ignorance  to  which  many 
are  subjected.  They  who  toil  from 
morning  to  night,  without  seasons  of 
thought  and  mental  improvement,  are 
of  course  exceedingly  narrowed  in  their 
faculties,  views,  and  sources  of  grat- 
ification. The  present  moment,  and 
the  body,  engross  their  thoughts.  The 
pleasures  of  intellect,  of  imagination, 
of  taste,  of  reading,  of  cultivated  so- 
ciety, are  almost  entirely  denied  them. 
What  pleasures  but  those  of  the  senses 
remain  ? Unused  to  reflection  and 
forethought,  how  dim  must  be  their 
perceptions  of  religion  and  duty,  and 
how  little  fitted  are  they  to  cope  with 
temptation  ! Undoubtedly  in  this  coun- 
try this  cause  of  intemperance  is  less 
operative  than  in  others.  There  is  less 
brutal  ignorance  here  than  elsewhere  ; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  facilities  of 
excess  are  incomparably  greater,  so 
that  for  the  uneducated  the  temptation 
to  vice  may  be  stronger  in  this  'than  in 
less  enlightened  lands.  Our  outward 
prosperity,  unaccompanied  with  pro- 
portionate moral  and  mental  improve- 
ment, becomes  a mighty  impulse  to 
intemperance,  ¥ and  this  impulse  the 
prosperous  are  bound  to  withstand. 

I proceed  to  another  cause  of  intem- 
perance among  the  poor  and  laboring 
classes,  and  that  is  the  general  sensu- 
ality and  earthliness  of  the  community. 
There  is,  indeed,  much  virtue,  much 
spirituality,  in  the  prosperous  classes, 
but  it  is  generally  unseen.  There  is  a 
vastly  greater  amount  in  these  classes 
of  worldliness,  of  devotion  to  the  senses, 
and  this  stands  out  in  bold  relief.  The 
majority  live  unduly  for  the  body. 
Where  there  is  little  intemperance, 
in  the  common  acceptation  of  that 
term,  there  is  yet  a great  amount  of 


excess.  Thousands,  who  are  never 
drunk,  place  their  chief  happiness  in 
pleasures  of  the  table.  How  much  of 
the  intellect  of  this  community  is  pal- 
sied, how  much  of  the  expression  of 
the  countenance  blotted  out,  how  much 
of  the  spirit  buried,  through  unwise 
indulgence  ! What  is  the  great  lesson 
which  the  more  prosperous  classes 
teach  to  the  poorer?  Not  self-denial, 
not  spirituality,  not  the  great  Christian 
truth  that  human  happiness  lies  in  the 
triumphs  of  the  mind  over  the  body, 
in  inward  force  and  life.  The  poorer 
are  taught  by  the  richer  that  the  great- 
est good  is  ease,  indulgence.  The 
voice  which  descends  from  the  pros- 
perous contradicts  the  lessons  of  Christ 
and  of  sound  philosophy.  It  is  the 
sensuality,  the  earthliness  of  those  who 
give  the  tone  to  public  sentiment,  which 
is  chargeable  with  a vast  amount  of  the 
intemperance  of  the  poor.  How  is  the 
poor  man  to  resist  intemperance  ? Only 
by  a moral  force,  an  energy  of  will,  a 
principle  of  self-denial  in  his  soul.  And 
where  is  this  taught  him  ? Does  a 
higher  morality  come  to  him  from  those 
whose  condition  makes  them  his  supe- 
riors ? The  great  inquiry  which  he  hears 
among  the  better  educated  is,  What 
shall  we  eat  and  drink,  and  wherewithal 
shall  we  be  clothed  ? Unceasing  strug- 
gles for  outward,  earthly,  sensual  good, 
constitute  the  chief  activity  which  he 
sees  around  him.  To  suppose  that  the 
poorer  classes  should  receive  lessons 
of  luxury  and  self-indulgence  from  the 
more  prosperous,  and  should  yet  resist 
the  most  urgent  temptations  to  excess, 
is  to  expect  from  them  a moral  force  in 
which  we  feel  ourselves  to  be  sadly 
wanting.  In  their  hard  conflicts,  how 
little  of  life-giving  truth,  of  elevating 
thought,  of  heavenly  aspiration,  do  they 
receive  from  those  above  them  in  worldly 
condition  ! 

Another  cause  of  intemperance  is  the 
want  of  self-respect  which  the  present 
state  of  society  induces  among  the  poor 
and  laborious.  Just  as  far  as  wealth  is 
the  object  of  worship,  the  measure  of 
men’s  importance,  the  badge  of  distinc- 
tion, so  far  there  wttl  be  a tendency 
to  self-contempt  and  self-abandonment 
among  those  whose  lot  gives  them  no 
chance  of  its  acquisition.  Such  naturally 
feel  as  if  the  great  good  of  life  were  de- 
nied them.  They  see  themselves  neg- 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE . 


lected.  Their  condition  cuts  them  off 
from  communication  with  the  improved. 
They  think  they  have  little  stake  in  the 
general  weal.  They  do  not  feel  as  if 
they  had  a character  to  lose.  Nothing 
reminds  them  of  the  greatness  of  their 
nature.  Nothing  teaches  them  that  in 
their  obscure  lot  they  may  secure  the 
highest  good  on  earth.  Catching  from 
the  general  tone  of  society  the  ruinous 
notion  that  wealth  is  honor  as  well  as 
happiness,  they  see  in  their  narrow  lot 
nothing  to  inspire  self-respect.  In  this 
delusion  they  are  not  more  degraded 
than  the  prosperous  ; they  but  echo  the 
voice  of  society ; but  to  them  the  de- 
lusion brings  a deeper,  immediate  ruin. 
By  sinking  them  in  their  own  eyes  it  robs 
them  of  a powerful  protection  against 
low  vices.  It  prepares  them  for  coarse 
manners,  for  gross  pleasures,  for  descent 
to  brutal  degradation.  Of  all  classes  of 
society,  the  poor  should  be  treated  with 
peculiar  deference,  as  the  means  of 
counteracting  their  chief  peril,  — I mean, 
the  loss  of  self-respect.  But  to  all  their 
other  evil  is  added  peculiar  neglect.  Can 
we  then  wonder  that  they  fall  ? 

I might  name  other  causes  in  our  so- 
cial constitution  favoring  intemperance  ; 
but  I must  pass  them,  and  will  suggest 
one  characteristic  of  our  times  which  in- 
creases all  the  tendencies  to  this  vice. 
Our  times  are  distinguished  by  what  is 
called  a love  of  excitement ; in  other 
words,  by  a love  of  strong  stimulants. 
To  be  stimulated,  excited,  is  the  univer- 
sal want.  The  calmness,  sobriety,  plod- 
ding industry  of  our  fathers,  have  been 
succeeded  by  a feverish  restlessness. 
The  books  that  are  read  are  not  the 
great,  standard,  immortal  works  of  gen- 
ius, which  require  calm  thought,  and  in- 
spire deep  feeling  ; but  ephemeral  works, 
which  are  run  through  with  a railroad 
rapidity,  and  which  give  a pleasure  not 
unlike  that  produced  by  exhilarating 
draughts.  Business  is  become  a race, 
and  is  hurried  on  by  the  excitement  of 
great  risks,  and  the  hope  of  great  profits. 
Even  religion  partakes  the  general  rest- 
lessness. In  some  places,  extravagant 
measures,  which  storm  the  nervous  sys- 
tem, and  drive  the  more  sensitive  to  the 
borders  of  insanity,  are  resorted  to  for 
its  promotion.  Everywhere  people  go 
to  church  to  be  excited  rather  than  im- 
proved. This  thirst  for  stimulants  can- 
not be  shut  up  in  certain  spheres.  It 


I05 

spreads  through  and  characterizes  the 
community.  It  pervades  those  classes 
who,  unhappily,  can  afford  themselves 
but  one  strong  stimulus,  intoxicating 
liquor;  and  among  these  the  spirit  of 
the  age  breaks  out  in  intemperance. 

IV.  I have  now  set  before  you  some 
of  the  causes  of  intemperance  in  our  pres- 
ent social  state  ; and  this  I have  done 
that  you  may  feel  that  society,  in  all  its 
ranks,  especially  in  the  highest,  is  bound 
in  justice  to  resist  the  evil ; and  not  only 
justice,  but  benevolence  pleads  with  us 
to  spare  no  efforts  for  its  prevention  or 
cure.  The  thought  that  in  the  bosom 
of  our  society  are  multitudes  standing 
on  the  brink  of  perdition,  multitudes  who 
are  strongly  tempted  to  debase  and  de- 
stroy their  rational  nature,  to  sink  into 
brutal  excess,  to  seal  their  ruin  in  this 
world  and  in  the  world  to  come,  ought 
to  weigh  on  us  as  a burden,  ought  to  in- 
spire deeper  concern  than  the  visitation 
of  pestilence,  ought  to  rouse  every  man 
who  has  escaped  this  degradation  to  do 
what  he  may  to  rescue  the  fallen,  and, 
still  more,  to  save  the  falling. 

The  question  now  comes,  How  shall 
we  arrest,  how  suppress,  this  great  evil  ? 
Such  is  our  last  inquiry,  and  to  this  I 
answer,  there  are  two  modes  of  action. 
To  rescue  men,  we  must  act  on  them 
inwardly  or  outwardly.  We  must  either 
give  them  strength  within  to  withstand 
the  temptations  to  intemperance,  or  we 
must  remove  these  temptations  without. 
We  must  increase  the  power  of  resist- 
ance, or  diminish  the  pressure  which  is 
to  be  resisted.  Both  modes  of  influence 
are  useful,  but  the  first  incalculably  the 
most  important.  No  man  is  safe  against 
this  foe  but  he  who  is  armed  with  moral 
force,  with  strength  in  his  own  soul, 
with  the  might  of  principle,  and  a virtu- 
ous will.  The  great  means,  then,  of  re- 
pressing intemperance  in  those  portions, 
of  society  which  are  most  exposed  to  it, 
is  to  communicate  to  them,  or  awaken 
in  them,  moral  strength,  the  power  of 
self-denial,  a nobler  and  more  vigorous 
action  of  conscience  and  religious  prin- 
ciple. In  other  words,  to  save  the  labor- 
ing and  poor  from  intemperance,  we 
must  set  in  action  amongst  them  the 
means  of  intellectual,  moral,  and  relig- 
ious improvement.  We  must  strive  to 
elevate  them  as  rational  and  moral  be- 
ings, to  unfold  their  highest  nature.  'It 
1 is  idle  to  think  that,  whilst  these  classes 


io6 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE. 


remain  the  same  in  other  respects,  they 
can  be  cured  of  intemperance.  Intem- 
perance does  not  stand  alone  in  their 
condition  and  character.  It  is  a part  or 
sign  of  general  degradation.  It  can  only 
be  effectually  removed  by  exalting  their 
whole  character  and  condition.  To  heal 
a diseased  limb  or  organ,  you  must  re- 
lieve and  strengthen  the  whole  body. 
So  it  is  with  the  mind.  We  cannot,  if 
we  would,  remove  those  vices  from  the 
poor  which  are  annoying  to  ourselves, 
and  leave  them,  in  other  respects,  as 
corrupt  as  before.  Nothing  but  a gen- 
eral improvement  of  their  nature  can 
fortify  them  against  the  crimes  which 
make  them  scourges  alike  to  themselves 
and  to  their  race. 

And  how  may  moral  strength,  force 
of  principle,  be  communicated  to  the 
less  prosperous  classes  of  society  ? I 
answer,  first,  the  surest  means  is  to  in- 
crease it  among  the  more  favored.  All 
classes  of  a community  have  connections, 
sympathies.  Let  selfishness  and  sen- 
suality reign  among  the  prosperous  and 
educated,  and  the  poor  and  uneducated 
will  reflect  these  vices  in  grosser  forms. 
That  man  is  the  best  friend  to  temper- 
ance, among  high  and  low,  whose  char- 
acter and  life  express  clearly  and  strongly 
moral  energy,  self-denial,  superiority  to 
the  body,  superiority  to  wealth,  elevation 
of  sentiment  and  principle.  The  greatest 
benefactor  to  society  is  not  he  who  serves 
it  by  single  acts,  but  whose  general  char- 
acter is  the  manifestation  of  a higher 
life  and  spirit  than  pervades  the  mass. 
Such  men  are  the  salt  of  the  earth.  The 
might  of  individual  virtue  surpasses  all 
other  powers.  The  multiplication  of 
individuals  of  true  force  and  dignity  of 
mind  would  be  the  surest  of  all  omens 
of  the  suppression  of  intemperance  in 
every  condition  of  society. 

• Another  means  is,  the  cultivation  of  a 
more  fraternal  intercourse  than  now  ex- 
ists between  the  more  and  less  improved 
portions  of  the  community.  Our  pres- 
ent social  barriers  and  distinctions,  in 
so  far  as  they  restrict  sympathy,  and 
substitute  the  spirit  of  caste,  the  bigotry 
of  rank,  for  the  spirit  of  humanity,  for 
reverence  of  our  common  nature,  ought 
to  be  reprobated  as  gross  violations 
of  the  Christian  law.  Those  classes 
of  society  which  have  light,  strength, 
and  virtue,  are  bound  to  communicate 
these  to  such  as  want  them.  The 


weak,  ignorant,  falling  and  fallen,  ought 
not  to  be  cut  off  from  their  more  favor- 
ed brethren,  ought  not  to  be  left  to  act 
continually  and  exclusively  on  one  an- 
other, and  thus  to  propagate  their 
crimes  and  woes  without  end.  The 
good  should  form  a holy  conspiracy 
against  evil,  should  assail  it  by  separate 
and  joint  exertion,  should  approach  it, 
study  it,  weep  and  pray  over  it,  and 
throw  all  their  souls  into  efforts  for  its 
removal.  My  friends,  you  whom  God 
has  prospered,  whom  He  has  enlight- 
ened, in  whose  hearts  He  has  awakened 
a reverence  for  Himself,  what  are  you 
doing  for  the  fallen,  the  falling,  the  mis- 
erable of  your  race  ? When  an  improved 
Christian  thinks  of  the  mass  of  unpit- 
ied, unfriended  guilt  in  this  city,  must 
he  not  be  shocked  at  the  hardness  of 
all  our  hearts  ? Are  we  not  all  of  one 
blood,  one  nature,  one  heavenly  de- 
scent ; and  are  outward  distinctions, 
which  to-morrow  are  to  be  buried  for 
ever  in  the  tomb,  to  divide  us  from 
one  another,  to  cut  off  the  communi- 
cations of  brotherly  sympathy  and  aid  ? 
In  a Christian  community,  not  one 
human  being  should  be  left  to  fall, 
without  counsel,  remonstrance,  sym- 
pathy, encouragement,  from  others  more 
enlightened  and  virtuous  than  himself. 
Say  not  this  cannot  be  done.  I know  it 
cannot  be  done  without  great  changes 
in  our  habits,  views,  feelings  ; but  these 
changes  must  be  made.  A new  bond 
must  unite  the  scattered  portions  of 
men.  A new  sense  of  responsibility 
must  stir  up  the  enlightened,  the  pros- 
perous, the  virtuous.  Christianity  de- 
mands this.  The  progress  of  society 
demands  it.  I see  blessed  omens  of 
this,  and  they  are  among  the  brightest 
features  of  our  times. 

Again,  to  elevate  and  strengthen  the 
more  exposed  classes  of  society,  it  is 
indispensable  that  a higher  education 
should  be  afforded  them.  We  boast  of 
the  means  of  education  afforded  to  the 
poorest  here.  It  may  be  said  with  truth, 
in  regard  to  both  rich  and  poor,  that 
these  means  are  very  deficient.  As  to 
moral  education,  hardly  any  provisions 
are  made  for  it  in  our  public  schools. 
To  educate  is  something  more  than  to 
teach  those  elements  of  knowledge 
which  are  needed  to  get  a subsistence. 
It  is  to  exercise  and  call  out  the  higher 
faculties  and  affections  of  a human 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE . 


10/ 


being.  Education  is  not  the  authori- 
tative, compulsory,  mechanical  training 
of  passive  pupils,  but  the  influence  of 
gifted  and  quickening  minds  on  the 
spirits  of  the  young.  Such  education 
is,  as  yet,  sparingly  enjoyed,  and  can- 
not be  too  fervently  desired.  Of  what 
use,  let  me  ask,  is  the  wealth  of  this 
community,  but  to  train  up  a better 
generation  than  ourselves  ? Of  what 
use,  I ask,  is  freedom,  except  to  call 
forth  the  best  powers  of  all  classes  and 
of  every  individual  ? What,  but  human 
improvement,  is  the  great  end  of  society  ? 
Why  ought  we  to  sustain  so  anxiously 
republican  institutions,  if  they  do  not 
tend  to  form  a nobler  race  of  men,  and 
to  spread  nobleness  through  all  condi- 
tions of  social  life  ? It  is  a melancholy 
and  prevalent  error  among  us,  that  per- 
sons in  the  laboring  classes  are  denied 
by  their  conditions  any  considerable 
intellectual  improvement.  They  must 
live,  it  is  thought,  to  work,  not  to  fulfil 
the  great  end  of  a human  being,  which 
is  to  unfold  his  divinest  powers  and 
affections.  But  it  is  not  so.  The  poor- 
est child  might  and  ought  to  have  liberal 
means  of  self-improvement  ; and  were 
there  a true  reverence  among  us  for 
human  nature  and  for  Christianity,  he 
would  find  them.  In  a letter  recently 
received  from  a most  intelligent  travel- 
ler in  Germany,  I am  informed  that  in 
certain  parts  of  that  country  there  is 
found,  in  the  most  depressed  classes,  a 
degree  of  intellectual  culture  not  gen- 
erally supposed  to  consist  with  their 
lot ; that  a sense  of  the  beautiful  in 
nature  and  art  produces  much  happiness 
in  a portion  of  society  which  among  us 
is  thought  to  be  disqualified  for  this  in- 
nocent and  elevated  pleasure ; that  the 
teaching  in  Sunday-schools  is  in  some 
places  more  various  than  here,  and 
that  a collection  of  books  and  a de- 
gree of  scientific  knowledge  may  be 
met  in  cottages  far  inferior  to  the  dwell- 
ings of  our  husbandmen.  “ In  short,” 
my  friend  adds,  “ I have  seen  abundant 
proof  that  intellectual  culture,  as  found 
here,  spreads  its  light  and  comfort 
through  a class  that  hardly  exists  at 
all  with  us,  or,  where  it  does  exist,  is 
generally  supposed  to  labor  under  a 
degree  of  physical  wretchedness  incon- 
sistent with  such  culture.”  Information 
of  this  kind  should  breathe  new  hope 
into  philanthropic  labors  for  the  intel-  1 


lectual  and  moral  life  of  every  class  in 
society.  How  much  may  be  done  in 
this  city  to  spread  knowledge,  vigor  of 
thought,  the  sense  of  beauty,  the  pleas- 
ures of  the  imagination  and  the  fine 
arts,  and,  above  all,  the  influences  of 
religion,  through  our  whole  community  ! 
Were  the  prosperous  and  educated  to 
learn  that,  after  providing  for  their  fami- 
lies, they  cannot  better  employ  their 
possessions  and  influence  than  in  for- 
warding the  improvement  and  elevation 
of  society,  how  soon  would  this  city  be 
regenerated  ! How  many  generous  spir- 
its might  be  enlisted  here  by  a wise 
bounty  in  the  work  of  training  their  fel- 
low-creatures ! Wealth  cannot  be  bet- 
ter used  than  in  rescuing  men  of  vig- 
orous and  disinterested  minds  from 
worldly  toils  and  cares,  in  giving  them 
time  and  opportunity  for  generous  self- 
culture, and  in  enabling  them  to  devote 
their  whole  strength  and  being  to  a like 
culture  of  their  race.  The  surest  mark 
of  a true  civilization  is,  that  the  arts 
which  minister  to  sensuality  decrease, 
and  spiritual  employments  are  multi- 
plied, or  that  more  and  more  of  the 
highest  ability  in  the  state  is  withdrawn 
•from  labors  for  the  animal  life,  and  con- 
secrated to  the  work  of  calling  forth  the 
intellect,  the  imagination,  the  conscience, 
the  pure  affections,  the  moral  energy  of 
the  community  at  large,  and  especially 
of  the  young.  What  is  now  wasted 
among  us  in  private  show  and  luxury, 
if  conscientiously  and  wisely  devoted  to 
the  furnishing  of  means  of  generous 
culture  to  all  classes  among  us,  would 
render  this  city  the  wonder  and  joy  of 
the  whole  earth.  What  is  thus  wasted 
might  supply  not  only  the  means  of  edu- 
cation in  the  sciences,  but  in  the  refined 
arts.  Music  might  here  be  spread  as 
freely  as  in  Germany,  and  be  made  a 
lightener  of  toil,  a cheerer  of  society,  a 
relief  of  loneliness,  a solace  in  the  poor- 
est dwellings.  Still  more,  what  we  now 
waste  would  furnish  this  city,  in  a course 
of  years,  with  the  chief  attractions  of 
Paris,  with  another  Louvre,  and  with  a 
Garden  of  Plants,  where  the  gifted  of 
all  classes  might  have  opportunity  to 
cultivate  the  love  of  nature  and  art. 
Happily,  the  cause  of  a higher  educa- 
tion begins  to  find  friends  here.  Thanks 
to  that  enlightened  and  noble-minded 
son  of  Boston,  whose  ashes  now  slum- 
1 ber  on  a foreign  shore,  but  who  has  left 


io8 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE. 


to  his  birthplace  a testimony  of  filial 
love,  in  his  munificent  bequest  for  the 
diffusion  of  liberal  instruction  through 
this  metropolis.  Honored  be  the  name 
of  Lowell,  the  intellectual  benefactor  of 
his  native  city  ! A community,  directing 
its  energies  chiefly  to  a higher  educa- 
tion of  its  rising  members,  to  a generous 
development  of  human  nature,  would 
achieve  what  as  yet  has  not  entered 
human  thought ; and  it  is  for  this  end 
that  we  ought  to  labor.  Our  show  and 
our  luxury,  how  contemptible  in  com- 
parison with  the  improvement  of  our 
families,  neighborhood,  and  race  ! 

Allow  me  here  to  express  an  earnest 
desire  that  our  legislators,  provoked  to 
jealousy  by  the  spirit  of  improvement  in 
other  states,  and  moved  by  zeal  for  the 
ancient  honor  of  this  Commonwealth, 
may  adopt  some  strong  measures  for 
the  advancement  of  education  among  us. 
We  need  an  institution  for  the  formation 
of  better  teachers  ; and  until  this  step  is 
taken  we  can  make  no  important  prog- 
ress. The  most  crying  want  in  this 
Commonwealth  is  the  want  of  accom- 
plished teachers.  We  boast  of  our 
schools  ; but  our  schools  do  compara- 
tively little,  for  want  of  educated  instruc- 
tors. Without  good  teaching,  a school  is 
but  a name.  An  institution  for  training 
men  to  train  the  young  would  be  a 
fountain  of  living  waters,  sending  forth 
streams  to  refresh  present  and  future 
ages.  As  yet,  our  legislators  have  de- 
nied to  the  poor  and  laboring  classes 
this  principal  means  of  their  elevation. 
We  trust  they  will  not  always  prove 
blind  to  the  highest  interest  of  the  state. 

We  want  better  teachers  and  more 
teachers  for  all  classes  of  society,  for 
rich  and  poor,  for  children  and  adults. 
We  want  that  the  resources  of  the  com- 
munity should  be  directed  to  the  procur- 
ing of  better  instructors,  as  its  highest 
concern.  One  of  the  surest  signs  of  the 
regeneration  of  society  will  be  the  ele- 
vation of  the  art  of  teaching  to  the  high- 
est rank  in  the  community.  When  a 
people  shall  learn  that  its  greatest  bene- 
factors and  most  important  members  are 
men  devoted  to  the  liberal  instruction  of 
all  its  classes,  to  the  work  of  raising 
to  life  its  buried  intellect,  it  will  have 
opened  to  itself  the  path  of  true  glory. 
This  truth  is  making  its  way.  Socrates 
is  now  regarded  as  the  greatest  man  in 
an  age  of  great  men.  The  name  of 


King  has  grown  dim  before  that  of 
Apostle.  To  teach,  whether  byword  or 
action,  is  the  highest  function  on  earth. 
It  is  commonly  supposed  that  instruc- 
tors are  needed  only  in  the  earlier  years 
of  life.  But  ought  the  education  of  a 
human  being  ever  to  cease  ? And  may 
it  not  always  be  forwarded  by  good  in- 
struction ? Some  of  us,  indeed,  can  dis- 
pense with  all  teachers  save  the  silent 
book.  But  to  the  great  majority  the 
voice  of  living  teachers  is  an  indispen- 
sable means  of  cultivation.  The  discov- 
ery and  supply  of  this  want  would  give 
a new  aspect  to  a community.  Nothing 
is  more  needed  than  that  men  of  supe- 
rior gifts  and  of  benevolent  spirit  should 
devote  themselves  to  the  instruction  of 
the  less  enlightened  classes  in  the  great 
end  of  life,  in  the  dignity  of  their  nature, 
in  their  rights  and  duties,  in  the  history, 
laws,  and  institutions  of  their  country, 
in  the  philosophy  of  their  employments, 
in  the  laws,  harmonies,  and  productions 
of  outward  nature,  and  especially  in  the 
art  of  bringing  up  children  in  health  of 
body  and  in  vigor  and  purity  of  mind. 
We  need  a new  profession  or  vocation, 
the  object  of  which  shall  be  to  wake  up 
the  intellect  in  those  spheres  where  it 
is  now  buried  in  habitual  slumber.  We 
honor,  and  cannot  too  much  honor,  the 
philanthropist,  who  endows  permanent 
institutions  for  the  relief  of  human  suf- 
fering ; but  not  less  good,  I apprehend, 
would  be  accomplished  by  inquiring  for 
and  seizing  on  men  of  superior  ability 
and  disinterestedness,  and  by  sending 
them  forth  to  act  immediately  on  soci- 
ety. A philanthropist  who  should  lib- 
erally afford  to  one  such  man  the  means 
of  devoting  himself  to  the  cultivation  of 
the  poorer  classes  of  society  would  con- 
fer invaluable  good.  One  gifted  man, 
with  his  heart  in  the  work,  who  should 
live  among  the  uneducated,  to  spread 
useful  knowledge  and  quickening  truth, 
by  conversation  and  books,  by  frank  and 
friendly  intercourse,  by  encouraging 
meetings  for  improvement,  by  forming 
the  more  teachable  into  classes,  and 
giving  to  these  the  animation  of  his 
presence  and  guidance,  by  bringing 
parents  to  an  acquaintance  with  the 
principles  of  physical,  intellectual,  and 
moral  education,  by  instructing  families 
in  the  means  and  conditions  of  health,  by 
using,  in  a word,  all  the  methods  which 
an  active,  generous  mind  would  discover 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE . 


109 


or  invent  for  awakening  intelligence  and 
moral  life  ; one  gifted  man,  so  devoted, 
might  impart  a new  tone  and  spirit  to  a 
considerable  circle  ; and  what  would  be 
the  result  were  such  men  to  be  multi- 
plied and  combined,  so  that  a community 
might  be  pervaded  by  their  influence  ! 
We  owe  much  to  the  writings  of  men  of 
genius,  piety,  science,  and  exalted  virtue. 
But  most  of  these  remain  shut  up  in  nar- 
row spheres.  We  want  a class  of  liberal 
instructors,  whose  vocation  it  shall  be  to 
place  the  views  of  the  most  enlightened 
minds  within  the  reach  of  a more  and 
more  extensive  portion  of  their  fellow- 
creatures.  The  wealth  of  a community 
should  flow  out  like  water  for  the  prep- 
aration and  employment  of  such  teach- 
ers, for  enlisting  powerful  and  generous 
minds  in  the  work  of  giving  impulse  to 
their  race.  Jesus  Christ,  in  instituting 
the  ministry,  laid  the  foundation  of  the 
intellectual  and  moral  agency  which  I 
now  urge.  On  this  foundation  we  ought 
to  build  more  and  more,  until  a life-giv- 
ing influence  shall  penetrate  all  classes 
of  society.  What  a painful  thought  is 
it,  that  such  an  immense  amount  of  in- 
tellectual and  moral  power,  of  godlike 
energy,  is  this  very  moment  lying  dead 
among  us  ! Can  we  do  nothing  for  its 
resurrection  ? Until  this  be  done,  we 
may  lop  off  the  branches  of  intemper- 
ance, but  its  root  will  live  ; and  happy 
shall  we  be  if  its  poisonous  shade  do  not 
again  darken  our  land.  Let  it  not  be 
said  that  the  laborious  can  find  no  time 
for  such  instruction  as  is  now  proposed. 
More  or  less  leisure,  if  sought,  can  be 
found  in  almost  every  life.  Nor  let  it 
be  said  that  men,  able  and  disposed  to 
carry  on  this  work,  must  not  be  looked 
for  in  such  a world  as  ours.  Christianity, 
which  has  wrought  so  many  miracles  of 
beneficence,  which  has  sent  forth  so 
many  apostles  and  martyrs,  so  many 
Howards  and  Clarksons,  can  raise  up 
laborers  for  this  harvest  also.  Nothing 
is  needed  but  a new  pouring  out  of  the 
spirit  of  Christian  love,  nothing  but  a 
new  comprehension  of  the  brotherhood 
of  the  human  race,  to  call  forth  efforts 
which  seem  impossibilities  in  a self- 
seeking  and  self-indulging  age. 

I will  add  but  one  more  means  of 
giving  moral  power  and  general  im- 
provement to  those  portions  of.  the 
community  in  which  intemperance  finds 
its  chief  victims.  We  must  not  only 


promote  education  in  general,  but  es- 
pecially send  among  them  Christian 
instruction,  Christian  teachers,  who 
shall  be  wholly  devoted  to  their  spirit- 
ual welfare.  And  here  I cannot  but 
express  my  joy  at  the  efforts  made  for 
establishing  a ministry  among  the  poor 
in  this  and  other  cities.  Though  not 
sustained  as  it  should  be,  it  yet  subsists 
in  sufficient  vigor  to  show  what  it  can 
accomplish.  I regard  this  institution 
as  among  the  happiest  omens  of  our 
times.  It  shows  that  the  spirit  of  him 
who  came  to  seek  and  to  save  that 
which  was  lost  is  not  dead  among  us. 
Christianity  is  the  mighty  power  before 
which  intemperance  is  to  fall.  Chris- 
tianity, faithfully  preached,  assails  and 
withstands  this  vice,  by  appealing,  as 
nothing  else  can,  to  men’s  hopes  and 
fears,  by  speaking  to  the  conscience 
in  the  name  of  the  Almighty  Judge, 
by  speaking  to  the  heart  in  the  name 
of  the  Merciful  Father,  by  proffering 
strength  to  human  weakness  and  par- 
don to  human  guilt,  by  revealing  to  men 
an  immortal  nature  within,  and  an  eter- 
nal state  before  them,  by  spreading 
over  this  life  a brightness  borrowed 
from  the  life  to  come,  by  awakening 
generous  affections,  and  binding  man 
by  new  ties  to  God  and  his  race.  But 
Christianity,  to  fulfil  this  part  of  its 
mission,  to  reach  those  who  are  most 
exposed  to  intemperance,  must  not  only 
speak  in  the  churches,  where  these  are 
seldom  found,  but  must  enter  their 
dwellings  in  the  persons  of  its  minis- 
ters, must  commune  with  them  in  the 
language  of  friendship,  must  take  their 
children  under  its  guardianship  and  con- 
trol. The  ministry  for  the  poor,  sus- 
tained by  men  worthy  of  the  function, 
will  prove  one  of  the  most  powerful 
barriers  ever  raised  against  intemper- 
ance. 

The  means  of  suppressing  this  vice, 
on  which  I have  hitherto  insisted,  have 
for  their  object  to  strengthen  and  ele- 
vate the  whole  character  of  the  classes 
most  exposed  to  intemperance.  I would 
now  suggest  a few  means  fitted  to  ac- 
complish the  same  end,  by  diminishing 
or  removing  the  temptations  to  this 
vice. 

The  first  means  which  I shall  suggest 
of  placing  a people  beyond  the  temp- 
tations to  intemperance,  is  to  furnish 
them  with  the  means  of  innocent  pleas- 


I IO 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE. 


ure.  This  topic,  I apprehend,  has  not 
been  sufficiently  insisted  on.  I feel  its 
importance  and  propose  to  enlarge  upon 
it,  though  some  of  the  topics  which  I 
may  introduce  may  seem  to  some  hardly 
consistent  with  the  gravity  of  this  oc- 
casion. We  ought  not,  however,  to 
respect  the  claims  of  that  gravity  which 
prevents  a faithful  exposition  of  what 
may  serve  and  improve  our  fellow-creat- 
ures. 

I have  said,  a people  should  be 
guarded  against  temptation  to  unlawful 
pleasures  by  furnishing  the  means  of 
innocent  ones.  By  innocent  pleasures 
I mean  such  as  excite  moderately  ; such 
as  produce  a cheerful  frame  of  mind, 
not  boisterous  mirth  ; such  as  refresh, 
instead  of  exhausting,  the  system  ; 
such  as  occur  frequently,  rather  than 
continue  long  ; such  as  send  us  back 
to  our  daily  duties  invigorated  in  body 
and  in  spirit ; such  as  we  can  partake 
in  the  presence  and  society  of  respect- 
able friends  ; such  as  consist  with,  and 
are  favorable  to,  a grateful  piety  ; such 
as  are  chastened  by  self-respect,  and 
are  accompanied  with  the  conscious- 
ness that  life  has  a higher  end  than  to 
be  amused.  In  every  community  there 
must  be  pleasures,  relaxations,  and 
means  of  agreeable  excitement ; and 
if  innocent  ones  are  not  furnished, 
resort  will  be  had  to  criminal.  Man 
was  made  to  enjoy,  as  well  as  to  labor  ; 
and  the  state  of  society  should  be 
adapted  to  this  principle  of  human 
nature.  France,  especially  before  the 
revolution,  has  been  represented  as  a 
singularly  temperate  country,  — a fact 
to  be  explained,  at  least  in  part,  by  the 
constitutional  cheerfulness  of  that  peo- 
ple, and  by  the  prevalence  of  simple 
and  innocent  gratifications,  especially 
among  the  peasantry.  Men  drink  to 
excess  very  often  to  shake  off  depres- 
sion, or  to  satisfy  the  restless  thirst 
for  agreeable  excitement,  and  these 
motives  are  excluded  in  a cheerful  com- 
munity. A gloomy  state  of  society,  in 
which  there  are  few  innocent  recrea- 
tions, may  be  expected  to  abound  in 
drunkenness,  if  opportunities  are  af- 
forded. The  savage  drinks  to  excess, 
because  his  hours  of  sobriety  are  dull 
and  unvaried  ; because,  in  losing  the 
consciousness  of  his  condition  and  his 
existence,  he  loses  little  which  he  wishes 
to  retain.  The  laboring  classes  are 


most  exposed  to  intemperance,  because 
they  have  at  present  few  other  pleas- 
urable excitements.  A man  who,  after 
toil,  has  resources  of  blameless  recre- 
ation, is  less  tempted  than  other  men  to 
seek  self-oblivion.  He  has  too  many  of 
the  pleasures  of  a man  to  take  up  with 
those  of  a brute.  Thus,  the  encourage- 
ment of  simple,  innocent  enjoyments 
is  an  important  means  of  temperance. 

These  remarks  show  the  importance 
of  encouraging  the  efforts  which  have 
commenced  among  us  for  spreading 
the  accomplishment  of  music  through 
our  whole  community.  It  is  now  pro- 
posed that  this  shall  be  made  a regular 
branch  in  our  schools  ; and  every  friend 
of  the  people  must  wish  success  to  the 
experiment.  I am  not  now  called  to 
speak  of  all  the  good  influences  of  mu- 
sic. particularly  pi  the  strength  which 
it  may  and  ought  to  give  to  the  religious 
sentiment,  and  to  all  pure  and  generous 
emotions.  Regarded  merely  as  a re- 
fined pleasure,  it  has  a favorable  bear- 
ing on  public  morals.  Let  taste  and 
skill  in  this  beautiful  art  be  spread 
among  us,  and  every  family  will  have 
a new  resource.  Home  will  gain  a new 
attraction.  Social  intercourse  will  be 
more  cheerful,  and  an  innocent  public 
amusement  will  be  furnished  to  the 
community.  Public  amusements,  bring- 
ing multitudes  together  to  kindle  with 
one  emotion,  to  share  the  same  inno- 
cent joy,  have  a humanizing  influence  ; 
and  among  these  bonds  of  society  per- 
haps no  one  produces  so  much  unmixed 
good  as  music.  What  a fulness  of  en- 
joyment has  our  Creator  placed  within 
our  reach,  by  surrounding  us  with  an 
atmosphere  which  may  be  shaped  into 
sweet  sounds  ! And  yet  this  goodness 
is  almost  lost  upon  us,  through  want  of 
culture  of  the  organ  by  which  this  pro- 
vision is  to  be  enjoyed. 

Dancing  is  an  amusement  which  has 
been  discouraged  in  our  country  by 
many  of  the  best  people,  and  not  with- 
out reason.  Dancing  is  associated  in 
their  minds  with  balls  ; and  this  is  one 
of  the  worst  forms  of  social  pleasure. 
The  time  consumed  in  preparation  for 
a ball,  the  waste  of  thought  upon  it, 
the  extravagance  of  dress,  the  late 
hours,  the  exhaustion  of  strength,  the 
exposure  of  health,  and  the  languor  of 
the  succeeding  day, — these  and  other 
evils,  connected  with  this  amusement, 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE. 


Ill 


are  strong  reasons  for  banishing  it  from 
the  community.  But  dancing  ought  not 
therefore  to  be  proscribed.  On  the  con- 
trary, balls  should  be  discouraged  for 
this  among  other  reasons,  that  dancing, 
instead  of  being  a rare  pleasure,  re- 
quiring elaborate  preparation,  may  be- 
come an  every-day  amusement,  and 
may  mix  with  our  common  intercourse. 
This  exercise  is  among  the  most  health- 
ful. The  body  as  well  as  the  mind  feels 
its  gladdening  influence.  No  amuse- 
ment seems  more  to  have  a foundation 
in  our  nature.  The  animation  of  youth 
overflows  spontaneously  in  harmonious 
movements.  The  true  idea  of  dancing 
entitles  it  to  favor.  Its  end  is,  to  real- 
ize perfect  grace  in  motion  ; and  who 
does  not  know  that  a sense  of  the  grace- 
ful is  one  of  the  higher  faculties  of  our 
nature  ? It  is  to  be  desired  that  dan- 
cing should  become  too  common  among 
us  to  be  made  the  object  of  special 
preparation  as  in  the  ball  ; that  mem- 
bers of  the  same  family,  when  confined 
by  unfavorable  weather,  should  recur  to 
it  for  exercise  and  exhilaration : that 
branches  of  the  same  family  should  en- 
liven in  this  way  their  occasional  meet- 
ings ; that  it  should  fill  up  an  hour  in 
all  the  assemblages  for  relaxation  in 
which  the  young  form  a part.  It  is  to 
be  desired  that,  this  accomplishment 
should  be  extended  to  the  laboring 
classes  of  society,  not  only  as  an  in- 
nocent pleasure,  but  as  a means  of 
improving  the  manners.  Why  shall 
not  gracefulness  be  spread  through  the 
whole  community?  From  the  French 
nation  we  learn  that  a degree  of  grace 
and  refinement  of  manners  may  pervade 
all  classes.  The  philanthropist  and 
Christian  must  desire  to  break  down 
the  partition-walls  between  human  be- 
ings in  different  conditions  ; and  one 
means  of  doing  this  is  to  remove  the 
conscious  awkwardness  which  confine- 
ment to  laborious  occupations  is  apt  to 
induce.  An  accomplishment,  giving 
free  and  graceful  movement,  though 
a far  weaker  bond  than  intellectual  or 
moral  culture,  still  does  something  to 
bring  those  who  partake  it  near  each 
other. 

I approach  another  subject,  on  which 
a greater  variety  of  opinion  exists  than 
on  the  last,  and  that  is  the  theatre.  In 
its  present  state,  the  theatre  deserves 
no  encouragement.  It  is  an  accumula- 


tion of  immoral  influences.  It  has  nour- 
ished intemperance  and  all  vice.  In 
saying  this,  I do  not  say  that  the  amuse- 
ment is  radically,  essentially  evil.  I can 
conceive  of  a theatre  which  would  be 
the  noblest  of  all  amusements,  and  would 
take  a high  rank  among  the  means  of 
refining  the  taste  and  elevating  the  char- 
acter of  a people.  The  deep  woes,  the 
mighty  and  terrible  passions,  and  the 
sublime  emotions  of  genuine  tragedy, 
are  fitted  to  thrill  us  with  human  sym- 
pathies, with  profound  interest  in  our  nat- 
ure, with  a consciousness  of  what  man 
can  do  and  dare  and  suffer,  with  an  awed 
feeling  of  the  fearful  mysteries  of  life. 
The  soul  of  the  spectator  is  stirred  from 
its  depths  ; and  the  lethargy  in  which 
so  many  live  is  roused,  at  least  for  a 
time,  to  some  intenseness  of  thought 
and  sensibility.  The  drama  answers  a 
high  purpose  when  it  places  us  in  the 
presence  of  the  most  solemn  and  strik- 
ing events  of  human  history,  and  lays 
bare  to  us  the  human  heart  in  its  most 
powerful,  appalling,  glorious  workings. 
But  how  little  does  the  theatre  accom- 
plish its  end  ! How  often  is  it  disgraced 
by  monstrous  distortions  of  human  nat- 
ure, and  still  more  disgraced  by  profane- 
ness, coarseness,  indelicacy,  low  wit, 
such  as  no  woman,  worthy  of  the  name, 
can  hear  without  a blush,  and  no  man 
can  take  pleasure  in  without  self-degra- 
dation ! Is  it  possible  that  a Christian  and 
a refined  people  can  resort  to  theatres 
where  exhibitions  of  dancing  are  given 
fit  only  for  brothels,  and  where  the  most 
licentious  class  in  the  community  throng 
unconcealed  to  tempt  and  destroy  ? 
That  the  theatre  should  be  suffered  to 
exist  in  its  present  degradation  is  a re- 
proach to  the  community.  Were  it  to 
fall,  a better  drama  might  spring  up  in 
its  place.  In  the  mean  time,  is  there 
not  an  amusement,  having  an  affinity 
with  the  drama,  which  might  be  usefully 
introduced  among  us  ? I mean  recita- 
tion. A work  of  genius,  recited  by  a 
man  of  fine  taste,  enthusiasm,  and 
powers  of  elocution,  is  a very  pure  and 
high  gratification.  Were  this  art  culti- 
vated and  encouraged,  great  numbers, 
now  insensible  to  the  most  beautiful 
compositions,  might  be  waked  up  to  their 
excellence  and  power.  It  is  not  easy  to 
conceive  of  a more  effectual  way  of  spread- 
ing a refined  taste  through  a community. 
The  drama,  undoubtedly,  appeals  more 


1 1 2 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE . 


strongly  to  the  passions  than  recitation  ; 
but  the  latter  brings  out  the  meaning  of 
the  author  more.  Shakspeare,  worthily 
recited,  would  be  better  understood  than 
on  the  stage.  Then,  in  recitation,  we 
escape  the  weariness  of  listening  to  poor 
performers,  who,  after  all,  fill  up  most 
of  the  time  at  the  theatre.  Recitation, 
sufficiently  varied,  so  as  to  include  pieces 
of  chaste  wit,  as  well  as  of  pathos,  beauty, 
and  sublimity,  is  adapted  to  our  present 
intellectual  progress  as  much  as  the 
drama  falls  below  it.  Should  this  exhi- 
bition be  introduced  among  us  success- 
fully, the  result  would  be  that  the  power 
of  recitation  would  be  extensively  called 
forth,  and  this  would  be  added  to  our 
social  and  domestic  pleasures. 

I have  spoken  in  this  discourse  of  in- 
tellectual culture,  as  a defence  against 
intemperance,  by  giving  force  and  eleva- 
tion to  the  mind.  It  also  does  great 
good  as  a source  of  amusement ; and  on 
this  ground  should  be  spread  through 
the  community.  A cultivated  mind  may 
be  said  to  have  infinite  stores  of  inno- 
cent gratification.  Every  thing  may  be 
made  interesting  to  it,  by  becoming  a 
subject  of  thought  or  inquiry.  Books, 
regarded  merely  as  a gratification,  are 
worth  more  than  all  the  luxuries  on  earth. 
A taste  for  literature  secures  cheerful 
occupation  for  the  unemployed  and  lan- 
guid hours  of  life  ; and  how  many  per- 
sons, in  these  hours,  for  want  of  in- 
nocent resources,  are  now  impelled  to 
coarse  and  brutal  pleasures  ! How  many 
young  men  can  be  found  in  this  city 
who,  unaccustomed  to  find  a companion 
in  a book,  and  strangers  to  intellectual 
activity,  are  almost  driven,  in  the  long, 
dull  evenings  of  winter,  to  haunts  of  in- 
temperance and  depraving  society  ! It 
is  one  of  the  good  signs  of  the  times 
that  lectures  on  literature  and  science 
are  taking  their  place  among  our  public 
amusements,  and  attract  even  more  than 
theatres.  This  is  one  of  the  first  fruits 
of  our  present  intellectual  culture.  What 
a harvest  may  we  hope  for  from  its 
wider  diffusion  ! 

In  these  remarks,  I have  insisted  on 
the  importance  of  increasing  innocent 
gratifications  in  a community.  Let  us 
become  a more  cheerful  and  we  shall 
become  a more  temperate  people.  To 
increase  our  susceptibility  of  innocent 
pleasure,  and  to  remove  many  of  the 
sufferings  which  tempt  to  evil  habits,  it 


would  be  well  if  physical  as  well  as 
moral  education  were  to  receive  greater 
attention.  There  is  a puny,  half-healthy, 
half-diseased  state  of  the  body  too  com- 
mon among  us,  which,  by  producing 
melancholy  and  restlessness,  and  by 
weakening  the  energy  of  the  will,  is  a 
strong  incitement  to  the  use  of  hurtful 
stimulants.  Many  a case  of  intemper- 
ance has  had  its  origin  in  bodily  infirm- 
ity. . Physical  vigor  is  not  only  valuable 
for  its  own  sake,  but  it  favors  temper- 
ance, by  opening  the  mind  to  cheerful 
impressions,  and  by  removing  those  in- 
describable feelings  of  sinking,  disquiet, 
depression,  which  experience  alone  can 
enable  you  to  understand.  I have 
pleaded  for  mental  culture  ; but  nothing 
is  gained  by  sacrificing  the  body  to  the 
mind.  Let  not  intellectual  education  be 
sought  at  the  expense  of  health.  Let 
not  our  children  in  their  early  years  be 
instructed,  as  is  too  common,  in  close, 
unventilated  rooms,  where  they  breathe 
for  hours  a tainted  air.  Our  whole 
nature  must  be  cared  for.  We  must  be- 
come a more  cheerful,  animated  people  ; 
and  for  this  end  we  must  propose,  in  our 
systems  of  education,  the  invigoration 
of  both  body  and  mind. 

I am  aware  that  the  views  now  .ex- 
pressed may  not  find  unmixed  favor  with 
all  the  friends  of  temperance.  To  some, 
perhaps  to  many,  religion  and  amuse- 
ment seem  mutually  hostile,  and  he  who 
pleads  for  the  one  may  fall  under  sus- 
picion of  unfaithfulness  to  the  other. 
But  to  fight  against  our  nature  is  not  to 
serve  the  cause  of  piety  or  sound  morals. 
God,  who  gave  us  our  nature,  who  has 
constituted  body  and  mind  incapable  of 
continued  effort,  who  has  implanted  a 
strong  desire  for  recreation  after  labor, 
who  has  made  us  for  smiles  much  more 
than  for  tears,  who  has  made  laughter 
the  most  contagious  of  all  sounds,  whose 
Son  hallowed  a marriage  feast  by  his 
presence  and  sympathy,  who  has  sent 
the  child  fresh  from  his  creating  hand 
to  develop  its  nature  by  active  sports, 
and  who  has  endowed  both  young  and 
old  with  a keen  susceptibility  of  enjoy- 
ment from  wit  and  humor,  — He,  who 
has  thus  formed  us,  cannot  have  intended 
us  for  a dull,  monotonous  life,  and  can- 
not frown  on  pleasures  which  solace  our 
fatigue  and  refresh  our  spirits  for  coming 
toils.  It  is  not  only  possible  to  recon- 
cile amusement  with  duty,  but  to  make 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE . 


1 13 


it  the  means  of  more  animated  exertion, 
more  faithful  attachments,  more  grateful 
piety.  True  religion  is  at  once  author- 
itative and  benign.  It  calls  us  to  suffer,  to 
die,  rather  than  to  swerve  a hair’s  breadth 
from  what  God  enjoins  as  right  and 
good ; but  it  teaches  us  that  it  is  right 
and  good,  in  ordinary  circumstances,  to 
unite  relaxation  with  toil,  to  accept  God’s 
gifts  with  cheerfulness,  and  to  lighten 
the  heart,  in  the  intervals  of  exertion, 
by  social  pleasures.  A religion,  giving 
dark  views  of  God,  and  infusing  super- 
stitious fear  of  innocent  enjoyment,  in- 
stead of  aiding  sober  habits,  will,  by 
making  men  abject  and  sad,  impair  their 
moral  force,  and  prepare  them  for  in- 
temperance as  a refuge  from  depression 
or  despair. 

Two  other  means  remain  to  be  men- 
tioned for  removing  the  temptations  to 
intemperance,  and  these  are  the  dis- 
couragement of  the  use  and  the  dis- 
couragement of  the  sale  of  ardent  spirits 
in  the  community. 

First,  we  should  discourage  the  use  of 
ardent  spirits  in  the  community.  It  is 
very  plain  — too  plain  to, be  insisted  on 
— that  to  remove  what  intoxicates  is  to 
remove  intoxication.  In  proportion  as 
ardent  spirits  are  banished  from  our 
houses,  our  tables,  our  hospitalities  ; in 
proportion  as  those  who  have  influence 
and  authority  in  the  community  abstain 
themselves,  and  lead  their  dependants 
to  abstain,  from  their  use  ; in  that  pro- 
portion the  occasions  of  excess  must  be 
diminished,  the  temptations  to  it  must 
disappear.  It  is  objected,  I know,  that, 
if  we  begin  to  give  up  what  others  will 
abuse,  we  must  give  up  every  thing,  be- 
cause there  is  nothing  which  men  will 
not  abuse.  I grant  that  it  is  not  easy  to 
define  the  limits  at  which  concessions 
are  to  stop.  Were  we  called  on  to  re- 
linquish an  important  comfort  of  life,  be- 
cause others  were  perverting  it  into  an 
instrument  of  crime  and  woe,  we  should 
be  bound  to  pause  and  deliberate  before 
we  act.  But  no  such  plea  can  be  set  up 
in  the  case  before  us.  Ardent  spirits 
are  not  an  important  comfort,  and  in  no 
degree  a comfort.  They  give  no  strength  ; 
they  contribute  nothing  to  health  ; they 
can  be  abandoned  without  the  slightest 
evil.  They  aid  men  neither  to  bear  the 
burden  nor  to  discharge  the  duties  of 
life  ; and  in  saying  this,  I stop  short  of 
the  truth.  It  is  not  enough  to  say  that 


they  never  do  good ; they  generally 
injure.  In  their  moderate  use,  they  act, 
in  general,  unfavorably  on  body  and 
mind.  According  to  respectable  physi- 
cians, they  are  not  digested  like  food, 
but  circulate  unchanged  like  a poison 
through  the  system.  Like  other  poisons, 
they  may  occasionally  benefit  as  medi- 
cines ; but  when  made  a beverage  by 
the  healthy,  they  never  do  good  ; they 
generally  are  pernicious.  They  are  no 
more  intended  by  Providence  for  drink 
than  opium  is  designed  for  food.  Con- 
sider next,  that  ardent  spirits  are  not 
only  without  benefit  when  moderately 
used,  but  that  they  instigate  to  immod- 
erate use  ; that  they  beget  a craving,  a 
feverish  thirst,  which  multitudes  want 
power  to  resist ; that  in  some  classes  of 
society  great  numbers  become  their  vic- 
tims, are  bereft  by  them  of  reason,  are 
destroyed  in  body  and  soul,  destroyed 
here  and  hereafter ; that  families  are 
thus  made  desolate,  parents  hurried  to  a 
premature  grave,  and  children  trained 
up  to  crime  and  shame.  Consider  all 
this,  and  then  judge,  as  in  the  sight  of 
God,  whether  you  are  not  bound  to  use 
your  whole  influence  in  banishing  the 
use  of  spirits,  as  one  of  the  most  perni- 
cious habits,  from  the  community.  If 
you  were  to  see,  as  a consequence  of 
this  beverage,  a loathsome  and  mortal 
disease  breaking  out  occasionally  in  all 
ranks,  and  sweeping  away  crowds  in  the 
most  depressed  portion  of  society,  would 
you  not  lift  up  your  voices  against  it  ? 
And  is  not  an  evil  more  terrible  than  pes- 
tilence the  actual  frequent  result  of  the 
use  of  spirituous  liquors  ? That  use  you 
are  bound  to  discourage  ; and  how  ? By 
abstaining  wholly  yourselves,  by  exclud- 
ing ardent  spirits  wholly  from  your  tables, 
by  giving  your  whole  weight  and  author- 
ity to  abstinence.  This  practical,  solemn 
testimony,  borne  by  the  good  and  re- 
spectable, cannot  but  spread  a healthful 
public  sentiment  through  the  whole  com- 
munity. This  is  especially  our  duty  at 
the  present  moment,  when  a great  com- 
bined effort  of  religious  and  philanthropic 
men  is  directed  against  this  evil  and 
when  an  impression  has  been  made  on 
the  community  surpassing  the  most  san- 
guine hopes.  At  the  present  moment, 
he  who  uses  ardent  spirits,  or  introduces 
them  into  his  hospitalities,  virtually  ar- 
rays himself  against  the  cause  of  tem- 
perance and  humanity.  He  not  merely 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE. 


1 14 

gives  an  example  to  his  children  and  his 
domestics,  which  he  may  one  day  bitterly 
rue  ; he  withstands  the  good  in  their 
struggles  for  the  virtue  and  happiness  of 
mankind.  He  forsakes  the  standard  of 
social  reform,  and  throws  himself  into 
the  ranks  of  its  foes. 

After  these  remarks,  it  will  follow  that 
we  should  discourage  the  sale  of  ardent 
spirits.  What  ought  not  to  be  used  as 
a beverage,  ought  not  to  be  sold  as  such. 
What  the  good  of  the  community  re- 
quires us  to  expel,  no  man  has  a moral 
right  to  supply.  That  intemperance  is 
dreadfully  multiplied  by  the  number  of 
licensed  shops  for  the  retailing  of  spir- 
its, we  all  know.  That  these  should  be 
shut,  every  good  man  desires.  Law, 
however,  cannot  shut  them  except  in  a 
limited  extent,  or  only  in  a few  favored 
parts  of  the  country.  Law  is  here  the 
will  of  the  people,  and  the  legislature 
can  do  little  unless  sustained  by  the 
public  voice.  To  form,  then,  an  enlight- 
ened and  vigorous  public  sentiment, 
which  will  demand  the  suppression  of 
these  licensed  nurseries  of  intemper- 
ance, is  a duty  to  which  every  good  man 
is  bound,  and  a service  in  which  each 
may  take  a share.  And  not  only  should 
the  vending  of  spirits  in  these  impure 
haunts  be  discouraged  ; the  vending  of 
them  by  respectable  men  should  be  re- 
garded as  a great  public  evil.  The  re- 
tailer takes  shelter  under  the  wholesale 
dealer,  from  whom  he  purchases  the  per- 
nicious draught ; and  has  he  not  a right 
so  to  do  ? Can  we  expect  that  he  should 
shrink  from  spreading  on  a small  scale 
what  others  spread  largely  without  re- 
buke ? Can  we  expect  his  conscience 
to  be  sensitive,  when  he  treads  in  the 
steps  of  men  of  reputation  ? Of  the 
character  of  those  who  vend  spirits  I 
do  not  judge.  They  grew  up  in  the  be- 
lief of  the  innocence  of  the  traffic,  and 
this  conviction  they  may  sincerely  retain. 
But  error  though  sincere,  is  error  still. 
Right  and  wrong  do  not  depend  on  hu- 
man judgment  or  human  will.  Truth 
and  duty  may  be  hidden  for  ages  ; but 
they  remain  unshaken  as  God’s  throne  ; 
and  when,  in  the  course  of  His  provi- 
dence, they  are  made  known  to  one  or  a 
few,  they  must  be  proclaimed,  whoever 
may  be  opposed.  Truth,  truth,  is  the 
hope  of  the  world.  Let  it  be  spoken  in 
kindness,  but  with  power. 


Some  of  the  means  of  withstanding 
intemperance  have  now  been  stated. 
Other  topics,  were  there  time,  I should 
be  glad  to  offer  to  your  attention.  But 
I must  pause.  — I will  only  add,  that 
every  lover  of  his  race  has  strong  en- 
couragement to  exert  himself  for  the 
prevention  of  intemperance.  The  strik- 
ing success  of  societies  instituted  for 
this  end  should  give  animation  and  hope. 
But  even  had  these  associations  and 
these  efforts  failed,  I should  not  de- 
spair. From  the  very  terribleness  of  the 
evil,  we  may  derive  incitement  and  hope 
in  our  labors  for  its  suppression.  It 
cannot  be  that  God  has  created  moral 
beings  to  become  brutes  or  placed  them 
in  circumstances  irresistibly  impelling 
them  to  this  utter  renunciation  of  the 
proper  good  of  their  nature.  There  are, 
there  must  be,  means  of  prevention  or 
cure  for  this  deadliest  moral  disease. 
The  unhappiness  is,  that  too  many  of 
us,  who  call  ourselves  the  friends  of 
temperance,  have  not  virtue  and  love 
enough  to  use  powerfully  the  weapons 
of  the  spirit  for  the  succor  of  the  tempted 
and  fallen.  We  are  ourselves  too  sen- 
sual to  rescue  others  from  sensuality. 
The  difference  between  us  and  the  in- 
temperate man  is  too  small  to  fit  us  for 
his  deliverance.  But  that  there  are 
means  of  withstanding  intemperance ; 
that  it  is  the  design  and  tendency  of 
Christianity  to  raise  up  men  fit  and 
worthy  to  wield  these  means  ; and  that 
there  are  always  some  who  are  prepared 
to  lead  the  way  in  this  holy  work,  I can- 
not doubt.  I see,  indeed,  a terrible  en- 
ergy in  human  appetites  and  passions. 
But  I do  not  faint.  Truth  is  mightier 
than  error  ; virtue,  than  vice  ; God,  than 
the  evil  man.  In  contending  earnestly 
against  intemperance,  we  have  the  help 
and  friendship  of  Him  who  is  Almighty. 
We  have  allies  in  all  that  is  pure,  ra- 
tional, divine  in  the  human  soul,  in  the 
progressive  intelligence  of  the  age,  in 
whatever  elevates  public  sentiment,  in  re- 
ligion, in  legislation,  in  philosophy,  in  the 
yearnings  of  the  parent,  in  the  prayers 
of  the  Christian,  in  the  teaching  of 
God’s  house,  in  the  influences  of  God's 
Spirit.  With  these  allies,  friends,  help- 
ers, let  good  men  not  despair,  but  be 
strong  in  the  faith  that,  in  due  time, 
they  shall  reap,  if  they  faint  not. 


ADDRESS  ON  TEMPERANCE. 


Notes. 

I have  spoken  of  the  causes  of  intem- 
perance which  are  found  in  our  state  of 
society.  I should  wrong,  however,  the 
community  to  which  I belong  were  I to 
leave  the  impression  that  our  social  con- 
dition offers  nothing  but  incitements  to 
this  vice.  It  presents  obstacles  as  well 
as  affords  facilities  to  it.  And  this 
ought  to  be  understood,  as  an  encour- 
agement to  the  efforts  which,  according 
to  the  preceding  remarks,  we  are  bound 
to  make  for  its  suppression.  The  growth 
of  intelligence  among  us  is  a powerful 
antagonist  to  intemperance.  In  propor- 
tion as  we  awaken  and  invigorate  men’s 
faculties,  we  help  them  to  rise  above  a 
brutal  life  ; we  take  them  out  of  the 
power  of  the  present  moment,  enlarge 
their  foresight,  give  them  the  means  of 
success  in  life,  open  to  them  sources  of 
innocent  pleasure,  and  prepare  them  to 
bear  part  in  respectable  society.  It  is 
true,  that  intelligence  or  knowledge  is 
not  virtue.  It  may  not  overcome  sel- 
fishness ; but  it  makes  our  self-love 
wiser  and  more  reflecting,  gives  us  a 
better  understanding  of  our  own  inter- 
ests, teaches  prudence  if  not  generosity, 
and,  in  this  way,  is  a powerful  guardian 
against  ruinous  excess.  We  have  an- 
other defence  against  intemperance  in 
our  freedom.  Freedom  nourishes  self- 
respect,  and,  by  removing  all  obstruc- 
tions to  exertion,  by  opening  to  men  the 
means  of  bettering  their  lot,  favors  an 
animated,  hopeful  industry,  thus  rescu- 
ing a people  from  depression,  despond- 
ence, and  languor,  which  are  among  the 
chief  temptations  to  brutalizing  excess. 
It  is  indeed  said  that  freedom  generates 
all  forms  of  licentiousness,  and,  conse- 
quently, intemperance.  But  it  is,  I be- 
lieve, a well  established  fact  that  this 
vice  has  decreased  since  our  struggle  for 
independence.  The  habits  and  manners 
of  the  last  generation  were  more  perilous 
to  temperance  than  our  own.  Social  in- 
tercourse was  more  deformed  by  excess. 
Men  in  mature  life  visited  taverns,  and 
the  young  could  not  meet  without  the 
danger  of  drowning  reason  in  wine.  It 
is  a false  notion  that  we  are  wholly 
indebted  for  our  present  reform  in 
this  particular  to  temperance  societies. 
These  have  done  great  good,  and  deserve 
great  praise  ; but  the  influence  which  is 
now  carrying  us  on  preceded  them. 
They  are  its  effects,  not  causes.  An 


US 

important  change  of  habits  had  com- 
menced before  their  institution,  and  this 
seems  to  me  an  important  view,  and  one 
of  the  chief  encouragements  to  joint 
and  individual  exertion  for  the  suppres- 
sion of  this  vice.  Did  I believe  that  our 
present  social  condition  offered  nothing 
but  materials  to  intemperance,  that  it 
excluded  all  contrary  influences,  and 
that  our  whole  hope  for  stemming  this 
evil  rested  on  the  temperance  societies, 
I should  be  tempted  to  despond.  Such 
societies  can  avail  little,  except  when 
they  act  in  concurrence  with  causes  in 
the  condition  of  society.  Such  causes 
exist,  and  one  great  use  of  temperance 
societies  is  to  bring  them  into  more  en- 
ergetic and  extensive  action. 

I have  not  insisted  on  one  of  the 
means  of  temperance  on  which  great 
stress  has  been  laid, — that  is,  the  in- 
fluence of  public  opinion.  To  bring 
this  to  bear  against  intemperance  has 
been  regarded  by  not  a few  as  the  chief 
method  of  subduing  the  evil.  Too  much, 
I think,  is  hoped  from  it.  One  obvious 
remark  is,  that  the  classes  most  exposed 
to  intemperance  are  removed  very  much 
from  the  power  of  public  opinion.  But, 
passing  over  this,  I think  we  generally 
look  to  this  influence  for  more  than  it 
can  accomplish.  We  lay  upon  it  a 
greater  weight  than  it  can  bear.  Public 
opinion  may  even  work  against  the 
cause  which  it  is  meant  to  support, 
when  made  a substitute  for  individual 
exertion.  A man,  temperate  because  pub- 
lic opinion  exacts  it,  has  not  the  virtue 
of  temperance,  nor  a stable  ground 
of  temperance  habits.  The  remark  is 
especially  applicable  to  these  times. 
Opinion,  in  former  days,  was  more  per- 
manent than  at  present.  There  were  few 
or  no  causes  in  operation  to  unsettle 
general  conviction.  Society  was  cast 
into  fixed  forms.  Ages  passed  away, 
and  slight  changes  were  seen  in  man- 
ners and  in  modes  of  thinking.  But  the 
present  is  a revolutionary  age.  Society, 
breaking  from  its  old  moorings,  is  tossed 
on  a restless  and  ever-stormy  ocean. 
Opinion  no  longer  affords  that  steady 
guidance  which  in  former  times  supplied 
the  place  of  private  judgment  and  indi- 
vidual principle.  There  is  no  truth 
which  sophistry  does  not  now  assail, 
no  falsehood  which  may  not  become  a 
party  bond.  The  great  work  to  which 
religion  and  benevolence  are  now  called 


ii6 


REMARKS  ON  EDUCATION 


is,  not  to  sweep  away  multitudes  by 
storm,  not  to  lay  on  men  the  tempo- 
rary, brittle  chains  of  opinion,  but  to  fix 
deep,  rational  conviction  in  individuals, 
to  awaken  the  reason  to  eternal  truth  and 
the  conscience  to  immutable  duty.  We 
are  apt  to  labor  to  secure  to  virtue  the 
power  of  fashion.  We  must  secure  to 
it  the  power  of  conviction.  It  is  the 
essence  of  fashion  to  change.  Nothing 
is  sure  but  truth.  No  other  foundation 
can  sustain  a permanent  reform.  The 
temperance  which  rests  on  other  men’s 
opinions  and  practice  is  not  a man’s 
own  virtue,  but  a reflection  of  what 
exists  around  him.  It  lies  on  the  sur- 
face. It  has  not  penetrated  the  soul. 

That  opinion  may  exert  a great  and 
useful  influence  is  not  denied  ; but  it 
must  be  enlightened  opinion,  appealing 
to  the  reason  and  the  conscience  of  the 
individual ; not  to  passion,  interest,  or 
fear,  nor  proscribing  all  who  differ.  We 
want  public  opinion  to  bear  on  temper- 
ance, but  to  act  rationally,  generously, 
not  passionately,  tyrannically,  and  with 
the  spirit  of  persecution.  Men  cannot 
be  driven  into  temperance.  Let  the 
temperate  become  a party,  and  breathe 
the  violence  of  party,  and  they  will  raise 
up  a party  as  violent  as  their  own.  The 
friends  of  truth  must  not  call  passion  to 
their  aid,  for  the  erroneous  and  vicious 
have  a greater  stock  of  passion  than 
they,  and  can  wield  this  weapon  to  more 
effect.  It  is  not  by  numbers  or  a louder 
cry  that  good  men  are  to  triumph  over 
the  bad.  Their  goodness,  their  con- 
sciousness of  truth  and  universal  love, 
must  be  manifested  in  clear,  strong, 
benevolent  appeals  to  the  reason  and 


heart.  They  must  speak  in  the  tone  of 
the  friend  of  their  race.  This  will  do 
infinitely  more  than  the  clamor  of  hosts. 

It  seems  to  me  an  important  remark 
that  public  opinion  cannot  do  for  virtue 
what  it  does  for  vice.  It  is  the  essence 
of  virtue  to  look  above  opinion.  Vice  is 
consistent  with,  and  very  often  strength- 
ened by,  entire  subserviency  to  it.  It 
is  a motive  to  be  cautiously  used,  be- 
cause the  mind,  which  passively  yields 
to  it,  will  find  it  a debilitating  rather 
than  an*  invigorating  influence.  The 
moral  independence  which  can  with- 
stand public  sentiment  is  men’s  only 
safety.  Whenever  public  sentiment 
shall  be  enlightened  enough  to  pro- 
mote this  superiority  to  itself,  it  will 
be  a noble  spring.  In  proportion  as  it 
wars  against  this  self-subsistence,  it 
subverts  the  only  foundation  of  sub- 
stantial, enduring  reform. 

It  is  sometimes  very  hazardous  to  at- 
tempt to  extirpate  a common  vice  by 
making  it  disgraceful,  and  passing  on  it 
a sentence  of  outlawry.  If,  indeed,  the 
vice  be  confined  to  the  poor  and  obscure, 
the  brand  of  infamy  may  easily  be  fixed 
on  it ; but  when  it  spreads  higher,  and 
is  taken  under  the  protection  of  fashion, 
it  can  not  only  parry  the  weapon  of  dis- 
grace in  the  hand  of  its  adversaries,  but 
turn  this  against  them.  Fashion  is 
singularly  expert  in  the  use  of  ridicule. 
What  it  wants  in  reason  it  can  supply 
in  sneers  and  laughter.  Sometimes  it 
puts  on  indifference  as  a coat  of  mail. 
It  has  especially  the  art  of  attaching  the 
idea  of  vulgarity  to  a good  cause  ; and 
what  virtue  has  courage  to  encounter 
this  most  dreaded  form  of  opinion  ? 


REMARKS  ON  EDUCATION. 


[“American  Annals  of  Education  and  Instruction.” 

Edited  by  William  C.  Woodbridge.  Boston.  8vo.] 

The  work,  of  which  we  have  placed 
the  title  at  the  head  of  this  article,  is 
devoted  to  what  is  generally  acknowl- 
edged to  be  the  most  important  interest 
of  families  and  of  the  state.  It  has, 
therefore,  no  ordinary  claims  to  pat- 
ronage. especially  as  it  is  the  only 
work  of  the  kind  published  in  the  coun- 


try. We  learn,  however,  that  the  sup- 
port now  given  it  not  only  falls  short  of 
its  just  claims,  but  is  so  insufficient  that, 
unless  its  circulation  can  be  extended, 
it  must  be  abandoned.  We  are  not  only 
grieved  at  this,  but  somewhat  disap- 
pointed ; for,  although  we  knew  the 
ruling  passion  in  the  community  for 
light  and  amusing  reading,  we  did  hope 
that  the  acknowledged  importance  of 


REMARKS  ON  EDUCATION. 


education,  and  the  necessity  laid  on 
every  parent  to  watch  over  and  guide 
the  young,  would  overcome  the  repug- 
nance to  mental  labor,  and  would  com- 
municate an  interest  to  details  which, 
separate  from  their  end,  would  be  dry 
and  repulsive.  It  seems,  however,  that 
the  community  are  more  disposed  to  talk 
of  education  in  general  than  to  enter 
patiently  and  minutely  into  its  principles 
and  methods,  — more  disposed  to  laud 
it  than  to  labor  for  it ; and  on  this  ac- 
count we  feel  ourselves  bound  to  say 
something,  however  briefly  and  rapidly, 
of  the  obligation  of  regarding  it  as  the 
paramount  object  of  society,  and  of  giv- 
ing encouragement  to  those  who  make  it 
their  task,  or  who  devote  themselves  to 
its  promotion.  We  know  that  we  are 
repeating  a thrice-told  tale,  are  inviting 
attention  to  principles  which  the  mul- 
titude most  courteously  acknowledge, 
and  as  readily  forget.  But  all  great 
truths  are  apt  to  grow  trite  ; and  if  the 
moral  teacher  should  fail  to  enforce 
them,  because  they  are  worn  by  repeti- 
tion, religious  and  moral  teaching  would 
well  nigh  cease. 

One  excellence  of  the  periodical  work 
before  us  is,  that  it  is  pledged  to  no  par- 
ticular system  of  education,  but  starts 
with  the  acknowledgment  of  the  great 
defects  of  all  systems,  and  with  the  dis- 
position to  receive  new  lights,  come 
from  what  quarter  they  may.  It  is  no 
partisan.  It  is  the  instrument  of  no 
sect.  It  is  designed  to  improve  our 
modes  of  training  the  young  ; to  give 
more  generous  views  of  the  objects  of 
education  and  of  the  discipline  by  which 
they  may  be  attained ; to  increase  the 
efficiency  of  existing  institutions,  and  to 
aid  in  forming  new  ones  more  suited  to 
our  age  and  country  ; to  unfold  and  dif- 
fuse those  great  universal  principles  in 
which  men  of  all  parties  may  be  expected 
to  agree,  and  to  point  out  the  applica- 
tion of  them  in  our  families  and  schools. 
Its  pages  are  open  to  original  sugges- 
tions, to  discoveries,  to  the  zealous  re- 
former, and  even  to  the  too  sanguine 
innovator.  Its  aim  is  to  be  a medium 
of  communication  for  all  who  think  on 
• the  subject  of  education,  to  furnish  new 
facts  to  the  philosopher,  and  to  make 
known  the  results  of  successful  experi- 
ments. Its  liberality  gives  it  one  strong 
claim  to  support. 

Perhaps,  if  it  were  more  confined  in 


1 17 

its  views,  if  it  were  designed  to  answer 
the  purposes  of  a party  or  s$ct,  it  would 
be  better  sustained.  Were  it  to  pro- 
scribe one  class,  and  to  pander  to  the 
bad  passions  of  another,  it  would  not 
perhaps  be  obliged  to  sue  for  more  gen- 
erous patronage.  But  is  it  true  that  a 
work  on  education  cannot  find  readers 
without  assuming  the  badge  of  party? 
Cannot  the  greatness  of  its  object  se- 
cure attention  to  its  teachings  ? In 
what  class  of  society  ought  it  not  to  find 
friends  ? What  parent  has  not  a deep 
interest  in  the  improvement  of  public 
and  private  education  ? What  philan- 
thropist does  not  see  in  this  the  chief 
preparation  of  a people  for  his  schemes 
of  usefulness  ? What  patriot  does  not 
see  in  this  the  main  security  of  free  in- 
stitutions ? This  cause  is  commended 
alike  to  our  private  and  public  affections ; 
and  must  the  only  periodical  devoted  to 
it  die  through  neglect  ? 

We  are  aware  that  there  are  some 
who  take  an  attitude  of  defence  when 
pressed  with  earnest  applications  on  the 
subject  of  education.  They  think  its 
importance  overrated.  They  say  that 
circumstances  chiefly  determine  the 
young  mind,  that  the  influence  of  par- 
ents and  teachers  is  very  narrow,  and 
that  they  sometimes  dwarf  and  distort, 
instead  of  improving  the  child,  by  tak- 
ing the  work  out  of  the  hand  of  nature. 
These  remarks  are  not  wholly  unfound- 
ed. The  power  of  parents  is  often  ex- 
aggerated. To  strengthen  their  sense 
of  responsibility,  they  are  often  taught 
that  they  are  competent  to  effects  which 
are  not  within  their  reach,  and  are  often 
discouraged  by  the  greatness  of  the  task 
to  which  they  are  summoned.  Nothing 
is  gained  by  exaggeration.  It  is  true, 
and  the  truth  need  not  be  disguised,  that 
parents  cannot  operate  at  pleasure  on 
the  minds  and  characters  of  the  young. 
Their  influence  is  limited  by  their  own 
ignorance  and  imperfection,  by  the 
strength  and  freedom  of  the  will  of  the 
child,  and  by  its  connection,  from  its 
breath,  with  other  objects  and  beings. 
Parents  are  not  the  only  educators  of 
their  offspring,  but  must  divide  the  work 
with  other  and  numerous  agents.  And 
in  this  we  rejoice  ; for,  were  the  young 
confined  to  domestic  influences,  each 
generation  would  be  a copy  of  the  pre- 
ceding, and  the  progress  of  society  would 
cease.  The  child  is  not  put  into  the 


ii  8 


REMARKS  ON  EDUCATION. 


hands  of  parents  alone.  It  is  not  born 
to  hear  but  a few  voices.  It  is  brought 
at  birth  into  a vast,  we  may  say  an  in- 
finite, school.  The  universe  is  charged 
with  the  office  of  its  education.  In- 
numerable voices  come  to  it  from  all 
that  it  meets,  sees,  feels.  It  is  not  con- 
fined to  a few  books  anxiously  selected 
for  it  by  parental  care.  Nature,  society, 
experience,  are  volumes  opened  every- 
where and  perpetually  before  its  eyes. 
It  takes  lessons  from  every  object  within 
the  sphere  of  its  senses  and  its  activity, 
from  the  sun  and  stars,  from  the  flowers 
of  spring  and  the  fruits  of  autumn,  from 
every  associate,  from  every  smiling  and 
frowning  countenance,  from  the  pur- 
suits, trades,  professions  of  the  commu- 
nity in  which  it  moves,  from  its  plays, 
friendships,  and  dislikes,  from  the  vari- 
eties of  human  character,  and  from  the 
consequences  of  its  actions.  All  these, 
and  more  than  these,  are  appointed  to 
teach,  awaken,  develop  the  mind  of  the 
child.  It  is  plunged  amidst  friendly  and 
hostile  influences,  to  grow  by  co-operat- 
ing with  the  first,  and  by  resisting  the 
last.  The  circumstances  in  which  we 
are  placed  form,  indeed,  a most  impor- 
tant school,  and  by  their  help  some  men 
have  risen  to  distinction  in  knowledge 
and  virtue,  with  little  aid  from  parents, 
teachers,  and  books. 

Still,  the  influence  of  parents  and 
teachers  is  great.  On  them  it  very 
much  depends  whether  the  circum- 
stances which  surround  the  child  shall 
operate  to  his  good.  They  must  help 
him  to  read,  interpret,  and  use  wisely 
the  great  volumes  of  nature,  society, 
and  experience.  They  must  fix  his 
volatile  glance,  arrest  his  precipitate 
judgment,  guide  his  observation,  teach 
him  to  link  together  cause  and  effect 
in  the  outward  world,  and  turn  his 
thoughts  inward  on  his  own  more  mys- 
terious nature.  The  young,  left  to  the 
education  of  circumstances,  — left  with- 
out teaching,  guidance,  restraint,  — will, 
in  all  probability,  grow  up  ignorant, 
torpid  in  intellect,  strangers  to  their 
own  powers,  and  slaves  to  their  pas- 
sions. The  fact  that  some  children, 
without  aid  from  parents  or  schools, 
have  struggled  into  eminence,  no  more 
proves  such  aid  to  be  useless  than  the 
fact  that  some  have  grown  strong  under 
physical  exposures  which  would  destroy 
the  majority  of  the  race,  would  prove 


the  worthlessness  of  the  ordinary  pre- 
cautions which  are  taken  for  the  se- 
curity of  health. 

We  have  spoken  of  parents  as  pos- 
sessing, and  as  bound  to  exert,  an"  im- 
portant influence  on  the  young.  But 
they  cannot  do  the  whole  work  of  edu- 
cation. Their  daily  occupation,  the 
necessity  of  labors  for  the  support  of 
their  families,  household  cares,  the 
duty  of  watching  over  the  health  of 
their  children,  and  other  social  rela- 
tions, render  it  almost  impossible  for 
parents  to  qualify  themselves  for  much 
of  the  teaching  which  the  young  re- 
quire, and  often  deny  them  time  and 
opportunity  for  giving  instruction  to 
which  they  are  competent.  Hence  the 
need  of  a class  of  persons  who  shall 
devote  themselves  exclusively  to  the 
work  of  education.  In  all  societies, 
ancient  and  modern,  this  want  has  been 
felt ; the  profession  of  teachers  has 
been  known ; and  to  secure  the  best 
helps  of  this  kind  to  children  is  one  of 
the  first  duties  of  parents,  for  on  these 
the  progress  of  their  children  very  much 
depends. 

One  of  the  discouraging  views  of 
society  at  the  present  moment  is,  that 
whilst  much  is  said  of  education,  hardly 
any  seem  to  feel  the  necessity  of  secur- 
ing to  it  the  best  minds  in  the  com- 
munity, and  of  securing  them  at  any 
price.  A juster  estimate  of  this  office 
begins  to  be  made  in  our  great  cities  ; 
but,  generally,  it  seems  to  be  thought 
that  anybody  may  become  a teacher. 
The  most  moderate  ability  is  thought 
to  be  competent  to  the  most  important 
profession  in  society.  Strange,  too,  as 
it  may  seem,  on  this  point  parents  in- 
cline to  be  economical.  They  who 
squander  thousands  on  dress,  furniture, 
amusements,  think  it  hard  to  pay  com- 
paratively small  sums  to  the  instructor  ; 
and  through  this  ruinous  economy,  and 
this  ignorance  of  the  dignity  of  a teach- 
er s vocation,  they  rob  their  children  of 
aid  for  which  the  treasures  of  worlds 
can  afford  no  compensation. 

There  is  no  office  higher  than  that 
of  a teacher  of  youth,  for  there  is  noth- 
ing on  earth  so  precious  as  the  mind,  • 
soul,  character  of  the  child.  No  office 
should  be  regarded  with  greater  re- 
spect. The  first  minds  in  the  com- 
munity should  be  encouraged  to  assume 
it.  Parents  should  do  all  but  impover- 


REMARKS  ON  EDUCATION 


ish  themselves  to  induce  such  to  be- 
come the  guardians  and  guides  of  their 
children.  To  this  good,  all  their  show 
and  luxury  should  be  sacrificed.  Here 
they  should  be  lavish,  whilst  they 
straiten  themselves  in  every  thing  else. 
They  should  wear  the  cheapest  clothes, 
live  on  the  plainest  food,  if  they  can  in 
no  other  way  secure  to  their  families 
the  best  instruction.  They  should  have 
no  anxiety  to  accumulate  property  for 
their  children,  provided  they  can  place 
them  under  influences  which  will  awaken 
their  faculties,  inspire  them  with  pure 
and  high  principles,  and  fit  them  to  bear 
a manly,  useful,  and  honorable  part  in 
the  world.  No  language  can  express 
the  cruelty  or  folly  of  that  economy 
which,  to  leave  a fortune  to  a child, 
starves  his  intellect,  impoverishes  his 
heart.  There  should  be  no  economy 
in  education.  Money  should  never  be 
weighed  against  the  soul  of  a child.  It 
should  be  poured  out  like  water  for  the 
child’s  intellectual  and  moral  life. 

Parents  should  seek  an  educator  for 
the  young  of  their  families  who  will 
become  to  them  a hearty  and  efficient 
friend,  counsellor,  coadjutor,  in  their 
work.  If  their  circumstances  will  allow 
it,  they  should  so  limit  the  school  that 
the  instructor  may  know  intimately  ev- 
ery child,  may  become  the  friend  of 
each,  and  may  converse  frequently  with 
them  in  regard  to  each.  He  should  be 
worthy  of  their  confidence,  should  find 
their  doors  always  open,  should  be 
among  their  most  welcome  guests,  and 
should  study  with  them  the  discipline 
which  the  peculiarities  of  each  pupil 
may  require.  He  should  give  the  par- 
ents warning  of  the  least  obliquity  of 
mind  which  he  discovers  at  school, 
should  receive  in  return  their  sugges- 
tions as  to  the  injudiciousness  of  his 
own  methods  in  regard  to  one  or 
another  child,  and  should  concert  with 
them  the  means  of  arresting  every  evil 
at  its  first  manifestation.  Such  is  the 
teacher  we  need,  and  his  value  cannot 
be  paid  in  gold.  A man  of  distinguished 
ability  and  virtue,  whose  mind  should 
be  concentrated  in  the  work  of  training 
as  many  children  as  he  can  thoroughly 
understand  and  guide,  would  shed  a 
light  on  the  path  of  parents  for  which 
they  often  sigh,  and  would  give  an  im- 
pulse to  the  young  little  comprehended 
under  our  present  modes  of  teaching. 


II9 

No  profession  should  receive  so  liberal 
remuneration.  We  need  not  say  how 
far  the  community  fall  short  of  this 
estimate  of  the  teacher’s  office.  Very 
many  send  their  children  to  school,  and 
seldom  or  never  see  the  instructor  who 
is  operating  daily  and  deeply  on  their 
minds  and  characters.  With  a blind 
confidence,  perhaps  they  do  not  ask  how 
that  work  is  advancing  on  which  the 
dearest  interests  of  the  family  depend. 
Perhaps  they  put  the  children  under  the 
daily  control  of  one  with  whom  they  do 
not  care  to  associate.  Perhaps,  were 
they  told  what  they  ought  to  pay  for 
teaching,  they  would  stare  as  if  a proj- 
ect for  robbing  them  were  on  foot,  or 
would  suspect  the  sanity  of  the  friend 
who  should  counsel  them  to  throw  away 
so  much  money  in  purchasing  that 
cheapest  of  all  articles,  that  drug  in  every 
market,  instruction  for  their  children. 

We  know  not  how  society  can  be 
aided  more  than  by  the  formation  of  a 
body  of  wise  and  efficient  educators. 
We  know  not  any  class  which  would 
contribute  so  much  to  the  stability  of 
the  state,  and  to  domestic  happiness. 
Much  as  we  respect  the  ministry  of 
the  gospel,  we  believe  that  it  must 
yield  in  importance  to  the  office  of  train- 
ing the  young.  In  truth,  the  ministry 
now  accomplishes  little  for  want  of 
that  early  intellectual  and  moral  dis- 
cipline by  which  alone  a community 
can  be  prepared  to  distinguish  truth 
from  falsehood,  to  comprehend  the  in- 
structions of  the  pulpit,  to  receive 
higher  and  broader  views  of  duty,  and 
to  apply  general  principles  to  the  diver- 
sified details  of  life.  A body  of  cul- 
tivated men,  devoted,  with  their  whole 
hearts,  to  the  improvement  of  educa- 
tion, and  to  the  most  effectual  training 
of  the  young,  would  work  a fundamen- 
tal revolution  in  society.  They  would 
leaven  the  community  with  just  princi- 
ples. Their  influence  would  penetrate 
our  families.  Our  domestic  discipline 
would  no  longer  be  left  to  accident  and 
impulse.  What  parent  has  not  felt  the 
need  of  this  aid,  has  not  often  been 
depressed,  heart-sick,  under  the  con- 
sciousness of  ignorance  in  the  great 
work  of  swaying  the  youthful  mind ! 

We  have  spoken  of  the  office  of  the 
education  of  human  beings  as  the  no- 
blest on  earth,  and  have  spoken  delib- 
erately. It  is  more  important  than  that 


120 


REMARKS  ON  EDUCATION 


of  the  statesman.  The  statesman  may- 
set  fences  round  our  property  and  dwell- 
ings ; but  how  much  more  are  we  in- 
debted to  him  who  calls  forth  the  powers 
and  affections  of  those  for  whom  our 
property  is  earned,  and  our  dwellings  are 
reared,  and  who  renders  our  children 
objects  of  increasing  love  and  respect ! 
We  go  farther.  We  maintain  that  higher 
ability  is  required  for  the  office  of  an 
educator  of  the  young  than  for  that  of  a 
statesman.  The  highest  ability  is  that 
which  penetrates  farthest  into  human 
nature,  comprehends  the  mind  in  all  its 
capacities,  traces  out  the  laws  of  thought 
and  moral  action,  understands  the  per- 
fection of  human  nature  and  how  it  may 
be  approached,  understands  the  springs, 
motives,  applications,  by  which  the  child 
is  to  be  roused  to  the  most  vigorous  and 
harmonious  action  of  all  its  faculties,  un- 
derstands its  perils,  and  knows  how  to 
blend  and  modify  the  influences  which 
outward  circumstances  exert  on  the 
youthful  mind.  The  speculations  of 
statesmen  are  shallow  compared  with 
these.  It  is  the  chief  function  of  the 
statesman  to  watch  over  the  outward 
interests  of  a people,  — that  of  the  edu- 
cator to  quicken  its  soul.  The  statesman 
must  study  and  manage  the  passions  and 
prejudices  of  the  community  ; the  ed- 
ucator must  study  the  essential,  the 
deepest,  the  loftiest  principles  of  hu- 
man nature.  The  statesman  works  with 
coarse  instruments  for  coarse  ends  ; the 
educator  is  to  work  by  the  most  refined 
influences  on  that  delicate,  ethereal  es- 
sence, the  immortal  soul. 

Nothing  is  more  common  than  mis- 
takes as  to  the  comparative  importance 
of  the  different  vocations  of  life.  Noisy, 
showy  agency,  which  is  spread  over  a 
great  surface,  and  therefore  seldom  pen- 
etrates beneath  the  surface,  is  called 
glory.  Multitudes  are  blinded  by  official 
dignity,  and  stand  wondering  at  a pygmy, 
because  he  happens  to  be  perched  on 
some  eminence  in  church  or  state.  So 
the  declaimer,  who  can  electrify  a crowd 
by  passionate  appeals,  or  splendid  im- 
ages, which  give  no  clear  perceptions  to 
the  intellect,  which  develop  no  general 
truth,  which  breathe  no  firm,  disinterested 
purpose,  passes  for  a great  man.  How 
few  reflect,  that  the  greater  man  is  he 
who,  without  noise  or  show,  is  wisely 
fixing  in  a few  minds  broad,  pregnant, 
generous  principles  of  judgment  and  ac- 


tion, and  giving  an  impulse  which  will 
carry  them  on  for  ever  ! Jesus,  with  that 
divine  wisdom  which  separates  him  from 
all  other  teachers,  declared  that  the  first 
requisite  for  becoming  “ great  in  his 
kingdom,”  which  was  another  phrase 
for  exerting  a great  moral  influence, 
was  humility;  by  which  he  meant  a 
spirit  opposed  to  that  passion  for  con- 
spicuous station  with  which  he  saw  his 
disciples  inflamed,  — a spirit  of  deep, 
unpretending  philanthropy,  manifested 
in  sympathy  with  the  wants  of  the  mind, 
and  in  condescension  to  any  efforts  by 
which  the  ignorant  and  tempted  might 
be  brought  to  truth  and  virtue.  Ac- 
cording to  these  views,  we  think  it  a 
greater  work  to  educate  a child,  in  the 
true  and  large  sense  of  that  phrase,  than 
to  rule  a state. 

Perhaps  the  direction  which  benevo- 
lence is  taking  at  the  present  day  has 
some  influence  in  turning  from  the  office 
of  education  the  high  honor  which  is  its 
due.  Benevolence  is  now  directing  it- 
self very  much  to  public  objects,  to  the 
alleviation  of  misery  on  a grand  scale,  to 
the  conversion  of  whole  nations,  to  the 
instruction  of  large  bodies,  and  in  this 
form  it  draws  the  chief  notice  and  ad- 
miration of  multitudes.  Now  we  are  far 
from  wishing  to  confine  this  action  of 
charity.  We  respect  it,  and  recognize 
in  it  one  of  the  distinctive  fruits  of 
Christianity.  But  it  must  not  be  for- 
gotten that  the  purest  benevolence  is 
that  which  acts  on  individuals,  and  is 
manifested  in  our  particular  social  do- 
mestic relations.  It  requires  no  great 
improvement  in  charity  to  sympathize 
with  the  degradation  and  misery  into 
which  the  millions  of  India  are  sunk  by 
the  worship  of  Juggernaut,  and  other 
superstitions.  It  is  a higher  action  of 
the  intellect  and  heart  to  study  and  un- 
derstand thoroughly  the  character  of  an 
individual  who  is  near  us,  to  enter  into 
his  mind,  to  trace  his  defects  and  suffer- 
ings to  their  true  spring,  to  bear  quietly 
and  gently  with  his  frowardness  and  re- 
lapses, and  to  apply  to  him  patiently  and 
encouragingly  the  means  of  intellectual 
and  moral  elevation.  It  is  not  the  high- 
est attainment  to  be  benevolent  to  those 
who  are  thousands  of  miles  from  us, 
whose  miseries  make  striking  pictures 
for  the  imagination,  who  never  cross  our 
paths,  never  interfere  with  our  interests, 
never  try  us  by  their  waywardness,  never 


REMARKS  ON  EDUCATION 


1 2 1 


shock  us  by  their  coarse  manners,  and 
whom  we  are  to  assist  by  an  act  of 
bounty  which  sends  a missionary  to 
their  aid.  The  truest  mode  of  enlarging 
our  benevolence  is  not  to  quicken  our 
sensibility  towards  great  masses  or  wide- 
spread evils,  but  to  approach,  compre- 
hend, sympathize  with,  and  act  upon,  a 
continually  increasing  number  of  individ- 
uals. It  is  the  glory  of  God  to  know, 
love,  and  act  on  every  individual  in  his  in- 
finite creation.  Let  us,  if  we  can,  do  good 
far  and  wide.  Let  us  send  light  and  joy, 
if  we  can,  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  The 
charity  which  is  now  active  for  distant 
objects  is  noble.  We  only  wish  to  say 
that  it  ranks  behind  the  obscurer  phi- 
lanthropy which,  while  it  sympathizes 
with  the  race,  enters  deeply  into  the 
minds,  wants,  interests  of  the  individ- 
uals within  its  reach,  and  devotes  itself 
patiently  and  wisely  to  the  task  of  bring- 
ing them  to  a higher  standard  of  intel- 
lectual and  moral  worth. 

We  would  suggest  it  to  those  who  are 
anxious  to  do  good  on  a grand  and  im- 
posing scale,  that  they  should  be  the 
last  to  cast  into  the  shade  the  labors  of 
the  retired  teacher  of  the  young ; be- 
cause education  is  the  germ  of  all  other 
improvements,  and  because  all  their 
schemes  for  the  progress  of  society 
must  fail  without  it."  How  often  have 
the  efforts  of  the  philanthropist  been 
foiled  by  the  prejudices  and  brutal  ig- 
norance of  the  community  which  he  has 
hoped  to  serve,  by  their  incapacity  of 
understanding  him,  of  entering  into  and 
co-operating  with  his  views  ! He  has 
cast  his  seed  on  the  barren  sand, 
and  of  course  reaped  no  fruit  but  dis- 
appointment. Philanthropists  are  too 
apt  to  imagine  that  they  can  accomplish 
particular  reformations,  or  work  partic- 
ular changes  in  a society,  although  no 
foundation  for  these  improvements  has 
been  laid  in  its  intellectual  and  moral 
culture.  They  expect  a people  to  think 
and  act  wisely  in  special  cases,  although 
generally  wanting  in  intelligence,  sound 
judgment,  and  the  capacity  of  under- 
standing and  applying  the  principles  of 
reason.  But  this  partial  improvement 
is  a vain  hope.  The  physician  who 
should  spend  his  skill  on  a diseased 
limb  whilst  all  the  functions  were  de- 
ranged, and  the  principle  of  life  almost 
extinguished,  would  get  no  credit  for 
skill.  To  do  men  permanent  good,  we. 


must  act  on  their  whole  nature,  and  es- 
pecially must  aid,  foster,  and  guide  their 
highest  faculties  at  the  first  period  of 
their  development.  If  left  in  early  life 
to  sink  into  intellectual  and  moral  torpor, 
— if  suffered  to  grow  up  unconscious 
of  their  powers,  unused  to  steady  and 
wise  exertion  of  the  understanding,  and 
strangers  to  the  motives  which  ought  to 
stir  and  guide  human  activity, — they 
will  be  poor  subjects  for  the  efforts  of 
the  philanthropist.  Benevolence  is  short- 
sighted, indeed,  and  must  blame  itself 
for  failure,  if  it  do  not  see  in  education 
the  chief  interest  of  the  human  race. 

One  great  cause  of  the  low  estimation 
in  which  the  teacher  is  now  held  may 
be  found  in  narrow  views  of  education. 
The  multitude  think  that  to  educate  a 
child  is  to  crowd  into  its  mind  a given 
amount  of  knowledge,  to  teach  the  mech- 
anism of  reading  and  writing,  to  load 
the  memory  with  words,  to  prepare  a 
boy  for  the  routine  of  a trade.  No 
wonder,  then,  that  they  think  almost 
everybody  fit  to  teach.  The  true  end  of 
education,  as  we  have  again  and  again 
suggested,  is  to  unfold  and  direct  aright 
our  whole  nature.  Its  office  is  to  call 
forth  power  of  every  kind,  — power  of 
thought,  affection,  will,  and  outward 
action  ; power  to  observe,  to  reason,  to 
judge,  to  contrive  ; power  to  adopt  good 
ends  firmly,  and  to  pursue  them  effi- 
ciently ; power  to  govern  ourselves,  and 
to  influence  others  ; power  to  gain  and 
to  spread  happiness.  Reading  is  but 
an  instrument,  — education  is  to  teach 
its  best  use.  The  intellect  was  created 
not  to  receive  passively  a few  words, 
dates,  facts,  but  to  be  active  for  the 
acquisition  of  truth.  Accordingly,  edu- 
cation should  labor  to  inspire  a profound 
love  of  truth,  and  to  teach  the  processes 
of  investigation.  A sound  logic  — by 
which  we  mean  the  science  or  art  which 
instructs  us  in  the  laws  of  reasoning 
and  evidence,  in  the  true  methods  of 
inquiry,  and  in  the  sources  of  false 
judgments  — is  an  essential  part  of  a 
good  education.  And  yet  how  little  is 
done  to  teach  the  right  use  of  the  in- 
tellect in  the  common  modes  of  training 
either  rich  or  poor  ! As  a general  rule, 
the  young  are  to  be  made,  as  far  as  pos- 
sible, their  own  teachers,  the  discover- 
ers of  truth,  the  interpreters  of  nature, 
the  framers  of  science.  They  are  to  be 
helped  to  help  themselves.  They  should 


122 


REMARKS  ON  EDUCATION 


be  taught  to  observe  and  study  the  world 
in  which  they  live,  to  trace  the  connec- 
tions of  events,  to  rise  from  particular 
facts  to  general  principles,  and  then  to 
apply  these  in  explaining  new  phenom- 
ena. Such  is  a rapid  outline  of  the  in- 
tellectual education  which,  as  far  as 
possible,  should  be  given  to  all  human 
beings  ; and  with  this  moral  education 
should  go  hand  in  hand.  In  proportion 
as  the  child  gains  knowledge,  he  should 
be  taught  how  to  use  it  well,  how  to 
turn  it  to  the  good  of  mankind.  He 
should  study  the  world  as  God’s  world, 
and  as  the  sphere  in  which  he  is  to  form 
interesting  connections  with  his  fellow- 
creatures.  A spirit  of  humanity  should 
be  breathed  into  him  from  all  his  studies. 
In  teaching  geography,  the  physical  and 
moral  condition,  the  wants,  advantages, 
and  striking  peculiarities  of  different 
nations,  and  the  relations  of  climates, 
seas,  rivers,  mountains,  to  their  char- 
acters and  pursuits,  should  be  pointed 
out,  so  as  to  awaken  an  interest  in  man 
wherever  he  dwells.  History  should  be 
constantly  used  to  exercise  the  moral 
judgment  of  the  young,  to  call  forth 
sympathy  with  the  fortunes  of  the  hu- 
man race,  and  to  expose  to  indigna- 
tion and  abhorrence  that  selfish  ambi- 
tion, that  passion  for  dominion,  which 
has  so  long  deluged  the  earth  with 
blood  and  woe.  And  not  only  should 
the  excitement  of  just  moral  feeling  be 
proposed  in  every  study.  The  science 
of  morals  should  form  an  important 
part  of  every  child’s  instruction.  One 
branch  of  ethics  should  be  particularly 
insisted  on  by  the  government.  Every 
school,  established  by  law,  should  be 
specially  bound  to  teach  the  duties  of 
the  citizen  to  the  state,  to  unfold  the 
principles  of  free  institutions,  and  to 
train  the  young  to  an  enlightened  pa- 
triotism. From  these  brief  and  imper- 
fect views  of  the  nature  and  ends  of  a 
wise  education,  we  learn  the  dignity  of 
the  profession  to  which  it  is  intrusted, 
and  the  importance  of  securing  to  it  the 
best  minds  of  the  community. 

On  reviewing  these  hints  on  the  ex- 
tent of  education,  we  see  that  one  im- 
portant topic  has  been  omitted.  We 
have  said  that  it  is  the  office  of  the 
teacher  to  call  into  vigorous  action  the 
mind  of  the  child.  He  must  do  more. 
He  must  strive  to  create  a thirst,  an 
insatiable  craving  for  knowledge,  — to 


give  animation  to  study  and  make  it 
a pleasure,  and  thus  to  communicate  an 
impulse  which  will  endure  when  the  in- 
structions of  the  school  are  closed.  The 
mark  of  a good  teacher  is,  not  only  that 
he  produces  great  effort  in  his  pupils, 
but  that  he  dismisses  them  from  his 
care  conscious  of  having  only  laid  the 
foundation  of  knowledge,  and  anxious 
and  resolved  to  improve  themselves. 
One  of  the  sure  signs  of  the  low  state 
of  instruction  among  us  is,  that  the 
young,  on  leaving  school,  feel  as  if  the 
work  of  intellectual  culture  were  done, 
and  give  up  steady,  vigorous  effort 
for  higher  truth  and  wider  knowledge. 
Our  daughters  at  sixteen  and  our  sons 
at  eighteen  or  twenty  have  finished  their 
education.  The  true  use  of  a school  is, 
to  enable  and  dispose  the  pupil  to  learn 
through  life  ; and  if  so,  who  does  not 
see  that  the  office  of  teacher  requires 
men  of  enlarged  and  liberal  minds,  and  of 
winning  manners,  — in  other  words,  that 
it  requires  as  cultivated  men  as  can  be 
found  in  society.  If  to  drive  and  to 
drill  were  the  chief  duties  of  an  instruc- 
tor ; if  to  force  into  the  mind  an  amount 
of  lifeless  knowledge,  to  make  the  child 
a machine,  to  create  a repugnance  to 
books,  to  mental  labor,  to  the  acquisi- 
tion of  knowledge,  were  the  great  ob- 
jects of  the  schoobroom,  then  the  teach- 
er might  be  chosen  on  the  principles 
which  now  govern  the  school-commit- 
tees in  no  small  part  of  our  country. 
Then  the  man  who  can  read,  write, 
cipher,  and  whip,  and  will  exercise  his 
gifts  at  the  lowest  price,  deserves  the 
precedence  which  he  now  too  often 
enjoys.  But  if  the  human  being  be 
something  more  than  a block  or  a brute  ; 
if  he  have  powers  which  proclaim  him  a 
child  of  God,  and  which  were  given  for 
noble  action  and  perpetual  progress, 
then  a better  order  of  things  should 
begin  among  us,  and  truly  enlightened 
men  should  be  summoned  to  the  work 
of  education. 

Leaving  the  subject  of  instruction,  we 
observe  that  there  is  another  duty  of 
teachers  which  requires  that  they  should 
be  taken  from  the  class  of  improved, 
wise,  virtuous  men.  They  are  to  gov- 
ern as  well  as  teach.  They  must  pre- 
serve order,  and  for  this  end  must  inflict 
punishment  in  some  of  its  forms.  We 
know  that  some  philanthropists  wish  to 
banish  all  punishment  from  the  school. 


REMARKS  ON  EDUCATION. 


123 


We  would  not  discourage  their  efforts 
and  hopes  ; but  we  fear  that  the  time 
for  this  reform  is  not  yet  come,  and  that 
as  long  as  the  want  of  a wise  discipline 
at  home  supplies  the  teacher  with  so 
many  lawless  subjects,  he  will  be  com- 
pelled to  use  other  restraints  than  kind- 
ness and  reason.  Punishment,  we  fear, 
cannot  be  dispensed  with  ; but  that  it 
ought  to  be  administered  most  deliber- 
ately, righteously,  judiciously,  and  with 
a wise  adaptation  to  the  character  of 
the  child,  we  all  feel  ; and  can  it  then 
be  safely  intrusted,  as  is  too  much  the 
case,  to  teachers  undisciplined  in  mind 
and  heart  ? Corporal  punishment  at 
present  has  a place  in  almost  all  our 
schools  for  boys,  and  perhaps  in  some 
for  girls.  It  may  be  necessary.  But  ought 
not  every  parent  to  have  some  security 
that  his  child  shall  not  receive  a blow 
unless  inflicted  in  wisdom,  justice,  and 
kindness  ? And  what  security  can  he 
have  for  this  but  in  the  improved  char- 
acter of  the  instructor  ? We  have 
known  mournful  effects  of  injudicious 
corporal  punishment.  We  have  known 
a blow  to  alienate  a child  from  his 
father,  to  stir  up  bitter  hatred  towards 
his  teacher,  and  to  indispose  him  to 
study  and  the  pursuit  of  knowledge. 
We  cannot  be  too  unwilling  to  place  our 
children  under  the  care  of  passionate 
teachers,  who,  having  no  rule  over  their 
own  spirits,  cannot  of  course  rule  others, 
or  of  weak  and  unskilful  teachers,  who 
are  obliged  to  supply  by  severity  the 
want  of  a wise  firmness.  It  is  wonder- 
ful how  thoughtlessly  parents  expose 
their  children  to  corporal  punishment. 
Our  laws  have  expunged  whipping  from 
the  penal  code,  and  the  felon  is  ex- 
empted from  this  indignity.  But  how 
many  boys  are  subjected  to  a whipper 
in  the  shape  of  a schoolmaster,  whose 
whole  mystery  of  discipline  lies  in  the 
ferule  ! The  discipline  of  a school  is 
of  vast  importance  in  its  moral  influence. 
A boy  compelled  for  six  hours  each  day 
to  see  the  countenance  and  hear  the 
voice  of  an  unfeeling,  petulant,  passion- 
ate, unjust  teacher,  is  placed  in  a school 
of  vice.  He  is  all  the  time  learning  les- 
sons of  inhumanity,  hard-heartedness, 
and  injustice.  The  English  are  con- 
sidered by  the  rest  of  Europe  as  inclined 
to.  cruelty.  Their  common  people  are 
said  to  be  wanting  in  mercy  to  the  infe- 
rior animals  and  to  be  ferocious  in  their 
quarrels  ; and  their  planters  enjoy  the 


bad  pre-eminence  of  being  the  worst 
masters  in  the  West  Indies,  with  the 
exception  of  the  Dutch.  It  is  worth 
consideration,  whether  these  vices,  if 
they  really  exist,  may  not  be  ascribed 
in  part  to  the  unrestrained,  barbarous 
use  of  whipping  in  their  schools.  Of 
one  thing  we  are  sure,  that  the  disci- 
pline of  a school  has  an  important  in- 
fluence on  the  character  of  a child  ; and 
that  a just,  mild,  benevolent  teacher,  who 
procures  order  by  methods  which  the 
moral  sense  of  his  pupils  approves,  is 
perpetually  spreading  around  him  his 
own  virtues.  Should  not  our  teachers, 
then,  be  sought  from  the  class  of  the 
most  enlightened  and  excellent  men  ? 

Our  limits  allow  us  to  add  but  one 
more  remark  on  the  qualifications  of 
teachers.  It  is  important  that  they, 
should  be  able  to  co-operate  with  par- 
ents in  awakening  the  religious  principle 
in  the  young.  We  would  not  of  course 
admit  into  schools  the  peculiarities  of 
the  denominations  which  divide  the 
Christian  world.  But  religion  in  its 
broadest  sense  should  be  taught.  It 
should  indirectly  mix  with  all  teaching. 
The  young  mind  should  be  guided 
through  nature  and  human  history  to 
the  Creator  and  Disposer  of  the  uni- 
verse ; and,  still  more,  the  practical  prin- 
ciples and  spirit  of  Christianity  should 
be  matters  of  direct  inculcation.  We 
know  no  office  requiring  greater  wisdom, 
and  none  but  the  wise  and  good  should 
be  invited  to  discharge  it. 

We  know  that  it  will  be  objected  to 
the  views  now  given,  that  few,  very  few, 
will  be  able  to  pay  for  such  teachers  as 
we  recommend.  We  believe,  however, 
that  there  is  a large  class  who,  if  they 
had  the  will,  and  would  deny  themselves 
as  they  ought,  might  procure  excellent 
instructors  for  their  children  ; and  as  for 
the  rest,  let  them  do  their  best,  let  them 
but  throw  their  hearts  into  this  cause 
and  improvements  will  be  effected  which 
have  not  been  anticipated,  perhaps  not 
conceived.  We  acknowledge,  however, 
that  our  remarks  have  been  intended 
chiefly  for  the  opulent.  Let  an  interest 
in  education  be  awakened  in  this  class, 
and  let  more  generous  means  for  its  pro- 
motion be  employed,  and  we  are  satisfied 
that  the  teaching  of  all  classes  will  be 
advanced,  the  talent  of  the  country  will 
be  more  and  more  directed  to  the  office 
of  instruction,  and  the  benefit  will  spread 
through  the  whole  community. 


124 


REMARKS  ON  NATIONAL  LITERATURE. 


REMARKS  ON  NATIONAL  LITERATURE. 


j [Review  of  a Discourse  concerning  the  Influence  of 
I America  on  the  Mind  ; being  the  Annual  Oration 
I delivered  before  the  American  Philosophical  Soci- 
l ety,  at  the  University  in  Philadelphia,  October  18, 
\ 1823.  By  C.  J.  Ingersoll.] 

We  shall  use  the  work  prefixed  to  this 
article  as  ministers  are  sometimes  said 
to  use  their  texts.  We  shall  make  it  a 
point  to  start  from,  — not  the  subject  of 
our  remarks.  Our  purpose  is  to  treat 
of  the  importance  and  means  of  a Na- 
tional Literature.  The  topic  seems  to 
us  a great  one,  and  to  have  intimate 
connections  with  morals  and  religion,  as 
well  as  with  all  our  public  interests. 
Our  views  will  be  given  with  great  free- 
dom ; and  if  they  serve  no  other  pur- 
pose than  to  recommend  the  subject  to 
more  general  attention,  one  of  our  prin- 
cipal objects  will  be  accomplished. 

We  begin  with  stating  what  we  mean 
by  national  literature.  We  mean  the 
expression  of  a nation’s  mind  in  writing. 
We  mean  the  production  among  a peo- 
ple of  important  works  in  philosophy, 
and  in  the  departments  of  imagination 
and  taste.  We  mean  the  contributions 
of  new  truths  to  the  stock  of  human 
knowledge.  We  mean  the  thoughts  of 
profound  and  original  minds,  elaborated 
by  the  toil  of  composition,  and  fixed  and 
made  immortal  in  books.  We  mean  the 
manifestation  of  a nation’s  intellect  in 
the  only  forms  by  which  it  can  multiply 
itself  at  home,  and  send  itself  abroad. 
We  mean  that  a nation  shall  take  a 
place,  by  its  authors,  among  the  lights 
of  the  world.  It  will  be  seen  that  we 
include  under  literature  all  the  writings 
of  superior  minds,  be  the  subjects  what 
they  may.  We  are  aware  that  the  term 
is  often  confined  to  compositions  which 
relate  to  human  nature  and  human  life  ; 
that  it  is  not  generally  extended  to  phys- 
ical science  ; that  mind,  not  matter,  is 
regarded  as  its  main  subject  and  sphere. 
But  the  worlds  of  matter  and  mind  are 
too  intimately  connected  to  admit  of 
exact  partition.  All  the  objects  of  hu- 
man thought  flow  into  one  another. 
Moral  and  physical  truths  have  many 


bonds  and  analogies,  and,  whilst  the 
former  are  the  chosen  and  noblest 
themes  of  literature,  we  are  not  anxious 
to  divorce  them  from  ^he  latter,  or  to 
shut  them  up  in  a separate  department. 
The  expression  of  superior  mind  ,in 
writing  we  regard,  then,  as  a nation’s 
literature.  We  regard  its  gifted  men, 
whether  devoted  to  the  exact  ..sciences, 
to  mental  and  ethical  philosophy,  to  his- 
tory and  legislation,  or  to  fiction  and 
poetry,  as  forming  a noble  intellectual 
brotherhood ; and  it  is  for  the  purpose 
of  quickening  all  to  join  their  labors  for 
the  public  good  that  we  offer  the  pres- 
ent plea  in  behalf  of  a national  literature. 

To  show  the  importance  which  we  at- 
tach to  the  subject,  we  begin  with  some 
remarks  on  what  we  deem  the  distinction 
which  a nation  should  most  earnestly 
covet.  We  believe  that  more  distinct 
apprehensions  on  this  point  are  needed, 
and  that,  for  want  of  them,  the  work  of 
improvement  is  carried  on  with  less  en- 
ergy, consistency,  and  wisdom,  than  may 
and  should  be  brought  to  bear  upon  it. 
The  great  distinction  of  a country,  then, 
is,  that  it  produces  superior  men.  Its 
natural  advantages  are  not  to  be  dis- 
dained. But  they  are  of  secondary  im- 
portance. No  matter  what  races  of  ani- 
mals a country  breeds,  the  great  question 
is,  Does  it  breed  a noble  race  of  men  ? 
No  matter  what  its  soil  may  be,  the 
great  question  is,  How  far  is  it  prolific 
of  moral  and  intellectual  power  ? No 
matter  how  stern  its  climate  is,  if  it 
nourish  force  of  thought  and  virtuous 
purpose.  These  are  the  products  by 
which  a country  is  to  be  tried,  and  insti- 
tutions have  value  only  by  the  impulse 
which  they  give  to  the  mind.  It  has 
sometimes  been  said  that  the  noblest 
men  grow  where  nothing  else  will  grow. 
This  we  do  not  believe,  for  mind  is  not 
the  creature  of  climate  or  soil.  But 
were  it  true,  we  should  say  that  it  were 
better  to  live  among  rocks  and  sands 
than  in  the  most  genial  and  productive 
region  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 


125 


REMARKS  ON  NATIONAL  LITER  A 


j As  yet,  the  great  distinction  of  a na- 
tion on  which  we  have  insisted  has  been 
scarcely  recognized.  Tim  idea  of  form- 
ing a superior  race  of  men  has  entered 
liUlelnJo  schemes  of  policy.  Invention 
and  effort  have  been  expended  on  matter 
much  more  than  on  mind.  Lofty  piles 
have  been  reared  ; the  earth  has  groaned 
under  pyramids  and  palaces.  The  thought 
of  building  up  a nobler  order  of  intellect 
and  character  has  hardly  crossed  the 
most  adventurous  statesman.  We  beg 
that  we  may  not  be  misapprehended. 
We  offer  these  remarks  to  correct  what 
we  deem  a disproportioned  attention  to 
physical  good,  and  not  at  all  to  condemn 
the  expenditure  of  ingenuity  and  strength 
on  the  outward  world.  There  is  a har- 
mony between  all  our  great  interests, 
between  inward  and  outward  improve- 
ments ; and  by  establishing  among  them 
a wise  order,  all  will  be  secured.  We 
have  no  desire  to  shut  up  man  in  his  own 
spiritual  nature.  The  mind  was  made 
to  act  on  matter,  and  it  grows  by  ex- 
pressing itself  in  material  forms.  We 
believe,  too,  that  in  proportion  as  it  shall 
gain  intellectual  and  moral  power,  it  will 
exert  itself  with  increased  energy  and 
delight  on  the  outward  creation ; will 
pour  itself  forth  more  freely  in  useful 
and  ornamental  arts ; will  rear  more 
magnificent  structures,  and  will  call 
forth  new  beauties  in  nature.  An  intelli- 
gent and  resolute  spirit  in  a community 
perpetually  extends  its  triumphs  over 
matter.  It  can  even  subject  to  itself 
the  most  unpromising  region.  Holland, 
diked  from  the  ocean,  — Venice,  rising 
amidst  the  waves, — and  New  England, 
bleak  and  rock -bound  New  England, 
converted  by  a few  generations  from  a 
wilderness  into  smiling  fields  and  opu- 
lent cities,  — point  us  to  the  mind  as  the 
great  source  of  physical  good,  and  teach 
us  that,  in  making  the  culture  of  man 
our  highest  end,  we  shall  not  retard  but 
advance  the  cultivation  of  nature. 

The  question  which  we  most  solicit- 
ously ask  about  this  country  is,  what 
race  of  men  it  is  likely  to  produce.  We 
consider  its  liberty  of  value  only  as  far 
as  it  favors  the  growth  of  men.  What 
is  liberty  ? The  removal  of  restraint 
from  human  powers.  Its  benefit  is,  that 
it  opens  new  fields  for  action  and  a wider 
range  for  the  mind.  The  only  freedom 
worth  possessing  is  that  which  gives  en- 
largement to  a people’s  energy,  intellect, 


and  virtues.  The* 
boast  of  freedom. 

Free  as  he  is,  he 
the  same  ignorance, 
fortless  life,  sees 
wilderness  spread 
indeed  free  from  what 1 
of  civil  institutions.  Bu^  oth< 
chains  bind  him.  The 
civil  government  is  in 
for,  by  withholding  protection  Jtn 
erty,  it  virtually  shackle^, the 
industry,  and  forbids  exe^ron 
melioration  of  his  lot.  ^ognss^ithe 
growth  of  power,  is  the  end\;aaid|t  on  of 
liberty ; and,  without  this,  a pej^^^y 
have  the  name,  but  want  the^j^^ 
and  spirit  of  freedom. 

We  are  the  more  earnest  imM 
on  these  views,  because  we  _™ 

attachment  to  our  country  mus| 
much  proportioned  to  what  we  deem  it^ 
tendency  to  form  a generous  race  p£ 
men.  We  pretend  not  to  have  {hrow#;. 
off  national  feeling ; but  we  hav^foi^b 
stronger  feelings.  We  love  our  country^ 
much,  but  mankind  more.  As  men/tmd 
Christians,  our  first  desire  is  to  see  the 
improvement  of  human  nature.  We  de- 
sire to  see  the  soul  of  man  wiser,  firmer, 
nobler,  more  conscious  of  its  imperish- 
able treasures,  more  beneficent  and 
powerful,  more  alive  to  its  connection 
with  God,  more  able  to  use  pleasure  and 
prosperity  aright,  and  more  victorious 
over  poverty,  adversity,  and  pain.  In 
our  survey  of  our  own  and  other  coun- 
tries, the  great  question  which  comes  to 
us  is  this,  Where  and  under  what  insti- 
tutions are  men  most  likely  to  advance  ? 
Where  are  the  soundest  minds  and  the 
purest  hearts  formed?  What  nation 
possesses,  in  its  history,  its  traditions, 
its  government,  its  religion,  its  manners, 
its  pursuits,  its  relations  to  other  com- 
munities, and  especially  in  its  private 
and  public  means  of  education,  the  in- 
struments and  pledges  of  a more  resolute 
virtue  and  devotion  to  truth,  than  we 
now  witness  ? Such  a nation,  be  it  where 
it  may,  will  engage  our  warmest  interest. 
We  love  our  country,  but  not  blindly. 
In  all  nations  we  recognize  one  great 
family,  and  our  chief  wish  for  our  native 
land  is,  that  it  may  take  the  first  rank 
among  the  lights  and  benefactors  of  the 
human  race. 

These  views  will  explain  the  vast  im- 
portance which  we  attach  to  a national 


126 


IRKS  ON  NATIONAL  LITERATURE . 


literature.  By  this,  as  we  have  said,  we 
understand.^  the  expression  of  a nation’s 
mind  in  wr&lcg:  ? At  is  the  action  of  the 
most  gifted  Understandings  on  the  com- 
munity. It  throws  into  circulation  through 
a wide  sphere  the  most  quickening  and 
beautifiu  thoughts  which  have  grown  up 
in  meixjjof  :,aborious  study  or  creative 
genius.  ^ If  U a much  higher  work  than 
the  commutation  of  a gifted  intellect 
in  discourse.  'It  is  the  mind  giving  to 
multitudes',  whom  no  voice  can  reach,  its 
composed  and  selected  thoughts  in  the 
molt  w id  order  and  attractive  forms 
which  it  is  capable  of  inventing.  In 
other  words,  literature  is  the  concen- 
tration of  intellect  for  the  purpose  of 
failing  itself  abroad  and  multiplying 


being  the  nature  of  literature,  it 
is!  plainly  among  the  most  powerful  meth- 
ods of  -exalting  the  character  of  a nation, 
of  forihing  a better  race  of  men  ; in 
trfcth,  we  apprehend  that  it  may  claim 
tW  first  rank  among  the  means  of  im- 
provement. We  know  nothing  so  fitted 
to  the  advancement  of  society  as  to  bring 
its  higher  minds  to  bear  upon  the  multi- 
tude ; as  to  establish  close  connections 
between  the  more  or  less  gifted  ; as  to 
spread  far  and  wide  the  light  which 
springs  up  in  meditative,  profound,  and 
sublime  understandings.  It  is  the  ordi- 
nance of  God,  and  one  of  his  most  bene- 
volent laws,  that  the  human  race  should 
be  carried  forward  by  impulses  which 
originate  in  a few  minds,  perhaps  in  an 
individual ; and  in  this  way  the  most  in- 
teresting relations  and  dependencies  of 
life  are  framed.  When  a great  truth  is 
to  be  revealed,  it  does  not  flash  at  once 
on  the  race,  but  dawns  and  brightens  on 
a superior  understanding,  from  which  it 
is  to  emanate  and  to  illumine  future  ages. 
On  the  faithfulness  of  great  minds  to 
this  awful  function,  the  progress  and 
happiness  of  men  chiefly  depend.  The 
most  illustrious  benefactors  of  the  race 
have  been  men  who,  having  risen  to 
great  truths,  have  held  them  as  a sacred 
trust  for  their  kind,  and  have  borne  wit- 
ness to  them  amid  general  darkness, 
under  scorn  and  persecution,  perhaps  in 
the  face  of  death.  Such  men,  indeed, 
have  not  always  made  contributions  to 
literature,  for  their  condition  has  not  al- 
lowed them  to  be  authors  ; but  we  owe 
the  transmission,  perpetuity,  and  im- 
mortal power  of  their  new  and  high 


thoughts  to  kindred  spirits,  which  have 
concentrated  and  fixed  them  in  books. 

The  quickening  influences  of  liter- 
ature need  not  be  urged  on  those  who 
are  familiar  with  the  history  of  modern 
Europe,  and  who  of  course  know  the 
spring  given  to  the  human  mind  by  the 
revival  of  ancient  learning.  Through 
their  writings,  the  great  men  of  antiq- 
uity have  exercised  a sovereignty  over 
these  later  ages  not  enjoyed  in  their 
own.  It  is  more  important  to  observe 
that  the  influence  of  literature  is  per- 
petually increasing ; for,  through  the 
press  and  the  spread  of  education,  its 
sphere  is  indefinitely  enlarged.  Read- 
ing, once  the  privilege  of  a few,  is  now 
the  occupation  of  multitudes,  and  is  to 
become  one  of  the  chief  gratifications 
of  all.  Books  penetrate  everywhere, 
and  some  of  the  works  of  genius  find 
their  way  to  obscure  dwellings  which,  a 
little  while  ago,  seemed  barred  against 
all  intellectual  light.  Writing  is  now 
the  mightiest  instrument  on  earth. 
Through  this  the  mind  has  acquired 
a kind  Of  omnipresence.  To  literature 
we  then  look,  as  the  chief  means  of 
forming  a better  race  of  human  beings. 
To  superior  minds,  which  may  act 
through  this,  we  look  for  the  impulses 
by  which  their  country  is  to  be  carried 
forward.  We  would  teach  them  that 
they  are  the  depositaries  of  the  highest 
power  on  earth,  and  that  on  them  the 
best  hopes  of  society  rest. 

We  are  aware  that  some  may  think 
that  we  are  exalting  intellectual  above 
moral  and  religious  influence.  They 
may  tell  us  that  the  teaching  of  moral 
and  religious  truth,  not  by  philosophers 
and  boasters  of  wisdom,  but  by  the 
comparatively  weak  and  foolish,  is  the 
great  means  of  renovating  the  world. 
This  truth  we  indeed  regard  as  “the 
power  of  God  unto  salvation.”  But 
let  none  imagine  that  its  chosen  tem- 
ple is  an  uncultivated  mind,  and  that 
it  selects,  as  its  chief  organs,  the  lips 
of  the  unlearned.  Religious  and  moral 
truth  is  indeed  appointed  to  carry  for- 
ward mankind;  but  not  as  conceived 
and  expounded  by  narrow  minds,  not 
as  darkened  by  the  ignorant,  not  as 
debased  by  the  superstitious,  not  as 
subtilized  by  the  visionary,  not  as  thun- 
dered out  by  the  intolerant  fanatic,  not 
as  turned  into  a drivelling  cant  by  the 
hypocrite.  Like  all  other  truths,  it  re- 


REMARKS  ON  NATIONAL  LITERATURE . 


1 27 


quires  for  its  full  reception  and  power- 
ful communication  a free  and  vigorous 
intellect.  Indeed,  its  grandeur  and  in- 
finite connections  demand  a more  ear- 
nest and  various  use  of  our  faculties 
than  any  other  subject.  As  a single 
illustration  of  this  remark,  we  may  ob- 
serve that  all  moral  and  religious  truth 
may  be  reduced  to  one  great  and  cen- 
tral thought,  perfection  of  mind,  — a 
thought  which  comprehends  all  that  is 
glorious  in  the  divine  nature,  and  which 
reveals  to  us  the  end  and  happiness  of 
our  own  existence.  This  perfection 
has  as  yet  only  dawned  on  the  most 
gifted  human  beings,  and  the  great  pur- 
pose of  our  present  and  future  exist- 
ence is  to  enlarge  our  conceptions  of 
it  without  end,  and  to  embody  and 
make  them  manifest  in  character  and 
life.  And  is  this  sublime  thought  to 
grow  within  us,  to  refine  itself  from 
error  and  impure  mixture,  to  receive 
perpetual  accessions  of  brightness  from 
Jthc  Study  of  God,  man,  and  nature, 
and  especially  to  be  communicated 
powerfully  to  others,  without  the  vig- 
orous exertion  of  our  intellectual  nat- 
ure ? Religion  has  been  wronged  by 
nothing  more  than  by  being  separated 
from  intellect ; than  by  being  removed 
from  the  province  of  reason  and  free 
research  into  that  of  mystery  and  au- 
thority, of  impulse  and  feeling.  Hence 
it  is  that  the  prevalent  forms  or  exhi- 
bitions of  Christianity  are  compara- 
tively inert,  and  that  most  which  is 
written  on  the  subject  is  of  little  or  no 
worth.  Christianity  was  given,  not  to 
contradicTand  degrade  the  rational  nat- 
ure, but  to  call  it  forth,  to  enlarge  its 
range  and  its  powers.  It  admits  of 
endless  development.  It  is  the  last 
truth  which  should  remain  stationary. 
It  ought  to  be  so  explored  and  so  ex- 
pressed as  to  take  the  highest  place  in 
a nation’s  literature,  as  to  exalt  and 
purify  all  other  literature.  From  these 
remarks  it  will  be  seen  that  the  efficacy 
which  we  have  ascribed  to  literary  or 
intellectual  influence  in  the  work  of 
human  improvement,  is  consistent  with 
the  supreme  importance  of  moral  and 
religious  truth. 

If  we  have  succeeded  in  conveying 
the  impressions  which  we  have  aimed 
to  make,  our  readers  are  now  prepared 
to  inquire  with  interest  into  the  con- 
dition and  prospects  of  literature  among 


ourselves.  Do  we  possess,  indeed,  what 
may  be  called  a national  literature  ? 
Have  we  produced  eminent  writers  in 
the  various  departments  of  intellectual 
effort  ? Are  our  chief  resources  of 
instruction  and  literary  enjoyment  fur- 
nished from  ourselves  ? We  regret 
that  the  reply  to  these  questions  is  so 
obvious.  The  few  standard  works  which 
we  have  produced,  and  which  promise 
to  live,  can  hardly,  by  any  courtesy,  be 
denominated  a national  literature.  On 
this  point,  if  marks  and  proofs  of  our 
real  condition  were  needed,  we  should 
find  them  in  the  current  apologies  for 
our  deficiencies.  Our  writers  are  ac~ 
customed  to  plead  in  our  excuse  our 
youth,  the  necessities  of  a newly  settled 
country,  and  the  direction  of  our  best 
talents  to  practical  life.  Be  the  pleas 
sufficient  or  not,  one  thing  they  prove, 
and  that  is,  our  consciousness  of  having 
failed  to  make  important  contributions 
to  the  interests  of  the  intellect.  We 
have  few  names  to  place  by  the  side  of 
the  great  names  in  science  and  literature 
on  the  other  side  of  the  ocean.  We 
want  those  lights  which  make  a country 
conspicuous  at  a distance.  Let  it  not 
be  said  that  European  envy- denies  our 
just  claims.  In  an  age  like  this,  when 
the  literary  world  forms  a great  family, 
and  the  products  of  mind  are  circulated 
more  rapidly  than  those  of  machinery, 
it  is  a nation’s  own  fault  if  its  name  be 
not  pronounced  with  honor  beyond  it- 
self. We  have  ourselves  heard,  and 
delighted  to  hear,  beyond  the  Alps,  our 
country  designated  as  the  land  of  Frank- 
lin. This  name  had  scaled  that  mighty 
barrier,  and  made  us  known  where  our 
institutions  and  modes  of  life  were 
hardly  better  understood  than  those  of 
the  natives  of  our  forests. 

We  are  accustomed  to  console  our- 
selves for  the  absence  of  a commanding 
literature  by  urging  our  superiority  to 
other  nations  in  our  institutions  for 
the  diffusion  of  elementary  knowledge 
through  all  classes  of  the  community, 
We  have  here  just  cause  for  boasting, 
though  perhaps  less  than  we  imagine. 
That  there  are  gross  deficiencies  in  our 
common  schools,  and  that  the  amount 
of  knowledge  which  they  communicate, 
when  compared  with  the  time  spent  in 
its  acquisition,  is  lamentably  small,  the 
community  begin  to  feel.  There  is  a 
crying  need  for  a higher  and  more 


128 


REMARKS  ON  NATIONAL  LITERATURE . 


quickening  kind  of  instruction  than  the 
laboring  part  of  society  have  yet  re- 
ceived, and  we  rejoice  that  the  cry  be- 
gins to  be  heard.  But,  allowing  our 
elementary  institutions  to  be  ever  so 
perfect,  we  confess  that  they  do  not  sat- 
isfy us.  We  want  something  more.  A 
dead  level  of  intellect,  even  if  it  should 
rise  above  what  is  common  in  other 
nations,  would  not  answer  our  wishes 
and  hopes  for  our  country.  We  want 
great  minds  to  be  formed  among  us,  — 
minds  which  shall  be  felt  afar,  and 
through  which  we  may  act  on  the  world. 
We  want  the  human  intellect  to  do  its 
utmost  here.  We  want  this  people  to 
obtain  a claim  on  the  gratitude  of  the 
human  race,  by  adding  strength  to  the 
foundation,  and  fulness  and  splendor  to 
the  development,  of  moral  and  religious 
truth  ; by  originality  of  thought,  by  dis- 
coveries of  science,  and  by  contribu- 
tions to  the  refining  pleasures  of  taste 
and  imagination. 

With  these  views,  we  do  and  must 
lament  that,  however  we  surpass  other 
nations  in  providing  for,  and  spreading 
elementary  instruction,  we  fall  behind 
many  in  provision  for  the  liberal  training 
of  the  intellect,  for  forming  great  scholars, 
for  communicating  that  profound  knowl- 
edge, and  that  thirst  for  higher  truths, 
which  can  alone  originate  a commanding 
literature.  The  truth  ought  to  be  known. 
There  is  among  us  much  superficial 
knowledge,  but  little  severe,  persevering 
research  ; little  of  that  consuming  pas- 
sion for  new  truth  which  makes  outward 
things  worthless  ; little  resolute  devotion 
to  a high  intellectual  culture.  There  is 
nowhere  a literary  atmosphere,  or  such 
an  accumulation  of  literary  influence,  as 
determines  the  whole  strength  of  the 
mind  to  its  own  enlargement,  and  to  the 
manifestation  of  itself  in  enduring  forms. 
Few  among  us  can  be  said  to  have  fol- 
lowed out  any  great  subject  of  thought 
patiently,  laboriously,  so  as  to  know 
thoroughly  what  others  have  discovered 
and  taught  concerning  it,  and  thus  to 
occupy  a ground  from  which  new  views 
may  be  gained.  Of  course,  exceptions 
are  to  be  found.  This  country  has  pro- 
duced original  and  profound  thinkers. 
We  have  named  Franklin,  and  we  may 
name  Edwards,  one  of  the  greatest  men 
of  his  age,  though  unhappily  his  mind 
was  lost  in  a great  degree,  to  literature, 
and  we  fear  to  religion,  by  vassalage  to 


a false  theology.  His  work  on  the  Will 
throws,  indeed,  no  light  on  human  nat- 
ure, and,  notwithstanding  the  nobleness 
of  the  subject,  gives  no  great  or  elevated 
thoughts  ; but,  as  a specimen  of  logical 
acuteness  and  controversial  power,  it 
certainly  ranks  in  the  very  highest  class 
of  metaphysical  writings.  We  might 
also  name  living  authors  who  do  honor 
to  their  country.  Still,  we  may  say  we 
chiefly  prize  what  has  been  done  among 
us  as  a promise  of  higher  and  more  ex- 
tensive effort.  Patriotism,  as  well  as 
virtue,  forbids  us  to  burn  incense  to 
national  vanity.  The  truth  should  be 
seen  and  felt.  In  an  age  of  great  intel- 
lectual activity,  we  rely  chiefly  for  in- 
tellectual excitement  and  enjoyment  on 
foreign  minds  ; nor  is  our  own  mind  felt 
abroad.  Whilst  clamoring  against  de- 
pendence on  European  manufactures, 
we  contentedly  rely  on  Europe  for  the 
nobler  and  more  important  fabrics  of  the 
intellect.  We  boast  of  our  political  in- 
stitutions, and  receive  our  chief  teach: 
ings,  books,  impressions,  from  the  school 
of  monarchy.  True,  we  labor  under  dis- 
advantages. But,  if  our  liberty  deserves 
the  praise  which  it  receives,  it  is  more 
than  a balance  for  these.  We  believe 
that  it  is.  We  believe  that  it  does  open 
to  us  an  indefinite  intellectual  progress. 
Did  we  not  so  regard  it,  we  should  value 
it  little.  If  hereditary  governments  min- 
ister most  to  the  growth  of  the  mind,  it 
were  better  to  restore  them  than  to  cling 
to  a barren  freedom.  Let  us  not  expose 
liberty  to  this  reproach.  Let  us  prove, 
by  more  generous  provisions  for  the  dif- 
fusion of  elementary  knowledge,  for  the 
training  of  great  minds,  and  for  the  joint 
culture  of  the  moral  and  intellectual 
powers,  that  we  are  more  and  more  in- 
structed by  freedom  in  the  worth  and 
greatness  of  human  nature,  and  in  the 
obligation  of  contributing  to  its  strength 
and  glory. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  condition  of  our 
literature.  We  now  proceed  to  the  con- 
sideration of  the  causes  which  obstruct 
its  advancement and  we  are  immedi- 
ately struck  by  one  so  prevalent  as  to 
deserve  distinct  notice.  We  refer  to  the 
common  doctrine  that  we  need,  in  this 
country,  useful  knowledge,  rather  than 
profound,  extensive,  and  elegant  litera- 
ture, and  that  this  last,  if  we  covet  it, 
may  be  imported  from  abroad  in  such 
variety  and  abundance  as  to  save  us  the 


£low  far  are  these  opinions  just  r 
This  question  we  purpose  to  answer. 

That  useful  knowledge  should  receive 
our  first  and  chief  care  we  mean  not  to 
dispute.  But  in  our  views  of  utility  we 
may  differ  from  some  who  take  this  po- 
sition. There  are  those  who  confine 
this  term  to  the  necessaries  and  com- 
forts of  life,  and  to  the  means  of  pro- 
ducing them.  And  is  it  true  that  we 
need  no  knowledge  but  that  which 
clothes  and  feeds  us  ? Is  it  true  that 
all  studies  may  be  dispensed  with  but 
such  as  teach  us  to  act  on  matter,  and 
to  tarn  it  to  our  use  ? Happily,  human 
nature  is  too  stubborn  to  yield  to  this 
narrow  utility.  It  is  interesting  to  ob- 
serve how  the  very  mechanical  arts, 
which  are  especially  designed  to  min- 
ister to  the  necessities  and  comforts  of 
life,  are  perpetually  passing  these  limits, 
— how  they  disdain  to  stop  at  mere  con- 
venience. A large  and  increasing  pro- 
portion of  mechanical  labor  is  given  to 
the  gratification  of  an  elegant  taste. 
How  simple  would  be  the  art  of  build- 
ing, if  it  limited  itself  to  the  construc- 
tion of  a comfortable  shelter ! How 
many  ships  should  we  dismantle,  and  how 
many  busy  trades  put  to  rest,  were  dress 
and  furniture  reduced  to  the  standard 
of  convenience  ! This  “ utility  ” would 
work  a great  change  in  town  and  country, 
would  level  to  the  dust  the  wonders  of 
architecture,  would  annihilate  the  fine 
arts,  and  blot  out  innumerable  beauties 
which  the  hand  of  taste  has  spread  over 
the  face  of  the  earth.  Happily,  human 
nature  is  too  strong  for  THe  ultilitarian. 
rt~cartnot  satisfy  itself  with  the  con- 
venient. No  passion  unfolds  itself  sooner 
than  the  love  of  the  ornamental.  The 
savage  decorates  his  person,  and  the 
child  is  more  struck  with  the  beauty  than 
the  uses  of  its  raiment.  So  far  from 
limiting  ourselves  to  convenient  food 
and  raiment,  we  enjoy  but  little  a repast 
which  is  not  arranged  with  some  degree 
of  order  and  taste ; and  a man  who 
should  consult  comfort  alone  in  his 
wardrobe,  would  find  himself  an  unwel- 
come guest  in  circles  which  he  would 
very  reluctantly  forego.  We  are  aware 
that  the  propensity  to  which  we  have  re- 
ferred often  breaks  out  in  extravagance 
and  ruinous  luxury.  We  know  that  the 
love  of  ornament  is  often  vitiated  by 
vanity,  and  that,  when  so  perverted,  it 


ness  andsTmpncTTySPtiie  mind  and  the 
relish  for  true  glory.  Still  it  teaches, 
even  in  its  excesses,  that  the  idea  of 
beauty  is  an  indestructible  principle  of 
our  nature,  and  this  single  truth  is  enough 
to  put  us  on  our  guard  against  vulgar  no- 
tions of  utility. 

We  have  said  that  we  prize,  as  highly 
as  any,  useful  knowledge.  But  by  this 
we  mean  knowledge  which  answers  and 
ministers  to  our  complex  and  various 
nature  ; we  mean  that  which  is  useful, 
not  only  to  the  animal  man,  but  to  the 
intellectual,  moral,  and  religious  man,  — 
useful  to  a being  of  spiritual  faculties, 
whose  happiness  is  to  be  found  in  their 
free  and  harmonious  exercise.  We 
grant  that  there  is  primary  necessity 
for  that  information  and  skill  by  which 
subsistence  is  earned  and  life  is  pre- 
served ; for  it  is  plain  that  we  must  live 
in  order  to  act  and  improve.  But  life  is 
the  means  ; action  and  improvement  the 
end  ; and  who  will  deny  that  the  noblest 
utility  belongs  to  that  knowledge  by 
which  the  chief  purpose  of  our  creation 
is  accomplished  ? According  to  these 
views,  a people  should  honor  and  culti- 
vate, as  unspeakably  useful,  that  litera- 
ture which  corresponds  to,  and  calls 
forth,  the  highest  faculties ; which  ex- 
presses and  communicates  energy  of 
thought,  fruitfulness  of  invention,  force 
of  moral  purpose,  a thirst  for  the  true, 
and  a delight  in  the  beautiful.  Accord- 
ing to  these  views,  we  attach  special 
importance  to  those  branches  of  litera- 
ture which  relate  to  human  nature,  and 
which  give  it  a consciousness  of  its 
own  powers.  History  has  a noble  use, 
for  it  shows  us  human  beings  in  various 
and  opposite  conditions,  in  their  strength 
and  weakness,  in  their  progress  and  re- 
lapses, and  thus  reveals  the  causes  and 
means  by  which  the  happiness  and  vir- 
tue of  the  race  may  be  enlarged.  Poetry 
is  useful,  by  touching  deep  springs  in 
the  human  soul ; by  giving  voice  to  its 
more  delicate  feelings ; by  breathing 
out,  and  making  more  intelligible,  the 
sympathy  which  subsists  between  the 
mind  and  the  outward  universe  ; by 
creating  beautiful  forms  of  manifesta- 
tions for  great  moral  truths.  Above  all, 
that  higher  philosophy,  which  treats  of 
the  intellectual  and  moral  constitution 
of  man,  of  the  foundation  of  knowledge, 
of  duty,  of  perfection,  of  our  relations 


Wc  ialiy' 

God;  this  has  alisefulness  so  peculiar 
as  to  throw  other  departments  of  knowl- 
edge into  obscurity ; and  a people 
among  whom  this  does  not  find  honor 
has  little  ground  to  boast  of  its  superi- 
ority to  uncivilized  tribes.  It  will  be 
seen  from  these  remarks  that  utility, 
with  us,  has  abroad  meaning.  In  truth, 
we  are  slow  to  condemn  as  useless  any 
researches  or  discoveries  of  original  and 
strong  minds,  even  when  we  discern  in 
them  no  bearing  on  any  interests  of 
mankind  ; for  all  truth  is  of  a prolific 
nature,  and  has  connections  not  imme- 
diately perceived  ; and  it  may  be  that 
what  we  call  vain  speculations  may,  at 
no  distant  period,  link  themselves  with 
some  new  facts  or  theories,  and  guide  a 
profound  thinker  to  the  most  important 
results.  The  ancient  mathematician, 
when  absorbed  in  solitary  thought,  lit- 
tle imagined  that  his  theorems,  after 
the  lapse  of  ages,  were  to  be  applied  by 
the  mind  of  Newton  to  the  solution  of  the 
mysteries  of  the  universe,  and  not  only 
to  guide  the  astronomer  through  the 
heavens,  but  the  navigator  through  the 
pathless  ocean.  For  ourselves,  we  in- 
cline to  hope  much  from  truths  which 
are  particularly  decried  as  useless  ; for 
the  noblest  and  most  useful  truth  is 
of  an  abstract  or  universal  nature  ; and 
yet  the  abstract,  though  susceptible  of 
infinite  application,  is  generally,  as  we 
know,  opposed  to  the  practical. 

We  maintain  that  a people  which  has 
any  serious  purpose  of  taking  a place 
among  improved  communities,  should 
studiously  promote  within  itself  every 
variety  of  intellectual  exertion.  It  should 
resolve  strenuously  to  be  surpassed  by 
none.  It  should  feel  that  mind  is  the 
creative  power  through  which  all  the  re- 
sources of  nature  are  to  be  turned  to  ac- 
count, and  by  which  a people  is  to  spread 
its  influence,  and  establish  the  noblest 
form  of  empire.  It  should  train  within 
itself  men  able  to  understand  and  to 
use  whatever  is  thought  and  discovered 
over  the  whole  earth.  The  whole  mass 
of  human  knowledge  should  exist  among 
a people,  not  in  neglected  libraries,  but 
in  its  higher  minds.  Among  its  most 
cherished  institutions  should  be  those 
which  will  ensure  to  it  ripe  scholars, 
explorers  of  ancient  learning,  profound 
historians  and  mathematicians,  intel- 
lectual laborers  devoted  to  physical  and 


ice,  and 

refined  and  beautiful  literature.^ 

Let  us  not  be  misunderstood.  We 
have  no  desire  to  rear  in  our  country 
a race  of  pedants,  of  solemn  triflers,  of 
laborious  commentators  on  the  myste- 
ries of  a Greek  accent  or  a rusty  coin. 
We  would  have  men  explore  antiquity, 
not  to  bury  themselves  in  its  dust,  but 
to  learn  its  spirit,  and  so  to  commune 
with  its  superior  minds  as  to  accumu- 
late on  the  present  age  the  influences 
of  whatever  was  great  and  wise  in 
former  times.  What  we  want  is,  that 
those  among  us  whom  God  has  gifted 
to  comprehend  whatever  is  now  known, 
and  to  rise  to  new  truths,  may  find  aids 
and  institutions  to  fit  them  for  their 
high  calling,  and  may  become  at  once 
springs  of  a higher  intellectual  life  to 
their  own  country,  and  joint  workers 
with  the  great  of  all  nations  and  times 
in  carrying  forward  their  race. 

We  know  that  it  will  be  said  that 
foreign  scholars,  bred  under  institu- 
tions which  this  country  cannot  sup- 
port, may  do  our  intellectual  work,  and 
send  us  books  and  learning  to  meet  our 
wants.  To  this  we  have  much  to  an- 
swer. In  the  first  place,  we  reply  that, 
to  avail  ourselves  of  the  higher  litera- 
ture of  other  nations,  we  must  place 
ourselves  on  a level  with  them.  The 
products  of  foreign  machinery. we  can 
use  without  any  portion  of  the  skill  that 
produced  them.  But  works  of  taste 
and  genius,  and  profound  investigations 
of  philosophy,  can  only  be  estimated 
and  enjoyed  through  a culture  and 
power  corresponding  to  that  from  which 
they  sprung.  • 

In  the  next  place,  we  maintain  that  it 
is  an  immense  gain  to  a people  to  have 
in  its  own  bosom,  among  its  own  sons, 
men  of  distinguished  intellect.  Such 
men  give  a spring  and  life  to  a com- 
munity by  their  presence,  their  society, 
their  fame  ; and,  what  deserves  remark, 
such  men  are  nowhere  so  felt  as  in  a 
republic  like  our  own  ; for  here  the  dif- 
ferent classes  of  society  flow  together 
and  act  powerfully  on  each  other,  and 
a free  communication,  elsewhere  un- 
known, is  established  between  the  gift- 
ed few  and  the  many.  It  is  one  of  the 
many  good  fruits  of  liberty  that  it  in- 
creases the  diffusiveness  of  intellect ; 
and  accordingly  a free  country  is,  above 
all  others,  false  to  itself  in  withholding 


REMARKS  ON  NATIONAL  LITERATURE. 


from  its  superior  minds  the  means  of 
enlargement.  8 

We  next  observe  — and  we  think  the 
observation  important  — that  the  facility 
with  which  we  receive  the  literature  of 
foreign  countries,  instead  of  being  a 
reason  for  neglecting  our  own,  is  a 
strong  motive  for  its  cultivation.  We 
mean  not  to  be  paradoxical,  but  we. be- 
lieve that  it  would  be  better  to  admit  no 
books  from  abroad  than  to  make  them 
substitutes  for  our  own  intellectual  ac- 
tivity. The  more  we  receive  from 
other  countries,  the  greater  the  need 
of  an  original  literature.  A people  into 
whose  minds  the  thoughts  of  foreigners 
are  poured  perpetually,  needs  an  energy 
within  itself  to  resist,  to  modify  this 
mighty  influence,  and,  without  it,  will 
inevitably  sink  under  the  worst  bond- 
age, will  become  intellectually  tame  and 
enslaved.  We  have  certainly  no  desire 
to  complete  our  restrictive  system  by 
adding  to  it  a literary  non-intercourse 
law.  We  rejoice  in  the  increasing  in- 
tellectual connection  between  this  coun- 
try and  the  Old  World ; but  sooner 
would  we  rupture  it  than  see  our  coun- 
try sitting  passively  at  the  feet  of  for- 
eign teachers.  It  were  better  to  have 
no  literature  than  form  ourselves  un- 
resistingly on  a foreign  one.  The  true 
sovereigns  of  a country  are  those  who 
determine  its  mind,  its  modes  of  think- 
ing, its  tastes,  its  principles  ; and  we 
cannot  consent  to  lodge  this  sover- 
eignty, in  the  hands  of  strangers.  A 
country,  like  an  individual,  has  dignity 
and  power  only  in  proportion  as  it  is 
self-formed.  There  is  a great  stir  to 
secure  to  ourselves  the  manufactur- 
ing of  our  own  clothing.  We  say,  let 
others  spin  and  weave  for  us,  but  let 
them  not  think  for  us.  A people  whose 
government  and  laws  are  nothing  but 
the  embodying  of  public  opinion,  should 
jealously  guard  this  opinion  against  for- 
eign dictation.  We  need  a literature  to 
counteract,  and  to  use  wisely  the  litera- 
ture which  we  import.  We  need  an  in- 
ward power  proportionate  to  that  which 
is  exerted  on  us,  as  the  means  of  self- 
subsistence. It  is  particularly  true  of 
a people  whose  institutions  demand  for 
their  support  a free  and  bold  spirit, 
that  they  should  be  able  to  subject  to  a 
manly  and  independent  criticism  what- 
ever comes  from  abroad.  These  views 
seem  to  us  to  deserve  serious  attention. 


131 

We  are  more  and  more  a reading  peo- 
ple. Books  are  already  among  the  most 
powerful  influences  here.  The  question 
is,  shall  Europe,  through  these,  fashion 
us  after  its  pleasure  ? Shall  America 
be  only  an  echo  of  what  is  thought  and 
written  under  the  aristocracies  beyond 
the  ocean  ? 

Another  view  of  the  subject  is  this. 
A foreign  literature  will  always,  in  a 
measure,  be  foreign.  It  has  sprung 
from  the  soul  of  another  people,  which, 
however  like,  is  still  not  our  own  soul. 
Every  people  has  much  in  its  own  char- 
acter and  feelings  which  can  only  be 
embodied  by  its  own  writers,  and  which, 
when  transfused  through  literature, 
makes  it  touching  and  true,  like  the 
voice  of  our  earliest  friend. 

We  now  proceed  to  an  argument  in 
favor  of  native  literature,  which,  if  less 
obvious,  is,  we  believe,  not  less  sound 
than  those  now  already  adduced.  We 
have  hitherto  spoken  of  literature  as  the 
expression,  the  communication,  of  the 
higher  minds  in  a community.  We  now 
add  that  it  does  much  more  than  is  com- 
monly supposed  to  form  such  minds,  so 
that,  without  it,  a people  wants  one  of 
the  chief  means  of  educating  or  perfect- 
ing talent  and  genius.  One  of  the  great 
laws  of  our  nature,  and  a law  singularly 
important  to  social  beings,  is,  that,  the 
intellect  enlarges  and  strengthens  itself 
by  expressing  worthily  its  best  views. 
In  this,  as  in  other  respects,  it  is  more 
blessed  to  give  than  to  receive.  Supe- 
rior minds  are  formed,  not  merely  by 
solitary  thought,  but  almost  as  much 
by  communication.  Great  thoughts  are 
never  fully  possessed  till  he  who  has 
conceived  them  has  given  them  fit  ut- 
terance. One  of  the  noblest  and  most 
invigorating  labors  of  genius  is  to  clothe 
its  conceptions  in  clear  and  glorious 
forms,  to  give  them  existence  in  other 
souls.  Thus  literature  creates,  as  well 
as  manifests,  intellectual  power,  and, 
without  it,  the  highest  minds  will  never 
be  summoned  to  the  most  invigorating 
action. 

We  doubt  whether  a man  ever  brings 
his  faculties  to  bear  with  their  whole 
force  on  a subject  until  he  writes  upon 
it  for  the  instruction  or  gratification  of 
others.  To  place  it  clearly  before  others, 
he  feels  the  necessity  of  viewing  it  more 
vividly  himself.  By  attempting  to  seize 
his  thoughts,  and  fix  them  in  an  endur- 


132 


REMARKS  ON  NATIONAL  LITERATURE. 


mg  form,  he  finds  them  vague  and  un- 
satisfactory to  a degree  which  he  did 
not  suspect,  and  toils  for  a precision  and 
harmony  of  views  of  which  he  had  never 
before  felt  the  need.  He  places  his 
subject  in  new  lights,  — submits  it  to  a 
searching  analysis,  compares  and  con- 
nects with  it  his  various  knowledge, 
seeks  for  it  new  illustrations  and  anal- 
ogies, weighs  objections,  and  through 
these  processes  often  arrives  at  higher 
truths  than  he  at  first  aimed  to  illustrate. 
Dim  conceptions  grow  bright.  Glorious 
thoughts,  which  had  darted  as  meteors 
through  the  mind,  are  arrested,  and 
gradually  shine  with  a sunlike  splendor, 
wilm prolific  energy,  on  the  intellect  and 
It  is  one  of  the  chief  distinctions 
of  a^great  mind  that  it  is  prone  to  rush 
into  twilight  regions,  and  to  catch  faint 
glimmerings  of  distant  and  unbounded 
prospects  ; and  nothing  perhaps  aids  it 
more  to  pierce  the  shadows  which  sur- 
round it  than  the  labor  to  unfold  to  other 
minds  the  indistinct  conceptions  which 
have  dawned  on  its  own.  Even  where 
composition  yields  no  such  fruits,  it  is 
still  a great  intellectual  help.  It  always 
favors  comprehensive  and  systematical 
views.  The  laborious  distribution  of  a 
great  subject,  so  as  to  assign  to  each 
part  or  topic  its  just  position  and 
due  proportion,  is  singularly  fitted  to 
give  compass  and  persevering  force  of 
thought. 

If  we  confine  ourselves  simply  to  the 
consideration  of  style,  we  shall  have-rear, 
son  to  think  that  a people  among  whom 
this  is  neglected  wants  one  important 
intellectual  aid.  In  this,  great  power  is 
exerted,  and  by  exertion  increased.  To 
the  multitude,  indeed,  language  seems 
so  natural  an  instrument,  that  to  use 
it  with  clearness  and  energy  seems  no 
great  effort.  It  is  framed,  they  think, 
to  the  writer’s  hand,  and  so  continually 
employed  as  to  need  little  thought  or 
skill.  But  in  nothing  is  the  creative 
power  of  a gifted  writer  seen  more  than 
in  his  style.  True,  his  words  may  be 
found  in  the  dictionary.  But  there  they 
lie  disjointed  and  dead.  What  a won- 
derful life  does  he  breathe  into  them 
by  compacting  them  into  his  sentences  ! 
Perhaps  he  uses  no  term  which  has  not 
yet  been  hackneyed  by  ordinary  writ- 
ers ; and  yet  with  these  vulgar  materials 
what  miracles  does  he  achieve  ! What  a 
world  of  thought  does  he  condense  into 


a phrase  ! By  new  combinations  of  com- 
mon words,  what  delicate  hues  or  what 
a blaze  of  light  does  he  pour  over  his 
subject  ! Power  of  style  depends  very 
little  on  the  structure  or  copiousness  of 
the  language  which  the  writer  of  genius 
employs,  but  chiefly,  if  not  wholly,  on 
his  own  mind.  The  words,  arranged  in 
his  dictionary,  are  no  more  fitted  to  de- 
pict his  thoughts  than  the  block  of  mar- 
ble in  the  sculptor’s  shop  to  show  forth 
the  conceptions  which  are  dawning  in 
his  mind.  Both  are  inert  materials. 
The  power  which  pervades  them  comes 
from  the  soul ; and  the  same  creative 
energy  is  manifested  in  the  production 
of  a noble  style  as  in  extracting  beauti- 
ful forms  from  lifeless  stone.-  How  un- 
faithful, then,  is  a nation  to  its  own 
intellect,  in  which  grace  and  force  of 
style  receive  no  culture  ! 

The  remarks  now  made  on  the  im- 
portance of  literature  as  a means  of 
educating  talent  and  genius,  we  are 
aware,  do  not  apply  equally  to  all  sub- 
jects or  kinds  of  knowledge.  In  the 
exact  or  physical  sciences,  a man  may 
acquire  much  without  composition,  and 
may  make  discoveries  without  register- 
ing them.  Even  here,  however,  we  be- 
lieve that,  by  a systematic  development 
of  his  views  in  a luminous  style,  he  will 
bring  great  aid  to  his  own  faculties,  as 
well  as  to  others’.  It  is  on  the  vast 
subjects  of  morals  and  human  nature 
that  the  mind  especially  strengthens 
itself  by  elaborate  composition ; and 
these,  let  it  be  remembered,  form  the 
staple  of  the  highest  literature.  Moral 
truth,  under  which  we  include  every 
thing  relating  to  mind  and  character, 
is  of  a refined  and  subtile,  as  well  as 
elevated  nature,  and  requires  the  joint 
and  full  exercise  of  discrimination,  in- 
vention, imagination,  and  sensibility,  to 
give  it  effectual  utterance.  A writer 
who  would  make  it  visible  and  power- 
ful, must  strive  to  join  an  austere  logic 
to  a fervent  eloquence  ; must  place  it 
in  various  lights  ; must  create  for  it  in- 
teresting forms  ; must  wed  it  to  beauty  ; 
must  illuminate  it  by  similitudes  and 
contrasts  ; must  show  its  correspond- 
ence with  the  outward  world  ; perhaps 
must  frame  for  it  a vast  machinery  of 
fiction.  How  invigorating  are  these 
efforts  ! Yet  it  is  only  in  writing,  in 
elaborate  composition,  that  they  are 
deliberately  called  forth  and  sustained, 


REMARKS  ON  NATIONAL  LITERATURE. . 


133 


and  without  literature  they  would  al- 
most cease.  It  may  be  said  of  many 
truths,  that  greater  intellectual  energy 
is  required  to  express  them  with  effect 
than  to  conceive  them  ; so  that  a nation 
which  does  not  encourage  this  expres- 
sion impoverishes  so  far  its  own  mind. 
Take,  for  ex'ample,  Shakspeare’s  Ham- 
let. This  is  a development  of  a singu- 
larly interesting  view  of  human  nature. 
It  shows  us  a mind  to  which  life  is  a 
burden  ; in  which  the  powers  of  medita- 
tion and  feeling  are  disproportioned  to 
the  active  powers  ; which  sinks  under 
its  own  weight,  under  the  conscious- 
ness of  wanting  energies  commensurate 
with  its  visions  of  good,  with  its  sore 
trials,  and  with  the  solemn  task  which 
is  laid  upon  it.  To  conceive  clearly 
this  form  of  human  nature,  shows  in- 
deed the  genius  of  the  writer.  But 
what  a new  power  is  required  to  bring 
it  out  in  such  a drama  as  Shakspeare’s  ; 
to  give  it  life  and  action  ; to  invent  for 
it  circumstances  and  subordinate  char- 
acters, fitted  to  call  it  forth  ; to  give  it 
tones  of  truth  and  nature  ; to  show  the 
hues  which  it  casts  over  all  the  objects 
of  thought  ! This  intellectual  energy 
we  all  perceive  ; and  this  was  not  merely 
manifested  in  Shakspeare’s  work,  but, 
without  such  a work,  it  would  not  have 
been  awakened.  His  invention  would 
have  slumbered,  had  he  not  desired  to 
give  forth  his  mind  in  a visible  and  en- 
during form.  Thus  literature  is  the 
nurse  of  genius.  Through  this,  genius 
learns  its  own  strength,  and  continually 
accumulates  it ; and  of  course,  in  a 
country  without  literature,  genius,  how- 
ever liberally  bestowed  by  the  Creator, 
will  languish,  and  will  fail  to  fulfil  its 
great  duty  of  quickening  the  mass 
amidsTwhich  it  lives. 

We  come  now  to  our  last  — and  what 
we  deem  a weighty  — argument  in  fa- 
vor of  a native  literature.  We  desire 
and  would  cherish  it,  because  we  hope 
from  it  important  aids  to  the  cause  of 
truth  and  human  nature.  We  believe 
that  a literature,  springing  up  in  this 
new  soil,  would  bear  new  fruits,  and, 
in  some  respects,  more  precious  fruits, 
than  are  elsewhere  produced.  We  know 
that  our  hopes  may  be  set  down  to  the 
account  of  that  national  vanity  which, 
with  too  much  reason,  is  placed  by  for- 
eigners among  our  besetting  sins.  But 
we  speak  from  calm  and  deliberate  con- 


viction. We  are  inclined  to  believe 
that,  as  a people,  we  occupy  a position 
from  which  the  great  subjects  of  liter- 
ature may  be  viewed  more  justly  than 
from  those  which  most  other  nations 
hold.  Undoubtedly  we  labor  under  dis- 
advantages. We  want  the  literary  ap- 
paratus of  Europe, — her  libraries,  her 
universities,  her  learned  institutions, 
her  race  of  professed  scholars,  her 
spots  consecrated  by  the  memory  of 
sages,  and  a thousand  stirring  associ- 
ations which  hover  over  ancient  nur- 
series of  learning.  But  the  mind  is  not 
a local  power.  Its  spring  is  within  it- 
self, and,  under  the  inspiration  cg&j lib- 
eral and  high  feeling,  it  may  attj£T:^nd 
worthily  express  nobler  truth  than' out- 
ward helps  could  reveal.  b 

The  great  distinction  of  our  country 
is,  that  we  enjoy  some  peculiar  advan- 
tages for  understanding  our  own  nature. 
Man  is  the  great  subject  of  litera- 
ture, and  juster  and  profounder  views  of 
man  may  be  expected  here  than  else- 
where. In  Europe,  political  and  arti- 
ficial distinctions  have,  more  or  less, 
triumphed  over  and  obscured  our  com- 
mon nature.  In  Europe,  we  meet  kings, 
nobles,  priests,  peasants.  How.  much 
rarer  is  it  to  meet  fhen j by  which  we 
mean  human  beings  conscious  of  their 
own  nature,  and  conscious  of  the  utter 
worthlessness  of  all  outward  distinctions 
compared  with  what  is  treasured  up  in 
their  own  souls.  Man  does  not  value 
himself  as  man.  It  is  for  his  blood,  his 
rank,  or  some  artificial  distinction,  and 
not  for  the  attributes  of  humanity,  that 
he  holds  himself  in  respect.  The  institu- 
tions of  the  Old  World  all  tend  to  throw 
obscurity  over  what  we  most  need  to 
know,  and  that  is,  the  worth  and  claims 
of  a human  being.  We  know  that  great 
improvements  in  this  respect  are  going 
on  abroad.  Still  the  many  are  too  often 
postponed  to  the  few.  The  mass  of  men 
are  regarded  as  instruments  to  work 
with,  as  materials  to  be  shaped  for  the 
use  of  their  superiors.  That  conscious- 
ness of  our  own  nature  which  contains, 
as  a germ,  all  nobler  thoughts,  which 
teaches  us  at  once  self-respect  and  re- 
spect for  others,  and  which  binds  us  to 
God  by  filial  sentiment  and  hope,  — this 
has  been  repressed,  kept  down  by  es- 
tablishments founded  in  force  ; and  lit- 
erature, in  all  its  departments,  bears,  we 
think,  the  traces  of  this  inward  degrada- 


134 


REMARKS  ON  NATIONAL  LITERATURE. 


tion.  We  conceive  that  our  position 
favors  a juster  and  profounder  estimate 
of  human  nature.  We  mean  not  to 
boast,  but  there  are  fewer  obstructions 
to  that  moral  consciousness,  that  con- 
sciousness of  humanity,  of  which  we 
have  spoken.  Man  is  not  hidden  from 
us  by  so  many  disguises  as  in  the  Old 
World.  The  essential  equality  of  all 
human  beings,  founded  on  the  posses- 
sion of  a spiritual,  progressive,  immortal 
nature,  is,  we  hope,  better  understood; 
and  nothing  more  than  this  single  con- 
viction is  needed  to  work  the  mightiest 
changes  in  every  province  of  human  life 
and  of  human  thought. 

We  have  stated  what  seems  to  us  our 
most  important  distinction.  But  our 
position  has  other  advantages.  The 
mere  circumstance  of  its  being  a new 
one  gives  reason  to  hope  for  some  new 
intellectual  activity,  some  fresher  views 
of  nature  and  life.  We  are  not  borne 
down  by  the  weight  of  antiquated  insti- 
tutions, time-hallowed  abuses,  and  the 
remnants  of  feudal  barbarism.  The  ab- 
sence of  a religious  establishment  is  an 
immense  gain,  as  far  as  originality  of 
mind  is  in  question  ; for  an  establish- 
ment, however  advantageous  in  other 
respects,  is,  by  its  nature,  hostile  to  dis- 
covery and  progress.  To  keep  the  mind 
where  it  is,  to  fasten  the  notions  of  one 
age  on  all  future  time,  is  its  aim  and 
proper  business  ; and  if  it  happened,  as 
has  generally  been  the  case,  to  grow  up 
in  an  age  of  strife  and  passion,  when,  as 
history  demonstrates,  the  church  was 
overrun  with  error,  it  cannot  but  per- 
petuate darkness  and  mental  bondage. 
Among  us,  intellect,  though  far  from 
being  free,  has  broken  some  of  the 
chains  of  other  countries,  and  is  more 
likely,  we  conceive,  to  propose  to  itself 
its  legitimate  object,  truth,  — everlast- 
ing and  universal  truth. 

We  have  no  thought  of  speaking  con- 
temptuously of  the  literature  of  the  Old 
World.  It  is  our  daily  nutriment.  We 
feel  our  debt  to  be  immense  to  the 
glorious  company  of  pure  and  wise 
minds  which  in  foreign  lands  have  be- 
queathed us  in  writing  their  choicest 
thoughts  and  holiest  feelings.  Still,  we 
feel  that  all  existing  literature  has  been 
produced  under  influences  which  have 
necessarily  mixed  with  it  much  error 
and  corruption  ; and  that  the  whole  of  it 
ought  to  pass,  and  must  pass,  under  rig- 


orous review.  For  example,  we  think 
that  the  history  of  the  human  race  is  to  be 
rewritten.  Men  imbued  with  the  preju- 
dices which  thrive  under  aristocracies 
and  state  religions  cannot  understand  it. 
Past  ages,  with  their  great  events  and 
great  men,  are  to  undergo,  we  think,  a 
new  trial,  and  to  yield  new  results.  It  is 
plain  that  history  is  already  viewed  un- 
der new  aspects,  and  we  believe  that  the 
true  principles  for  studying  and  writing 
it  are  to  be  unfolded  here,  at  least  as 
rapidly  as  in  other  countries.  It  seems 
to  us  that  in  literature  an  immense  work 
is  yet  to  be  done.  The  most  interesting 
questions  to  mankind  are  yet  in  debate. 
Great  principles  are  yet  to  be  settled  in 
criticism,  in  morals,  in  politics ; and, 
above  all,  the  true  character  of  religion 
is  to  be  rescued  from  the  disguises  and 
corruptions  of  ages.  We  want  a refor- 
mation. We  want  a literature,  in  which 
genius  will  pay  supreme  if  not  undi- 
vided homage  to  truth  and  virtue  ; jji 
which  the  childish  admiration  of  what 
has  been  calledgreatness  will  give  place 
to  a wise  moral  judgment ; which  will 
breathe  reverence  for  the  mind,  and 
elevating  thoughts  of  God.  The  part 
which  this  country  is  to  bear  in  this 
great  intellectual  reform  we  presume 
not  to  predict.  We  feel,  however,  that, 
if  true  to  itself,  it  will  have  the  glory 
and  happiness  of  giving  new  impulses 
to  the  human  mind.  This  is  our  cher- 
ished hope.  We  should  have  no  heart 
to  encourage  native  literature,  did  we 
not  hope  that  it  would  become  instinct 
with  a new  spirit.  We  cannot  admit 
the  thought  that  this  country  is  to  be 
only  a repetition  of  the  Old  World. 
We  delight  to  believe  that  God,  in  the 
fulness  of  time,  has  brought  a new  con- 
tinent to  light,  in  order  that  the  human 
mind  should  move  here  with  a new  free- 
dom, should  frame  new  social  institu- 
tions, should  explore  new  paths,  and 
reap  new  harvests.  We  are  accustomed 
to  estimate  nations  by  their  creative 
energies  ; and  we  shall  blush  for  our 
country  if,  in  circumstances  so  pecul- 
iar, original,  and  creative,  it  shall  sat- 
isfy itself  with  a passive  reception  and 
mechanical  reiteration  of  the  thoughts 
of  strangers. 

We  have  now  completed  our  remarks 
on  the  importance  of  a native  literature. 
The  next  great  topic  is,  the  means  of  pro- 
ducing it.  And  here  our  limits  forbid  us 


REMARKS  ON  NATIONAL  LITERATURE. 


135 


to  enlarge  ; yet  we  cannot  pass  it  over 
in  silence.  A primary  and  essential 
means  of  the  improvement  of  our  litera- 
ture is,  that,  as  a people,  we  should  feel 
its  value,  should  desire  it,  should  de- 
mand it,  should  encourage  it,  and  should 
give  it  a.  hearty  welcome.  It  will  come 
if  called  for  ; and,  under  this  conviction, 
wg  have  now  labored  to  create  a want 
for  it  in  the  community.  We  say  that 
we  must  call  for  it ; by  which  we  mean 
not  merely  that  we  must  invite  it  by  good 
wishes  and  kind  words,  but  must  make 
liberal  provision  for  intellectual  educa- 
tion. We  must  enlarge  our  literary  in- 
stitutions, secure  more  extensive  and 
profound  teaching,  and  furnish  helps  and 
resources  to  men  of  superior  talent  for 
continued  laborious  research.  As  yet, 
intellectual  labor,  devoted  to  a thorough 
investigation  and  a full  development  of 
great  subjects,  is  almost  unknown  among 
us  ; and,  without  it,  we  shall  certainly 
rear  few  lasting  monuments  of  thought. 
We  boast  of  our  primary  schools.  We 
want  universities  worthy  of  the  name, 
where  a man  of  genius  and  literary  zeal 
may  possess  himself  of  all  that  is  yet 
known,  and  may  strengthen  himself  by 
intercourse  with  kindred  minds.  We 
know  it  will  be  said  that  we  cannot 
afford  these.  But  it  is  not  so.  We  are 
rich  enough  for  ostentation,  for  intem- 
perance, for  luxury.  We  can  lavish 
millions  on  fashion,  on  furniture,  on 
dress,  on  our  palaces,  on  our  pleasures  ; 
but  we  have  nothing  to  spend  for  the 
mind.  Where  lies  our  poverty  ? In  the 
purse,  or  in  the  soul  ? 

We  have  spoken  of  improved  insti- 
tutions as  essential  to  an  improved  lit- 
erature. We  beg,  however,  not  to  be 
misunderstood,  as  if  these  were  invested 
with  a creating  power,  or  would  neces- 
sarily yield  the  results  which  we  desire. 
They  are  the  means,  not  causes,  of  ad- 
vancement. Literature  depends  on  indi- 
vidual genius,  and  this,  though  fostered, 
cannot  be  created  by  outward  helps.  No 
human  mechanism  can  produce  original 
thought.  After  all  the  attempts  to  ex- 
plainby  education  the  varieties  of  intel- 
lect, we  are  compelled  to  believe  that 
minds,  like  all  the  other  products  of 
nature,  have  original  and  indestructible 
differences  ; that  they  are  not  exempted 
from  that  great  and  beautiful  law  which 
joins  with  strong  resemblances  as  strong 
diversities  ; and,  of  consequence,  we  be- 


lieve that  the  men  who  are  to  be  the 
lights  of  the  world  bring  with  them  their 
commission  and  power  from  God.  Still, 
whilst  institutions  cannot  create,  they 
may  and  do  unfold  genius  ; and,  for 
want  of  them,  great  minds  often  slum- 
ber or  run  to  waste,  whilst  a still  larger 
class,  who  want  genius,  but  possess  ad- 
mirable powers,  fail  of  that  culture 
through  which  they  might  enjoy  and 
approach  their  more  gifted  brethren. 

A people,  as  we  have  said,  are  to  give 
aid  to  literature  by  founding  wise  and 
enlarged  institutions.  They  may  do 
much  more.  They  may  exert  a nobler 
patronage.  By  cherishing  in  their  own 
breasts  the  love  of  truth,  virtue,  and 
freedom,  they  may  do  much  to  nurse 
and  kindle  genius  in  its  favored  posses- 
sors. There  is  a constant  reaction  be- 
tween a community  and  the  great  minds 
which  spring  up  within  it,  and  they  form 
one  another.  In  truth,  great  minds  are 
developed  more  by  the  spirit  and  char- 
acter of  the  people  to  which  they  belong 
than  by  all  other  causes.  Thus,  a free 
spirit,  a thirst  for  new  and  higher  knowl- 
edge in  a community,  does  infinitely 
more  for  literature  than  the  most  splen- 
did benefactions  under  despotism.  A 
nation  under  any  powerful  excitement 
becomes  fruitful  of  talent.  Among  a 
people  called  to  discuss  great  questions, 
to  contend  for  great  interests,  to  make 
great  sacrifices  for  the  public  weal,  we 
always  find  new  and  unsuspected  ener- 
gies of  thought  brought  out.  A mer- 
cenary, selfish,  luxurious  sensual  people, 
toiling  only  to  secure  the  pleasures  of 
sloth,  will  often  communicate  their  own 
softness  and  baseness  to  the  superior 
minds  which  dwell  among  them.  In 
this  impure  atmosphere  the  celestial 
spark  burns  dim  ; and  well  will  it  be  if 
God's  great  gift  of  genius  be  not  impi- 
ously prostituted  to  lust  and  crime. 

In  conformity  with  the  views  now 
stated,  we  believe  that  literature  is  to  be 
carried  forward,  here  and  elsewhere, 
chiefly  by  some  new  and  powerful  im- 
pulses communicated  to  society  ; and  it 
is  a question  naturally  suggested  by  this 
discussion,  from  what  impulse,  principle, 
excitement,  the  highest  action  of  the 
mind  may  now  be  expected.  When  we 
look  back,  we  see  that  literature  has 
been  originated  and  modified  by  a vari- 
ety of  principles;  by  patriotism  and 
national  feeling,  by  reverence  for  an- 


136 


REMARKS  ON  NATIONAL  LITERATURE. 


tiquity,  by  the  spirit  of  innovation,  by 
enthusiasm,  by  scepticism,  by  the  pas- 
sion for  fame,  by  romantic  love,  and  by 
political  and  religious  convulsions.  Now, 
we  do  not  expect  from  these  causes  any 
higher  action  of  the  mind  than  they  have 
yet  produced.  Perhaps  most  of  them 
have  spent  their  force.  The  very  im- 
provements of  society  seem  to  forbid 
the  manifestation  of  their  former  energy. 
For  example,  the  patriotism  of  antiquity 
and  the  sexual  love  of  chivalrous  ages, 
which  inspired  so  much  of  the  old  litera- 
ture, are  now  seen  to  be  feverish  and 
vicious  excesses  of  natural  principles, 
and  have  gone,  we  trust,  never  to  re- 
turn. 

Are  we  asked,  then,  to  what  impulse 
or  power  we  look  for  a higher  literature 
tl\an  has  yet  existed  ? We  answer,  to  a 
new  action  or  development  of  the  relig- 
ious principle.  This  remark  will  prob- 
ably surprise  not  a few  of  our  readers. 
It  seems  to  us  that  the  energy  with 
which  this  principle  is  to  act  on  the  in- 
tellect is  hardly  suspected.  Men  identify 
religion  with  superstition,  with  fanati- 
cism, with  the  common  forms  of  Chris- 
tianity ; and  seeing  it  arrayed  against 
intellect,  leagued  with  oppression,  fet- 
tering inquiry,  and  incapable  of  being 
blended  with  the  sacred  dictates  of  rea- 
son and  conscience,  they  see  in  its  prog- 
ress only  new  encroachments  on  free 
and  enlightened  thinking.  Still  man’s 
relation  to  God  is  the  great  quickening 
truth,  throwing  all  other  truths  into  in- 
significance, and  a truth  which,  however 
obscured  and  paralyzed  by  the  many 
errors  which  ignorance  and  fraud  have 
hitherto  linked  with  it^  has  ever  been 
a chief  spring  of  human  improvement. 
We  look  to  it  as  the  true  life  of  the  in- 
tellect. No  man  can  be  just  to  himself 
— can  comprehend  his  own  existence, 
can  put  forth  all  his  powers  with  an 
heroic  confidence,  can  deserve  to  be  the 
guide  and  inspirer  of  other  minds  — till 
he  has  risen  to  communion  with  the 
Supreme  Mind  ; till  he  feels  his  filial 
connection  with  the  Universal  Parent  ; 
till  he  regards  himself  as  the  recipient 
and  minister  of  the  Infinite  Spirit ; till  he 
feels  his  consecration  to  the  ends  which 
religion  unfolds  ; till  he  rises  above  hu- 
man opinion,  and  is  moved  by  a higher 
impulse  than  fame. 

From  these  remarks  it  will  be  seen 
that  our  chief  hopes  of  an  improved 


literature  rest  on  our  hopes  of  an  im- 
proved religion.  From  the  prevalent 
theology  which  has  come  down  to  us 
from  the  dark  ages,  we  hope  nothing. 
It  has  done  its  best.  All  that  can  grow 
up  under  its  sad  shade  has  already  been 
brought  forth.  It  wraps  the  divine  nat- 
ure and  human  nature  in  impenetrable 
gloom.  It  overlays  Christianity  with 
technical,  arbitrary  dogmas.  True  faith 
is  of  another  lineage.  It  comes  from 
the  same  source  with  reason,  conscience, 
and  our  best  affections,  and  is  in  har- 
mony with  them  all.  True  faith  is  essen- 
tially a moral  conviction  ; a confidence 
in  the  reality  and  immutableness  of 
moral  distinctions  ; a confidence  in  dis- 
interested virtue  or  in  spiritual  excel- 
lence as  the  supreme  good  ; a confidence 
in  God  as  its  fountain  and  Almighty 
Friend,  and  in  Jesus  Christ  as  having 
lived  and  died  to  breathe  it  into  the 
soul ; a confidence  in  its  power,  triumphs, 
and  immortality  ; a confidence,  through 
which  outward  changes,  obstructions, 
disasters,  sufferings,  are  overcome,  or 
rather  made  instruments  of  perfection. 
Such  a faith,  unfolded  freely  and  power- 
fully, must  “ work  mightily  ” on  the 
intellect  as  well  as  on  practice.  By 
revealing  to  us  the  supreme  purpose 
of  the  Creator,  it  places  us,  as  it  were, 
in  the  centre  of  the  universe,  from  which 
the  harmonies,  true  relations,  and  bright- 
est aspect  of  things  are  discerned.  It 
unites  calmness  and  enthusiasm,  and 
the  concord  of  these  seemingly  hostile 
elements  is  essential  to  the  full  and 
healthy  action  of  the  creative  powers  of 
the  soul.  It  opens  the  eye  to  beauty 
and  the  heart  to  love.  Literature,  under 
this  influence,  will  become  more  ingen- 
uous and  single-hearted  ; will  penetrate 
farther  into  the  soul  ; will  find  new  in- 
terpretations of  nature  and  life  ; will 
breathe  a martyr’s  love  of  truth,  tem- 
pered with  a never-failing  charity  ; and, 
whilst  sympathizing  with  all  human  suf- 
fering, will  still  be  pervaded  by  a health- 
ful cheerfulness,  and  will  often  break 
forth  in  tones  of  irrepressible  joy,  re- 
sponsive to  that  happiness  which  fills 
God’s  universe. 

We  cannot  close  our  remarks  on  the 
means  of  an  improved  literature  without 
offering  one  suggestion.  We  earnestly 
recommend  to  our  educated  men  a more 
extensive  acquaintance  with  the  intel- 
lectual labors  of  continental  Europe. 


REMARKS  ON  NATIONAL  LITERATURE. 


13  7 


Our  reading  is  confined  too  much  to 
English  books,  and  especially  to  the 
more  recent  publications  of  Great  Brit- 
ain. In  this  we  err.  We  ought  to  know 
the  different  modes  of  viewing  and  dis- 
cussing great  subjects  in  different  na- 
tions. We  should  be  able  to  compare 
the  writings  of  the  highest  minds  in  a 
great  variety  of  circumstances.  Nothing 
can  favor  more  our  own  intellectual  inde- 
pendence and  activity.  Let  English  lit- 
erature be  ever  so  fruitful  and  profound, 
we  should  still  impoverish  ourselves  by 
making  it  our  sole  nutriment.  We  fear, 
however,  that  at  the  present  moment 
English  books  want  much  which  we 
need.  The  intellect  of  that  nation  is 
turned  now  to  what  are  called  practical 
and  useful  subjects.  Physical  science 
goesTorward,  and,  what  is  very  encour- 
aging, it  is  spread  with  unexampled  zeal 
through  all  classes  of  the  community. 
Abuses  of  government,  of  the  police, 
of  the  penal  code,  of  charity,  of  poor- 
laws,  and  corn-laws,  are  laboriously  ex- 
plored. General  education  is  improved. 
Science  is  applied  to  the  arts  with  bril- 
liant success.  We  see  much  good  in 
progress.  But  we  find  little  profound 
or  fervid  thinking  expressed  in  the 
higher  forms  of  literature.  The  noblest 
subjects  of  the  intellect  receive  little  at- 
tention. We  see  an  almost  total  indif- 
ference to  intellectual  and  moral  science. 
In  England  there  is  a great  want  of 
philosophy,  in  the  true  sense  of  that 
word.  If  we  examine  her  reviews,  in 
which  much  of  the  intellectual  power  of 
the  nation  is  expended,  we  meet  per- 
petually a jargon  of  criticism,  which 
shows  a singular  want  of  great  and  gen- 
eral principles  in  estimating  works  of 
art„  We  have  no  ethical  work  of  any 
living  English  writer  to  be  compared 
with  that  of  Degerando,  entitled  “ Du 
Perfectionnement  Moral ; ” and,  although 
we  have  little  respect  for  the  rash  gen- 
eralizations of  the  bold  and  eloquent 
Cousin,  yet  the  interest  which  his  meta- 
physics awaken  in  Paris  is,  in  our  esti- 
mation, a better  presage  than  the  lethargy 
which  prevails  on  such  topics  in  Eng- 
land. In  these  remarks  we  have  no 
desire  to  depreciate  the  literature  of 
England,  which,  taken  as  a whole,  we 
regard  as  the  noblest  monument  of  the 
human  mind.  We  rejoice  in  our  de- 
scent from  England,  and  esteem  our 
free  access  to  her  works  of  science  and 


genius  as  among  our  high  privileges. 
Nor  do  we  feel  as  if  her  strength  were 
spent.  We  see  no  wrinkles  on  her 
brow,  no  decrepitude  in  her  step.  At 
this  moment  she  has  authors,  especially 
in  poetry  and  fiction,  whose  names  are 
“ familiar  in  our  mouths  as  household 
words,”  and  who  can  never  perish  but 
with  her  language.  Still  we  think  that 
at  present  her  intellect  is  laboring  more 
for  herself  than  for  mankind,  and  that 
our  scholars,  if  they  would  improve  our 
literature,  should  cultivate  an  intimacy 
not  only  with  that  of  England,  but  of 
continental  Europe. 

We  have  now  finished  our  remarks 
on  the  importance  and  means  of  an  im- 
proved literature  among  ourselves.  Are 
we  asked  what  we  hope  in  this  particular  ? 
We  answer,  much.  We  see  reasons  for 
anticipating  an  increased  and  more  effi- 
cient direction  of  talent  to  this  object. 
But  on  these  we  cannot  enlarge.  There 
is,  however,  one  ground  of  expectation, 
to  which  we  will  call  a moment’s  atten- 
tion. We  apprehend  that  literature  is 
to  make  progress  through  an  important 
change  in  society,  which  civilization  and 
good  institutions  are  making  more  and 
more  apparent.  It  seems  to  us  that, 
through  these  causes,  political  life  is 
less  and  less  regarded  as  the  only  or 
chief  sphere  for  superior  minds,  and 
that  influence  and  honor  are  more  and 
more  accumulated  in  the  hands  of  liter- 
ary and  thinking  men.  Of  consequence, 
more  and  more  of  the  intellect  of  com- 
munities is  to  be  drawn  to  literature. 
The  distinction  between  antiquity  and 
the  present  times,  in  respect  to  the  im- 
portance attached  to  political  life,  seems 
to  us  striking ; and  it  is  not  an  acci- 
dental difference,  but  founded  on  per- 
manent causes  which  are  to  operate  with 
increased  power.  In  ancient  times,  every 
thing,  abroad  and  at  home,  threw  men 
upon  the  public,  and  generated  an  in- 
tense thirst  for  political  power.  On  the 
contrary,  the  improvement  of  later  pe- 
riods inclines  men  to  give  importance  to 
literature.  For  example,  the  instability 
of  the  ancient  republics,  the  unsettled 
relations  of  different  classes  of  society, 
the  power  of  demagogues  and  orators, 
the  intensity  of  factions,  the  want  of 
moral  and  religious  restraints,  the  want 
of  some  regular  organ  for  expressing  the 
public  mind,  the  want  of  precedents  and 
precise  laws  for  the  courts  of  justice,  — 


138 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS. 


these  and  other  circumstances  gave  to 
the  ancient  citizen  a feeling  as  if  revo- 
lutions and  convulsions  were  inseparable 
from  society,  turned  his  mind  with  un- 
remitting anxiety  to  public  affairs,  and 
made  a participation  of  political  power 
an  important,  if  not  an  essential,  means 
of  personal  safety.  Again,  the  ancient 
citizen  had  no  home,  in  our  sense  of  the 
word.  He  lived  in  the  market,  the  forum, 
the  place  of  general  resort,  and  of  course 
his  attention  was  very  much  engrossed 
by  affairs  of  state.  Again,  religion, 
which  now  more  than  all  things  throws 
a man  upon  himself,  was  in  ancient  times 
a public  concern,  and  turned  men  to  po- 
litical life.  The  religion  of  the  heart  and 
closet  was  unknown.  The  relation  of  the 
gods  to  particular  states  was  their  most 
prominent  attribute  ; and  to  conciliate 
their  favor  to  the  community,  the  chief 
end  of  worship.  Accordingly,  religion 
consisted  chiefly  in  public  and  national 
rites.  In  Rome,  the  highest  men  in  the 
state  presided  at  the  altar,  and,  adding 
to  their  other  titles  that  of  Supreme 
Pontiff,  performed  the  most  solemn 
functions  of  the  priesthood.  Thus  the 
whole  strength  of  the  religious  principle 
was  turned  into  political  channels.  The 
gods  were  thought  to  sustain  no  higher 
office  than  a political  one,  and  of  conse- 
quence this  was  esteemed  the  most  glo- 
rious for  men.  Once  more,  in  ancient 
times  political  rank  was  vastly  more  effi- 
cient, whether  for  good  or  for  evil,  than 
at  present,  and  of  consequence  was  the 
object  of  a more  insatiable  ambition.  It 
was  almost  the  only  way  of  access  to  the 
multitude.  The  public  man  held  a sway 


over  opinion,  over  his  country,  perhaps 
over  foreign  states,  now  unknown.  It  is 
the  influence  of  the  press  and  of  good 
institutions  to  reduce  the  importance  of 
the  man  of  office.  In* proportion  as  pri- 
vate individuals  can  act  on  the  public 
mind  ; in  proportion  as  a people  read, 
think,  and  have  the  means  of  expressing 
and  enforcing  their  opinions  ; in  propor- 
tion as  laws  become  fixed,  known,  and 
sanctioned  by  the  moral  sense  of  the 
community ; in  proportion  as  the  inter- 
est of  the  state,  the  principles  of  admin- 
istration, and  all  public  measures  are 
subjected  to  free  and  familiar  discussion, 
government  becomes  a secondary  influ- 
ence. The  power  passes  into  the  hands 
of  those  who  think,  write,  and  spread 
their  minds  far  and  wide.  Accordingly, 
literature  is  to  become  more  and  more 
the  instrument  of  swaying  men,  of  doing 
good,  of  achieving  fame.  The  contrast 
between  ancient  and  modern  times  in 
the  particulars  now  stated,  is  too  obvious 
to  need  illustration,  and  our  great  infer- 
ence is  equally  clear.  The  vast  improve- 
ments which,  in  the  course  of  ages,  have 
taken  place  in  social  order,  in  domestic 
life,  in  religion,  in  knowledge,  all  con- 
spire to  one  result,  all  tend  to  introduce 
other  and  higher  influences  than  political 
power,  and  to  give  to  that  form  of  intel- 
lectual effort  which  we  call  literature  do- 
minion over  human  affairs.  Thus  truth, 
we  apprehend,  is  more  and  more  felt ; 
and  from  its  influence,  joined  with  our 
peculiar  condition  and  free  institutions, 
we  hope  for  our  country  the  happiness 
and  glory  of  a pure,  deep,  rich,  beautiful, 
and  ennobling  literature. 


REMARKS  ON 


[i.  Fourth  Annual  Report  to  the  American  Unitarian 
Association,  read  and  accepted  May  26,  1829, 
with  the  Addresses  at  the  Annual  Meeting. 

2.  The  Second  Annual  Report  of  the  Executive  Com- 

mittee of  the  American  Society  for  the  Promo- 
tion of  Temperance,  presented  January  28,  1829. 

3.  First  Annual  Report  of  the  General  Union  for  Pro- 

moting the  Observance  of  the  Christian  Sab- 
bath, adopted  May  12,  1829.] 

We  have  affixed  to  this  article  the 
titles  of  several  reports  of  societies,  not 
so  much  for  the  purpose  of  discussing 
the  merits  of  the  several  institutions 


ASSOCIATIONS. 

whose  labors  they  celebrate,  as  with  the 
more  general  design  of  offering  some 
remarks  on  the  disposition  which  now 
prevails  to  form  associations,  and  to  ac- 
complish all  objects  by  organized  masses. 
A difference  of  opinion  on  this  point  has 
begun  to  manifest  itself,  and  murmurs 
against  the  countless  societies  which 
modestly  solicit  or  authoritatively  claim 
our  aid,  which  now  assail  us  with  fair 
promises  of  the  good  which  they  pur- 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOC/A  TIONS. 


139 


pose,  and  now  with-  rhetorical  encomi- 
ums on  the  good  they  have  done,  begin 
to  break  forth  from  the  judicious  and 
well  disposed,  as  well  as  from  the  queru- 
lous and  selfish.  These  doubts  and  com- 
plaints, however,  are  most  frequently 
excited  by  particular  cases  of  unfair  or 
injurious  operations  in  societies.  As 
yet  no  general  principles  have  been 
established,  by  which  the  value  of  this 
mode  of  action  may  be  determined,  or 
the  relative  claims  of  different  associa- 
tions may  be  weighed.  We  will  not 
promise  to  supply  the  deficiency,  but  we 
hope  to  furnish  some  help  to  a sounder 
judgment  than  yet  prevails  on  the  subject. 

That  the  subject  deserves  attention, 
no  man  who  observes  the  signs  of  the 
times  can  doubt.  Its  importance  forces 
itself  on  the  reflecting.  In  truth,  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  circumstances  or 
features  of  our  age  is  the  energy  with 
which  the  principle  of  combination,  or 
of  action  by  joint  forces,  by  associated 
numbers,  is  manifesting  itself.  It  may 
be  said,  without  much  exaggeration,  that 
every  thing  is  done  now  by  societies. 
Men  have  learned  what  wonders  can  be 
accomplished  in  certain  cases  by  union, 
and  seem  to  think  that  union  is  compe- 
tent to  every  thing.  You  can  scarcely 
name  an  object  for  which  some  institu- 
tion has  not  been  formed.  Would  men 
spread  one  set  of  opinions  or  crush  an- 
other ? They  make  a society.  Would 
they  improve  the  penal  code,  or  relieve 
poor  debtors  ? They  make  societies. 
Would  they  encourage  agriculture,  or 
manufactures,  or  science  ? They  make 
societies.  Would  one  class  encourage 
horse-racing,  and  another  discourage 
travelling  on  Sunday  ? They  form  soci- 
eties. We  have  immense  institutions 
spreading  over  the  country,  combining 
hosts  for  particular  objects.  We  have 
minute  ramifications  of  these  societies, 
penetrating  everywhere  except  through 
the  poor-house,  and  conveying  resources 
from  the  domestic,  the  laborer,  and  even 
the  child,  to  the  central  treasury.  This 
principle  of  association  is  worthy  the 
attention  of  the  philosopher,  who  simply 
aims  to  understand  society  and  its  most 
powerful  springs.  To  the  philanthropist 
and  the  Christian  it  is  exceedingly  in- 
teresting, for  it  is  a mighty  engine,  and 
must  act  either  for  good  or  for  evil,  to 
an  extent  which  no  man  can  foresee  or 
comprehend. 


It  is  very  easy,  we  conceive,  to  explain 
this  great  development  of  the  principle 
of  co-operation.  The  main  cause  is,  the 
immense  facility  given  to  intercourse  by 
modern  improvements,  by  increased  com- 
merce and  travelling,  by  the  post-office, 
by  the  steam-boat,  and  especially  by 
the  press, — by  newspapers,  periodicals, 
tracts,  and  other  publications.  Through 
these  means,  men  of  one  mind,  through 
a whole  country,  easily  understand  one 
another,  and  easily  act  together.  The 
grand  manoeuvre  to  which  Napoleon 
owed  his  victories  — we  mean  the  con- 
centration of  great  numbers  on  a single 
point  — is  now  placed  within  the  reach 
of  all  parties  and  sects.  It  may  be  said 
that,  by  facilities  of  intercourse,  men  are 
brought  within  one  another’s  attraction, 
and  become  arranged  according  to  their 
respective  affinities.  Those  who  have 
one  great  object  find  one  another  out 
through  a vast  extent  of  country,  join 
their  forces,  settle  their  mode  of  opera- 
tion, and  act  together  with  the  uniform- 
ity of  a disciplined  army.  So  exten- 
sive have  coalitions  become,  through  the 
facilities  now  described,  and  so  various 
and  rapid  are  the  means  of  communi- 
cation, that,  when  a few  leaders  have 
agreed  on  an  object,  an  impulse  may  be 
given  in  a month  to  the  whole  country, 
whole  states  may  be  deluged  with  tracts 
and  other  publications,  and  a voice  like 
that  of  many  waters  be  called  forth  from 
immense  and  widely  separated  multi- 
tudes. Here  is  a new  power  brought  to 
bear  on  society,  and  it  is  a great  moral 
question  how  it  ought  to  be  viewed, 
and  what  duties  it  imposes. 

That  this  mode  of  action  has  advan- 
tages and  recommendations  is  very  ob- 
vious. The  principal  arguments  in  its 
favor  may  be  stated  in  a few  words. 
Men,  it  is  justly  said,  can  do  jointly 
what  they  cannot  do  singly.  The  union 
of  minds  and  hands  works  wonders. 
Men  grow  efficient  by  concentrating 
their  powers.  Joint  effort  conquers  nat- 
ure, hews  through  mountains,  rears  pyr- 
amids, dikes  out  the  ocean.  Man,  left 
to  himself,  living  without  a fellow,  — if 
he  could  indeed  so  live,  — would  be  one 
of  the  weakest  of  creatures.  Associated 
with  his  kind,  he  gains  dominion  over  the 
strongest  animals,  over  the  earth  and  the 
sea,  and,  by  his  growing  knowledge,  may 
be  said  to  obtain  a kind  of  property  in  the 
universe. 


140 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS. 


Nor  is  this  all.  Men  not  only  accu- 
mulate power  by  union,  but  gain  warmth 
and  earnestness.  The  heart  is  kindled. 
An  electric  communication  is  estab- 
lished between  those  who  are  brought 
nigh  and  bound  to  each  other  in  com- 
mon labors.  Man  droops  in  solitude. 
No  sound  excites  him  like  the  voice  of 
his  fellow-creature.  The  mere  sight  of 
a human  countenance,  brightened  with 
strong  and  generous  emotion,  gives  new 
strength  to  act  or  suffer.  Union  not 
only  brings  to  a point  forces  which  be- 
fore existed,  and  which  were  ineffectual 
through  separation,  but,  by  the  feeling 
and  interest  which  it  rouses,  it  becomes 
a creative  principle,  calls  forth  new 
forces,  and  gives  the  mind  a conscious- 
ness of  powers  which  would  otherwise 
have  been  unknown. 

We  have  here  given  the  common 
arguments  by  which  the  disposition  to 
association  is  justified  and  recommend- 
ed. They  may  be  summed  up  in  a few 
words  ; namely,  that  our  social  princi- 
ples and  relations  are  the  great  springs 
of  improvement,  and  of  vigorous  and 
efficient  exertion.  That  there  is  much 
truth  in  this  representation  of  the  influ- 
ences of  society  we  at  once  feel.  That, 
without  impulses  and  excitements  from 
abroad,  without  sympathies  and  com- 
munication with  our  fellow-creatures,  we 
should  gain  nothing  and  accomplish  noth- 
ing, we  mean  not  to  deny.  Still,  we  appre- 
hend that  on  this  subject  there  is  a want 
of  accurate  views  and  just  discrimination. 
We  apprehend  that  the  true  use  of  so- 
ciety is  not  sufficiently  understood  ; that 
the  chief  benefit  which  it  is  intended  to 
confer,  and  the  chief  danger  to  which 
it  exposes  us,  are  seldom  weighed,  and 
that  errors  or  crude  opinions  on  these 
points  deprive  us  of  many  benefits  of 
our  social  connections.  These  topics 
have  an  obvious  bearing  on  the  subject 
of  this  article.  It  is  plain  that  the  bet- 
ter we  understand  the  true  use,  the  chief 
benefit,  and  the  chief  peril  of  our  social 
principles  and  relations,  the  better  we 
shall  be  prepared  to  judge  of  associa- 
tions which  are  offered  to  our  patron- 
age. On  these  topics,  then,  we  propose 
first  to  give  our  views  ; and  in  so  doing 
we  shall  allow  ourselves  a considerable 
latitude,  because,  in  our  judgment,  the 
influences  of  society  at  present  tend 
strongly  to  excess,  and  especially  men- 
ace that  individuality  of  character  for 


which  they  can  yield  no  adequate  com- 
pensation. 

The  great  principle  from  which  we 
start  in  this  preliminary  discussion,  and 
in  which  all  our  views  of  the  topics 
above  proposed  are  involved,  may  be 
briefly  expressed.  It  is  this  : — Society 
is  chiefly  important  as  it  ministers  to, 
and  calls  forth,  intellectual  and  moral 
energy  and  freedom.  Its  action  on  the 
individual  is  beneficial  in  proportion  as 
it  awakens  in  him  a power  to  act  on 
himself,  and  to  control  or  withstand  the 
social  influences  to  which  he  is  at  first 
subjected.  Society  serves  us  by  fur- 
nishing objects,  occasions,  materials, 
excitements,  through  which  the  whole 
soul  may  be  brought  into  vigorous  ex- 
ercise, may  acquire  a consciousness  of 
its  free  and  responsible  nature,  may  be- 
come a law  to  itself,  and  may  rise  to  the 
happiness  and  dignity  of  framing  and 
improving  itself  without  limit  or  end. 
Inward,  creative  energy  is  the  highest 
good  which  accrues  to  us  from  our 
social  principles  and  connections.  The 
mind  is  enriched,  not  by  what  it  pas- 
sively receives  from  others,  but  by  its 
own  action  on  what  it  receives.  We 
would  especially  affirm  of  virtue  that  it 
does  not  consist  in  what  we  inherit,  or 
what  comes  to  us  from  abroad.  It  is  of 
inward  growth,  and  it  grows  by  nothing 
so  much  as  by  resistance  of  foreign  in- 
fluences, by  acting  from  our  deliberate 
convictions,  in  opposition  to  the  princi- 
ples of  sympathy  and  imitation.  Ac- 
cording to  these  views,  our  social  nature 
and  connections  are  means.  Inward 
power  is  the  end,  — a power  which  is 
to  triumph  over  and  control  the  influence 
of  society. 

We  are  told  that  we  owe  to  society 
our  most  valuable  knowledge.  And  true 
it  is,  that  were  we  cast  from  birth  into 
solitude  we  should  grow  up  in  brutal 
ignorance.  But  it  is  also  true  that  the 
knowledge  which  we  receive  is  of  little 
value  any  farther  than  it  is  food  and 
excitement  to  intellectual  action.  Its 
worth  is  to  be  measured  by  the  energy 
with  which  it  is  sought  and  employed. 
Knowledge  is  noble,  in  proportion  as  it 
is  prolific,  — in  proportion  as  it  quick- 
ens the  mind  to  the  acquisition  of  higher 
truth.  Let  it  be  rested  in  passively,  and 
it  profits  us  nothing.  Let  the  judgment 
of  others  be  our  trust,  so  that  we  cease 
to  judge  for  ourselves,  and  the  intellect 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS . 


is  degraded  into  a worthless  machine. 
The  dignity  of  the  mind  is  to  be  esti- 
mated by  the  energy  of  its  efforts  for 
its  own  enlargement.  It  becomes  heroic 
when  it  reverences  itself  and  asserts  its 
freedom  in  a cowardly  and  servile  age ; 
when  it  withstands  society  through  a 
calm  but  invincible  love  of  truth,  and 
a consciousness  of  the  dignity  and  pro- 
gressiveness of  its  powers. 

The  indispensable  necessity  of  in- 
struction from  our  fellow-creatures  we 
in  no  degree  question.  But  perhaps 
few  are  aware  how  imperfect  are  the 
conceptions  received  from  the  best  in- 
structor, and  how  much  must  be  done 
by  our  own  solitary  thinking  to  give 
them  consistency  and  vividness.  It  may 
be  doubted  whether  a fellow-creature 
can  ever  impart  to  us  apprehensions  of 
a complex  subject  which  are  altogether 
just.  Be  the  teacher  ever  so  unerring, 
his  language  can  hardly  communicate 
his  mind  with  entire  precision  ; for  few 
words  awaken  exactly  the  same  thoughts 
in  different  men.  The  views  which  we 
receive  from  the  most  gifted  beings  are 
at  best  an  approximation  to  truth.  We 
have  spoken  of  unerring  teachers  ; but 
where  are  these  to  be  found  ? Our  daily 
intercourse  is  with  fallible  beings,  most 
of  whom  are  undisciplined  in  intellect, 
the  slaves  of  prejudice,  and  unconscious 
of  their  own  spiritual  energies.  The 
essential  condition  of  intellectual  prog- 
ress in  such  a world  is  the  resistance 
of  social  influences,  or  of  impressions 
from  our  fellow-beings. 

What  we  have  said  of  intellectual  is 
still  more  true  of  moral  progress.  No 
human  being  exists  whose  character  can 
be  proposed  as  a faultless  model.  But, 
could  a perfect  individual  be  found,  we 
should  only  injure  ourselves  by  indis- 
criminate, servile  imitation ; for  much 
which  is  good  in  another  is  good  in  him 
alone,  belongs  to  his  peculiar  constitu- 
tion, has  been  the  growth  of  his  peculiar 
experience,  is  harmonious  and  beautiful 
only  in  combination  with  his  other  at- 
tributes, and  would  be  unnatural,  awk- 
ward, and  forced  in  a servile  imitator. 
The  very  strength  of  emotion  which  in 
one  man  is  virtue  in  another  would  be 
defect ; for  virtue  depends  on  the  bal- 
ance which  exists  between  the  various 
principles  of  the  soul ; and  that  intense- 
ness of  feeling  which,  when  joined  with 
force  of  thought  and  purpose,  is  health- 


141 

ful  and  invigorating,  would  prove  a dis- 
ease, or  might  approach  insanity,  in  a 
weak  and  sensitive  mind.  No  man 
should  part  with  his  individuality,  and 
aim  to  become  another.  No  process  is 
so  fatal  as  that  which  would  cast  all 
men  into  . one  mould.  Every  human 
being  is  intended  to  have  a character 
of  his  own,  to  be  what  no  other  is,  to 
do  what  no  other  can  do.  Our  common 
nature  is  to  be  unfolded  in  unbounded 
diversities.  It  is  rich  enough  for  infi- 
nite manifestations.  It  is  to  wear  in- 
numerable forms  of  beauty  and  glory. 
Every  human  being  has  a work  to  carry 
on  within,  duties  to  perform  abroad,  in- 
fluences to  exert  which  are  peculiarly 
his,  and  which  no  conscience  but  his 
own  can  teach.  Let  him  not,  then,  en- 
slave his  conscience  to  others,  but  act 
with  the  freedom,  strength,  and  dignity 
of  one  whose  highest  law  is  in  his  own 
breast. 

We  know  that  it  may  be  replied  to 
us,  that  Providence,  by  placing  us  at 
birth  in  entire  subjection  to  social  in- 
fluences, has  marked  out  society  as  the 
great  instrument  of  determining  the 
human  mind.  The  child,  it  is  said,  is 
plainly  designed  to  receive  passively, 
and  with  unresisting  simplicity,  a host 
of  impressions,  thoughts,  and  feelings 
from  those  around  him.  This  we  know. 
But  we  know,  too,  that  childhood  is 
not  to  endure  for  ever.  We  know  that 
the  impressions,  pleasures,  pains,  which 
throng  and  possess  the  infant  mind,  are 
intended  to  awaken  in  it  an  energy  by 
which  it  is  to  subject  them  to  itself  ; by 
which  it  is  to  separate  from  the  crude 
mass  what  is  true  and  pure ; by  which  it 
is  to  act  upon,  and  modify,  and  throw 
into  new  combinations,  the  materials 
forced  upon  it  originally  by  sensation 
and  society.  It  is  only  by  putting  forth 
this  inward  and  self-forming  power  that 
we  emerge  from  childhood.  He  who 
continues  to  be  passively  moulded  pro- 
longs his  infancy  to  the  tomb.  There 
is  deep  wisdom  in  the  declaration  of 
Jesus,  that,  to  be  his  disciple,  we  must 
“ hate  father  and  mother ; ” or,  in  other 
words,  that  we  must  surrender  the  preju- 
dices of  education  to  the  new  lights 
which  God  gives  us  ; that  the  love  of 
truth  must  triumph  over  the  influences 
of  our  best  and  earliest  friends ; that, 
forsaking  the  maxims  of  society,  we 
must  frame  ourselves  according  to  the 


142 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS. 


standard  of  moral  perfection  set  before 
us  in  the  life,  spirit,  and  teachings  of 
Jesus  Christ.  It  is  interesting  to  ob- 
serve how  the  Creator,  who  has  sub- 
jected the  child  at  first  to  social  influ- 
ences, has,  even  at  that  age,  provided 
for  its  growing  freedom,  by  inspiring  it 
with  an  overflowing  animation,  an  inex- 
pressible joy,  an  impatience  of  limits,  a 
thirst  for  novelty,  a delight  in  adventure, 
an  ardent  fancy,  all  suited  to  balance 
the  authority  of  the  old,  and  gradually 
mingling  with  the  credulity  of  infancy 
that  questioning,  doubting  spirit,  on 
which  intellectual  progress  chiefly  de- 
pends. 

The  common  opinion  is,  that  our  dan- 
ger from  society  arises  wholly  from  its 
bad  members,  and  that  we  cannot  easily 
be  too  much  influenced  by  the  good. 
But,  to  our  apprehension,  there  is  a 
peril  in  the  influence  both  of  good  and 
bad.  What  many  of  us  have  chiefly  to 
dread  from  society  is,  not  that  we  shall 
acquire  a positive  character  of  vice,  but 
that  it  will  impose  on  us  a negative 
character ; that  we  shall  live  and  die 
passive  beings  ; that  the  creative  and  self- 
forming energy  of  the  soul  will  not  be 
called  forth  in  the  work  of  our  improve- 
ment. Our  danger  is,  that  we  shall  sub- 
stitute the  consciences  of  others  for  our 
own,  that  we  shall  paralyze  our  faculties 
through  dependence  on  foreign  guides, 
that  we  shall  be  moulded  from  abroad 
instead  of  determining  ourselves.  The 
pressure  of  society  upon  us  is  constant 
and  almost  immeasurable ; now  open 
and  direct  in  the  form  of  authority  and 
menace,  now  subtile  and  silent  in  the 
guise  of  blandishment  and  promise. 
What  mighty  power  is  lodged  in  a frown 
or  a smile,  in  the  voice  of  praise  and 
flattery,  in  scorn  or  neglect,  in  public 
opinion,  in  domestic  habits  and  preju- 
dices, in  the  state  and  spirit  of  the  com- 
munity to  which  we  belong  ! Nothing 
escapes  the  cognizance  of  society.  Its 
legislation  extends  even  to  our  dress, 
movements,  features  ; and  the  individual 
bears  the  traces,  even  in  countenance, 
air,  and  voice,  of  the  social  influences 
amidst  which  he  has  been  plunged.  We 
are  in  great  peril  of  growing  up  slaves 
to  this  exacting,  arbitrary  sovereign  ; of 
forgetting,  or  never  learning,  our  true 
responsibility  ; of  living  in  unconscious- 
ness of  that  divine  power  with  which 
we  are  invested  over  ourselves,  and 


in  which  all  the  dignity  of  our  nature 
is  concentred ; of  overlooking  the  sa- 
credness of  our  minds,  and  laying  them 
open  to  impressions  from  any  and  all 
who  surround  us.  Resistance  of  this 
foreign  pressure  is  our  only  safeguard, 
and  is  essential  to  virtue.  All  virtue 
lies  in  individual  action,  in  inward 
energy,  in  self-determination.  There\is 
no  moral  worth  in  being  swept  away  by 
a crowd,  even  towards  the  best  ob- 
jects. We  must  act  from  an  inward 
spring.  The  good  as  well  as  the  bad 
may  injure  us,  if  through  that  intoler- 
ance which  is  a common  infirmity  of  the 
good,  they  impose  on  us  authoritatively 
their  own  convictions,  and  obstruct  our 
own  intellectual  and  moral  activity.  A 
state  of  society  in  which  correct  habits 
prevail,  may  produce  in  many  a mechan- 
ical regularity  and  religion  which  is 
any  thing  but  virtue.  Nothing  morally 
great  or  good  springs  from  mere  sym- 
pathy and  imitation.  These  principles 
will  only  forge  chains  for  us,  and  per- 
petuate our  infancy,  unless  more  and 
more  controlled  and  subdued  by  that 
inward  lawgiver  and  judge,  whose  au- 
thority is  from  God,  and  whose  sway 
over  our  whole  nature  alone  secures  its 
free,  glorious,  and  everlasting  expan- 
sion. 

The  truth  is,  and  we  need  to  feel  it 
most  deeply,  that  our  connection  with 
society,  as  it  is  our  greatest  aid,  so  it  is 
our  greatest  peril.  We  are 'in  constant 
danger  of  being  spoiled  of  our  moral 
judgment,  and  of  our  power  over  our- 
selves ; and,  in  losing  these,  we  lose 
the  chief  prerogatives  of  spiritual  beings. 
We  sink,  as  far  as  mind  can  sink, 
into  the  world  of  matter,  the  chief 
distinction  of  which  is,  that  it  wants 
self-motion,  or  moves  only  from  foreign 
impulse.  The  propensity  in  our  fellow- 
creatures  which  we  have  most  to  dread 
is  that  which,  though  most  severely  con- 
demned by  Jesus,  is  yet  the  most  fre- 
quent infirmity  of  his  followers,  — we 
mean  the  propensity  to  rule,  to  tyrannize, 
to  war  with  the  freedom  of  their  equals, 
to  make  themselves  standards  for  other 
minds,  to  be  lawgivers,  instead  of  breth- 
ren and  friends,  to  their  race.  Our  great 
and  most  difficult  duty,  as  social  beings, 
is,  to  derive  constant  aid  from  society 
without  taking  its  yoke  ; to  open  our 
minds  to  the  thoughts,  reasonings,  and 
persuasions  of  others,  and  yet  to  hold 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS. 


143 


fast  the  sacred  right  of  private  judg- 
ment ; to  receive  impulses  from  our 
fellow-beings,  and  yet  to  act  from  our 
own  souls  ; to  sympathize  with  others, 
and  yet  to  determine  our  own  feelings  ; 
to  act  with  others,  and  yet  to  follow  our 
own  consciences  ; to  unite  social  defer- 
ence and  self-dominion  ; to  join  moral 
self-subsistence  with  social  dependence  ; 
to  respect  others  without  losing  self- 
respect  ; to  love  our  friends  and  to  rev- 
erence our  superiors,  whilst  our  su- 
preme homage  is  given  to  that  moral 
perfection  which  no  friend  and  no  supe- 
rior has  realized,  and  which,  if  faithfully 
pursued,  will  often  demand  separation 
from  all  around  us.  Such  is  our  great 
work  as  social  beings,  and  to  per- 
form it,  we  should  look  habitually  to 
Jesus  Christ,  who  was  distinguished  by 
nothing  more  than  by  moral  independ- 
ence, — than  by  resisting  and  overcom- 
ing the  world. 

The  reverence  for  our  own  moral 
nature,  on  which  we  have  now  insisted, 
needs  earnest  and  perpetual  inculcation. 
This  virtue  finds  few  aids  from  abroad. 
All  religions  and  governments  have 
more  or  less  warred  with  it.  Even 
that  religion  which  came  from  God  to 
raise  man  to  a moral  empire  over  him- 
self, has  been  seized  on  by  the  selfish 
and  intolerant  principles  of  human  nat- 
ure, and  all  its  sanctions  have  been 
brought  to  bear  against  that  free,  inde- 
pendent action  of  thought  and  con- 
science which  it  was  chiefly  intended  to 
promote.  In  truth,  men  need  to  be  in- 
structed in  nothing  more  than  in  what 
they  owe  to  their  own  spiritual  faculties. 
The  sacredness  of  the  moral  principle  in 
every  human  breast ; its  divine  right  of 
dominion  ; the  jealousy  with  which  it 
ought  to  be  protected  against  our  own 
passions  and  the  usurpations  of  society ; 
the  watchful  care  with  which  it  should 
be  unfolded,  refined,  and  fortified,  by 
communion  with  ourselves,  with  great 
and  good  minds,  with  that  brightest 
manifestation  of  God,  Jesus  Christ,  and 
with  God  Himself  ; the  awe  with  which 
its  deliberate  dictates  should  be  heard  ; 
the  energy  which  it  may  and  should  put 
forth  in  opposition  to  pleasure  and  pain, 
to  human  frowns  or  smiles  ; the  sublime 
tranquillity  to  which  it  may  ascend  ; the 
conscious  union  with  God  which  it  may 
attain,  and  through  which  it  seems  to 
partake  of  his  omnipotence,  — these 


prerogatives  of  the  moral  nature,  of 
that  element  and  spark  of  divinity  in 
the  soul,  are  almost  forgotten  in  the 
condition  of  servitude  to  which  the 
multitude  are  reduced  by  the  joint  tyr- 
anny of  the  passions  and  of  society. 

It  is  interesting  and  encouraging  to 
observe,  that  the  enslaving  power  of 
society  over  the  mind  is  decreasing, 
through  what  would  seem  at  first  to 
threaten  its  enlargement ; — we  mean, 
through  the  extension  of  social  inter- 
course. This  is  a distinction  of  our 
age,  and  one  of  its  chief  means  of  im- 
provement. Men  are  widening  their 
bounds,  exchanging  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings with  fellow-beings  far  and  wide, 
with  inhabitants  of  other  countries,  with 
subjects  of  other  governments,  with  pro- 
fessors of  other  modes  of  faith.  Distant 
nations  are  brought  near,  and  are  acting 
on  one  another  with  a new  power ; and 
the  result  is,  that  these  differing  and 
often  hostile  influences  balance  or  neu- 
tralize one  another,  and  almost  compel 
the  intellect  to  act,  to  compare,  to  judge, 
to  frame  itself.  This  we  deem  an  immense 
benefit  of  the  multiplication  of  books  at 
the  present  day.  The  best  books  con- 
tain errors,  and  deserve  a very  limited 
trust.  But  wherever  men  of  thought 
and  genius  publish  freely,  they  will  per- 
petually send  forth  new  views,  to  keep 
alive  the  intellectual  action  of  the  world  ; 
will  give  a frequent  shock  to  received 
opinions  ; will  lead  men  to  contemplate 
great  subjects  from  new  positions,  and 
by  thus  awakening  individual  and  inde- 
pendent energy,  will  work  higher  good 
than  by  the  knowledge  which  they 
spread.  The  same  effect  is  to  be  an- 
ticipated from  the  study  of  different  lan- 
guages, which  occupies  more  and  more 
space  in  our  systems  of  education  ; and 
we  believe  this  to  be  the  happiest  effect. 
A great  man  used  to  say  that,  in  learn- 
ing a new  language,  he  had  gained  a new 
soul,  so  fresh  and  original  were  the  views 
which  it  opened  to  him.  A new  lan- 
guage, considered  in  itself,  or  without 
reference  to  the  writings  which  it  con- 
tains, seems  to  us  a valuable  possession, 
on  account  of  the  new  combinations  of 
thought  which  its  vocabulary  presents  ; 
and  when  regarded  as  the  key  to  the 
minds  of  a people  whose  institutions, 
education,  climate,  temperament,  relig- 
ion, and  history  differ  from  our  own, 
and  in  whom,  of  consequence,  our  com- 


144 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS . 


mon  nature  is  taking  a new  form,  it  is, 
to  one  who  has  power  to  understand  its 
use,  an  invaluable  acquisition.  In  truth, 
we  cannot  express  too  strongly  the  im- 
portance we  attach  to  an  enlarged  inter- 
course with  other  minds,  considered  as 
the  means  of  freeing  and  quickening 
our  own.  This  is  the  chief  good  of  ex- 
tensive institutions  for  education.  They 
place  us  under  diversified  social  influ- 
ences ; connect  us  with  the  dead  as 
well  as  with  the  living ; accumulate  for 
us  the  thoughts  of  all  ages  and  na- 
tions ; take  us  out  of  the  narrow  circle 
of  a neighborhood,  or  church,  or  com- 
munity ; make  us  fellow-citizens  with 
the  friends  of  truth  under  the  whole 
heaven,  and,  through  these  various  and 
often  hostile  influences,  aid  and  en- 
courage us  to  that  independent  moral 
judgment  and  intellectual  discrimination 
by  which  our  views  are  more  and  more 
purified  and  enlarged. 

We  regret  that  religion  has  not  done 
more  to  promote  this  enlarged  inter- 
course of  minds,  — the  great  means,  as 
we  have  seen,  of  reconciling  social  aids 
with  personal  independence.  As  yet, 
religion  has  generally  assumed  a sec- 
tarian form,  and  its  disciples,  making 
narrowness  a matter  of  conscience,  have 
too  often  shunned  connection  with  men 
of  different  views  as  a pestilence,  and 
yielded  their  minds  to  the  exclusive  in- 
fluences of  the  leaders  and  teachers  of 
their  separate  factions.  Indeed,  we  fear 
that  in  no  department  of  life  has  the  so- 
cial principle  been  perverted  more  into 
an  instrument  of  intellectual  thraldom 
than  in  religion.  We  could  multiply 
proofs  without  end,  but  will  content  our- 
selves with  a single  illustration  drawn 
from  what  are  called  “revivals  of  relig- 
ion.” We  have  many  objections  to  these 
as  commonly  conducted ; but  nothing 
offends  us  more  than  their  direct  and 
striking  tendency  to  everwhelm  the  mind 
with  foreign  influences,  and  to  strip  it 
of  all  self-direction.  In  these  feverish 
seasons,  religion,  or  what  bears  the 
name,  is  spread,  as  by  contagion,  and  to 
escape  it  is  almost  as  difficult  as  to  avoid 
a raging  epidemic.  Whoever  knows  any 
thing  of  human  nature,  knows  the  effect 
of  excitement  in  a crowd.  When  sys- 
tematically prolonged  and  urged  onward, 
it  subverts  deliberation  and  self-control. 
The  individual  is  lost  in  the  mass,  and 
borne  away  as  in  a whirlwind.  The 


prevalent  emotion,  be  it  love  or  hatred, 
terror  or  enthusiasm,  masters  every 
mind  which  is  not  fortified  by  a rare 
energy,  or  secured  by  a rare  insensi- 
bility. In  revivals,  a multitude  are  sub- 
jected at  once  to  strong  emotions,  which 
are  swelled  and  perpetuated  by  the  most 
skilful  management.  The  individual  is 
never  suffered  to  escape  the  grasp  of  the 
leading  or  subordinate  agents  in  the 
work.*  A machinery  of  social  influ- 
ences, of  “ inquiry  meetings,”  of  “ anx- 
ious meetings,”  of  conferences,  of  prayer 
meetings,  of  perpetual  private  or  public 
impulses,  is  brought  to  bear  on  the  dis- 
eased subject,  until,  exhausted  in  body 
and  mind,  he  becomes  the  passive,  power- 
less recipient  of  whatever  form  or  im- 
pressions it  may  be  thought  fit  to  give 
him.  Happily  for  mankind,  our  nature 
loses  its  sensibility  to  perpetual  stimu- 
lants, and  of  consequence  a revival  is 
succeeded  by  what  is  called  “a  dull, 
dead,  stupid  season.”  This  dull  time  is 
a merciful  repose  granted  by  Providence 
to  the  overwrought  and  oppressed  mind, 
and  gives  some  chance  for  calm,  delib- 
erate, individual  thought  and  action. 
Thus  the  kindness  of  nature  is  perpetu- 
ally counterworking  the  excesses  of  men, 
and  a religion  which  begins  in  partial  in- 
sanity is  often  seen  to  attain  by  degrees 
to  the  calmness  and  dignity  of  reason. 

In  the  preceding  remarks  we  have 
stated,  at  greater  length  than  we  in- 
tended, our  views  of  the  true  and  high- 
est benefits  of  society.  These  seem  to 
us  great,  — unspeakably  great.  At  the 
same  time,  like  all  other  goods,  they  are 
accompanied  with  serious  perils.  So- 
ciety too  often  oppresses  the  energy 
which  it  was  meant  to  quicken  and^ 
exalt.  — We  now  pass  to  our  principal 
subject ; to  the  associations  for  public 
purposes,  whether  benevolent,  moral,  or 
religious,  which  are  so  multiplied  in  the 
present  age.  And  here  we  must  confine 
ourselves  to  two  remarks  ; the  first  in- 
tended to  assign  to  such  associations 
their  proper  place  or  rank,  and  the 
second,  to  suggest  a principle  by  which 

* We  recollect  seeing  the  following  direction  gravely 
given  for  managing  revivals,  in  the  book  of  a minister 
experienced  in  this  work : — “Be  careful  never  to 
kindle  more  fires  than  you  can  tend.”  In  other  words, 
Do  not  awaken  and  alarm  more  persons  than  you  can 
place  under  constant  inspection,  and  beset  with  per- 
petual excitements.  What  a strange  rule  for  persons 
who  profess  to  believe  that  these  “fires”  are  “kin- 
dled” supernaturally  by  the  Hoiy  Spirit! 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS. 


145 


useful  societies  may  be  distinguished 
from  such  as  are  pernicious,  and  by 
which  we  may  be  aided  in  distributing 
among  them  our  favor  and  patronage. 

Our  first  remark  is,  that  we  should 
beware  of  confounding  together,  as  of 
equal  importance,  those  associations 
which  are  formed  by  our  Creator,  which 
spring  from  our  very  constitution,  and 
are  inseparable  from  our  being,  and 
those  of  which  we  are  now  treating, 
which  man  invents  for  particular  times 
and  exigencies.  Let  us  never  place  our 
weak,  short-sighted  contrivances  on  a 
level  with  the  arrangements  of  God. 
We  have  acknowledged  the  infinite  im- 
portance of  society  to  the  development 
of  human  powers  and  affections.  But 
when  we  speak  thus  of  society,  we  mean 
chiefly  the  relations  in  which  God  has 
placed  us  ; we  mean  the  connections  of 
family,  of  neighborhood,  of  country,  and 
the  great  bond  of  humanity,  uniting  us 
with  our  whole  kind,  and  not  mission- 
ary societies,  peace  societies,  or  charita- 
ble societies,  which  men  have  contrived. 
These  last  have  their  uses,  and  some  do 
great  good ; but  they  are  no  more  to  be 
compared  with  the  societies  in  which 
nature  places  us,  than  the  torches  which 
we  kindle  on  earth  in  the  darkness  of 
night  are  to  be  paralleled  with  the  all- 
pervading  and  all-glorifying  light  of  the 
sun.  We  make  these  remarks,  because 
nothing  is  more  common  than  for  men 
to  forget  the  value  of  what  is  familiar, 
natural,  and  universal,  and  to  ascribe 
undue  importance  to  what  is  extraordi- 
nary, forced,  and  rare,  and  therefore 
striking.  Artificial  associations  have 
their  use,  but  are  not  be  named  with 
those  of  nature  ; and  to  these  last,  there- 
fore we  are  to  give  our  chief  regard. 

We  can  easily  illustrate  by  examples 
the  inferiority  of  human  associations. 
In  Boston,  there  are  two  asylums  for 
children,  which  deserve,  we  think,  a 
high  place  among  useful  institutions. 
Not  a little  time  is  spent  upon  them. 
Hundreds  conspire  to  carry  them  on, 
and  we  have  anniversaries  to  collect 
crowds  for  their  support.  And  what  is 
the  amount  of  good  accomplished  ? Be- 
tween one  and  two  hundred  children  are 
provided  for,  a number  worthy  of  all  the 
care  bestowed  on  these  charities.  But 
compare  this  number  with  all  the  chil- 
dren bf  this  city,  with  the  thousands 
who  throng  our  streets  and  our  schools. 


And  how  are  these  fed,  clothed,  edu- 
cated? We  hear  of  no  subscriptions, 
no  anniversaries  for  their  benefit ; yet 
how  they  flourish  compared  with  the 
subjects  of  asylums  ! These  are  pro- 
vided for  by  that  unostentatious  and 
unpraised  society,  which  God  has  insti- 
tuted, — a family.  That  shelter,  hbme, 
which  nature  rears,  protects  them,  and 
it  is  an  establishment  worth  infinitely 
more  than  all  the  institutions,  great  or 
small,  which  man  has  devised.  In  truth, 
just  as  far  as  this  is  improved,  as  its 
duties  are  performed  and  its  blessings 
prized,  all  artificial  institutions  are  su- 
perseded. Here,  then,  is  the  sphere  for 
the  agency  of  the  wise  and  good.  Im- 
prove the  family,  strengthen  and  purify 
the  relations  of  domestic  life,  and  more 
is  done  for  the  happiness  and  progress 
of  the  race  than  by  the  most  splendid 
charities.  — Let  us  take  another  example, 
the  hospital  in  the  same  metropolis  ; a 
noble  institution,  worthy  of  high  praise. 
But  where  is  it  that  the  sick  of  our  city 
are  healed  ? Must  you  look  for  them 
in  the  hospital  ? You  may  find  there, 
perhaps,  and  should  rejoice  to  find  there, 
fifty  or  sixty  beds  for  the  poor.  The 
thousands  who  sicken  and  die  among  us 
are  to  be  found  in  their  homes,  watched 
over  by  the  nursing  care  of  mothers  and 
sisters,  surrounded  by  that  tenderness 
which  grows  up  only  at  home.  — Let  us 
take  another  example,  missionary  so- 
cieties. This  whole  country  is  thrown 
into  excitement  to  support  missions. 
The  rich  are  taxed,  and  the  poor  bur- 
dened. We  do  not  say  that  they  are 
burdened  without  object ; for  Christi- 
anity is  so  infinite  a blessing  that  we 
consent  to  any  honest  methods  of  send- 
ing it  abroad.  But  what  is  the  amount 
of  good  effected  ? A few  missionaries, 
we  know  not  the  precise  number;  are 
supported,  of  whom  most  have' hitherto 
brought  little  to  pass.  Who  can-compare 
associations  for  this  object  with  churches, 
or  those  congregations  of  neighbors  for 
regular  worship  which  Christianity  has 
instituted,  and  to  which  nature  lias  al- 
ways prompted  the  professors  of  the  same 
faith  ? Through  these,  incalculable  aid 
is  given  to  the  support  and  diffusion  of 
Christianity;  and  yet,  through  the  pro- 
pensity of  human  nature  to  exaggerate 
what  is  forced  and  artificial,  one  mis- 
sionary at  a distance  is  thought  of  more 
importance  than  a hundred  ministers  - 


10 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS. 


146 

near,  and  the  sending  of  him  abroad  is 
extolled  as  an  incomparably  greater  ex- 
ploit of  piety  than  the  support  of  our 
own  places  of  worship.  We  mean  not  to 
discourage  missionary  societies  ; but  the 
truth  is,  that  Christianity  is  to  be  dif- 
fused incomparably  more  by  caring  for 
and  promoting  it  in  our  natural  relations, 
in  our  homes,  in  our  common  circles  and 
churches,  than  by  institutions  endowed 
with  the  revenues  of  nations  for  sending 
it  to  distant  lands.  The  great  obstruc- 
tion to  Christianity  among  foreign  na- 
tions is  its  inoperativeness  among  the 
nations  which  profess  it.  We  offer 
others  a religion  which,  in  their  appre- 
hension, has  done  the  givers  no  great 
good.  The  true  course  is  to  rely  less 
on  our  machinery  of  cent  societies  and 
national  societies,  and  to  rely  more  on 
the  connections  and  arrangements  of  nat- 
ure or  of  God. 

We  beg  not  to  be  misunderstood. 
We  would  on  no  account  discourage 
the  asylum,  the  hospital,  the  mission- 
ary society.  All  receive  our  cheerful 
support.  We  only  mean  to  say  that 
our  great  sources  of  improvement  and 
happiness  are  our  natural  relations  and 
associations,  and  that  to  understand 
these  better,  and  to  attach  ourselves 
more  faithfully  to  their  duties,  are  the 
great  social  means  of  carrying  forward 
the  world.  A striking  confirmation  of 
these  remarks  may  be  found  in  the 
Romish  Church.  The  probability  is, 
that,  under  the  Catholic  religion  in  the 
dark  ages,  there  were  larger  contribu- 
tions to  the  relief  of  the  distressed,  in 
proportion  to  the  wealth  of  communi- 
ties, than  at  present,  and  contributions 
by  associations  which  regarded  alms- 
giving as  one  of  their  main  duties,  — 
we  mean  the  monasteries.  But  the 
monks,  who  quitted  the  relations  of 
nature,  the  society  which  God  has  in- 
stituted, in  order  to  form  new  and  arti- 
ficial bonds,  more  favorable,  as  they 
thought,  to  doing  good,  made  a sad 
mistake.  Their  own  characters  were 
injured,  and  the  very  charities  doled  out 
from  convents  increased  the  beggary 
which  they  hoped  to  relieve.  So  sacred 
is  nature,  that  it  cannot  be  trampled  on 
with  impunity.  We  fear  that  some- 
thing similar  to  the  error  just  noticed 
among  Catholics  is  spreading  among 
Protestants, — the  error  of  exalting  so- 
cieties of  human  device  above  our  nat- 


ural relations.  We  have  been  told  that 
cases  occur  among  us,  and  are  not  rare, 
in  which  domestic  claims  on  kindness 
are  set  aside  for  the  sake  of  making 
contributions  to  our  great  societies,  and 
especially  to  foreign  missions.  So  pos- 
sessed are  the  minds  of  multitudes  with 
the  supreme  importance  of  this  object, 
that  there  seems  to  them  a piety  in 
withholding  what  would  otherwise  have 
been  thought  due  to  a poor  relative, 
that  it  may  be  sent  across  oceans  to 
Pagan  lands.  We  have  heard  that  deli- 
cate kindnesses,  which  once  flowed  from 
the  more  prosperous  to  the  less  prosper- 
ous members  of  a large  family,  and  which 
bound  society  together  by  that  love 
which  is  worth  all  bonds,  are  diminished 
since  the  late  excitement  in  favor  of  the 
heathen.  And  this  we  do  not  wonder 
at.  In  truth,  we  ’ rather  wonder  that 
any  thing  is  done  for  the  temporal  com- 
fort of  friends,  where  the  doctrine  on 
which  modern  missions  chiefly  rest  is 
believed.  We  refer  to  the  doctrine  that 
the  whole  heathen  world  are  on  the 
brink  of  a bottomless  and  endless  hell ; 
that  thousands  every  day,  and  millions 
every  year,  are  sinking  into  this  abyss 
of  torture  and  woe  ; and  that  nothing 
can  save  them  but  sending  them  our 
religion.  We  see  not  how  they  who  so 
believe  can  give  their  families  or  friends 
a single  comfort,  much  less  an  ornament 
of  life.  They  must  be  strongly  tempted, 
one  would  think,  to  stint  themselves  and 
their  dependants  to  necessaries,  and  to 
cast  their  whole  remaining  substance 
into  the  treasury  of  missionary  socie- 
ties. 

We  repeat  it,  let  us  not  be  misunder- 
stood. Missionary  societies,  established 
on  just  principles,  do  honor  to  a Chris- 
tian community.  We  regard  them  with 
any  feeling  but  that  of  hostility.  The 
readers  of  this  work  cannot  have  for- 
gotten the  earnestness  with  which  we 
recommended  the  support  of  a mission 
in  India,  at  a time  when  we  thought 
that  peculiar  circumstances  invited  ex- 
ertion in  that  quarter.  We  only  oppose 
the  preference  of  these  institutions  to 
the  natural  associations  and  connec- 
tions of  life.  An  individual  who  thinks 
that  he  is  doing  a more  religious  act  in 
contributing  to  a missionary  society  than 
in  doing  a needful  act  of  kindness  to 
a relative,  friend,  or  neighbor,  ft  leav- 
ing a society  of  God’s  institution  for 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS. 


147 


one  of  man's  making.  He  shows  a 
perverted  judgment  in  regard  to  the 
duties  of  his  religion  and  in  regard  to 
the  best  means  of  spreading  it.  All 
that  has  been  done,  or  ever  will  or  can 
be  done,  by  associations  for  diffusing 
Christianity,  is  a mere  drop  of  the 
bucket  compared  with  what  is  done 
silently  and  secretly  by  the  common 
daily  duties  of  Christians  in  their  fam- 
ilies, neighborhoods,  and  business.  The 
surest  way  of  spreading  Christianity  is 
to  improve  Christian  communities  ; and, 
accordingly,  he  who  frees  this  religion 
from  corruption,  and  makes  it  a more 
powerful  instrument  of  virtue  where  it 
is  already  professed,  is  the  most  effect- 
ual contributor  to  the  great  work  of  its 
diffusion  through  the  world. 

We  now  proceed  to  our  second  re- 
mark, in  which  we  proposed  to  suggest 
a principle  by  which  the  claims  of  dif- 
ferent associations  may  be  estimated. 
It  is  this : The  value  of  associations 
is  to  be  measured  by  the  energy,  the 
freedom,  the  activity,  the  moral  power, 
which  they  encourage  and  diffuse.  In 
truth,  the  great  object  of  all  benevo- 
lence is  to  give  power,  activity,  and 
freedom  to  others.  We  cannot,  in  the 
strict  sense  of  the  word,  make  any  be- 
ing happy.  We  can  give  others  the 
means  of  happiness,  together  with  mo- 
tives to  the  faithful  use  of  them  ; but 
on  this  faithfulness,  on  the  free  and  full 
exercise  of  their  own  powers,  their  hap- 
piness depends.  There  is  thus  a fixed, 
impassable  limit  to  human  benevolence. 
It  can  only  make  men  happy  through 
themselves,  through  their  own  freedom 
and  energy.  We  go  further.  We  be- 
lieve that  God  has  set  the  same  limit 
to  his  own  benevolence.  He  makes  no 
being  happy  in  any  other  sense  than  in 
that  of  giving  him  means,  powers,  mo- 
tives, and  a field  for  exertion.  We  have 
here,  we  think,  the  great  consideration 
to  guide  us  in  judging  of  associations. 
Those  are  good  which  communicate 
power,  moral  and  intellectual  action, 
and  the  capacity  of  useful  efforts  to  the 
persons  who  form  them,  or  to  the  per- 
sons on  whom  they  act.  On  the  other 
hand,  associations  which  in  any  degree 
impair  or  repress  the  free  and  full  ac- 
tion of  men’s  powers,  are  so  far  hurt- 
ful. On  this  principle,  associations  for 
restoring  to  men  health,  strength,  the 
use  of  their  limbs,  the  use  of  their 


senses,  especially  of  sight  and  hearing, 
are  highly  to  be  approved,  for  such  en- 
large men’s  powers  ; whilst  charitable 
associations,  which  weaken  in  men 
the  motives  to  exertion,  which  offer  a 
bounty  to  idleness,  or  make  beggary 
as  profitable  as  labor,  are  great  calam- 
ities to  society,  and  peculiarly  calam- 
itous to  those  whom  they  relieve.  On 
the  same  principle,  associations  which 
are  designed  to  awaken  the  human 
mind,  to  give  to  men  of  all  classes  a 
consciousness  of  their  intellectual  pow- 
ers, to  communicate  knowledge  of  a 
useful  and  quickening  character,  to  en- 
courage men  in  thinking  with  freedom 
and  vigor,  to  inspire  an  ardent  love  and 
pursuit  of  truth,  — are  most  worthy  of 
patronage  ; whilst  such  as  are  designed 
or  adapted  to  depress  the  human  intel- 
lect, to  make  it  dependent  and  servile, 
to  keep  it  where  it  is,  to  give  a limited 
amount  of  knowledge,  but  not  to  give 
impulse  and  an  onward  motion  to  men’s 
thoughts,  — all  such  associations,  how- 
ever benevolent  their  professions,  should 
be  regarded  as  among  the  foes  and  ob- 
structions to  the  best  interests  of  soci- 
ety. On  the  same  principle,  associations 
aiming  to  purify  and  ennoble  the  char- 
acter of  a people,  to  promote  true  vir- 
tue, a rational  piety,  a disinterested 
charity,  a wise  temperance,  and  espe- 
cially aiming  to  accomplish  these  ends 
by  the  only  effectual  means,  that  is,  by 
calling  forth  men’s  own  exertions  for 
a higher  knowledge  of  God  and  duty, 
and  for  a new  and  growing  control 
of  themselves,  — such  institutions  are 
among  the  noblest ; whilst  no  encour- 
agement is  due  to  such  as  aim  to  make 
men  religious  and  virtuous  by  paralyz- 
ing their  minds  through  terror,  by  fas- 
tening on  them  a yoke  of  opinions  or 
practices,  by  pouring  upon  them  influ- 
ences from  abroad  which  virtually  an- 
nihilate their  power  over  themselves, 
and  make  them  instruments  for  others 
to  speak  through  and  to  wield  at  pleas- 
ure. We  beg  our  readers  to  carry  with 
them  the  principle  now  laid  down  in 
judging  of  associations  ; to  inquire  how 
far  they  are  fitted  to  call  forth  energy, 
active  talent,  religious  inquiry,  a free 
and  manly  virtue.  We  insist  on  these 
remarks,  because  not  a few  associations 
seem  to  us  exceedingly  exceptionable, 
on  account  of  their  tendency  to  fetter 
men,  to  repress  energy,  to  injure  the 


148 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS . 


free  action  of  individuals  and  society, 
and  because  this  tendency  lurks,  and  is 
to  be  guarded  against,  even  in  good  in- 
stitutions. On  this  point  we  cannot  but 
enlarge,  for  we  deem  it  of  the  highest 
importance. 

Associations  often  injure  free  action 
by  a very  plain  and  obvious  operation. 
They  accumulate  power  in  a few  hands, 
and  this  takes  place  just  in  proportion  to 
the  surface  over  which  they  spread.  In 
a large  institution,  a few  men  rule,  a few 
do  every  thing ; and,  if  the  institution 
happens  to  be  directed  to  objects  about 
which  conflict  and  controversy  exist,  a 
few  are  able  to  excite  in  the  mass  strong 
and  bitter  passions,  and  by  these  to  ob- 
tain an  immense  ascendency.  Through 
such  an  association,  widely  spread,  yet 
closely  connected  by  party  feeling,  a few 
leaders  can  send  their  voices  and  spirit 
far  and  wide,  and,  where  great  funds  are 
accumulated,  can  league  a host  of  in- 
struments, and  by  menace  and  appeals 
to  interest  can  silence  opposition.  Ac- 
cordingly, we  fear  that  in  this  country 
an  influence  is  growing  up,  through 
widely  spread  societies,  altogether  at 
war  with  the  spirit  of  our  institutions, 
and  which,  unless  jealously  watched, 
will  gradually  but  surely  encroach  on 
freedom  of  thought,  of  speech,  and  of 
the  press.  It  is  very  striking  to  observe 
how,  by  such  combinations,  the  very 
means  of  encouraging  a free  action  of 
men’s  minds  may  be  turned  against  it. 
We  all  esteem  the  press  as  the  safeguard 
of  our  liberties,  as  the  power  which  is  to 
quicken  intellect  by  giving  to  all  minds  an 
opportunity  to  act  on  all.  Now,  by  means 
of  tract  societies  spread  over  a whole 
community,  and  acting  under  a central 
body,  a few  individuals,  perhaps  not 
more  than  twenty,  may  determine  the 
chief  reading  for  a great  part  of  the 
children  of  the  community,  and  for  a 
majority  of  the  adults,  and  may  deluge 
our  country  with  worthless  sectarian 
writings,  fitted  only  to  pervert  its  taste, 
degrade  its  intellect,  and  madden  it 
with  intolerance.  Let  associations  de- 
voted to  any  objects  which  excite  the 
passions  be  everywhere  spread  and 
leagued  together  for  mutual  support, 
and  nothing  is  easier  than  to  establish  a 
control  over  newspapers.  We  are  per- 
suaded that,  by  an  artful  multiplication 
of  societies,  devoted  apparently  to  dif- 
ferent objects,  but  all  swayed  by  the 


same  leaders,  and  all  intended  to  bear 
against  a hated  party,  as  cruel  a perse- 
cution may  be  carried  on  in  a free  coun- 
try as  in  a despotism.  Public  opinion 
may  be  so  combined,  and  inflamed,  and 
brought  to  bear  on  odious  individuals  or 
opinions,  that  it  will  be  as  perilous  to 
think  and  speak  with  manly  freedom  as 
if  an  inquisition  were  open  before  us. 
It  is  now  discovered  that  the  way  to 
rule  in  this  country  is  by  an  array  of 
numbers  which  a prudent  man  will  not 
like  to  face.  Of  consequence,  all  asso- 
ciations aiming  or  tending  to  establish 
sway  by  numbers  ought  to  be  opposed. 
They  create  tyrants  as  effectually  as 
standing  armies.  Let  them  be  withstood 
from  the  beginning.  No  matter  whether 
the  opinions  which  they  intend  to  put 
down  be  true  or  false.  Let  no  opinion 
be  put  down  by  such  means.  Let  no 
error  be  suppressed  by  an  instrument 
which  will  be  equally  powerful  against 
truth,  and  which  must  subvert  that  free- 
dom of  thought  on  which  all  truth  de- 
pends. Let  the  best  end  fail  if  it  cannot 
be  accomplished  by  right  and  just  means. 
For  example,  we  would  have  criminals 
punished,  but  punished  in  the  proper 
way,  and  by  a proper  authority.  It 
were  better  that  they  should  escape 
than  be  imprisoned  or  executed  by  any 
man  who  may  think  fit  to  assume  the 
office  ; for  sure  we  are  that,  by  this 
summary  justice,  the  innocent  would 
soon  suffer  more  than  the  guilty ; and, 
on  the  same  principle,  we  cannot  con- 
sent that  what  we  deem  error  should  be 
crushed  by  the  joint  cries  and  denuncia- 
tions of  vast  societies  directed  by  the 
tyranny  of  a few  ; for  truth  has  more  to 
dread  from  such  weapons  than  false- 
hood, and  we  know  no  truth  against 
which  they  may  not  be  successfully 
turned.  In  this  country,  few  things  are 
more  to  be  dreaded  than  organizations 
or  institutions  by  which  public  opinion 
may  be  brought  to  bear  tyrannically 
against  individuals  or  sects.  From  the 
nature  of  things,  public  opinion  is  often 
unjust ; but,  when  it  is  not  embodied 
and  fixed  by  pledged  societies,  it  easily 
relents,  it  may  receive  new  impulses,  it 
is  opened  to  influences  from  the  injured. 
On  the  contrary,  when  shackled  and 
stimulated  by  vast  associations,  it  is 
in  danger  of  becoming  a steady,  unre- 
lenting tyrant,  brow-beating  the  timid, 
proscribing  the  resolute,  silencing  free 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS. 


149 


speech  and  virtually  denying  the  dear- 
est religious  and  civil  rights.  We  say 
not  that  all  great  associations  must  be 
thus  abused.  We  know  that  some  are 
useful.  We  know,  too,  that  there  are 
cases  in  which  it  is  important  that  pub- 
lic opinion  should  be  condensed,  or  act 
in  a mass.  We  feel,  however,  that  the 
danger  of  great  associations  is  increased 
by  the  very  fact  that  they  are  sometimes 
useful.  They  are  perilous  instruments. 
They  ought  to  be  suspected.  They  are 
a kind  of  irregular  government  created 
within  our  constitutional  government. 
Let  them  be  watched  closely.  As  soon 
as  we  find  them  resolved  or  disposed  to 
bear  down  a respectable  man  or  set  of 
men,  or  to  force  on  the  community 
measures  about  which  wise  and  good 
men  differ,  let  us  feel  that  a dangerous 
engine  is  at  work  among  us,  and  oppose 
to  it  our  steady  and  stern  disapproba- 
tion. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  tendency  of 
great  institutions  to  accumulate  power  in 
a few  hands.  These  few  they  make 
more  active  ; but  they  tend  to  produce 
dependence,  and  to  destroy  self-origi- 
nated action  in  the  vast  multitudes  who 
compose  them,  and  this  is  a serious  in- 
jury. Few  comprehend  the  extent  of 
this  evil.  Individual  action  is  the  highest 
good.  What  we  want  is,  that  men  should 
do  right  more  and  more  from  their  own 
minds,  and  less  and  less  from  imitation, 
from  a foreign  impulse,  from  sympathy 
with  a crowd.  This  is  the  kind  of  ac- 
tion which  we  recommend.  Would  you 
do  good  according  to  the  gospel  ? Do  it 
secretly,  silently;  so  silently,  that  the  left 
hand  will  not  know  what  the  right  hand 
doeth.  This  precept  does  not  favor  the 
clamorous  and  far-published  efforts  of  a 
leagued  multitude.  We  mean  not  to 
sever  men  from  others  in  well-doing,  for 
we  have  said  there  are  many  good  ob- 
jects which  can  only  be  accomplished  by 
numbers.  But,  generally  speaking,  we 
can  do  most  good  by  individual  action, 
and  our  own  virtue  is  incomparably  more 
improved  by  it.  It  is  vastly  better,  for 
example,  that  we  should  give  our  own 
money  with  our  own  hands,  from  our 
own  judgment,  and  through  personal 
interest  in  the  distresses  of  others, 
than  that  we  should  send  it  by  a sub- 
stitute. Second-hand  charity  is  not  as 
good  to  the  giver  or  receiver  as  im- 
mediate. There  are,  indeed,  urgent 


cases  where  we  cannot  act  immediately, 
or  cannot  alone  do  the  good  required. 
There  let  us  join  with  others  ; but 
where  we  can  do  good  secretly,  and  sep- 
arately, or  only  with  some  dear  friend, 
we  shall  almost  certainly  put  forth  in 
this  way  more  of  intellect  and  heart,  more 
of  sympathy  and  strenuous  purpose, 
and  shall  awaken  more  of  virtuous 
sensibility  in  those  whom  we  relieve, 
than  if  we  were  to  be  parts  of  a multi- 
tude in  accomplishing  the  same  end. 
Individual  action  is  the  great  point  to 
be  secured.  That  man  alone  under- 
stands the  true  use  of  society  who  learns 
from  it  to  act  more  and  more  from  his 
own  deliberate  conviction,  to  think  more 
for  himself,  to  be  less  swayed  by  num- 
bers, to  rely  more  on  his  own  powers. 
One  good  action,  springing  from  our 
own  minds,  performed  from  a principle 
within,  performed  without  the  excite- 
ment of  an  urging  and  approving  voice 
from  abroad,  is  worth  more  than  hun- 
dreds which  grow  from  mechanical  im- 
itation, or  from  the  heat  and  impulse 
which  numbers  give  us.  In  truth,  all 
great  actions  are  solitary  ones.  All  the 
great  works  of  genius  come  from  deep, 
lonely  thought.  The  writings  which 
have  quickened,  electrified,  regenerated 
the  human  mind,  did  not  spring  from  as- 
sociations. That  is  most  valuable  which 
is  individual,  — which  is  marked  by  what 
is  peculiar  and  characteristic  in  him  who 
accomplishes  it.  In  truth,  associations 
are  chiefly  useful  by  giving  means  and 
opportunities  to  gifted  individuals  to  act 
out  their  own  minds.  A missionary 
society  achieves  little  good,  except  when 
it  can  send  forth  an  individual  who  wants 
no  teaching  or  training  from  the  soci- 
ety, but  who  carries  his  commission  and 
chief  power  in  his  own  soul.  We  urge 
this,  for  we  feel  that  we  are  all  in  danger 
of  sacrificing  our  individuality  and  inde- 
pendence to  our  social  connections.  We 
dread  new  social  trammels.  They  are 
too  numerous  already.  From  these  views 
we  learn  that  there  is  cause  to  fear  and 
to  withstand  great  associations,  as  far 
as  they  interfere  with,  or  restrain,  indi- 
vidual action,  personal  independence, 
private  judgment,  free,  self-originated 
effort.  We  do  fear,  from  not  a few 
associations  which  exist,  that  power  is 
to  be  accumulated  in  the  hands  of  a few, 
and  a servile,  tame,  dependent  spirit  to 
be  generated  in  the  many.  Such  is  the 


ISO 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS . 


danger  of  our  times,  and  we  are  bound 
as  Christians  and  freemen  to  withstand  it. 

We  have  now  laid  down  the  general 
principles  which,  as  we  think,  are  to 
be  applied  to  associations  for  public 
objects.  Another  part  of  our  work 
remains.  We  propose  to  offer  some 
remarks  on  a few  societies  which  at  this 
time  demand  our  patronage  or  excite 
particular  attention.  In  doing  this,  we 
shall  speak  with  our  customary  freedom  ; 
but  we  beg  that  we  may  not  be  under- 
stood as  censuring  the  motives  of  those 
whose  plans  and  modes  of  operation  we 
condemn. 

The  associations  for  suppressing  in- 
temperance form  an  interesting  feature 
of  our  times.  Their  object  is  of  un- 
doubted utility,  and  unites  the  hearts  of 
all  good  men.  They  aim  to  suppress 
an  undoubted  and  gross  vice,  to  free  its 
victims  from  the  worst  bondage,  to  raise 
them  from  brutal  degradation  to  the  lib- 
erty and  happiness  of  men.  There  is 
one  strong  presumption  in  favor  of  the 
means  which  they  have  used.  We  have 
never  heard  of  their  awakening  enmity 
and  counteraction.  In  one  particular, 
some  of  them  may  have  erred.  We  re- 
fer to  the  compact  formed  by  their  mem- 
bers for  abstaining  from  wine.  When 
we  consider  that  wine  is  universally  ac- 
knowledged to  be  an  innocent  and  often 
salutary  beverage,  that  Jesus  sanctioned 
its  use  by  miraculously  increasing  it  at 
the  marriage  feast,  that  the  Scriptures 
teach  us  to  thank  God  for  it  as  a good 
gift,  intended  to  “ gladden  the  heart  of 
man,”  and  when  to  these  considerations 
we  add  that  wine  countries  are  distin- 
guished for  temperance,  we  are  obliged 
to  regard  this  pledge  as  injudicious  ; and 
we  regret  it,  because  it  may  bring  dis- 
trust and  contempt  on  an  excellent  in- 
stitution, and  because  its  abandonment 
— for  it  cannot  long  continue  — may  be 
construed  by  some  as  a warrant  for  re- 
turning to  inebriating  liquors.  In  one 
view,  the  success  of  the  efforts  against 
intemperance  affords  us  peculiar  satis- 
faction. It  demonstrates  a truth,  little 
felt,  but  infinitely  precious  ; namely,  the 
recoverableness  of  human  nature  from 
the  lowest  depths  of  vice.  It  teaches 
us  never  to  despair  of  a human  being. 
It  teaches  us  that  there  is  always  some- 
thing to  work  on,  a germ  to  be  unfolded, 
a spark  which  may  be  cherished,  in  the 
human  soul.  Intemperance  is  the  most 


hopeless  state  into  which  a man  can 
fall  ; and  yet  instances  of  recovery  from 
this  vice  have  rewarded  the  recent  la- 
bors of  the  philanthropist.  Let  philan- 
thropy then  rejoice  in  the  belief  that  the 
capacity  of  improvement  is  never  lost, 
and  let  it  convert  this  conviction  into 
new  and  more  strenuous  efforts  for  the 
recovery  of  the  most  depraved. 

We  proceed  now  to  Bible  societies. 
These  need  no  advocates.  Their  object 
is  so  simple,  unexceptionable,  benefi- 
cent, that  all  Protestants,  at  least,  con- 
cur in  their  support.  By  spreading  the 
Bible  without  note  or  comment,  they  es- 
pecially assert  the  right  of  private  judg- 
ment, and  are  thus  free  from  the  great 
reproach  of  trenching  on  Christian  free- 
dom. Perhaps  they  have  not  always 
been  conducted  with  sufficient  pru- 
dence. We  have  particularly  feared 
that  they  might  be  open  to  the  charge 
of  indiscreet  profusion.  We  believe  it 
to  be  a good  rule,  that  where  the  poor 
can  give  any  thing  for  a Bible,  no  mat- 
ter how  little,  they  should  be  encour- 
aged and  incited  to  pay  this  part  of  the 
price.  We  belreve  that  it  will  be  more 
valued,  and  more  carefully  preserved, 
where  it  has  cost  something.  We  do 
not  think  of  the  Bible,  as  the  supersti- 
tious among  Catholics  and  heathens  do 
of  relics  and  charms,  as  if  its  mere  pres- 
ence in  a family  were  a necessary  good. 
We  wish  some  pledge  that  it  will  be 
treated  with  respect,  and  we  fear  that 
this  respect  has  been  diminished  by  the 
lavishness  with  which  it  has  been  be- 
stowed. One  cause  of  the  evil  is,  that 
societies,  like  individuals,  have  a spice 
of  vanity,  and  love  to  make  a fair  show 
in  their  annual  reports  ; and  accordingly 
they  are  apt  to  feel  as  if  a favor  were 
conferred  when  their  books  are  taken 
off  their  hands.  We  think  that  to  se- 
cure respect  to  the  Bible  is  even  more 
important  than  to  distribute  it  widely. 
For  this  purpose,  its  exterior  should  be 
attractive.  It  should  be  printed  in  a 
fair,  large  type,  should  be  well  bound, 
and  be  provided  with  a firm  case.  This 
last  provision  seems  to  us  especially  im- 
portant. The  poor  have  no  book-cases. 
Their  Bibles  too  often  lie  on  the  same 
shelves  with  their  domestic  utensils : 
nor  can  it  be  doubted  that,  when  soiled, 
torn,  dishonored  by  this  exposure,  they 
are  regarded  with  less  respect  than  if 
protected  with  peculiar  care. 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS. 


We  have  a still  more  important  remark 
to  make  in  reference  to  Bible  societies. 
In  our  last  number  we  noticed  an  edi- 
tion of  the  New  Testament  recently 
published  in  Boston,  and  differing  from 
those  in  common  use,  by  a new  transla- 
tion of  those  passages  of  the  Greek 
original,  of  which  the  true  reading  was 
lost  or  neglected  when  the  received 
English  version  was  made.  This  edi- 
tion of  the  New  Testament  we  stated 
to  be  undoubtedly  more  correct,  more 
conformed  to  the  original,  than  our  com- 
mon editions.  On  this  point  we  speak 
strongly,  because  we  wish  to  call  to  it 
the  attention  of  Bible  societies,  and  of 
all  conscientious  Christians.  To  such 
we  say,  — Here  is  a translation  undoubt- 
edly more  faithful  to  the  original  than 
that  in  common  use.  You  have  here  in 
greater  purity  what  Jesus  Christ  said, 
and  what  his  apostles  wrote  : and,  if  so, 
you  are  bound  by  your  allegiance  to 
Christ  to  substitute  this  for  the  common 
translation.  We  know  that  uneducated 
Christians  cannot  settle  this  question. 
We  therefore  respectfully,  and  with  so- 
lemnity, solicit  for  it  the  attention  of 
learned  men,  of  Christian  ministers, 
of  professors  of  theology  of  every  sect 
and  name.  We  ask  for  the  calmest  and 
most  deliberate  investigation,  and  if,  as 
we  believe,  there  shall  be  but  one  opin- 
ion as  to  the  claims  of  the  version  which 
we  have  recommended ; if  all  must  ac- 
knowledge that  it  renders  more  faith- 
fully the  words  of  the  inspired  and  au- 
thorized teachers  of  Christianity,  then 
we  see  not  how  it  can  be  denied  the  re- 
ception and  diffusion  which  it  deserves. 
We  conceive  that,  to  Bible  societies, 
this  is  a great  question,  and  not  to  be 
evaded  without  unfaithfulness  to  our 
common  Master,  and  without  disrespect 
to  the  Holy  Scriptures.  We  fear  that 
there  is  a want  of  conscientiousness  on 
this  subject.  We  fear  that  the  British 
and  Foreign  Bible  Society  has  forfeited, 
in  a measure,  its  claims  to  the  gratitude 
and  admiration  of  the  church,  by  neg- 
lecting to  secure  the  greatest  possible 
accuracy  and  fidelity  to  the  new  trans- 
lations which  they  have  set  forth.  We 
hear  continual  expressions  of  reverence 
for  the  Bible  ; but  the  most  unambigu- 
ous proofs  of  it  — we  mean,  unwearied 
efforts  to  purify  it  from  human  addi- 
tions, mutilations,  and  corruptions  — 
remain  to  be  given. 


15  I 

Before  leaving  the  consideration  of 
Bible  societies,  we  cannot  but  refer  to  a 
very  singular  transaction  in  relation  to 
the  Scriptures  in  which  some  of  them 
are  thought  to  be  implicated.  In  some 
of  our  cities  and  villages,  we  are  told 
that  the  rich  as  well  as  the  poor  have 
been  visited  for  the  purpose  of  ascer- 
taining whether  they  own  the  Bible. 
The  object  of  this  domiciliary  inves- 
tigation we  profess  not  to  understand. 
We  cannot  suppose  that  it  was  intended 
to  lavish  on  the  rich  the  funds  which  were 
contributed  for  spreading  the  Script- 
ures among  the  poor.  One  thing  we 
know,  that  a measure  more  likely  to  irri- 
tate and  to  be  construed  into  an  insult 
could  not  easily  be  contrived.  As  a 
sign  of  the  times  it  deserves  our  notice. 
After  this  step,  it  ought  not  to  surprise 
us  should  an  inquisition  be  established, 
to  ascertain  who  among  us  observe,  and 
who  neglect,  the  duties  of  private  and 
family  prayer.  We  might  smile  at  this 
spirit,  could  we  tell  where  it  would  stop. 
But  it  is  essentially  prying,  restless,  and 
encroaching,  and  its  first  movements 
ought  to  be  withstood. 

We  now  proceed  to  another  class  of 
associations,  — those  which  are  designed 
to  promote  the  observance  of  the  Sab- 
bath. The  motives  which  gave  birth  to 
these  we  respect.  But  we  doubt  the 
rectitude  and  usefulness  of  the  object, 
and  we  fear  that  what  has  begun  in  con- 
scientiousness may  end  in  intolerance 
and  oppression.  We  cannot  say  of  these 
associations,  as  of  those  which  we  have 
just  noticed,  that  they  aim  at  an  unques- 
tionable good,  about  which  all  good  men 
agree.  Not  a few  of  the  wisest  and 
best  men  dissent  from  the  principle  on 
which  these  societies  are  built ; namely, 
that  the  Jewish  Sabbath  is  binding  on 
Christians.  Not  a few  of  the  pro- 
foundest  divines  and  most  exemplary 
followers  of  Christ  have  believed,  and 
still  believe,  that  the  Sabbath  enjoined 
in  the  fourth  commandment  is  a part  of 
Judaism,  and  not  of  the  gospel ; that  it 
is  essentially  different  from  the  Lord’s- 
day  ; and  that  to  enforce  it  on  Christians 
is  to  fall  into  that  error  which  Paul  with- 
stood even  unto  death,  — the  error  of 
adulterating  Christianity  by  mixtures  of 
a preparatory  and  very  inferior  religion. 
We  beg  to  be  understood.  All  Chris- 
tians, whom  we  know,  concur  in  the 
opinion  and  the  desire  that  the  Lord’s- 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS. 


IS  2 

day,  or  the  first  day  of  the  week,  should 
be  separated  to  the  commemoration  of 
Christ's  resurrection,  to  public  worship, 
to  public  Christian  instruction,  and  in 
general  to  what  are  called  the  means  of 
religion.  This  we  gratefully  accept  and 
honor  as  a Christian  rite.  But  not  a 
few  believe  that  the  Lord’s-day  and  the 
ancient  Sabbath  are  not  the  same  insti- 
tution, and  ought  not  to  be  confounded  ; 
that  the  former  is  of  a nobler  character, 
and  more  important  than  the  latter  ; and 
that  the  mode  of  observing  it  is  to  be 
determined  by  the  spirit  and  purposes 
of  Christianity,  and  not  by  any  preced- 
ing law.  This  is  a question  about  which 
Christians  have  differed  for  ages.  We 
certainly  wish  that  it  may  be  debated 
till  it  is  settled.  But  we  grieve  to  see  a 
questionable  doctrine  made  the  founda- 
tion of  large  societies,  and  to  see  Chris- 
tians leagued  to  pass  the  sentence  of 
irreligion  on  men  equally  virtuous  with 
themselves,  and  who  perhaps  better  un- 
derstand the  mind  of  Christ  in  regard  to 
the  Sabbath. 

We  know  that  it  is  confidently  affirmed 
that  God,  at  an  earlier  period  than  the 
Jewish  law,  enjoined  the  Sabbath  as  a 
perpetual,  universal,  irrepealable  law  for 
the  whole  human  race.  But  can  this 
position  be  sustained?  For  ourselves, 
we  cannot  see  a trace  of  it  in  the  Script- 
ures,— those  only  sure  records  of  God’s 
revelation  to  mankind.  We  do,  indeed, 
incline  to  believe  — what  many  wise  men 
have  questioned  — that  there  are  appear- 
ances of  the  institution  of  the  Sabbath 
at  the  beginning  of  the  human  race. 
We  know  that  these  are  faint  and  few  ; 
yet  we  attach  importance  to  them,  be- 
cause nature  and  reason  favor  the  sup- 
position of  a time  having  been  set  apart 
from  the  first  as  a religious  memorial. 
Whilst,  however,  we  incline  to  this  view 
as  most  probable,  we  see  no  proofs  of 
the  perpetuity  of  the  institution  in  the 
circumstance  of  its  early  origin.  On  the 
contrary,  an  ordinance  or  rite,  given  in 
the  infancy  of  the  human  race,  may  be 
presumed  to  be  temporary,  unless  its 
unchangeableness  is  expressly  taught, 
or  is  necessarily  implied  in  its  very  nat- 
ure. The  positive  or  ritual  religion, 
which  was  adapted  to  the  earlier,  can 
hardly  suit  the  maturer  periods  of  the 
race.  Man  is  a progressive  being,  and 
needs  a progressive  religion.  It  is  one 
of  the  most  interesting  and  beautiful 


features  of  the  sacred  writings,  and 
one  of  the  strong  evidences  of  their 
truth,  that  they  reveal  religion  as  a 
growing  light,  and  manifest  the  Divine 
Legislator  as  adapting  himself  to  the 
various  and  successive  conditions  of  the 
world.  Allowing,  then,  the  Sabbath  to 
have  been  given  to  Adam,  we  could  no 
more  infer  its  perpetuity  than  we  can 
infer  the  perpetuity  of  capital  punish- 
ment, as  an  ordinance  of  God,  because 
He  said  to  Noah,  the  second  parent  of 
the  human  race,  “ Whoso  sheddeth 
man’s  blood,  by  man  shall  his  blood  be 
shed.” 

Our  opinion  leans,  as  we  have  said,  to 
the  early  institution  of  the  Sabbath  ; but, 
we  repeat  it,  the  presumptions  on  which 
our  judgments  rest  are  too  uncertain  to 
authorize  confidence,  much  less  denun- 
ciation. The  greater  part  of  the  early 
fathers  of  the  church,  according  to  Cal- 
met,  believed  that  the  law  of  the  Sab- 
bath was  not  given  before  Moses;  and 
this,  as  we  have  observed,  is  the  opinion 
of  some  of  the  most  judicious  and  pious 
Christians  of  later  times.  Whilst  dis- 
posed to  differ  from  these,  we  feel  that 
the  subject  is  to  be  left  to  the  calm 
decision  of  individuals.  We  want  no 
array  of  numbers  to  settle  a doubtful 
question.  One  thing  is  plain,  that,  before 
Moses,  not  one  precept  is  given  in  rela- 
tion to  the  Sabbath,  nor  a hint  of  its  un- 
changeableness to  the  end  of  the  world. 
One  thing  is  plain,  that  the  question  of 
the  perpetuity  of  this  institution  is  to  be 
settled  by  the  teachings  of  Jesus  Christ, 
the  great  Prophet,  who  alone  is  author- 
ized to  determine  how  far  the  institutions 
of  religion  which  preceded  him  are  bind- 
ing on  his  followers.  For  ourselves,  we 
are  followers  of  Christ,  and  not  of  Moses, 
or  Noah,  or  Adam.  We  call  ourselves 
Christians,  and  the  gospel  is  our  only 
rule.  Nothing  in  the  Old  Testament 
binds  us,  any  further  than  it  is  recog- 
nized by,  or  incorporated  into,  the  New. 
The  great  and  only  question,  then,  is, 
Does  the  New  Testament,  does  Chris- 
tianity, impose  on  us  the  ancient  Sab- 
bath ? 

To  aid  us  in  settling  this  question, 
we  may  first  inquire  into  the  nature 
and  design  of  this  institution  ; and 
nothing  can  be  plainer.  Words  can- 
not make  it  clearer.  According  to  the 
Old  Testament,  the  seventh,  or  last  day 
of  the  week,  was  to  be  set  apart,  or  sane- 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS. 


153 


tified,  as  a day  of  rest,  in  commemora- 
tion of  God’s  having  rested  on  that  day 
from  the  work  of  creation.*  The  dis- 
tinguishing feature  of  the  institution  is 
rest.  The  word  Sabbath  means  rest. 
The  event  to  be  commemorated  was 
rest.  The  reason  for  selecting  the  sev- 
enth was,  that  this  had  been  to  »the 
Creator  a day  of  rest.  The  chief  meth- 
od prescribed  for  sanctifying  the  day 
was  rest.  The  distinctive  character  of 
the  institution  could  not  have  been 
more  clearly  expressed.  Whoever  reads 
the  fourth  commandment  will  see  that 
no  mode  of  setting  apart  the  day  to 
God  is  there  prescribed,  except  in  imi- 
tation of  his  rest.  How  far  this  consti- 
tuted the  sanctification  of  the  Sabbath 
will  be  seen  from  such  passages  as  the 
following:  “You  shall  keep  the  Sab- 
bath, for  it  is  holy  unto  you.  Every  one 
that  defileth  it  shall  surely  be  put  to 
death.  For  whosoever  doeth  any  work 
therein,  that  soul  shall  be  cut  off  from 
among  his  people.”  f A still  more  re- 
markable proof  that  the  sancfification 
of  the  Sabbath  consisted  in  resting  after 
the  example  of  God,  is  furnished  by 
Christ,  who  says,  that  “ on  the  Sabbath- 
days  the  priests  in  the  Temple  profane 
the  Sabbath.”  % So  essential  was  rest 
to  the  hallowing  of  that  day,  that  the 
work  of  offering  victims,  though  pre- 
scribed by  God  Himself,  is  said  to  profane 
it.  There  are,  indeed,  some  expressions 
of  Moses,  indicating  other  methods  of 
observing  the  day,  for  he  calls  it  “ a holy 
convocation  ; ” but  whether  this  phrase 
applies  to  other  places  besides  the  Tem- 
ple is  uncertain.  It  is  not  improbable, 
indeed,  that  the  people  resorted  to  the 

* We  beg  our  readers  to  observe  that  we  are  now 
simply  stating  the  account  of  the  Sabbath  which  is 
given  in  the  Old  Testament.  How  this  account  is 
to  be  interpreted  is  a question  not  involved  in  our 
present  subject.  We  would,  however,  observe  that 
the  rest  here  ascribed  to  God  must  be  understood 
in  a figurative  sense.  Properly  speaking,  God,  who  is 
incapable  of  fatigue,  and  whose  almighty  agency  is  un- 
ceasing, never  rests  In  finishing  the  work  of  crea- 
tion, He  did  not  sink  into  repose,  or  for  a moment 
desist  from  the  exercise  of  his  omnipotence.  A par- 
ticular mode  of  his  agency  was  discontinued ; and,  in 
accommodation  to  an  uncultivated  age,  this  discon- 
tinuance was  called  rest.  It  seems  to  us,  that  the 
Sabbath  bears  one  mark  of  a temporary  institution, 
in  the  fact  of  its  being  founded  on  a representation 
of  God  which  is  true  only  in  a figurative  or  popular 
sense,  and  which  gives  something  like  a shock  to  a 
mind  which  has  exalted  its  conceptions  of  the  Divinity. 
Such  an  institution  does  not  carry  the  impress  of  a 
perpetual  and  universal  law. 

t Exod.  xxxi  14  ; also  Jer.  xvii.  22. 

J Matt,  xii-  5. 


Levites  and  prophets  on  the  Sabbath 
rather  than  other  days  ; but  we  find  no 
precept  to  this  effect ; and  it  is  well 
known  that  no  synagogues  or  places  of 
worship  were  built  through  Judea  until 
after  the  captivity.  Rest,  then,  was 
the  great  distinction  of  the  day.  This 
constituted  it  a memorial,  and  gave  it 
its  name ; and  we  conceive  that  the 
chief  stress  was  laid  on  this  circum- 
stance, because  the  Sabbath  was  in- 
tended to  answer  a humane  as  well  as 
religious  end  ; that  is,  to  give  relief  to 
persons  in  servitude,  and  to  inferior  ani- 
mals, — a provision  very  much  needed 
in  an  unrefined  and  semi-barbarous  age, 
when  slavery  had  no  acknowledged 
rights,  and  when  little  mercy  was  shown 
to  man  or  beast.  In  conformity  to  these 
views,  we  find  the  Jewish  nation  always 
regarding  the  Sabbath  as  a joyful 
day,  — a festival.  In  the  time  of  Christ, 
we  find  him  bidden  to  a feast  on  the 
Sabbath-day,  and  accepting  the  invita- 
tion ; * and  our  impression  is,  that  now, 
as  in  past  times,  the  Jews  divide  the  day 
between  the  synagogue  and  social  en- 
joyment. 

The  nature  and  end  of  the  Sabbath 
cannot  be  easily  misunderstood.  It 
was  the  seventh  or  last  day  of  the  week, 
set  apart  by  God  as  a day  of  rest,  in 
imitation  and  in  commemoration  of  his 
having  rested  on  that  day  from  the  cre- 
ation. That  other  religious  observances 
were  with  great  propriety  introduced  in- 
to the  day,  and  that  they  were  multiplied 
with  the  progress  of  the  nation,  we  do 
not  doubt.  But  the  distinctive  observ- 
ance, and  the  only  one  expressly  en- 
joined on  the  whole  people,  was  rest. 
Now  we  ask,  Is  the  dedication  of  the 
seventh  or  last  day  of  the  week  to  rest, 
in  remembrance  of  God’s  resting  on 
that  day,  a part  of  the  Christian  relig- 
ion ? The  answer  seems  to  us  plain. 
We  affirm,  in  the  first  place,  what  none 
will  contradict,  that  this  institution  is 
not  enjoined  in  the  New  Testament, 
even  by  the  faintest  hint  or  implication ; 
and,  in  the  next  place,  we  maintain  that 
the  Christian  world,  so  far  from  finding 
it  there,  have  by  their  practice  disowned 
its  authority. 

This  last  position  may  startle  some  of 
our  readers.  But  it  is  not  therefore  less 
true.  We  maintain  that  the  Christian 


* Luke  xiv. 


154 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS . 


world  have  in  practice  disowned  the  ob- 
ligation of  the  Sabbath  established  by 
the  fourth  commandment.  There  is, 
indeed,  a body  of  Christians  called  Sab- 
batarians, who  strictly  and  religiously 
observe  the  fourth  commandment.  But 
they  are  a handful ; they  are  lost,  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  immense  majority  of 
Christians,  who  have  for  ages  ceased  to 
observe  the  Sabbath  prescribed  from 
Sinai.  True,  Christians  have  their  sa- 
cred day,  which  they  call  a Sabbath. 
But  is  it  in  truth  the  ancient  Sabbath  ? 
We  say,  no;  and  we  call  attention  to 
this  point.  The  ancient  Sabbath,  as  we 
have  seen,  was  the  last  day  of  the  week, 
set  apart  for  rest,  in  commemoration  of 
God’s  resting  on  that  day.  And  is  the 
first  day  of  the  week,  a day  observed 
in  remembrance  of  Christ’s  resurrection 
from  the  dead,  the  same  institution  with 
this  ? Can  broader  marks  between  two 
ordinances  be  conceived  ? Is  it  possible 
that  they  can  be  confounded  ? Is  not 
the  ancient  Sabbath  renounced  by  the 
Christian  world  ? Have,  we  not  thus 
the  testimony  of  the  Christian  world  to 
its  having  passed  away  ? Who  of  us 
can  consistently  plead  for  it  as  a uni- 
versal and  perpetual  law  ? 

We  know  that  it  is  said  that  the  an- 
cient Sabbath  remains  untouched  ; that 
Christianity  has  only  removed  it  from 
the  last  to  the  first  day  of  the  week,  and 
that  this  is  a slight,  unessential  change, 
leaving  the  old  institution  whole  and 
unbroken.  To  this  we  have  several  re- 
plies. In  the  first  place,  this  change  of 
days,  which  Christianity  is  supposed  to 
make,  is  not  unessential,  but  vital,  and 
subversive  of  the  ancient  institution. 
The  end  of  the  ancient  Sabbath  was  the 
commemoration  of  God’s  resting  from 
his  works ; and,  for  this  end,  the  very 
day  of  the  week  on  which  He  rested 
was  most  wisely  selected.  Now  we 
maintain,  that  to  select  the  first  day  of 
the  week,  the  very  day  on  which  He  be- 
gan his  works,  and  to  select  and  sepa- 
rate this  in  commemoration  of  another 
event,  — of  Christ’s  resurrection,  — is 
wholly  to  set  aside  the  ancient  Sabbath. 
We  cannot  conceive  of  a more  essential 
departure  from  the  original  ordinance. 
This  substitution,  as  it  is  called,  is  a 
literal  as  well  as  virtual  abolition.  Such 
is  our  first  remark.  — We  say,  secondly, 
that  not  a word  is  uttered  in  the  New 
Testament  of  the  first  day  being  substi- 


tuted for  the  seventh.  Surely  so  strik- 
ing a change  would  not  have  been  made 
in  a universal  and  perpetual  law  of  God 
without  some  warning.  We  ask  for  some 
hint  of  this  modification  of  the  fourth 
commandment.  We  find  not  a syllable. 
We  say,  thirdly,  that  the  first  Chris- 
tians knew  nothing  of  this  substitution. 
Our  evidence  here  is  complete.  The 
first  converts  to  Christianity  were  Jews, 
and  these  converts  had  at  first  no  con- 
ception of  the  design  of  Christianity  to 
supersede  the  law  of  Moses.  This  law 
they  continued  to  observe  for  years,  and 
to  observe  it  as  rigorously  as  ever. 
When  Paul  visited  Jerusalem,  after 
many  labors  among  the  Gentiles,  the 
elders  said  unto  him,  “ Thou  seest, 
brother,  how  many  thousands  of  Jews 
there  are  which  believe,  and  they  are  all 
zealous  of  the  law.”  * Of  course  they 
all  observed  the  Jewish  Sabbath,  or  sev- 
enth day  of  rest,  the  greatest  of  Jewish 
festivals,  whilst,  as  we  all  believe,  they 
honored  also  the  first  day,  the  remem- 
brancer of  Christ’s  resurrection.  This 
state  of  things  existed  for  years  in  the 
primitive  church.  The  two  days  were 
observed  together.  Nothing  more  seems 
necessary  to  disprove  unanswerably  the 
common  doctrine  that  the  Apostles  en- 
joined the  substitution  of  the  first  for 
the  seventh  day.  We  will  add  one 
more  argument.  Paul  commands  the 
Colossian  Christians  to  disregard  the 
censures  of  those  who  judged  or  con- 
demned them  for  not  observing  the 
Sabbath.  “ Let  no  man  judge  you  in 
meat,  or  in  drink,  or  in  respect  of  an 
holy  day,  or  of  the  new  moon,  or  of 
the  Sabbath  days.”  f This  passage 
is  very  plain.  It  is  evaded,  however, 
by  the  plea  that  the  word  “ Sabbath  ” 
was  used  to  express  not  only  the  sev- 
enth day,  but  other  festivals  or  days  of 
rest.  But  when  we  recollect  that  the 
word  is  used  by  Paul  in  this  place  with- 
out any  exception  or  limitation,  and  that 
it  was  employed  at  that  time,  most  fre- 
quently and  almost  wholly,  to  express 
the  seventh  day,  or  weekly  Sabbath,  we 
shall  see  that  we  have  the  strongest 
reason  for  supposing  this  institution  to 
be  intended  by  the  Apostle.  That  a 
Christian,  after  reading  this  passage, 
should  “ judge  ” or  condemn  his  breth- 
ren for  questioning  or  rejecting  his 


* Acts  xxi.  20. 


+ Col.  ii-  16. 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS. 


155 


particular  notion  of  the  Sabbath,  is  a 
striking  proof  of  the  slow  progress  of 
tolerant  and  liberal  principles  among 
men.  We  need  not  add,  after  these 
remarks,  how  unjustifiable  we  deem  it 
to  enforce  particular  modes  of  observ- 
ing this  day  by  an  array  of  associations. 

Having  thus  stated  what  seem  to  us 
strong  reasons  against  the  perpetuity  of 
the  ancient  Sabbath,  perhaps  some  of 
our  readers  may  wish  to  know  our  views 
of  the  Lord’s-day ; and,  although  the 
subject  may  seem  foreign  to  the  present 
article,  we  will  give  our  opinion  in  a few 
words.  We  believe  that  the  first  day  of 
the  week  is  to  be  set  apart  for  the  pub- 
lic worship  of  God,  and  for  the  promo- 
tion of  the  knowledge  and  practice  of 
Christianity,  and  that  it  was  selected  for 
this  end  in  honor  of  the  resurrection  of 
Christ.  To  this  view  we  are  led  by 
the  following  considerations  : Wherever 
the  gospel  was  preached,  its  professors 
were  formed  into  churches  or  congrega- 
tions, and  ministers  were  appointed  for 
their  instruction  or  edification.  Wher- 
ever Christianity  was  planted,  societies 
for  joint  religious  acts  and  improvement 
were  instituted,  as  the  chief  means  of 
establishing  and  diffusing  it.  Now  it  is 
plain  that  for  these  purposes  regular 
times  must  have  been  prescribed  ; and, 
accordingly,  we  find  that  it  was  the  cus- 
tom of  the  primitive  Christians  to  hold 
their  religious  assemblies  on  the  first 
day  of  the  week,  — the  day  of  Christ’s 
resurrection.  This  we  learn  from  the 
New  Testament,  and  from  the  universal 
testimony  of  the  earliest  ages  of  the 
church.  Wherever  Christianity  was 
spread,  the  first  day  was  established 
as  the  season  of  Christian  worship  and 
instruction.  Such  are  the  grounds  on 
which  this  institution  rests.  We  regard 
it  as  altogether  a Christian  institution , 
— as  having  its  origin  in  the  gospel,  — 
as  peculiar  to  the  new  dispensation  ; 
and  we  conceive  that  the  proper  ob- 
servation of  it  is  to  be  determined 
wholly  by  the  spirit  of  Christianity. 
We  meet  in  the  New  Testament  no 
precise  rules  as  to  the  mode  of  spend- 
ing the  Lord’s-day,  as  to  the  mode  of 
worship  and  teaching,  as  to  the  distri- 
bution of  the  time  not  given  to  public 
services.  And  this  is  just  what  might 
be  expected  ; for  the  gospel  is  not  a re- 
ligion of  precise  rules.  It  differs  from 
Judaism  in  nothing  more  than  in  its  free 


character.  It  gives  great  principles, 
broad  views,  general,  prolific,  all-com- 
prehensive precepts,  and  intrusts  the 
application  of  them  to  the  individual. 
It  sets  before  us  the  perfection  of  our 
nature,  the  spirit  which  we  should  cher- 
ish, the  virtues  which  constitute  “ the 
kingdom  of  heaven  within  us,”  and 
leaves  us  to  determine  for  ourselves,  in 
a great  measure,  the  discipline  by  which 
these  noble  ends  are  to  be  secured. 
Let  no  man,  then,  bind  what  Christ  has 
left  free.  The  modes  of  worship  and 
teaching  on  the  Lord’s-day  are  not  pre- 
scribed, and  who  will  say  that  they  can- 
not be  improved  ? One  reason  of  the 
neglect  and  limited  influence  of  this  in- 
stitution is  that,  as  now  observed,  it 
does  not  correspond  sufficiently  to  the 
wants  of  our  times  ; and  we  fear  that  it 
might  even  fall  into  contempt  among 
the  cultivated,  should  attempts  be  pros- 
ecuted to  carry  it  back  to  the  supersti- 
tious rigor  by  which  it  was  degraded  in 
a former  age. 

The  associations  for  promoting  the 
observance  of  the  Sabbath  propose  sev- 
eral objects,  in  which,  to  a certain  ex- 
tent, we  heartily  concur,  but  which, 
from  their  nature,  are  not  susceptible 
of  precise  definition  or  regulation,  and 
which,  therefore,  ought  to  be  left,  where 
Christianity  has  left  them,  to  the  con- 
sciences of  individuals.  They  undoubt- 
edly intend  to  discountenance  labor  on 
Sunday.  Now,  generally  speaking,  ab- 
stinence from  labor  seems  to  us  a plain 
duty  of  the  day ; for  we  see  not  how  its 
ends  can  otherwise  be  accomplished  to 
any  considerable  extent.  We  do  not 
believe,  indeed,  that  this  abstinence  was 
rigidly  practised  by  the  first  Christians 
at  Jerusalem,  who,  as  we  have  seen, 
gave  up  the  seventh  day  to  entire  rest, 
and  whose  social  duties  could  hardly 
have  admitted  the  same  appropriation 
of  the  following  day.  Neither  do  we 
believe  that  the  converts,  who  were 
made  among  the  class  of  slaves  in 
heathen  countries,  abstained  from  labor 
on  the  first  day  of  the  week  ; for,  in  so 
doing,  they  would  have  exposed  them- 
selves to  the  severest  punishments,  even 
to  death,  and  we  have  no  intimation 
that  this  portion  of  believers  were  regu- 
larly cut  off  by  martyrdom.  We  know, 
however,  that  the  early  Christians,  in 
proportion  as  they  were  relieved  from 
the  restrictions  of  heathenism  and  Juda- 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS. 


156 

ism,  made  the  Lord’s-day  a season  of 
abstinence  from  labor ; and  the  argu- 
ments for  so  doing  are  so  obvious  and 
strong,  that  later  Christians  have  con- 
curred with  them  with  hardly  a dissent- 
ing voice.  On  this  point  there  is,  and 
can  be,  no  difference.  The  change  of 
Sunday  into  a working-day  we  should 
condemn  as  earnestly  as  any  of  our 
brethren.  At  the  same  time,  we  feel 
that,  in  this  particular,  a Jewish  rigor  is 
not  to  be  imposed  on  Christians,  and 
that  there  are  exigencies  justifying  toil 
on  the  first  day,  which  must  be  left  to 
individual  judgment.  The  great  pur- 
poses of  this  festival  may  certainly  be 
accomplished  without  that  scrupulous, 
anxious  shunning  of  every  kind  of  work 
which  marked  a Jewish  Sabbath,  and 
which,  however  proper  under  a servile 
dispensation,  and  in  an  age  of  darkness, 
would  be  in  us  superstition.  We  do 
not,  for  example,  think  Christians  bound 
to  prepare  on  Saturday  every  meal  for 
the  following  day,  or  to  study  through 
the  week  how  to  remove  the  necessity 
of  every  bodily  exertion  on  the  ap- 
proaching Sunday.  We  think,  too,  that 
cases  may  occur  which  justify  severe 
toil  on  this  day  ; and  we  should  judge  a 
man  unfaithful  to  himself  and  his  fam- 
ily, ungrateful  to  Providence,  and  su- 
perstitious, who  should  lose  a crop 
rather  than  harvest  it  during  the  por- 
tion of  time  ordinarily  set  apart  for 
Christian  worship.  On  these  points, 
Christianity  has  left  us  free.  The  in- 
dividual must  be  his  own  judge,  and  we 
deprecate  the  attempts  of  societies  to 
legislate  on  this  indefinite  subject  for 
their  fellow-Christians. 

Another  purpose  of  the  associations  of 
which  we  speak  is  to  stop  the  mail  on 
Sunday.  On  this  point  a great  differ- 
ence of  opinion  prevails  among  the 
most  conscientious  men.  It  may  be 
remembered  that,  in  a former  number 
of  this  work,  there  was  an  article  on  the 
Sabbath,  discouraging  this  attempt  to 
interrupt  the  mail.  We  think  it  right 
to  say,  that  among  the  contributors  to 
this  work,  and  among  its  best  friends,  a 
diversity  of  sentiment  exists  in  regard 
to  this  difficult  question.  In  one  re- 
spect, however,  we  all  agree;  and  that 
is,  in  the  inexpediency  of  organizing,  in 
opposition  to  the  Sunday  mail,  a vast 
association,  which  may  be  easily  per- 
verted to  political  purposes,  which,  from 


its  very  object,  will  be  tempted  to  med- 
dle with  government,  and  which,  by 
setting  up  a concerted  and  joint  cry, 
may  overpower  and  load  with  reproach 
the  most  conscientious  men  in  the  .com- 
munity. 

Another  purpose  of  these  associations 
is  to  discourage  travelling  on  the  Lord’s- 
day.  Nothing  can  well  be  plainer  than 
that  unnecessary  travelling  on  this  day 
is  repugnant  to  its  duties  and  design, 
and  is  to  be  reproved  in  writing,  preach- 
ing, and  conversation.  By  unnecessary 
travelling,  we  mean  that  which  is  not 
required  by  some  particular  exigency. 
When  we  consider,  however,  that  in 
such  a community  as  ours,  distin- 
guished by  extent  and  variety  of  in- 
tercourse, exigencies  must  continually 
occur,  we  feel  that  here  is  another 
point  with  which  societies  have  no  right 
to  interfere,  and  which  must  be  left  to 
the  conscience  of  the  individual.  In 
such  a community  as  ours,  how  many 
persons  may  be  found  on  every  Sunday, 
the  state  of  whose  health,  the  state  of 
whose  families,  the  state  of  whose 
affairs,  may  require  them  to  travel  ? 
It  may  happen  that  another’s  property 
confided  to  our  care  may  be  lost,  that  a 
good  object  may  fail,  that  some  dying 
or  departing  friend  may  go  from  us  un- 
seen, if  on  this  day  we  will  not  begin 
or  pursue  a journey.  How  often  is  it 
difficult  for  the  traveller  to  find  an  inn, 
the  quiet  and  comforts  of  which  make 
it  a fit  residence  for  Sunday?  An  as- 
sociation against  travelling  on  Sunday 
seems  to  us  a very  hazardous  expedient ; 
and  its  members,  we  think,  will  be  for- 
tunate if  they  escape  the  guilt  of  cen- 
soriousness and  dictation  on  a subject 
which  Providence  has  plainly  exempted 
from  human  legislation.  We  know  that 
it  will  be  said  that  the  license  which  we 
give  by  these  remarks  will  be  abused  ; 
and  of  this  we  have  no  doubt.  We 
know  no  truth,  no  privilege,  no  power, 
no  blessing,  no  right,  which  is  not 
abused.  But  is  liberty  to  be  denied  to 
men  because  they  often  turn  it  into 
licentiousness  ? We  have  read  of  cer- 
tain sects  which  have  denounced  indis- 
criminately all  sports  and  relaxations, 
because  these,  if  allowed,  will  be  carried 
to  excess ; and  of  others,  which  have 
prescribed  by  laws  the  plainest,  coarsest 
dress,  because  ornament,  if  in  any  meas- 
ure tolerated,  would  certainly  grow  up 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIA  TIONS. 


IS  7 


into  extravagance  and  vanity.  And  is 
this  degrading  legislation  never  to  end  ? 
Are  men  never  to  be  trusted  to  them- 
selves ? Is  it  God’s  method  to  hem 
them  in  with  precise  prescriptions  ? 
Does  Providence  leave  nothing  to  in- 
dividual discretion  ? Does  Providence 
withhold  every  privilege  which  may  be 
abused  ? Does  Christianity  enjoin  an 
exact,  unvarying  round  of  services,  be- 
cause reason  and  conscience,  if  allowed 
to  judge  of  duty,  will  often  be  misguided 
by  partiality  and  passion  ? How  liberal, 
generous,  confiding,  are  nature,  Provi- 
dence, and  Christianity,  in  their  dealings 
with  men  ! And  when  will  men  learn  to 
exercise  towards  one  another  the  same 
liberal  and  confiding  spirit  ? 

We  have  thus  considered  some  of  the 
particular  purposes  of  the  association 
for  promoting  the  observance  of  the 
Sabbath.  We  say  their  “ particular 
purposes.”  We  apprehend  there  is  a 
general  one,  which  lurks  in  a portion  of 
their  members,  which  few  perhaps  have 
stated  very  distinctly  to  themselves,  but 
which  is  not  therefore  the  less  real,  and 
of  which  it  is  well  to  be  forewarned. 
We  apprehend  that  some,  and  not  a 
small  party,  have  a vague  instinctive 
'feeling  that  the  kind  of  Christianity 
which  they  embrace  requires  for  its  dif- 
fusion a gloomy  Sabbath,  the  Puritan 
Sabbath  ; and  we  incline  to  believe  that 
they  are  desirous  to  separate  the  Lord’s- 
day  as  much  as  possible  from  all  other 
days,  to  make  it  a season  of  rigid  re- 
straint, that  it  may  be  a preparation  for 
a system  of  theology,  which  the  mind, 
in  a natural,  free,  and  cheerful  state, 
can  never  receive.  The  Sabbath  of  the 
Puritans  and  their  Calvinistic  peculiari- 
ties go  together.  Now  we  wish  the 
return  of  neither.  The  Puritans,  meas- 
ured by  their  age,  have  indeed  many 
claims  on  respect,  especially  those  of 
them  who  came  to  this  country,  and 
who,  through  their  fortunate  exile,  es- 
caped the  corruption  which  the  civil  war 
and  the  possession  of  power  engendered 
in  the  Puritan  body  of  England.  But 
sincere  respect  for  the  men  of  early 
times  may  be  joined  with  a clear  per- 
ception of  their  weaknesses  and  errors  ; 
and  it  becomes  us  to  remember,  that 
errors,  which  in  them  were  innocent,  be- 
cause inevitable,  may  deserve  a harsher 
appellation  if  perpetuated  in  their  pos- 
terity. 


We  have  no  desire,  it  will  be  seen,  to 
create  huge  associations  for  enforcing 
or  recommending  the  Lord's-day.  We 
desire,  however,  that  this  interesting 
subject  may  engage  more  attention. 
We  wish  the  Lord’s-day  to  be  more 
honored  and  more  observed  ; and  we 
believe  that  there  is  but  one  way  for 
securing  this  good,  and  that  is  to  make 
the  day  more  useful,  to  turn  it  to  better 
account,  to  introduce  such  changes  into 
it  as  shall  satisfy  judicious  men  that  it 
is  adapted  to  great  and  happy  results. 
The  Sunday  which  has  come  down  to 
us  from  our  fathers  seems  to  us  exceed- 
ingly defective.  The  clergy  have  nat- 
urally taken  it  very  much  into  their  own 
hands,  and  we  apprehend  that  as  yet 
they  have  not  discovered  all  the  means 
of  making  it  a blessing  to  mankind.  It 
may  well  excite  surprise  how  little 
knowledge  has  been  communicated  on 
the  Lord’s-day.  We  think  that  the 
present  age  admits  and  requires  a more 
extensive  teaching  than  formerly,  — a 
teaching  not  only  in  sermons,  but  in 
more  instructive  exercises,  which  will 
promote  a critical  and  growing  ac- 
quaintance with  the  Scriptures ; will 
unfold  morality  or  duty,  at  once  in  its 
principles  and  vast  details  ; will  guide 
the  common  mind  to  larger  views,  and 
to  a more  religious  use  of  nature  and 
history  ; and  will  reveal  to  it  its  own 
godlike  powers.  We  think,  too,  that 
this  great  intellectual  activity  may  be 
relieved  and  cheered  by  a mixture  of 
greater  benevolent  activity  ; by  attention 
to  public  and  private  charities,  and  by 
domestic  and  social  kindnesses.*  It 
seems  to  us  that  we  are  waking  up  to 
understand  the  various  uses  to  which 
Sunday  may  be  applied.  The  present 
devotion  of  a considerable  portion  of  it 
to  the  teaching  of  children  makes  an 
important  era  in  the  history  of  the  insti- 
tution. The  teaching  of  the  ignorant 
and  poor,  we  trust,  is  to  follow.  On  this 
subject  we  cannot  enlarge,  but  enough 
has  been  said  to  show  in  what  way  Sun- 
day is  to  be  recommended  to  the  under- 
standings and  consciences  of  men. 

In  these  remarks  we  have  expressed 
our  reverence  for  the  Lord’s-day.  To 

* Would  not  the  business  of  our  public  charities  be 
done  more  effectually  on  the  Lord’s-day  than  on  any 
other,  and  would  not  such  an  appropriation  of  a part 
of  this  time  accord  peculiarly  with  the  spirit  of  Chris- 
tianity ? 


REMARKS  ON  ASSOCIATIONS. 


158 

us  it  is  a more  important  day,  and  con- 
secrated to  nobler  purposes,  than  the 
ancient  Sabbath.  We  are  bound,  how- 
ever, to  state  that  we  cannot  acquiesce 
in  the  distinctions  which  are  often  made 
between  this  and  other  days,  for  they 
seem  to  us  at  once  ungrounded  and  per- 
nicious. We  sometimes  hear,  for  exam- 
ple, that  the  Lord’s-day  is  set  apart  from 
our  common  lives  to  religion  ? What  ! 
Are  no*t  all  days  equally  set  apart  to  re- 
ligion ? Has  religion  more  to  do  with 
Sunday  than  with  any  other  portion  of 
time  ? Is  there  any  season  over  which 
piety  should  not  preside  ? So  the  day 
is  sometimes  distinguished  as  “holy.7’ 
What  ! Is  there  stronger  obligation  to 
holiness  on  one  day  than  on  another  ? 
Is  it  more  holy  to  pray  in  the  church 
than  to  pray  in  the  closet,  or  than  to 
withstand  temptation  in  common  life  ? 
The  true  distinction  of  Sunday  is,  that 
it  is  consecrated  to  certain  means  or 
direct  acts  of  religion.  But  these  are 
not  holier  than  other  duties.  They  are 
certainly  not  more  important  than  their 
end,  which  is  a virtuous  life.  There  is, 
we  fear,  a superstition  on  this  point,  un- 
worthy of  the  illumination  of  Chris- 
tianity. We  earnestly  recommend  the 
Lord  s-day,  but  we  dare  not  esteem  its 
duties  above  those  of  other  days.  We 
prize  and  recommend  it  as  an  institu- 
tion through  which  our  whole  lives  are 
to  be  sanctified  and  ennobled  ; and, 
without  this  fruit,  vain,  and  worse  than 
vain,  are  the  most  rigid  observances,  the 
most  costly  sacrifices,  the  loudest  and 
most  earnest  prayers.  We  would  on 
no  account  disparage  the  offices  of  the 
Lord’s-day.  We  delight  in  this  peace- 
ful season,  so  fitted  to  allay  the  feverish 
heat  and  anxieties  of  active  life,  to  cher- 
ish self-communion,  and  communion 
with  God  and  with  the  world  to  come. 
It  is  good  to  meet,  as  brethren,  in  the 
church  to  pray  together,  to  hear  the 
word  of  God,  to  retire  for  a time  from 
ordinary  labors,  that  we  may  rpeditate 
on  great  truths  more  deliberately,  and 
with  more  continuous  attention.  In 
these  duties  we  see  a fitness,  excel- 
lence, and  happiness  ; but  still,  if  a com- 


parison must  be  made,  they  seem  to  us 
less  striking  proofs  of  piety  and  virtue 
than  are  found  in  the  disinterestedness, 
the  self-control,  the  love  of  truth,  the 
scorn  of  ill-gotten  wealth,  the  unshaken 
trust  in  God,  the  temperate  and  grateful 
enjoyment,  the  calm  and  courageous  suf- 
ferings for  duty,  to  which  the  Christian 
is  called  in  daily  life.  It  is  right  to 
adore  God’s  goodness  in  the  hour  of 
prayer ; but  does  it  not  seem  more  ex- 
cellent to  carry  in  our  souls  the  convic- 
tion of  this  goodness,  as  our  spring  and 
pattern,  and  to  breathe  it  forth  in  acts 
conformed  to  the  beneficence  of  our 
Maker  ? It  is  good  to  seek  strength 
from  God  in  the  church  ; but  does  it 
not  seem  more  excellent  to  use  well  this 
strength  in  the  sore  conflicts  of  life,  and 
to  rise  through  it  to  a magnanimous  and 
victorious  virtue  ? Such  comparisons, 
however,  we  have  no  pleasure  in  making, 
and  they  are  obviously  exposed  to  error. 
The  enlightened  Christian  “esteemeth 
every  day  alike.”  To  him  all  days 
bring  noble  duties  ; bring  occasions  of 
a celestial  piety  and  virtue ; bring  trials, 
in  wrestling  with  which  he  may  grow 
strong ; bring  aids  and  incitements, 
through  which  he  may  rise  above  him- 
self. All  days  may  be  holy,  and  the 
holiest  is  that  in  which  he  yields  him- 
self, with  the  most  single-hearted,  un- 
shrinking, uncompromising  purpose,  to 
the  will  of  God. 

We  intended  to  add  remarks  on  some 
other  associations,  particularly  on  the 
Peace  society.  But  we  have  exceeded 
our  limits,  and  must  forbear.  Our  re- 
marks have  been  free,  but,  we  trust, 
will  not  be  misunderstood.  We  look 
with  interest  and  hope  on  the  spirit 
of  association  which  characterizes  our 
times.  We  rejoice  in  this,  as  in  every 
manifestation  of  a desire  for  the  im- 
provement of  mankind.  We  have  done 
what  we  could  to  secure  this  powerful 
instrument  against  perversion.  Through 
a wise  and  jealous  care,  we  doubt  not 
that  it  will  minister  to  that  only  sure 
good,  the  intellectual  and  moral  prog- 
ress of  the  human  race. 


THE  PRESENT  AGE . 


lS9 


THE  PRESENT  AGE: 

A 7i  Address  delivered  before  the  Mercantile  Library  Company  of 
Philadelphia,  May  II,  1841. 


[To  my  venerable  Frfend,  John  Vaughan,  Esq.,  who  has  made  the  past  generation  and  the  present 
his  debtors  by  unwearied  well-doing,  this  Address  is  affectionately  and  respectfully  inscribed.  — 

W.  E.  C.] 


Gentlemen  of  the  Mercantile 
Library  Company,  — I beg  you  to 
consider  my  appearance  in  this  place 
as  an  expression  of  my  interest  in  this 
and  in  kindred  institutions.  I^velcome 
them  as  signs  of  the  times,  as  promises 
and  means  of  increased  intellectual  ac- 
tivity. I shall  be  glad,  if  a good  word 
or  a friendly  effort  on  my  part  can  serve 
them.  I know  that  the  lectures  deliv- 
ered before  such  societies  are  called 
superficial ; but  this  does  not  discour- 
* age  me.  All  human  productions,  even 
those  of  genius,  are  very  superficial, 
compared  with  the  unfathomable  depths 
of  truth.  The  simple  question  is,  Do 
these  lectures  rouse  the  mind  to  new 
action  ? Do  they  give  it  new  objects  of 
thought,  and  excite  a thirst  for  knowl- 
edge ? I am  sure  that  they  do  ; and 
therefore,  though  the  field  is  sometimes 
called  humble,  I enter  it  with  pleasure. 
— Will  you  allow  me  to  observe,  that 
to  render  lectures  useful  one  condition 
is  necessary ; they  must  be  frank,  hon- 
est, free.  He  who  speaks  must  speak 
what  he  thinks,  — speak  courteously,  but 
uncompromisingly.  What  makes  our 
communications  unprofitable  in  this 
country  is,  the  dread  of  giving  offence, 
now  to  the  majority,  and  now  to  the 
fashionable  or  refined.  We  speak  with- 
out force  because  not  true  to  our  con- 
victions. A lecturer  will,  of  course, 
desire  to  wound  no  man’s  prejudices 
or  feelings  ; but  his-Jirst  duty  j£,_J:o 
truth  ; hjs^ph  i p-fL  pqwprli  e s ArT  simple ; 
natural,  strong  utterangc~^of  ~~wlfat  he 
b e 1 i e v e sflm  d^TslFmtcTjbut^co  n ifdeTTc  e 
in  his  hearersThat  the  tone  ^oTTnarily 
sincerity 

dor  and  good-will. 

The ' subjecPto  which  I call  your  at- 
tention is  the  Present  Age,  — a vast 


theme,  demanding  volumes.  An  age 
is  needed  to  expound  an  age ; and,  of 
course,  little  is  to  be  expected  in  a brief 
hour.  I profess  no  great  understand- 
ing of  the  subject,  though  I have  given 
it  much  thought.  In  truth,  it  cannot 
be  grasped,  as  yet,  by  the  highest  in- 
tellect. This  age  is  the  result,  issue, 
of  all  former  ages.  All  are  pouring 
themselves  into  it.  The  struggles,  pas- 
sions, discoveries,  revolutions  of  all  for- 
mer time  survive  in  their  influences  on 
the  present  moment.  To  interpret  the 
present  thoroughly  we  must  understand 
and  unfold  all  the  past.  This  work  I 
shall  not  undertake.  I am  not  now  to 
be  a historian.  Do  not  fear  that  I shall 
compel  you  to  journey  backward  to  the 
Deluge  or  to  Paradise.  I shall  look 
only  at  the  present ; nor  do  1 think  of 
unfolding  all  the  present.  I shall  seize 
on  a single  characteristic  of  our  age, 
if  not  the  profoundest,  yet  the  most 
prominent,  and  the  best  fitted  to  an 
address  like  the  present.  In  perform- 
ing this  task  my  aim  will  be  to  speak 
the  simple  truth.  I wish  to  say  what' 
the  age  is,  not  to  be  its  advocate  ; and 
yet  I hope  to  lead  you  to  look  tenderlyf 
and  trustfully  on  it,  to  love  it,  and  to  \ 
resolve,  with  generous,  stout  hearts,  f 
that  you  will  serve  it,  as  far  as  God 
may  give  you  ability. 

In  looking  at  our  age  I am  struck  im- 
mediately with  one  commanding  char- 
acteristic, and  that  is,  the  tendency  in 
all  its  movements  to  expansion,  toiliLA 
fusion,  to^univexsality..  . To  this  I ask  “ 
your  attention.  This  tendency  is  di- 
rectly opposed  to  the  spirit  of  exclusive- 
ness, restriction,  narrowness,  monopoly, 
which  has  prevailed  in  past  ages.  Hu- 
man action  is  now  freer,  more  uncon- 
fined. All  goods,  advantages,  helps, 


i6o 


THE  PRESENT  AGE. 


are  more  open  to  all.  The  privileged, 
petted  individual  is  becoming  less,  and 
the  human  race  are  becoming  more. 
The  multitude  is  rising  from  the  dust. 
Once  we  heard  of  the  few,  now  we 
hear  of  the  many  ; once  of  the  pre- 
rogatives of  a part,  now  of  the  rights 
of  all.  We  are  looking  as  never  before 
through  the  disguises,  envelopments  of 
ranks  and  classes  to  the  common  nat- 
ure which  lies  below  them,  and  are  be- 
ginning to  learn  that  every  being  who 
partakes  of  it  has  noble  powers  to  cul- 
tivate, solemn  duties  to  perform,  inal- 
ienable rights  to  assert,  a vast  destiny 
to  accomplish.  The  grand  idea  of  hu- 
manity, of  the  importance  of  man  as 
man,  is  spreading  silently  but  surely. 
Not  that  the  worth  of  the  human  being 
is  at  all  understood  as  it  should  be  ; 
but  the  truth  is  glimmering  through  the 
darkness.  A faint  consciousness  of  it 
has  seized  on  the  public  mind.  Even 
the  most  abject  portions  of  society  are 
visited  by  some  dreams  of  a better  con- 
_ dition  for  which  they  were  designed. 
I The  grand  doctrine,  that  every  human 
being  should  have  the  means  of  self- 
culture, — of  progress  in  knowledge  and 
virtue,  of  health,  comfort,  and  happi- 
ness, of  exercising  the  powers  and 
affections  of  a man,  — this  is  slowly 
taking  its  place  as  the  highest  social 
truth.  That  the  world  was  made  for 
all,  and  not  for  a few  ; that  society  is 
to  care  for  all ; that  no  human  being 
shall  perish  but  through  his  own  fault ; 
that  the  great  end  of  government  is  to 
spread  a shield  over  the  rights  of  alQ 
— these  propositions  are  growing  into 
axioms,  and  the  spirit  of  them  is  com- 
^ ing  forth  in  all  the  departments  of  life. 

If  we  look  at  the  various  movements 
of  our  age,  we  shall  see  in  them  this 
tendency  to  universality  and  diffusion. 
Look  first  at  science  and  literature. 
Where  is  science  now  ? Locked  up  in  a 
few  colleges,  or  royal  societies,  or  inac- 
cessible volumes  ? Are  its  experiments 
mysteries  for  a few  privileged  eyes  ? 
Are  its  portals  guarded  by  a dark  phrase- 
ology which  to  the  multitude  is  a foreign 
tongue  ? No  : science  has  now  left  her 
retreats,  her  shades,  her  selected  com- 
pany of  votaries,  and  with  familiar  tone 
begun  the  work  of  instructing  the  race. 
Through  the  press,  discoveries  and  the- 
ories, once  the  monopoly  of  philosophers, 
have  become  the  property  of  the  multi- 


tude. Its  professors,  heard  not  long 
ago  in  the  university  or  some  narrow 
school,  now  speak  in  the  mechanic  in- 
stitute. The  doctrine  that  the  laborer 
should  understand  the  principles  of  his 
art,  should  be  able  to  explain  the  laws 
and  processes  which  he  turns  to  account, 
that,  instead  of  working  as  a machine, 
he  should  join  intelligence  to  his  toil,  is 
no  longer  listened  to  as  a dream.  Sci-  V 
ence,  once  the  greatest  of  distinctions,  \ 
is  becoming  popular.  A lady  gives  us  * 
Conversations  on  Chemistry,  revealing 
to  the  minds  of  our  youth  vast  laws  of 
the  universe  which  fifty  years  ago  had 
not  dawned  on  the  greatest  minds.  The 
school-books  of  our  children  contain 
grand  views  of  the  creation.  There  are 
parts  of  our  country  in  which  lyceums 
spring  up  in  almost  every  village  for  the 
purpose  of  mutual  aid  in  the  study  of 
natural  science.  The  characteristic  of  f 
our  age,  then,  is  not  the  improvement 
of  science,  rapid  as  this  is,  so  much  as 
its  extension  to  all  men. 

The  same  characteristic  will  appear,  if 
we  inquire  into  the  use  now  made  of 
science.  Is  it  simply  a matter  of  spec-' 
ulation,  a topic  of  discourse,  an  employ- 
ment of  the  intellect  ? In  this  case,  the 
multitude,  with  all  their  means  of  in- 
struction, would  find  in  it  only  a hurried 
gratification.  But  one  of  the  distinc-^ 
tions  of  our  time  is,  that  science  hasj 
passed  from  speculation  into  life.  In-t 
deed,  it  is  not  pursued  enough  for  its 
intellectual  and  contemplative  uses.  It 
is  sought  as  a mighty  power,  by  which 
nature  is  not  only  to  be  opened  to 
thought,  but  to  be  subjected  to  our 
needs.  It  is  conferring  on  us  that  do- 
minion over  earth,  sea,  and  air,  which 
was  prophesied  in  the  first  command 
given  to  man  by  his  Maker  ; and  this 
dominion  is  now  employed,  not  to  exalt 
a few,  but  to  multiply  the  comforts  and 
ornaments  of  life  for  the  multitude  of 
men.  Science  has  become  an  inexhaust- 
ible mechanician  ; and  by  her  forges, 
and  mills,  and  steam-cars,  and  printer's 
presses,  is  bestowing  on  millions,  not 
only  comforts,  but  luxuries  which  were 
once  the  distinction  of  a few. 

Another  illustration  of  the  tendency  of 
science  to  expansion  and  universality 
maybe  found  in  its  aims  and  objects. 
Science  has  burst  all  bounds  and  is  aim- 
ing to  comprehend  the  universe,  and 
thus  it  multiplies  fields  of  inquiry  for 


THE  PRESENT  AGE. 


l6l 


all  orders  of  minds.  There  is  no  prov- 
ince of  nature  which  it  does  not  invade. 
Not  content  with  exploring  the  darkest 
periods  of  human  history,  it  goes  behind 
the  birth  of  the  human  race,  and  studies 
the  stupendous  changes  which  our  globe 
experienced  for  hundreds  of  centuries,  to 
become  prepared  for  man’s  abode.  Not 
content  with  researches  into  visible  nat- 
ure, it  is  putting  forth  all  its  energies  to 
detect  the  laws  of  invisible  and  imponder- 
able matter.  Difficulties  only  provoke 
it  to  new  efforts.  It  would  lay  open  the 
secrets  of  the  polar  ocean  and  of  un- 
trodden barbarous  lands.  Above  all,  it 
investigates  the  laws  of  social  progress, 
of  arts  and  institutions  of  government 
i:and  political  economy,  proposing  as  its 
Igreat  end  the  alleviation  of  all  human 
lburdens,  the  weal  of  all  the  members  of 
•the  human  race.  In  truth,  nothing  is 
more  characteristic  of  our  age  than  the 
vast  range  of  inquiry  which  is  opening 
more  and  more  to  the  multitude  of  men. 
Thought  frees  the  old  bounds  to  which 
• men  used  to  confine  themselves.  It 
{ holds  nothing  too  sacred  for  investiga- 
tion. It  calls  the  past  to  account;  and 
treats  hoary  opinions  as  if  they  were  of 
yesterday’s  growth.  No  reverence  drives 
it  back.  No  great  name  terrifies  it.  The 
foundations  of  what  seems  most  settled 
must  be  explored.  Undoubtedly  this  is 

I a perilous  tendency.  Men  forget  the 
limits  of  their  powers.  They  question 
the  infinite,  the  unsearchable,  with  an 
audacious  self-reliance.  They  shock  pi- 
ous and  revering  minds,  and  rush  into 
an  extravagance  of  doubt  more  unphilo- 
sophical  and  foolish  than  the  weakest 
credulity.  Still,  in  this  dangerous  wild- 
ness we  see  what  I am  stating,  the  ten- 
dency to  expansion  in  the  movements  of 
thought. 

I have  hitherto  spoken  of  science  ; and 
what  is  true  of  science  is  still  more  true 
1 of  literature.  Books  are  now  placed 
^within  reach  of  all.  Works  once  too 
costly  except  for  the  opulent  are  now  to 
be  found  on  the  laborer’s  shelf.  Genius 
sends  its  light  into  cottages.  The  great 
names  of  literature  are  become  house- 
hold words  among  the  crowd.  Every 
party,  religious  or  political,  scatters  its 
sheets  on  all  the  winds.  We  may  la- 
ment, and  too  justly,  the  small  compara- 
tive benefit  as  yet  accomplished  by  this 
agency  ; but  this  ought  not  to  surprise 
or  discourage  us.  In  our  present  stage 


of  improvement,  books  of  little  worth, 
deficient  in  taste  and  judgment,  and 
ministering  to  men’s  prejudices  and  pas- 
sions, will  almost  certainly  be  circulated 
too  freely.  Men  are  never  very  wise 
and  select  in  the  exercise  of  a new, 
power.  Mistake,  error,  is  the  discipline 
through  which  we  advance.  It  is  an 
undoubted  fact  that,  silently,  books  of  a 
higher  order  are  taking  place  of  the* 
worthless.  Happily,  the  instability  of^ 
the  human  mind  works  sometimes  for 
good  as  well  as  evil.  Men  grow  tired  at 
length  even  of  amusements.  Works  of 
fiction  cease  to  interest  them ; and  they 
turn  from  novels  to  books  which,  having 
their  origin  in  deep  principles  of  our 
nature,  retain  their  hold  of  the  human 
mind  for  ages.  At  any  rate,  we  see  in 
the  present  diffusion  of  literature  the 
tendency  to  universality  of  which  I have 
spoken. 

The  same  tendency  will  appear,  if  we  \ 
consider  the  kind  of  literature  which  is  ] 
obtaining  the  widest  favor.  The  works  V 
of  genius  of  our  age  breathe  a spirit  of 
universal  sympathy.  The  great  poet  of 
our  times,  Wordsworth,  — one  of  the  few 
who  are  to  live,  — IrSs  gone  to  common 
life,  to  the  feelings  of  our  universal  nat- 
ure, to  the  obscure  and  neglected  por- 
tions of  society,  for  beautiful  and  touch- 
ing themes.  Nor  ought  it  to  be  said  that 
he  has  shed  over  these  the  charms  of 
his  genius,  as  if  in  themselves  they  had 
nothing  grand  or  lovely.  Genius  is  not 
a creator,  in  the  sense  of  fancying  or'' 
feigning  what  does  not  exist.  Its  dis- 
tinction is  to  discern  more  of  truth  than 
common  minds.  It  sees  under  disguises  * 
and  humble  forms  everlasting  beauty.  * 
This  it  is  the  prerogative  of  Wordsworth 
to  discern  and  reveal  in  the  ordinary 
walks  of  life,  in  the  common  human 
heart.  He  has  revealed  the  loveliness 
of  the  primitive  feelings,  of  the  universal 
affections  of  the  human  soul.  The  grand 
truth  which  pervades  his  poetry  is,  that 
the  beautiful  is  not  confined  to  the  rare, 
the  new,  the  distant, — to  scenery  and 
modes  of  life  open  only  to  the  few  ; but 
that  it  is  poured  forth  profusely  on  the 
common  earth  and  sky,  that  it  gleams 
from  the  loneliest  flower,  that  it  lights 
up  the  humblest  sphere,  that  the  sweet- 
est affections  lodge  in  lowly  hearts,  that 
there  is  sacredness,  dignity,  and  loveli- 
ness in  lives  which  few  eyes  rest  on ; 
that,  even  in  the  absence  of  all  intellect- 


THE  PRESENT  AGE. 


162 

ual  culture,  the  domestic  relations  can 

(quietly  nourish  that  disinterestedness 
which  is  the  element  of  all  greatness, 
and  without  which  intellectual  power  is 
a splendid  deformity.  Wordsworth  is 
the  poet  of  humanity  ; he  teaches  rever- 
ence for  our  universal  nature  ; he  breaks 
down  the  factitious  barriers  between  hu- 
man hearts. 

The  same  is  true,  in  an  inferior  de- 
gree, of  Scott,  whose  tastes,  however, 
were  more  aristocratic.  Scott  had  a 
childish  love  of  rank,  titles,  show,  pa- 
geants, and,  in  general,  looked  with 
keener  eye  on  the  outward  life  than  into 
the  soul.  Still,  he  had  a human  heart, 
and  sympathized  with  his  race.  With 
few  exceptions,  he  was  just  to  all  his 
human  brethren.  A reconciling  spirit 
breathes  through  his  writings.  He  seizes 
on  the  interesting  and  beautiful  features 
in  all  conditions  of  life  ; gives  us  bursts 
of  tender  and  noble  feelings  even  from 
rude  natures  ; and  continually  knits  some 
new  tie  between  the  reader  and  the  vast 
varieties  of  human  nature  which  start 
up  under  his  teeming  pen.  He  delighted, 
indeed,  in  Highland  chiefs,  in  border 
thieves  and  murderers,  in  fierce  men 
and  fierce  encounters.  But  he  had  an 
eye  to  catch  the  stream  of  sweet  affec- 
tions as  it  wound  its  way  through  hum- 
ble life.  What  light  has  Jeanie  Deans 
shed  on  the  path  of  the  obscure  ! He 
was  too  wanting  in  the  religious  senti- 
ment to  comprehend  the  solemn  bearing, 
the  stern  grandeur  of  the  Puritans.  But 
we  must  not  charge  with  narrowness  a 
writer  who  embodied  in  a Jewish  maiden 
his  highest  conceptions  of  female  noble- 
ness. 

Another  writer  illustrating  the  liberal- 
izing, all-harmonizing  tendency  of  our 
times  is  Dickens,  whose  genius  has 
sought  ancT founcT  subjects  of  thrilling 
interest  in  the  passions,  sufferings,  vir- 
tues of  the  mass  of  the  people.  He 
shows  that  life  in  its  rudest  forms  may 
wear  a tragic  grandeur ; that,  amidst 
follies  and  sensual  excesses  provoking 
laughter  or  scorn,  the  moral  feelings  do 
not  wholly  die  ; and  that  the  haunts  of 
the  blackest  crimes  are  sometimes  light- 
ed up  by  the  presence  and  influence 
of  the  noblest  souls.  He  has,  indeed, 
greatly  erred  in  turning  so  often  the 
degradation  of  humanity  into  matter  of 
sport ; but  the  tendency  of  his  dark  pict- 
ures is  to  awaken  sympathy  with  our 


race,  to  change  the  unfeeling  indiffer- 
ence which  has  prevailed  towards  the 
depressed  multitude  into  sorrowful  and 
indignant  sensibility  to  their  wrongs  and 
woes. 

The  remarks  now  made  on  literature 
might  be  extended  to  the  _fine  arls.  In 
these  we  see,  too,  the  tendency  to  uni- 
versality. It  is  said  that  the  spirit  of 
the  great  artists  has  died  out ; but  the 
taste  for  their  works  is  spreading.  By 
the  improvements  of  engraving,  and  the 
invention  of  casts,  the  genius  of  the 
great  masters  is  going  abroad.  Their 
conceptions  are  no  longer  pent  up  in 
galleries  open  to  but  few,  but  meet  us 
in  our  homes,  and  are  the  household 
pleasures  of  millions.  Works  designed 
for  the  halls  and  eyes  of  emperors, 
popes,  and  nobles,  find  their  way,  in  no 
poor  representations,  into  humble  dwell- 
ings, and  sometimes  give  a conscious- 
ness of  kindred  powers  to  the  child  of 
poverty.  The  art  of  drawing,  which  lies  * 
at  the  foundation  of  most  of  the  fine 
arts,  and  is  the  best  education  of  the  j 
eye  for  nature,  is  becoming  a branch  of  I 
common  education,  and  in  some  coun- 
tries is  taught  in  schools  to  which  all 
classes  are  admitted. 

I am  reminded  by  this  remark  of  the 
most  striking  feature  of  and 

showing  its  tendency  to  universality, 
and  that  is,  the  unparalleled  and  con-j 
stantly  accelerated  diffusion  of  educa-S 
tion.  This  greatest  of  arts,  as  yet  little  \ 
understood,  is  making  sure  progress, 
because  its  principles  are  more  and  more 
sought  in  the  common  nature  of  man ; 
and  the  great  truth  is  spreading,  that 
every  man  has  a right  to  its  aid.  Ac- 
cordingly education  is  becoming  the 
work  of  nations.  Even  in  the  despotic 
governments  of  Europe,  schools  are 
open  for  every  child  without  distinc- 
tion ; and  not  only  the  elements  of 
reading  and  writing,  but  music  and 
drawing  are  taught,  and  a foundation 
is  laid  for  future  progress  in  history, 
geography,  and  physical  science.  The 
greatest  minds  are  at  work  on  popular 
education.  The  revenues  of  states  are 
applied  most  liberally,  not  to  the  uni- 
versities for  the  few,  but  to  the  common 
schools.  Undoubtedly  much  remains  to  . 
be  done  ; especially  a new  rank  in  so-  1 
ciety  is  to  be  given  to  the  teacher  ; but  \ 
even  in  this  respect  a revolution  has 
commenced,  and  we  are  beginning  to 


THE  PRESENT  AGE . 


look  on  the  guides  of  the  young  as  the 
chief  benefactors  of  mankind. 

I thought  that  I had  finished  my  illus- 
trations on  this  point;  but  there  has 
suddenly  occurred  to  me  another  sign 
of  the  tendency  to  universal  intellectual 
action  i n this  country,  — a sign  which  we 
are  prone  to  smile  ^at,  but  which  is  yet 
worthy  of  notice.  I refer  to  the  com- 
* monness  among  us  of  public  speaking. 
' If  we  may  trust  our  newspapers,  we  are 
a nation  of  orators.  Every  meeting 
overflows  with  eloquence.  Men  of  all 
conditions  find  a tongue  for  public  de- 

Ibate.  Undoubtedly  there  is  more  sound 
than  sense  in  our  endless  speeches  be- 
fore all  kinds  of  assemblies  and  socie- 
ties. But  no  man,  I think,  can  attend 
our  public  meetings  without  being  struck 
with  the  force  and  propriety  of  expres- 
sion in  multitudes  whose  condition  has 
confined  them  to  a very  imperfect  cult- 
ure. This  exercise  of  the  intellect, 
which  has  almost  become  a national 
characteristic,  is  not  to  be  undervalued. 
Speech  is  not  merely  the  dress,  as  it 
i5~  oftecu  called,  but  the  very  body  of 
though t\  It  is  to  the  intellect  what  the 
muscles'lire  to  the  principle  of  physical 
life.  The  mind  acts  and  strengthens  it- 
self through  words.  It  is  a chaos  till 
. defined,  organized  by  language.  The 
attempt  to  give  clear,  precise  utterance 
to  thought  is  one  of  the  most  effectual 
processes  of  mental  discipline.  It  is, 
therefore,  no  doubtful  sign  of  the  grow- 
ing intelligence  of  a people  when  the 
power  of  expression  is  cultivated  exten- 
sively for  the  purpose  of  acting  on  mul- 
titudes. We  have  here  one  invaluable 
influence  of  popular  institutions.  They 
present  at  the  same  moment  to  a whole 
people  great  subjects  of  thought,  and 
bring  multitudes  to  the  earnest  discus- 
sion of  them.  Here  are,  indeed,  moral 
dangers  ; but  still,  strong  incitements  to 
general  intellectual  action.  It  is  in  such 
stirring  schools,  after  all,  that  the  mind 
of  a people  is  chiefly  formed.  Events 
of  deep  general  interest  quicken  us  more 
than  formal  teaching ; and  by  these  the 
civilized  world  is.,  to  be  more  and  more 
trained  to  thought; 

Thus  we  see  in  the  intellectual  move- 
ments of  our  times  the  tendency  to 
expansion,  to  universality ; and  this 
must  continue.  It  is  not  an  accident, 
or  an  inexplicable  result,  or  a violence 
on  nature  ; it  is  founded  in  eternal 


163 

truth.  Every  mind  was  made  for  growth,  t 
for  knowledge  ; and  its  nature  is  sinned 
against  when  it  is  doomed  to  ignorance. 
The  divine  gift  of  intelligence  was  be- 
stowed for  higher  uses  than  bodily  labor, 
than  to  make  hewers  of  wood,  drawers 
of  water,  ploughmen,  or  servants.  Every 
being  so  gifted  is  intended  to  acquaint 
himself  with  God  and  his  works,  and  toj 
perform  wisely  and  disinterestedly  thel 
duties  of  life.  Accordingly,  when  we' 
see  the  multitude  of  men  beginning  to 
thirst  for  knowledge,  for  intellectual 
action,  for  something  more  than  an 
animal  life,  we  see  the  great  design  of 
nature  about  to  be  accomplished  ; and 
society,  having  received  this  impulse, 
will  never  rest  till  it  shall  have  taken 
such  a form  as  will  place  within  every 
man’s  reach  the  means  of  intellectual 
culture.  This  is  the  revolution  to  which 
we  are  tending ; and  without  this  all 
outward  political  changes  would  be  but 
children’s  play,  leaving  the  great  work 
of  society  yet  to  be  done. 

I have  now  viewed  the  age  in  its  intel- 
lectual aspects.  If  we  look  next  at  its 
religious  . move  plants,  we  shall  see  in 
fPTSS^'tlie  sameTtendency  to  universality. 
It  is  more  and  more  understood  that/ 
religious  truth  is  every  man’s  property 
and  right ; that  it  is  committed  to  n& 
order  or  individual,  to  no  priest,  minis- 
ter, student,  or  sage,  to  be  given  or  kept 
back  at  will  ; but  that  every  man  may 
and  should  seek  it  for  himself ; that 
every  man  is  to  see  with  his  own  mind, 
as  well  as  with  his  own  eyes  ; and  that 
God’s  illuminating  spirit  is  alike  prom- 
ised to  every  honest  and  humble  seeker? 
after  truth.  This  recognition  of  everyl 
man’s  right  of  judgment  appears  in  the\ 
teachings  of  all  denominations  of  Chris-  J 
tians.  In  all,  the  tone  of  authority  is 
giving  place  to  that  of  reason  and  per- 
suasion. Men  of  all  ranks  are  more  and 
more  addressed  as  those  who  must  weigh 
and  settle  for  themselves  the  grandest 
truths  of  religion. 

The  same  tendency  to  universality  is 
seen  in  the  generous  toleration^  which 
marks  our  times,  in  Comparison  with 
the  past.  Men,  in  general,  cannot  now 
endure  to  think  that  their  own  narrow^ 
church  holds  all  the  goodness  on  thejj 
earth.  Religion  is  less  and  less  regarded] 
as  a name,  a form,  a creed,  a church, 
and  more  and  more  as  the  spirit  of 
Christ,  which  works  under  all  forms 


THE  PRESENT  AGE. 


164 

and  all  sects.  True,  much  intolerance 
remains ; its  separating  walls  are  not 
fallen ; but,  with  a few  exceptions, 
they  no  longer  reach  to  the  clouds. 
Many  of  them  have  crumbled  away, 
till  the  men  whom  they  sever  can  shake 
hands,  and  exchange  words  of  fellow- 
ship, and  recognize  in  one  another’s 
faces  the  features  of  brethren. 

At  the  present  day  the  grand  truth 
of  religion  is  more  and  more  brought 
out,  — I mean  the  truth,  that  God  is 
the  Universal  Father,  that  every  soul 
is  infinitely  precious  to  Him,  that  He 
has  no  favorites,  no  partial  attach- 
ments, no  respect  of  persons,  that  He 
\ desires  alike  the  virtue  and  everlasting 
^good  of  all.  In  the  city  of  Penn  I can- 
not but  remember  the  testimony  to  this 
truth  borne  by  George  Fox  and  his  fol- 
lowers, who  planted  themselves  on  the 
grand  principle  that  God’s  illuminating 
spirit  is  shed  on  every  soul,  not  only 
within  the  bounds  of  Christendom,  but 
through  the  whole  earth.  This  universal, 
impartial  love  of  God  is  manifested  to  us 
' \\  more  and  more  by  science,  which  re- 
veals to  us  vast,  all-pervading  laws  of 
nature,  administered  with  no  favoritism, 

‘ and  designed  for  the  good  of  all.  I 
know  that  this  principle  is  not  univer- 
\ sally  received.  Men  have  always  been  in- 
clined to  frame  a local,  partial,  national, 
or  sectarian  God,  to  shut  up  the  Infinite 
One  in  some  petty  enclosure  ; but  at 
this  moment  larger  views  of  God  are 
bo  far  extended  that  they  illustrate  the 
spirit  of  the  age. 

If  we  next  consider  by^whom  religion 
Js*-taught,  we  shall  see  the- Tame  te^ 
dency  to  diffusion  and  universality. 
Religious  teaching  is  passing  into  all 
hands.  It  has  ceased  to  be  a monopoly. 
For  example,  what  an  immense  amount 
of  instruction  is  communicated  in^gun- 
day-schools  ! These  are  spreading  over 
The  Lirmtian  world,  and  through  these 
the  door  of  teaching  is  open  to  crowds, 
— to  almost  all,  indeed,  who  would  bear 
a part  in  spreading  religion.  In  like  man- 
ner, associations  of  vast  extent  are  spring- 
ing up  in  our  cities  for  the  teaching  of 
the  poor.  By  these  means  jwoman,  es- 
pecially, is  becoming  an  evangelist.  She 
is  not  only  a priestess"  in  her  own 
home,  instilling  with  sweet,  loving  voice 
the  first  truths  of  religion  into  the 
opening  mind,  but  she  goes  abroad 
on  missions  of  piety.  Woman,  in  one 


age  made  man’s  drudge,  and  in  an- 
other his  toy,  is  now  sharing  more 
and  more  with  him  the  highest  labors. 
Through  the  press,  especially,  she  is 
heard  far  and  wide.  The  press  is  a 
mightier  power  than  the  pulpit.  Books 
outstrip  the  voice  ; and  woman,  avail- 
ing herself  of  this  agency,  becomes  the 
teacher  of  nations.  In  churches,  where 
she  may  not  speak,  her  hymns  are  sung  ; 
the  inspirations  of  her  genius  are  felt. 
Thus  our  . age  is  breaking  down  the 
monopolies  of  the  past. 

But  a more  striking  illustration  re- 
mains. One  of  the  great  distinctions 
of  our  times  is  found  in  the  more  clear 
and  vital  perception  of  the  truth,  that 
the  universal,  impartial  love  which  is  * 
the  glory  of  God  is  the  characteristic 
spirit  and  glory  of  Christianity.  To  t 
this  we  owe  the  extension  of  philan- ' 
thropic  and  religious  effort  beyond  all 
"forinfFexperience^  TTow  much  we  are 
better  on  the  whole  than  former  times  I 
do  not  say ; but  that  benevolence  is  j 
acting  on  a larger  scale,  in  more  va-  1 
rious  forms,  to  more  distant  objects,  ? 
this  we  cannot  deny.  Call  it  preten- 
sion, or  enthusiasm,  or  what  you  will, 
the  fact  remains  ; and  it  attests  the 
diffusive  tendencies  of  our  times.  Be- 
nevolence now  gathers  together  her  ar- 
mies. Vast  associations  are  spread 
over  whole  countries  for  assailing  evils 
which  it  is  thought  cannot  be  met  by 
the  single-handed.  There  is  hardly  a 
form  of  evil  which  has  not  awakened 
some  antagonist  effort.  Associated  be- 
nevolence gives  *eyes  to  the  blind  and 
ears  to  the  deaf,  and  is  achieving  even 
greater  wonders  ; that  is,  it  approaches 
the  mind  without  the  avenues  of  eye 
and  ear,  and  gives  to  the  hopelessly 
blind  and  deaf  the  invaluable  knowledge 
which  these  senses  afford  to  others. 
Benevolence  now  shuts  out  no  human 
being,  however  low,  from  its  regard. 
It  goes  to  the  cell  of  the  criminal  with 
words  of  hope,  and  is  labormg“fo  miti- » 
gate  public  punishment,  — to  make  it 
the  instrument,  not  of  vengeance,  but  re- 1 
form.  It  remembers  the  slave v pleads' 
his  cause  with  God  and  man,’  recognizes 
in  him  a human  brother,  respects  in 
him  the  sacred  rights  of  humanity,  and 
claims  for  him,  not  as  a boon,  but  as  a 
right,  that  freedom  without  which  hu- 
manity withers  and  God’s  child  is  de- 
graded into  a tool  or  a brute.  Still 


THE  PRESENT  AGE. 


more,  benevolence  now  is  passing  all 
limits  of  country  and  ocean.  It  would 
send  our  own  best  blessing  to  the  ends 
of  the  earth.  It  would  make  the  wilder- 
ness of  heathenism  bloom,  and  join  all 
nations  in  the  bonds  of  one  holy  and 
loving  faith.  Thus,  if  we  look  at  the 
religious  movements  of  the  age,  we  see 
in  them  that  tendency  to  diffusion  and 
universality  which  I have  named  as  its 
most  striking  characteristic. 

Let  me  briefly  point  out  this  same 
tendency  in  government.  Here,  indeed, 
it  is  too  obvious  for  illustration.  To 
what  is  the  civilized  world  tending  ? 
^To  popular  institutions,  or,  what  is  the 
isame  thing,  to  the  influence  of  the  peo- 
ple, of  the  mass  of  men,  over  public 
affairs.  A little  while  ago,  and  the  peo- 
ple were  unknown  as  a power  in  the 
state.  Now  they  are  getting  all  power 
into  their  hands.  Even  in  despotisms, 
where  they  cannot  act  through  institu- 
tions, they  act  through  public  opinion. 
Intelligence  is  strength  ; and  in  propor- 
tion as  the  many  grow  intelligent  they 
must  guide  the  world.  Kings  and  no- 
bles fill  less  and  less  place  in  history ; 
and  the  names  of  men  who  once  were 
lost  amidst  the  glare  of  courts  and  ti- 
tles are  now  written  there  imperishably. 
Once  history  did  not  know  that  the 
multitude  existed,  except  when  they 
were  gathered  together  on  the  field  of 
battle  to  be  sabred  and  shot  down  for 
the  glory  of  their  masters.  Now  they 
are  coming  forward  into  the  foreground 
of  her  picture.  It  is  now  understood 
that  government  exists  for  one  end,  and 
one  alone  ; and  that  is,  not  the  glory 
of  the  governor,  not  the  pomp  and 
pleasure  of  a few,  but  the  good,  the 
safety,  the  rights  of  all.  Once  gov- 
ernment was  an  inherited  monopoly, 
guarded  by  the  doctrine  of  divine  right, 
of  an  exclusive  commission  from  the 
Most  High.  Now  office  and  dignity 
are  thrown  open  as  common  things, 
and  nations  are  convulsed  by  the  mul- 
titude of  competitors  for  the  prize  of 
public  power.  Once  the  policy  of  gov- 
ernments had  no  higher  end  than  to 
concentrate  property  into  a few  hands, 
and  to  confirm  the  rela^on  of  depend- 
ant and  lord.  Now  it  aims  to  give  to 
each  the  means  of  acquiring  property, 
and  of  carving  out  his  fortune  for  him- 
self. Such  is  the  political  current  of 
our  times.  Many  look  on  it  with  dark 


165 


forebodings,  as  on  a desolating  torrent ; 
while  others  hail  it  as  a fertilizing 
stream.  But  in  one  thing  both  agree  ; 
whether  torrent  or  stream,  the  mighty 
current  exists,  and  overflows,  and  can- 
not be  confined  ; and  it  shows  us  in 
the  political,  as  in  the  other  movements 
of  our  age,  the  tendency  to  universality, 
to  diffusion. 

I shall  notice  but  one  more  move- 
ment of  the  age  as  indicating  the  ten- 
dency to  universality,  and  this  is,  its 
industry*  How  numberless  are  the 
forms  which  this  takes!  Into  how 
many  channels  is  human  labor  pouring 
itself  forth  ! How  widely  spread  is 
the  passion  for  acquisition,  not  for 
simple  means  of  subsistence,  but  for 
wealth  ! What  vast  enterprises  agi- 
tate the  community  ! What  a rush  into 
all  the  departments  of  Jrade  ! How 
next  to  universal  the  insanity  of  spec- 
ulator* ? — What  new  arts  spring  u|Tl 
Industry  pierces  the  forests,  and  star- 
ties  with  her  axe  the  everlasting  silence. 
To  you,  gentlemen,  commerce  is  the 
commanding  interest ; and  this  has  no 
limits  but  the  habitable  world.  It  no 
longer  creeps  along  the  shore,  or  lin- 
gers in  accustomed  tracks  ; but  pene- 
trates into  every  inlet,  plunges  into  the 
heart  of  uncivilized  lands,  sends  its 
steam-ships  up  unexplored  rivers,  gir- 
dles the  earth  with  railroads,  and  thus 
breaks  down  the  estrangements  of  na- 
tions. Commerce  is  a noble  calling.8 
It  mediates  between  distant  nations, 
and  makes  men’s  wants,  not,  as  for- 
merly, stimulants  to  war,  but  bonds  of 
peace.  The  universal  intellectual  ac- 
tivity of  which  I have  spoken  is  due,' 
in  no  small  degree,  to  commerce,  which 
spreads  the  thoughts,  inventiors,  and 
writings  of  great  men  over  the  earth, 
and  gathers  scientific  and  literary  men 
everywhere  into  an  intellectual  repub- 
lic. So  it  carries  abroad  the  mission- 
ary, the  Bible,  the  Cross,  and  is  giving 
universality  to  true  religion.  Gentle- 
men, allow  me  to  express  an  earnest 
desire  and  hope  that  the  merchants  of 
this  country  will  carry  on  their  calling 
with  these  generous  views.  Let  them 
not  pursue  it  for  themselves  alone.  Let 
them  rejoice  to  spread  improvements 
far  and  wide,  and  to  unite  men  in  more 
friendly  ties.  Let  them  adopt  maxims 
of  trade  which  will  establish  general 
confidence.  Especially,  in  their  inter- 


THE  PRESENT  AGE. 


1 65 

course  with  less  cultivated  tribes,  let 
them  feel  themselves  bound  to  be  har- 
bingers of  civilization.  Let  their  voy- 
ages be  missions  of  humanity,  useful 
arts,  science,  and  religion.  It  is  a pain- 
ful thought  that  commerce,  instead  of 
enlightening  and  purifying  less  priv- 
ileged communities,  has  too  often  made 
I the  name  of  Christian  hateful  to  them, 
has  carried  to  the  savage,  not  our  use- 
ful arts  and  mild  faith,  but  weapons  of 
Hvar  and  the  intoxicating  draught.  I 
call  not  on  God  to  smite  with  his  light- 
nings, to  overwhelm  with  his  storms, 
the  accursed  ship  which  goes  to  the 
ignorant,  rude  native,  freighted  with 
poison  and  death  f which  goes  to  add 
new  ferocity  to  savage  life,  new  licen- 
tiousness to  savage  sensuality.  I have 
learned  not  to  call  down  fire  from  heav- 
en. But,  in  the  name  of  humanity,  of 
religion,  of  God,  I implore  the  mer- 
chants of  this  country  not  to  use  the 
light  of  a higher  civilization  to  corrupt, 
to  destroy  our  uncivilized  brethren. 
Brethren  they  are,  in  those  rude  huts, 
in  that  wild  attire.  Establish  with  them 
an  intercourse  of  usefulness,  justice, 
and  charity.  Before  they  can  under- 
stand the  name  of  Christ,  let  them  see 
his  spirit  in  those  by  whom  it  is  borne. 
It  has  been  said  that  the  commerce  of 
our  country  is  not  only  corrupting  un- 
civilized countries,  but  that  it  wears  a 
deeper,  more  damning  stain  ; that,  in 
spite  of  the  laws  of  the  land  and  the 
protest  of  nations,  it  sometimes  lends 
itself  to  the  slave-trade  ; that,  by  its 
capital  and  accommodations,  and  swift 
sailers,  and  false  papers,  and  prosti- 
tuted flag,  it  takes  part  in  tearing  the 
African  from  his  home  and  native  shore, 
and  in  dooming  him,  first  to  the  hor- 
rors of  the  middle  passage,  and  then 
to  the  hopelessness  of  perpetual  bond- 
age. Even  on  men  so  fallen  I call 
down  no  curse.  May  they  find  for- 
giveness from  God  through  the  pains 
of  sincere  repentance  ! but,  continuing 
what  they  are,  can  I help  shrinking 
from  them  as  among  the  most  infa- 
mous of  their  race  ? 

Allow  me  to  say  a word  to  the  mer- 
chants of  our  country  on  another  sub- 
ject. The  time  is  come  when  they  are 
particularly  called  to  take  yet  more  gen- 
erous views  of  their  vocation,  and  to 
give  commerce  a universality  as  yet  un- 
known. I refer  to  the  juster  principles 


which  are  gaining  ground  on  the  subject 
of  jree  trad£,  and  to  the  growing  dispo- 
sition of  nations  to  promote  it.  Free 
trade  ! — this  is  the  plain  duty  and  plain 
interest  of  the  human  race.  To  level  1 
all  barriers  to  free  exchange ; to  cut  i 
up  the  system  of  restriction,  root  and  \ 
branch  ; to  open  every  port  on  earth  to 
every  product ; this  is  the  office  of  en- 
lightened humanity.  To  this  a free 
nation  should  especially  pledge  itself. 
Freedom  of  the  seas;  freedom  of  har- 
bors ; an  intercourse  of  nations,  free 
as  the  winds  ; — this  is  not  a dream  of 
philanthropists.  We  are  tending  to- 
wards it,  and  let  us  hasten  it.  Under  > 
a wiser  and  more  Christian  civilization 
we  shall  look  back  on  our  present  re- 
strictions as  we  do  on  the  swaddling 
bands  by  which  in  darker  times  the  hu- 
man body  was  compressed.  The  grow- 
ing freedom  of  trade  is  another  and 
glorious  illustration  of  the  tendency  of 
our  age  to  universality. 

I have  thus  aimed  to  show  in  the  prin- 
cipal movements  of  our  time  the  charac- 
ter of  diffusion  and  universality,  and  in 
doing  this  I have  used  language  imply- 
ing my  joy  in  this  great  feature  of  our 
age.  But  you  will  not  suppose  that  I 
see  in  it  nothing  but  good.  Human* 
affairs  admit  no  unmixed  good.  This! 
very  tendency  has  its  perils  and  evils.! 
To  take  but  one  example  : the  opening 
of  vast  prospects  of  wealth  to  the  mul- 
titude of  men  has  stirred  up  a fierce 
competition,  a wild  spirit  of  speculation, 
a feverish,  insatiable  cupidity,  under 
which  fraud,  bankruptcy,  distrust,  dis- 
tress are  fearfully  multiplied,  so  that 
the  name  of  American  has  become  a 
by-word  beyond  the  ocean.  I see  the 
danger  of  the  present  state  of  society, 
perhaps  as  clearly  as  any  one.  But  still 
I rejoice  to  have  been  born  in  this  age. 

It  is  still  true  that  human  nature  was 
made  for  growth,  expansion ; this  is 
its  proper  life,  and  this  must  not  be 
checked  because  it  has  perils.  The 
child,  when  it  shoots  up  into  youth,  ex-  f* 
changes  its  early  repose  and  security 
for  new  passions,  for  strong  emotions, 
which  are  full  of  danger ; but  would 
we  keep  him  for  ever  a child  ? Danger 
we  cannot  avoid.  It  is  a grand  element 
of  human  life.  We  always  walk  on 
precipices.  It  is  unmanly,  unwise,  it 
shows  a want  of  faith  in  God  and  hu- 
manity, to  deny  to  others  and  ourselves 


THE  PRESENT  AGE. 


free  scope  and  the  expansion  of  our 
best  powers  because  of  the  possible 
collisions  and  pains  to  be  feared  from 
extending  activity.  Many,  indeed,  sigh 
for  security  as  the  supreme  good.  But 
God  intends  us  for  something  better, 
for  effort,  conflict,  and  progress.  And 
is  it  not  well  to  live  in  a stirring  and 
mighty  world,  even  though  we  suffer 
from  it  ? If  we  look  at  outward  nat- 
ure, we  find  ourselves  surrounded  with 
vast  and  fearful  elements,  — air,  sea, 
and  fire,  — which  sometimes  burst  all 
bounds,  and  overwhelm  man  and  his 
labors  in  ruin.  But  who  of  us  would 
annihilate  these  awful  forces,  would 
make  the  ocean  a standing  pool,  and 
put  to  silence  the  loud  blast,  in  order 
that  life  may  escape  every  peril  ? This 
mysterious,  infinite,  irresistible  might 
of  nature,  breaking  out  in  countless 
forms  and  motions,  makes  nature  the 
true  school  for  man,  and  gives  it  all 
i its  interest.  In  the  soul  still  mightier 
1 forces  are  pent  up,  and  their  expansion 
} has  its  perils.  But  all  are  from  God, 
who  has  blended  with  them  checks, 
restraints,  balances,  reactions,  by  which 
all  work  together  for  good.  Let  us 
never  forget  that,  amidst  this  fearful 
stir,  there  is  a paternal  Providence, 
under  which  the  education  of  our  race 
has  gone  on,  and  a higher  condition  of 
humanity  has  been  achieved. 

There  are,  however,  not  a few  who 
\ have  painful  fears  of  evil  from  the 
restless,  earnest  action  which  we  have 
seen  spreading  itself  more  and  more 
through  all  departments  of  society. 
They  call  the  age  wild,  lawless,  pre- 
sumptuous, without  reverence.  All  men, 
they  tell  us,  are  bursting  their  spheres, 
quitting  their  ranks,  aspiring  selfishly 
after  gain  and  pre-eminence.  The 
blind  multitude  are  forsaking  their  nat- 
ural leaders.  The  poor,  who  are  the 
majority,  are  contriving  against  the 
rich.  Still  more,  a dangerous  fanat- 
icism threatens  destruction  to  the  world 
under  the  name  of  reform  ; society  tot- 
ters ; property  is  shaken  ; and  the  uni- 
versal freedom  of  thought  and  action, 
of  which  so  many  boast,  is  the  precur- 
sor of  social  storms  which  only  des- 
potism can  calm.  Such  are  the  alarms 
of  not  a few  ; and  it  is  right  that  fear 
should  utter  its  prophecies,  as  well  as 
hope.  But  it  is  the  true  office  of  fear 
to  give  a wise  direction  to  human  effort, 


167 

not  to  chill  or  destroy  it.  To  despair 
of  the  race,  even  in  the  worst  times,  is 
unmanly,  unchristian.  Plow  much  more 
so  in  times  like  the  present  ! Whatf 
I most  lament  in  these  apprehensions 
is  the  utter  distrust  of  human  nature*- 
which  they  discover.  Its  highest  pow- 
ers are  thought  to  be  given  only  to  be 
restrained.  They  are  thought  to  be 
safe  only  when  in  fetters.  To  me, 
there  is  an  approach  to  impiety  in  think- 
ing so  meanly  of  God’s  greatest  work.j 
Human  nature  is  not  a tiger  which*/ 
needs  a constant  chain.  In  this  case 
it  is  the  chain  which  makes  the  tiger. 

It  is  the  oppressor  who  has  made  man 
fit  only  for  a yoke. 

When  I look  into  the  great  move- 
ments of  the  age,  particularly  as  mani- 
fested in  our  own  country,  they  seem 
to  me  to  justify  no  overwhelming  fear. 
True,  they  are  earnest  and  wide  spread- 
ing ; but  the  objects  to  which  they  are 
directed  are  pledges  against  extensive 
harm.  For  example,  ought  the  general 
diffusion  of  science  and  literature  and 
thought  to  strike  dread  ? Do  habits  -U 
of  reading  breed  revolt  ? Does  the  s 
astronomer  traverse  the  skies,  or  the  \ 
geologist  pierce  the  earth,  to  gather  ma- 
terials for  assault  on  the  social  state  ? 
Does  the  study  of  nature  stir  up  re- 
bellion against  its  Author  ? Is  it  the 
lesson  which  men  learn  from  history, 
that  they  are  to  better  their  condition 
by  disturbing  the  state  ? Does  the 
reading  of  poetry  train  us  to  insurrec- 
tion? Does  the  diffusion  of  a sense 
of  beauty  through  a people  incline  them 
to  tumult  ? Are  not  works  of  genius 
and  the  fine  arts  soothing  influences  ? 

Is  not  a shelf  of  books  in  a poor  man’s 
house  some  pledge  of  his  keeping  the 
peace  ? It  is  not  denied  that  thought, 
in  its  freedom,  questions  and  assails 
the  holiest  truth.  But  is  truth  so  weak, 
so  puny,  as  to  need  to  be  guarded  by 
bayonets  from  assault  ? Has  truth  no 
beauty,  no  might  ? Has  the  human 
soul  no  power  to  weigh  its  evidence, 
to  reverence  its  grandeur  ? Besides, 
does  not  freedom  of  thought,  when 
most  unrestrained,  carry  a conserva- 
tive power  in  itself  ? In  such  a state 
of  things  the  erring  do  not  all  embrace 
the  same  error.  Whilst  truth  is  one 
and  the  ^same,  falsehood  is  infinitely 
various.  It  is  a house  divided  against 
itself,  and  cannot  stand.  Error  soon 


THE  PRESENT  AGE . 


1 68 

passes  away,  unless  upheld  by  restraint 
on  thought.  History  tells  us,  and  the 
lesson  is  invaluable,  that  the  physical 
force  which  has  put  down  free  inquiry 
has  been  the  main  bulwark  of  the 
superstitions  and  illusions  of  past 
ages. 

In  the  next  place,  if  we  look  at  the 
chief  direction  of  the  universal  activity 
of  the  age,  we  shall  find  that  it  is  a con- 
servative one,  so  as  to  render  social 
convulsion  next  to  impossible.  On  what, 
after  all,  are  the  main  energies  of  this 
restlessness  spent  ? On  property,  on 
wealth.  High  and  low,  rich  and  poor, 
are  running  the  race  of  accumulation. 
Property  is  the  prize  for  which  all  strain 
their  nerves  ; and  the  vast  majority  com- 
pass in  some  measure  this  end.  And  is 
such  a society  in  danger  of  convulsion  ? 
Is  tumult  the  way  to  wealth  ? Isa  state 
of  insecurity  coveted  by  men  who  own 
something  and  hope  for  more  ? Are 
civil  laws,  which,  after  all,  have  prop- 
erty for  their  chief  concern,  very  likely 
to  be  trodden  under  foot  by  its  worship- 
pers ? Of  all  the  dreams  of  fear,  few 
seem  to  me  more  baseless  than  the  dread 
i of  anarchy  among  a people  who  are  pos- 
sessed almost  to  a man  with  the  pas- 
■»sion  for  gain.  I am  especially  amused 
when,  among  such  a people,  I sometimes 
hear  of  danger  to  property  and  society 
from  enthusiastic,  romantic  reformers 
who  preach  levelling  doctrines,  equality 
of  wealth,  quaker  plainness  of  dress, 
vegetable  food,  and  community-systems 
where  all  are  to  toil  and  divide  earnings 
alike.  What ! Danger  from  romance  and 
enthusiasm  in  this  money-getting,  self- 
seeking,  self-indulging,  self-displaying 
land  ? I confess  that  to  me  it  is  a com- 
fort to  see  some  outbreak  of  enthusiasm, 
whether  transcendental,  philanthropic, 
or  religious,  as  a proof  that  the  human 
spirit  is  not  wholly  engulfed  in  matter 
and  business,  that  it  can  lift  up  a little 
the  mountains  of  worldliness  and  sense 
with  which  it  is  so  borne  down.  It  will 
be  time  enough  to  fear  when  we  shall 
see  fanaticism  of  any  kind  stopping, 
ever  so  little,  the  wheels  of  business  or 
pleasure,  driving,  ever  so  little,  from 
man’s  mind  the  idea  of  gain,  or  from 
woman’s  the  love  of  display.  Are  any 
of  you  dreading  an  innovating  enthusi- 
asm ? You  need  only  to  step  into  the 
streets  to  be  assured  that  property  and 
the  world  are  standing  their  ground 


against  the  spirit  of  reform  as  stoutly  as 
the  most  worldly  man  could  desire. 

Another  view  which  quiets  my  fear  as 
to  social  order,  from  the  universal  ac- 
tivity of  the  times,  is  the  fact  that  this  * 
activity  appears  so  much  in  the  form  of  j 
steady  labor.  It  is  one  distinction  of  \ 
modern  over  ancient  times,  that  we  have 
grown  more  patient  of  toil.  Our  danger 
is  from  habits  of  drudgery.  The  citi- 
zens of  Greece  and  Rome  were  above 
work.  We  seem  to  work  with  some-  ? 
thing  of  the  instinct  of  the  ant  and  the 
bee  ; and  this  is  no  mean  security  against 
lawlessness  and  revolt. 

Another  circumstance  of  our  times 
which  favors  a quiet  state  of  things  is  ' 
the  love  of  comforts  which  the  progress 
of  arts  and  industry  has  spread  over  the 
community.  In  feudal  ages  and  ancient 
times  the  mass  of  the  population  had  no 
such  pleasant  homes,  no  such  defences 
against  cold  and  storms,  no  such  decent 
apparel,  no  such  abundant  and  savory 
meals,  as  fall  to  the  lot  of  our  popula- 
tion. Now  it  must  be  confessed,  though 
not  very  flattering  to  human  nature,  that 
men  are  very  slow  to  part  with  these 
comforts  even  in  defence  of  a good 
cause,  much  less  to  throw  them  away  in 
wild  and  senseless  civil  broils. 

Another  element  of  security  in  the? 
present  is  the  strength  of  domestic? 
affection.  Christianity  has  given  new 
sacredness  to  home,  new  tenderness  to 
love,  new  force  to  the  ties  of  husband 
and  wife,  parent  and  child.  Social  or- 
der is  dear  to  us  all,  as  encircling  and 
sheltering  our  homes.  In  ancient  and 
rude  times  the  family  bond  was  compar- 
atively no  restraint.  We  should  all  pause 
before  we  put  in  peril  beings  whom  we 
hold  most  dear. 

Once  more  : Christianity  is  a pledge ? 
of  social  order  which  none  of  us  suffi- 
ciently prize.  Weak  as  its  influence 
seems  to  be,  there  are  vast  numbers  into 
whom  it  has  infused  sentiments  of  jus- 
tice, of  kindness,  of  reverence  for  God, 
and  of  deep  concern  for  the  peace  and 
order  of  the  state.  Rapine  and  blood- 
shed would  awaken  now  a horror  alto-j 
gethef  unknown  in  ages  in  which  thisi 
mild  and  divine  truth  had  not  exerted 
its  power. 

With  all  these  influences  in  favor  of 
social  influence,  have  we  much  to  fear 
from  the  free,  earnest,  universal  move- 
ments of  our  times  ? I believe  that  the 


THE  PRESENT  AGE. 


very  extension  of  human  powers  is  to 
bring  with  it  new  checks  against  their 
abuse. 

The  nmsnerous  mxt  of  socie.ty_are,  of 
I course,  particularly  liable  to  the  fear  of 
1 which  I have  spoken.  They  see  danger 
especially  in  the  extension  of  power  and 
freedom  of  all  kinds  to  the  laboring 
classes  of  society.  They  look  with  a 
jealous  eye  on  attempts  to  elevate  these, 
though  one  would  think  that  to  improve 
a man  was  the  surest  way  to  disarm  his 
violence.  They  talk  of  agrarianism. 
They  dread  a system  of  universal  pil- 

)lage.  They  dre’ad  a conspiracy  of  the 
needy  against  the  rich.  Now  the  man- 
ual laborer  has  burdens  enough  to  bear 
without  the  load  of  groundless  suspicion 
or  reproach.  It  ought  to  be  understood 
that  the  great  enemies  to  society  are 
not  found  in  its  poorer  ranks.  The 
mass  may,  indeed,  be  used  as  tools  ; but 
the  stirring  and  guiding  powers  of  insur- 

Irection  are  found  above.  Communities 
fall  by  the  vices  of  the  prosperous  ranks. 
We  are  referred  to  Rome,  which  was 
robbed  of  her  liberties  and  reduced  to 
the  most  degrading  vassalage  by  the 
lawlessness  of  the  Plebeians,  who  sold 
themselves  to  demagogues,  and  gave 
the  republic  into  the  hands  of  a dic- 
tator. But  what  made  the  Plebeians 
an  idle,  dissolute,  rapacious  horde  ? It 
was  the  system  of  universal  rapine  which, 
under  the  name  of  conquest,  had  been 
carried  on  for  ages  by  Patricians,  by 
all  the  powers  of  the  state,  — a system 
which  glutted  Rome  with  the  spoils 
of  the  pillaged  world  ; which  fed  her 
population  without  labor,  from  the  pub- 
lic treasures,  and  corrupted  them  by 
public  shows.  It  was  this  which  helped 
to  make  the  metropolis  of  the  earth  a 
. sink  of  crime  and  pollution  such  as  the 
world  had  never  known.  It  was  time 
tjiat  the  grand  robber-state  should  be 
cast  down  from  her  guilty  eminence. 
Pier  brutish  populace,  which  followed 
Caesar’s  car  with  shouts,  was  not  worse 
than  the  venal,  crouching  senate  which 
registered  his  decrees.  Let  not  the 
poor  bear  the  burden  of  the  rich.  At 
this  moment  we  are  groaning  over  the 
depressed  and  dishonored  state  of  our 
country ; and  who,  let  me  ask,  have 
* shaken  its  credit,  and  made  so  many  of 
jits  institutions  bankrupt  ? The  poor  or 
/the  rich  ? Whence  is  it  that  the  in- 
comes of  the  widow,  the  orphan,  the 


169 

aged,  have  been  narrowed,  and  multi- 
tudes on  both  sides  of  the  ocean  brought 
to  the  brink  of  want  ? Is  it  from  an 
outbreak  of  popular  fury  ? Is  it  from 
gangs  of  thieves  sprung  from  the  mob  ? 
We  know  the  truth,  and  it  shows  us 
where  the  great  danger  to  property 
lies.  , 

Communities  fall  by  the  vices  of  the| 
great,  not  the  small.  The  French  Revo-/ 
lution  is  perpetually  sounded  in  our  ears 
as  a warning  against  the  lawlessness  of 
the  people.  But  whence  came  this 
Revolution  ? Who  were  the  regicides  ? 
Who  beheaded  Louis  the  Sixteenth  ? 
You  tell  me  the  Jacobins  ; but  history 
tells  a different  tale.  I will  show  you 
the  beheaders  of  Louis  the  Sixteenth. 
They  were  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  and 
the  Regent  who  followed  him,  and  Louis 
the  Fifteenth.  These  brought  their  de- 
scendant to  the  guillotine.  The  priest- 
hood who  revoked  the  edict  of  Nantz, 
and  drove  from  France  the  skill  and 
industry  and  virtue  and  piety  which 
were  the  sinews  of  her  strength  ; the 
statesmen  who  intoxicated  Louis  the 
Fourteenth  with  the  scheme  of  univer- 
sal empire ; the  profligate,  prodigal, 
shameless  Orleans ; and  the  still  more 
brutalized  Louis  the  Fifteenth,  with  his 
court  of  panders  and  prostitutes ; — 
these  made  the  nation  bankrupt,  broke 
asunder  the  bond  of  loyalty,  and  over- 
whelmed the  throne  and  altar  in  ruins. 
We  hear  of  the  horrors  of  the  Revolu- 
tion ; but  in  this,  as  in  other  things,  we 
recollect  the  effect  without  thinking  of 
the  guiltier  cause.  The  Revolution  was 
indeed  a scene  of  horror ; but  when  I 
look  back  on  the  reigns  which  preceded 
it,  and  which  made  Paris  almost  one 
great  stew  and  gaming-house,  and  when 
1 see  altar  and  throne  desecrated  by  a 
licentiousness  unsurpassed  in  any  form- 
er age,  I look  on  scenes  as  shocking  to 
the  calm  and  searching  eye  of  reason 
and  virtue  as  the  tenth  of  August  and 
the  massacre  of  September.  Blood- 
shed is  indeed  a terrible  spectacle  ; 
but  there  are  other  things  almost  as 
fearful  as  blood.  There  are  crimes  that 
do  not  make  us  start  and  turn  pale  like 
the  guillotine,  but  are  deadlier  in  their 
workings.  God  forbid  that  I should 
say  a word  to  weaken  the  thrill  of  hor- 
ror with  which  we  contemplate  the  out- 
rages of  the  French  Revolution  ! But 
when  I hear  that  Revolution  quoted  to 


170 


THE  PRESENT  AGE. 


, frighten  us  from  reform,  to  show  us  the 
danger  of  lifting  up  the  depressed  and 
ignorant  mass,  I must  ask  whence  it 
came  ; and  the  answer  is,  that  it  came 
from  the  intolerable  weight  of  misgov- 
ernment  and  tyranny,  from  the  utter 
want  of  culture  among  the  mass  of  the 

/people,  and  from  a corruption  of  the 
great  too  deep  to  be  purged  away  ex- 
cept by  destruction.  I am  also  com- 
pelled to  remember  that  the  people,  in 
this  their  singular  madness,  wrought  far 
less  woe  than  kings  and  priests  have 
wrought,  as  a familiar  thing,  in  all  ages 
of  the  world.  All  the  murders  of  the 
French  Revolution  did  not  amount,  I 
think,  by  one-fifth,  to  those  of  the  Mas- 
# sacre  of  St.  Bartholomew’s.  The  priest- 
ly hood  and  the  throne,  in  one  short  night 
and  day,  shed  more  blood,  and  that  the 
best  blood  of  France,  than  was  spilled 
by  Jacobinism  ^jid  all  other  forms  of 
violence  during  the  whole  Revolution. 
Even  the  atheism  and  infidelity  of 
France  were  due  chiefly  to  a licentious 
priesthood  and  a licentious  court.  It 
was  religion,  so  called,  that  dug  her 
own  grave.  In  offering  this  plea  for 
the  multitude  I have  no  desire  to  trans- 
fer to  the  multitude  uncontrolled  politi- 
cal power.  I look  at  power  in  all  hands 
with  jealousy.  I wish  neither  rich  nor 
poor  to  be  my  masters.  What  I wish 
is,  the  improvement,  the  elevation  of 
all  classes,  and  especially  of  the  most 
numerous  class,  because  the  most  nu- 
merous, because,  the  many  are  mankind, 
and  because  no  social  progress  can  be 
hoped  but  from  influences  which  pene- 
trate and  raise  the  mass  of  men.  The 
mass  must  not  be  confined  and  kept 
down  through  a vague  dread  of  revolu- 
tions. A social  order  requiring,  such  a 
sacrifice  would  be  too  dearly  bought. 
No  order  should  satisfy  us  but  that 
which  is  in  harmony  with  universal  im- 
provement and  freedom. 

In  the  general  tone  of  this  discourse 
it  may  be  thought  that  I have  proposed 
j to  vindicate  the  present  age.  I have 
no  such  thought.  I would  improve,  not 
laud  it.  I feel  its  imperfections  and 
corruptions  as  deeply  as  any,  though  I 
1 may  be  most  shocked  by  features  that 
give  others  little  pain.  The  saddest 
aspect  of  the  age,  to  me,  is  that  which 
undoubtedly  contributes  to  social  order. 
It  is  the  absorption  of  the  multitude  of 
men  in  outward,  material  interests  ; Tt 


is  the  selfish  prudence  which  is  never 
tired  of  the  labor  of  accumulation,  and 
which  keeps  men  steady,  regular,  re- 
spectable drudges  from  morning  to 
night.  The  cases  of  a few  murders, 
great  crimes,  lead  multitudes  to  ex- 
claim, How  wicked  this  age  ! But  the 
worst  sign  is  the  chaining  down  of  al- 
most all  the  minds  of  a community  to 
low,  perishable  interests.  It  is  a sad 
thought,  that  the  infinite  energies  of  the 
soul  have  no  higher  end  than  to  cover 
the  back,  and  fill  the  belly,  and  keep 
caste  in  society.  A few  nerves,  hardly 
visible,  on  the  surface  of  the  tongue, 
create  most  of  the  endless  stir  around 
us.  Undoubtedly,  eating  and  drink- 
ing, dressing,  house-building,  and  caste- 
keeping, are  matters  not  to  be  despised  ; 
most  of  them  are  essential.  But  surely 
life  has  a higher  use  than  to  adorn  this 
body  which  is  so  soon  to  be  wrapped  in 
grave-clothes,  than  to  keep  warm  and 
flowing  the  blood  which  is  so  soon  to 
be  cold  and  stagnant  in  the  tomb.  I 
rejoice  in  the  boundless  activity  of  the 
age,  and  I expect  much  of  it  to  be  given 
to  our  outward  wants.  But  over  all 
this  activity  there  should  preside  the 
great  idea  of  that  which  is  alone  our- 
selves, — of  our  inward,  spiritual  nat- 
ure ; of  the  thinking,  immortal  soul  ; of 
our  supreme  good,  our  chief  end,  which 
is  to  bring  out,  cultivate,  and  perfect 
our  highest  powers,  to  become  wise, 
holy,  disinterested,  noble  beings,  to 
unite  ourselves  to  God  by  love  and 
adoration,  and  to  revere  his  image  in 
his  children.  The  vast  activity  of  this 
age,  of  which  I have  spoken,  is  too 
much  confined  to  the  sensual  and  ma- 
terial, to  gain  and  pleasure  and  show. 
Could  this  activity  be  swayed  and  puri- 
fied by  a noble  aim,  not  a single  com- 
fort of  life  would  be  retrenched,  whilst 
its  beauty  and  grace  and  interest  would 
be  unspeakably  increased. 

There  is  another  dark  feature  of  this 
age.  It  is  the  spirit  of  collision,  con- 
tention, discord,  which  breaks  forth  in  re- 
ligion, in  politics,  in  business,  in  private 
affairs,  — a result  and  necessary  issue 
of  the  selfishness  which  prompts  the 
endless  activity  of  life.  The  mighty 
forces  which  are  this  moment  acting  in 
society  are  not  and  cannot  be  in  har- 
mony, for  they  are  not  governed  by 
love.  They  jar ; they  are  discordant. 
Life  now  has  little  music  in  it.  It  is 


I 


THE  PRESENT  AGE. 


not  only  on  the  field  of  battle  that  men 
fight.  They  fight  on  the  exchange. 
Business  is  war,  a conflict  of  skill, 
management,  and,  too  often,  fraud  ; to 
snatch  the  prey  from  our  neighbor  is 
the  end  of  all  this  stir.  Religion  is 
war ; Christians,  forsaking  their  one 
Lord,  gather  under  various  standards 
to  gain  victory  for  their  sects.  Politics 
are  war,  breaking  the  whole  people  into 
fierce  and  unscrupulous  parties,  which 
forget  their  country  in  conflicts  for  office 
and  power.  The  age  needs  nothing 

1'  more  than  peace-makers,  men  of  serene, 
commanding  virtue,  to  preach  in  life 
and  word  the  gospel  of  human  brother- 
hood, to  allay  the  fires  of  jealousy  and 
hate. 

V I have  named  discouraging  aspects  of 
\ our  time  to  show  that  I am  not  blind  to 
J the  world  I live  in.  But  I still  hope  for 
the  human  race.  Indeed,  I could  not 
live  without  hope.  Were  I to  look  on 
the  world  as  many  do,  were  I to  see  in 
it  a maze  without  a plan,  a whirl  of 
changes  without  aim,  a stage  for  good 
and  evil  to  fight  without  an  issue,  an 
endless  motion  without  progress,  a 
world  where  sin  and  idolatry  are  to 
triumph  for  ever,  and  the  oppressor’s 
rod  never  to  be  broken,  I should  turn 
from  it  with  sickness  of  heart,  and  care 
not  how  soon  the  sentence  of  its  de- 
struction were  fulfilled.  History  and 
philosophy  plainly  show  to  me  in  human 
\ nature  the  foundation  and  promise  of  a 
better  era,  and  Christianity  concurs  with 
these.  The  thought  of  a higher  con- 
' dition  of  the  world  was  the  secret  fire 
which  burned  in  the  soul  of  the  great 
Founder  of  our  religion,  and  in  his  first 
followers.  That  he  was  to  act  on  all 
future  generations,  that  he  was  sowing 
a seed  which  was  to  grow  up  and  spread 
its  branches  over  all  nations,  — this  great 
thought  never  forsook  him  in  life  and 
death.  That  under  Christianity  a civil- 
ization has  grown  up  containing  in  itself 
nobler  elements  than  are  found  in  earlier 
forms  of  society,  who  can  deny  ? Great 
ideas  and  feelings,  derived  from  this 
, source,  are  now  at  work.  Amidst  the 
prevalence  of  crime  and  selfishness, 

(there  has  sprung  up  in  the  human  heart 
a sentiment  or  principle  unknown  in 
earlier  ages,  an  enlarged  and  trustful 
philanthropy,  which  recognizes  the  right 
of  every  human  being,  which  is  stirred 
by  the  terrible  oppressions  and  corrup-  I 


171 

tions  of  the  world,  and  which  does  not 
shrink  from  conflict  with  evil  in  its 
worst  forms.  There  has  sprung  up, 
too,  a faith,  of  which  antiquity  knew 
nothing,  in  the  final  victory  of  truth  and 
right,  in  the  elevation  of  men  to  a clearer 
intelligence,  to  more  fraternal  union,  and 
to  a purer  worship.  This  faith  is  taking 
its  place  among  the  great  springs  of  hu- 
man action,  is  becoming  even  a passion 
in  more  fervent  spirits.  I hail  it  as  a 
-prophecy  which  is  to  fulfil  itself.  A 
nature  capable  of  such  an  aspiration 
cannot  be  degraded  for  ever.  Ages 
rolled  away  before  it  was  learned  that 
this  world  of  matter  which  we  tread  on 
is  in  constant  motion.  We  are  begin- 
ning to  learn  that  the  intellectual,  moral, 
social  world  has  its  motion  too,  not  fixed 
and  immutable  like  that  of  matter,  but 
one  which  the  free  will  of  men  is  to 
carry  on,  . ' which,  instead  of  return- 

ing into  itself  like  the  earth’s  orbit,  is 
to  stretch  forward  for  ever.  This  hope 
lightens  the  mystery  and  burden  of  life. 
It  is  a star  which  shines  on  me  in  the 
darkest  night  ; and  I should  rejoice  to 
reveal  it  to  the  eyes  of  my  fellow-creat- 
ures. 

I have  thus  spoken  of  the  present 
age.  In  these  brief  words  what  a 
world  of  thought  is  comprehended  ! 
what  infinite  movements ! what  joys 
and  sorrows  ! what  hope  and  despair ! 
what  faith  and  doubt ! what  silent  grief 
and  loud  lament  ! what  fierce  conflicts 
and  subtle  schemes  of  policy ! what 
private  and  public  revolutions  ! In  the 
period  through  which  many  of  us  have 
passed  what  thrones  have  been  shaken  ! 
what  hearts  have  bled  ! what  millions 
have  been  butchered  by  their  fellow- 
creatures  ! what  hopes  of  philanthropy 
have  been  blighted  ! And,  at  the  same 
time,  what  magnificent  enterprises  have 
been  achieved  ! what  new  provinces 
won  to  science  and  art  ! what  rights 
and  liberties  secured  to  nations  ! It  is 
a privilege  to  have  lived  in  an  age  so 
stirring,  so  pregnant,  so  eventful.  It  is 
an  age  never  to  be  forgotten.  Its  voice 
of  warning  and  encouragement  is  never 
to  die.  Its  impression  on  history  is  in- 
delible. Amidst  its  events,  the  Ameri- 
can Revolution,  the  first  distinct,  solemn 
assertion  of  the  rights  of  men,  and  the 
French  Revolution,  that  volcanic  force 
which  shook  the  earth  to  its  centre,  are 
never  to  pass  from  men’s  minds.  Over 


172 


SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM. 


this  age  the  night  will,  indeed,  gather 
more  and  more  as  time  rolls  away  ; but 
in  that  night  two  forms  will  appear, 
Washington  and  Napoleon,  the  one  a 
lurid  meteor,  the  other  a benign,  serene, 
and  undecaying  star.  Another  Amer- 
ican name  will  live  in  history,  your 
Franklin  ; and  the  kite  which  brought 
lightning  from  heaven  will  be  seen  sail- 
ing in  the  clouds  by  remote  posterity, 
when  the  city  where  he  dwelt  may  be 
known  only  by  its  ruins.  There  is, 
however,  something  greater  in  the  age 
than  its  greatest  men  ; it  is  the  appear- 
ance of  ajaew  power  in  the  world,  the 
appearance  of  the  multitude  of  men  on 
that  stage  where  as  yet  the  few  have 
acted  their  parts  alone.  This  influence 
is  to  endure  to  the  end  of  time.  What 
more  of  the  present  is  to  survive  ? Per- 
haps much,  of  which  we  now  take  no 
note.  The  glory  of  an  age  is  often  hid- 
den from  itself.  Perhaps  some  word 
has  been  spoken  in  our  day  which  we 
have  not  deigned  to  hear,  but  which 
is  to  grow  clearer  and  louder  through 


all  ages.  Perhaps  some  silent  thinker 
among  us  is  at  work  in  his  closet  whose 
name  is  to  fill  the  earth.  Perhaps  there 
sleeps  in  his  cradle  some  reformer  who 
is  to  move  the  church  and  the  world, 
who  is  to  open  a new  era  in  history,  who 
is  to  fire  the  human  soul  with  new  hope 
and  new  daring.  What  else  is  to  sur- 
vive the  age  ? That  which  the  age  has 
little  thought  of,  but  which  is  living  in 
us  all,  — I mean  the  soul,  the  immortal 
spirit.  Of  this  all  ages  are  the  unfold- 
ings, and  it  is  greater  than  all.  We 
must  not  feel,  in  the  contemplation  of 
the  vast  movements  of  our  own  and 
former  times,  as  if  we  ourselves  were 
nothing.  I repeat  it,  we  are  greater 
than  all.  We  are  to  survive  our  age,  to 
comprehend  it,  and  to  pronounce  its 
sentence.  As  yet,  however,  we  are  en- 
compassed with  darkness.  The  issues 
of  our  time  how  obscure  ! The  future 
into  which  it  opens  who  of  us  can  fore- 
see ? To  the  Father  of  all  ages  I 
commit  this  future  with  humble,  yet 
courageous  and  unfaltering  hope. 


SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM: 

Discourse  preached  at  the  Annual  Election , May  2 6,  1830. 


John  viii.  31,  32,  36:  “Then  said  Jesus  to  those 
Jews  which  believed  on  him,  If  ye  continue  in  my 
word,  then  are  ye  my  disciples  indeed ; and  ye  shall 
know  the  truth,  and  the  truth  shall  make  you  free.” 
“ If  the  Son  therefore  shall  make  you  free,  ye  shall 
be  free  indeed.” 

The  Scriptures  continually  borrow 
from  nature  and  social  life  illustrations 
and  emblems  of  spiritual  truth.  The 
character,  religion,  and  blessings  of 
Jesus  Christ  are  often  placed  before  us 
by  sensible  images.  His  influences  on 
the  mind  are  shadowed  forth  by  the 
light  of  the  sun,  by  the  vital  union  of 
the  head  with  the  members,  by  the  shep- 
herd bringing  back  the  wandering  flock, 
by  the  vine  which  nourishes  and  fructi- 
fies the  branches,  by  the  foundation 
sustaining  the  edifice,  by  bread  and 
wine  invigorating  the  animal  frame.  In 
our  text  we  have  a figurative  illustra- 
tion of  his  influence  on  religion,  pecu- 


liarly intelligible  and  dear  to  this  com- 
munity. He  speaks  of  himself  as  giving 
freedom,  that  great  good  of  individuals 
and  states  ; and  by  this  similitude  he 
undoubtedly  intended  to  place  before 
men,  in  a strong  and  attractive  light, 
that  spiritual  and  inward  liberty  which 
his  truth  confers  on  its  obedient  disci- 
ples. Inward  spiritual  liberty,  this  is 
the  great  gift  of  Jesus  Christ.  This 
will  be  the  chief  topic  of  the  present 
discourse.  I wish  to  show  that  this 
is  the  supreme  good  of  men,  and  that 
civil  and  political  liberty  has  but  little 
worth  but  as  it  springs  from  and  invig- 
orates this. 

From  what  I have  now  said  the  gen- 
eral tone  of  this  discourse  maybe  easily 
anticipated.  I shall  maintain  that  the 
highest  interest  of  communities,  as  well 
as  individuals,  is  a spiritual  interest  ; 


SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM. 


173 


that  outward  and  earthly  goods  are  of 
little  worth  but  as  bearing  on  the  mind, 
and  tending  to  its  liberation,  strength, 
and  glory.  And  I am  fully  aware  that 
in  taking  that  course  I lay  myself  open 
to  objection.  I shall  be  told  that  I 
show  my  ignorance  of  human  nature 
in  attempting  to  interest  men  by  such 
refined  views  of  society  ; that  I am  too 
speculative  ; that  spiritual  liberty  is  too 
unsubstantial  and  visionary  to  be  pro- 
posed to  statesmen  as  an  end  in  legisla- 
tion ; that  the  dreams  of  the  closet 
should  not  be  obtruded  on  practical 
men  ; that  gross  and  tangible  realities 
can  alone  move  the  multitude  ; and  that 
to  talk  to  politicians  of  the  spiritual  in- 
terests of  society  as  of  supreme  impor- 
tance, is  as  idle  as  to  try  to  stay  with  a 
breath  the  force  of  the  whirlwind. 

I anticipate  such  objections.  But 
they  do  not  move  me.  I firmly  believe 
that  the  only  truth  which  is  to  do  men 
lasting  good  is  that  which  relates  to 
the  soul,  which  carries  them  into  its 
depths,  which  reveals  to  them  its  pow- 
ers and  the  purposes  of  its  creation. 
The  progress  of  society  is  retarded 
by  nothing  more  than  by  the  low 
views  which  its  leaders  are  accus- 
tomed to  take  of  human  nature.  Man 
has  a mind  as  well  as  a body,  and  this 
he  ought  to  know  ; and  till  he  knows 
it,  feels  it,  ‘and  is  deeply  penetrated  by 
it,  he  knows  nothing  aright.  His  body 
should,  in  a sense,  vanish  away  before 
his  mind  ; or,  in  the  language  of  Christ, 
he  should  hate  his  animal  life  in  com- 
parison with  the  intellectual  and  moral 
life  which  is  to  endure  for  ever.  This 
doctrine,  however,  is  pronounced  too 
refined.  Useful  and  practical  truth,  ac- 
cording to  its  most  improved  exposi- 
tors, consists  in  knowing  that  we  have 
an  animal  nature,  and  in  making  this 
our  chief  care  ; in  knowing  that  we 
have  mouths  to  be  filled,  and  limbs  to 
be  clothed ; that  we  live  on  the  earth, 
which  it  is  our  business  to  till ; that  we 
have  a power  of  accumulating  wealth, 
and  that  this  power  is  the  measure  of  the 
greatness  of  the  community  ! For  such 
doctrines  I have  no  respect.  I know 
no  wisdom  but  that  which  reveals  man 
to  himself,  and  which  teaches  him  to 
regard  all  social  institutions,  and  his 
whole  life,  as  the  means  of  unfolding 
and  exalting  the  spirit  within  him.  All 
policy  which  does  not  recognize  this 


truth  seems  to  me  shallow.  The  states- 
man who  does  not  look  at  the  bearing 
of  his  measures  on  the  mind  of  a nation 
is  unfit  to  touch  one  of  men’s  great 
interests.  Unhappily,  statesmen  have 
seldom  understood  the  sacredness  of 
human  nature  and  human  society. 
Hence  policy  has  become  almost  a 
contaminated  word.  Hence  govern- 
ment has  so  often  been  the  scourge  of 
mankind. 

I mean  not  to  disparage  political 
science.  The  best  constitution  and 
the  best  administration  of  a state  are 
subjects  worthy  of  the  profoundest 
thought.  But  there  are  deeper  foun- 
dations of  public  prosperity  than  these. 
The  statesman  who  would  substitute 
these  for  that  virtue  which  they  ought 
to  subserve  and  exalt  will  only  add  his 
name  to  the  long  catalogue  which  his- 
tory preserves  of  baffled  politicians.  It 
is  idle  to  hope,  by  our  short-sighted 
contrivances,  to  insure  to  a people  a 
happiness  which  their  own  character 
has  not  earned.  The  everlasting  laws 
of  God’s  moral  government  we  cannot 
repeal  ; and  parchment  constitutions, 
however  wise,  will  prove  no  shelter 
from  the  retributions  which  fall  on  a 
degraded  community. 

With  these  convictions,  I feel  that  no 
teaching  is  so  practical  as  that  which 
impresses  on  a people  the  importance  of 
their  spiritual  interests.  With  these 
convictions,  I feel  that  I cannot  better 
meet  the  demands  of  this  occasion  than 
by  leading  you  to  prize,  above  all  other 
rights  and  liberties,  that  inward  free- 
dom which  Christ  came  to  confer.  To 
this  topic  I now  solicit  your  attention. 

And  first,  I may  be  asked  what  I mean 
by  inward  spiritual  freedom.  The  com- 
mon and  true  answer  is,  that  it  is 
freedom  from  sin.  I apprehend,  how- 
ever, that  to  many,  if  not  to  most,  these 
words  are  too  vague  to  convey  a full 
and  deep  sense  of  the  greatness  of  the 
blessing.  Let  me,  then,  offer  a brief 
explanation ; and  the  most  important 
remark  in  illustrating  this  freedom  is, 
that  it  is  not  a negative  state,  not  the 
mere  absence  of  sin  ; for  such  a free- 
dom maybe  ascribed  to  inferior  animals, 
or  to  children  before  becoming  moral 
agents.  Spiritual  freedom  is  the  attri- 
bute of  a mind  in  which  reason  and 
conscience  have  begun  to  act,  and  which 
is  free  through  its  own  energy,  through 


174 


SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM. 


fidelity  to  the  truth,  through  resistance 
of  temptation.  I cannot,  therefore,  bet- 
ter give  my  views  of  spiritual  freedom, 
than  by  saying  that  it  is  moral  energy 
or  force  of  holy  purpose  put  forth 
against  the  senses,  against  the  pas- 
sions, against  the  world,  and  thus  lib- 
erating the  intellect,  conscience,  and 
will,  so  that  they  may  act  with  strength 
and  unfold  themselves  for  ever.  The 
essence  of  spiritual  freedom  is  power. 
A man  liberated  from  sensual  lusts  by  a 
palsy  would  not  therefore  be  free.  He 
only  is  free  who,  through  self-conflict  and 
moral  resolution,  sustained  by  trust  in 
God,  subdues  the  passions  which  have  de- 
based him,  and,  escaping  the  thraldom  of 
low  objects,  binds  himself  to  pure  and 
lofty  ones.  That  mind  alone  is  free  which, 
looking  to  God  as  the  inspirer  and  re- 
warder of  virtue,  adopts  his  law,  writ- 
ten on  the  heart  and  in  his  word,  as  its 
supreme  rule,  and  which,  in  obedience 
to  this,  governs  itself,  reveres  itself, 
exerts  faithfully  its  best  powers,  and 
unfolds  itself  by  well-doing  in  what- 
ever sphere  God’s  providence  assigns. 

It  has  pleased  the  All-wise  Disposer 
to  encompass  us  from  our  birth  by  diffi- 
culty and  allurement,  to  place  us  in  a 
world  where  wrong-doing  is  often  gain- 
ful, and  duty  rough  and  perilous,  where 
many  vices  oppose  the  dictates  of  the 
inward  monitor,  where  the  body  presses 
as  a weight  on  the  mind,  and  matter,  by 
its  perpetual  agency  on  the  senses,  be- 
comes a barrier  between  us  and  the 
spiritual  world.  We  are  in  the  midst 
of  influences  which  menace  the  intellect 
and  heart ; and  to  be  free  is  to  withstand 
and  conquer  these. 

I call  that  mind  free  which  masters 
the  senses,  which  protects  itself  against 
animal  appetites,  which  contemns  pleas- 
ure and  pain  in  comparison  with  its  own 
energy,  which  penetrates  beneath  the 
body  and  recognizes  its  own  reality  and 
greatness,  which  passes  life,  not  in  ask- 
ing what  it  shall  eat  or  drink,  but  in 
hungering,  thirsting,  and  seeking  after 
righteousness. 

I call  that  mind  free  which  escapes 
the  bondage  of  matter,  which,  instead  of 
stopping  at  the  material  universe  and 
making  it  a prison  wall,  passes  beyond 
it  to  its  Author,  and  finds  in  the  radiant 
signatures  which  it  everywhere  bears  of 
the  Infinite  Spirit,  helps  to  its  own  spir- 
itual enlargement. 


I call  that  mind  free  which  jealously 
guards  its  intellectual  rights  and  powers, 
which  calls  no  man  master,  which  does 
not  content  itself  with  a passive  or 
hereditary  faith,  which  opens  itself  to 
light  whencesoever  it  may  come,  which 
receives  new  truth  as  an  angel  from 
heaven,  which,  whilst  consulting  others, 
inquires  still  more  of  the  oracle  within 
itself,  and  uses  instructions  from  abroad 
not  to  supersede  but  to  quicken  and  ex- 
alt its  own  energies. 

I call  that  mind  free  which  sets  no 
bounds  to  its  love,  which  is  not  impris- 
oned in  itself  or  in  a sect,  which  recog- 
nizes in  all  human  beings  the  image  of 
God  and  the  rights  of  his  children,  which 
delights  in  virtue  and  sympathizes  with 
suffering  wherever  they  are  seen,  which 
conquers  pride,  anger,  and  sloth,  and 
offers  itself  up  a willing  victim  to  the 
cause  of  mankind. 

I call  that  mind  free  which  is  not  pas- 
sively framed  by  outward  circumstances, 
which  is  not  swept  away  by  the  torrent 
of  events,  which  is  not  the  creature  of 
accidental  impulse,  but  which  bends 
events  to  its  own  improvement,  and 
acts  from  an  inward  spring,  from  im- 
mutable principles  which  it  has  delib- 
erately espoused. 

I call  that  mind  free  which  protects 
itself  against  the  usurpations  of  society, 
which  does  not  cower  to  human  opinion, 
which  feels  itself  accountable  to  a higher 
tribunal  than  man's,  which  respects  a 
higher  law  than  fashion,  which  respects 
itself  too  much  to  be  the  slave  or  tool  of 
the  many  or  the  few. 

I call  that  mind  free  which,  through 
confidence  in  God  and  in  the  power  of 
virtue,  has  cast  off  all  fear  but  that  of 
wrong-doing,  which  no  menace  or  peril 
can  enthrall,  which  is  calm  in  the  midst 
of  tumults,  and  possesses  itself  though 
all  else  be  lost. 

I call  that  mind  free  which  resists  the 
bondage  of  habit,  which  does  not  me- 
chanically repeat  itself  and  copy  the 
past,  which  does  not  live  on  its  old  virt- 
ues, which  does  not  enslave  itself  to 
precise  rules,  but  which  forgets  what  is 
behind,  listens  for  new  and  higher  mo- 
nitions of  conscience,  and  rejoices  to 
pour  itself  forth  in  fresh  and  higher  ex- 
ertions. 

I call  that  mind  free  which  is  jealous 
of  its  own  freedom,  which  guards  itself 
from  being  merged  in  others,  which 


SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM. 


guards  its  empire  over  itself  as  nobler 
than  the  empire  of  the  world. 

In  fine,  I call  that  mind  free  which, 
conscious  of  its  affinity  with  God,  and 
confiding  in  his  promises  by  Jesus 
Christ,  devotes  itself  faithfully  to  the 
unfolding  of  all  its  powers,  which  passes 
the  bounds  of  time  and  death,  which 
hopes  to  advance  for  ever,  and  which 
finds  inexhaustible  power,  both  for  ac- 
tion and  suffering,  in  the  prospect  of 
immortality. 

Such  is  the  spiritual  freedom  which 
Christ  came  to  give.  It  consists  in 
moral  force,  in  self-control,  in  the  en- 
largement of  thought  and  affection,  and 
in  the  unrestrained  action  of  our  best 
powers.  This  is  the  great  good  of 
Christianity,  nor  can  we  conceive  a 
greater  within  the  gift  of  God.  I know 
that  to  many  this  will  seem  too  refined 
a good  to  be  proposed  as  the  great  end 
of  society  and  government.  But  our 
scepticism  cannot  change  the  nature  of 
things.  I know  how  little  this  freedom 
is  understood  or  enjoyed,  how  enslaved 
men  are  to  sense,  and  passion,  and  the 
world  ; and  I know,  too,  that  through 
this  slavery  tjhey  are  wretched,  and  that 
while  it  lasts  no  social  institution  can 
give  them  happiness. 

I now  proceed,  as  I proposed,  to  show 
that  civil  or  political  liberty  is  of  little 
worth  but  as  it  springs  from,  expresses, 
and  invigorates  this  spiritual  freedom. 
I account  civil  liberty  as  the  chief  good 
of  states,  because  it  accords  with,  and 
ministers  to,  energy  and  elevation  of 
mind.  Nor  is  this  a truth  so  remote 
or  obscure  as  to  need  laborious  proof  or 
illustration.  For  consider  what  civil  lib- 
erty means.  It  consists  in  the  removal 
of  all  restraint  but  such  as  the  public 
weal  demands.  And  what  is  the  end 
and  benefit  of  removing  restraint  ? It 
is  that  men  may  put  forth  their  powers 
and  act  from  themselves.  Vigorous  and 
invigorating  action  is  the  chief  fruit  of 
all  outward  freedom.  Why  break  the 
chains  from  the  captive  but  that  he 
may  bring  into  play  his  liberated  limbs  ? 
Why  open  his  prison  but  that  he  may 
go  forth  and  open  his  eyes  on  a wide 
prospect,  and  exert  and  enjoy  his  vari- 
ous energies  ? Liberty,  which  does  not 
minister  to  action  and  the  growth  of 
power,  is  only  a name,  is  no  better  than 
slavery. 

The  chief  benefit  of  free  institutions 


i7S 

is  clear  and  unutterably  precious.  Their 
chief  benefit  is  that  they  aid  freedom  of 
mind,  that  they  give  scope  to  man’s  fac- 
ulties, that  they  throw  him  on  his  own 
resources,  and  summon  him  to  work  out 
his  own  happiness.  It  is  that,  by  remov- 
ing restraint  from  intellect,  they  favor 
force,  originality,  and  enlargement  of 
thought.  It  is  that,  by  removing  re- 
straint from  worship,  they  favor  the 
ascent  of  the  soul  to  God.  It  is  that, 
by  removing  restraint  from  industry, 
they  stir  up  invention  and  enterprise  to 
explore  and  subdue  the  material  world, 
and  thus  rescue  the  race  from  those 
sore  physical  wants  and  pains  which 
narrow  and  blight  the  mind.  It  is  that 
they  cherish  noble  sentiments,  frank- 
ness, courage,  and  self-respect. 

Free  institutions  contribute  in  no 
small  degree  to  freedom  and  force  of 
mind,  by  teaching  the  essential  equal- 
ity of  men,  and  their  right  and  duty  to 
govern  themselves ; and  I cannot  but 
consider  the  superiority  of  an  elective 
government  as  consisting  very  much  in 
the  testimony  which  it  bears  to  these 
ennobling  truths.  It  has  often  been 
said  that  a good  code  of  laws,  and  not 
the  form  of  government,  is  what  deter- 
mines a people's  happiness.  But  good 
laws,  if  not  springing  from  the  commu- 
nity, if  imposed  by  a master,  would  lose 
much  of  their  value.  The  best  code  is 
that  which  has  its  origin  in  the  will  of 
the  people  who  obey  it ; which,  whilst 
it  speaks  with  authority,  still  recognizes 
self-government  as  the  primary  right 
and  duty  of  a rational  being ; and 
which  thus  cherishes  in  the  individual, 
be  his  condition  what  it  may,  a just 
self-respect. 

We  may  learn  that  the  chief  good 
and  the  most  precious  fruit  of  civil 
liberty  is  spiritual  freedom  and  power, 
by  considering  what  is  the  chief  evil 
of  tyranny.  I know  that  tyranny  does 
evil  by  invading  men’s  outward  inter- 
ests,  by  making  property  and  life  inse- 
cure, by  robbing  the  laborer  to  pamper 
the  noble  and  king.  But  its  worst  in- 
fluence is  within.  Its  chief  curse  is 
that  it  breaks  and  tames  the  spirit, 
sinks  man  in  his  own  eyes,  takes  away 
vigor  of  thought  and  action,  substitutes 
for  conscience  an  outward  rule,  makes 
him  abject,  cowardly,  a parasite,  and  a 
cringing  slave.  This  is  the  curse  of 
tyranny.  It  wars  with  the  soul,  and 


SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM. 


I?6 

thus  it  wars  with  God.  We  read  in 
theologians  and  poets  of  angels  fight- 
ing against  the  Creator,  of  battles  in 
heaven.  But  God’s  throne  in  heaven 
is  unassailable.  The  only  war  against 
God  is  against  his  image,  against  the 
divine  principle  in  the  soul,  and  this  is 
waged  by  tyranny  in  all  its  forms.  We 
here  see  the  chief  curse  of  tyranny ; 
and  this  should  teach  us  that  civil  free- 
dom is  a blessing,  chiefly  as  it  rever- 
ences the  human  soul  and  ministers  to 
its  growth  and  power. 

Without  this  inward  spiritual  free- 
dom outward  liberty  is  of  little  worth. 
What  boots  it  that  I am  crushed  by  no 
foreign  yoke  if,  through  ignorance  and 
vice,  through  selfishness  and  fear,  I 
want  the  command  of  my  own  mind  ? 
The  worst  tyrants  are  those  which  es- 
tablish themselves  in  our  own  breast. 
The  man  who  wants  force  of  principle 
and  purpose  is  a slave,  however  free 
the  air  he  breathes.  The  mind,  after 
all,  is  our  only  possession,  or,  in  other 
words,  we  possess  all  things  through 
its  energy  and  enlargement ; and  civil 
institutions  are  to  be  estimated  by  the  free 
and  pure  minds  to  which  they  give  birth. 

It  will  be  seen  from  these  remarks, 
that  1 consider  the  freedom  or  moral 
strength  of  the  individual  mind  as  the 
supreme  good,  and  the  highest  end  of 
government.  I am  aware  that  other 
views  are  often  taken.  It  is  said  that 
government  is  intended  for  the  public, 
for  the  community,  not  for  the  individ- 
ual. The  idea  of  a national  interest 
prevails  in  the  minds  of  statesmen,  and 
to  this  it  is  thought  that  the  individual 
may  be  sacrificed.  But  I would  main- 
tain, that  the  individual  is  not  made  for 
the  state  so  much  as  the  state  for  the 
individual.  A man  is  not  created  for 
political  relations  as  his  highest  end, 
but  for  indefinite  spiritual  progress,  and 
is  placed  in  political  relations  as  the 
means  of  his  progress.  The  human 
soul  is  greater,  more  sacred,  than  the 
state,  and  must  never  be  sacrificed  to 
it.  The  human  soul  is  to  outlive  all 
earthly  institutions.  The  distinction  of 
nations  is  to  pass  away.  Thrones,  which 
have  stood  for  ages,  are  to  meet  the 
doom  pronounced  upon  all  man’s  works. 
But  the  individual  mind  survives,  and 
the  obscurest  subject,  if  true  to  God, 
will  rise  to  a power  never  wielded  by 
earthly  potentates. 


A human  being  is  a member  of  the 
community,  not  as  a limb  is  a member 
of  the  body,  or  as  a wheel  is  a part  of 
a machine,  intended  only  to  contrib- 
ute to  some  general,  joint  result.  He 
was  created,  not  to  be  merged  in  the 
whole,  as  a drop  in  the  ocean,  or  as  a 
particle  of  sand  on  the  sea-shore,  and 
to  aid  only  in  composing  a mass.  He 
is  an  ultimate  being,  made  for  his  own 
perfection  as  the  highest  end,  made  to 
maintain  an  individual  existence,  and 
to  serve  others  only  as  far  as  consists 
with  his  own  virtue  and  progress.  Hith- 
erto governments  have  tended  greatly 
to  obscure  this  importance  of  the  indi- 
vidual, to  depress  him  in  his  own  eyes, 
to  give  him  the  idea  of  an  outward  in- 
terest more  important  than  the  invisible 
soul,  and  of  an  outward  authority  more 
sacred  than  the  voice  of  God  in  his 
own  secret  conscience.  Rulers  have 
called  the  private  man  the  property  of 
the  state,  meaning  generally  by  the  state 
themselves,  and  thus  the  many  have 
been  immolated  to  the  few,  and  have 
even  believed  that  this  was  their  high- 
est destination.  These  views  cannot 
be  too  earnestly  withstood-  Nothing 
seems  to  me  so  needful  as  to  give  to 
the  mind  the  consciousness,  which  gov- 
ernments have  done  so  much  to  sup- 
press, of  its  own  separate  worth.  Let 
the  individual  feel  that,  through  his  im- 
mortality, he  may  concentrate  in  his 
own  being  a greater  good  than  that  of 
nations.  Let  him  feel  that  he  is  placed 
in  the  community,  not  to  part  with  his 
individuality  or  to  become  a tool,  but 
that  he  should  find  a sphere  for  his 
various  powers,  and  a preparation  for 
immortal  glory.  To  me,  the  progress 
of  society  consists  in  nothing  more 
than  in  bringing  out  the  individual, 
in  giving  him  a consciousness  of  his 
own  being,  and  in  quickening  him  to 
strengthen  and  elevate  his  own  mind. 

In  thus  maintaining  that  the  individ- 
ual is  the  end  of  social  institutions.  I 
may  be  thought  to  discourage  public 
efforts  and  the  sacrifice  of  private  in- 
terests to  the  state.  Far  from  it.  No 
man,  I affirm,  will  serve  his  fellow-be- 
ings so  effectually,  so  fervently,  as  he 
who  is  not  their " slave,  — as  he  who, 
casting  off  every  other  yoke,  subjects 
himself  to  the  law  of  duty  in  his  own 
mind.  For  this  law  enjoins  a disinter- 
ested and  generous  spirit  as  man’s  glory 


SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM. 


1 77 


and  likeness  to  his  Maker.  Individu- 
ality, or  moral  self-subsistence,  is  the 
surest  foundation  of  an  all-compre- 
hending love.  No  man  so  multiplies 
his  bonds  with  the  community  as  he 
who  watches  most  jealously  over  his 
own  perfection.  There  is  a beautiful 
harmony  between  the  good  of  the  state 
and  the  moral  freedom  and  dignity  of 
the  individual.  Were  it  not  s<5,  were 
these  interests  in  any  case  discordant, 
were  an  individual  ever  called  to  serve 
his  country  by  acts  debasing  his  own 
mind,  he  ought  not  to  waver  a moment 
as  to  the  good  which  he  should  prefer. 
Property,  life,  he  should  joyfully  sur- 
render to  the  state.  But  his  soul  he 
must  never  stain  or  enslave.  From 
poverty,  pain,  the  rack,  the  gibbet,  he 
should  not  recoil  ; but  for  no  good  of 
others  ought  he  to  part  with  self-con- 
trol or  violate  the  inward  law.  We 
speak  of  the  patriot  as  sacrificing  him- 
self to  the  public  weal.  Do  we  mean 
that  he  sacrifices  what  is  most  prop- 
erly himself,  the  principle  of  piety  and 
virtue?  Do  we  not  feel  that,  however 
great  may  be  the  good  which,  through 
his  sufferings,  accrues  to  the  state,  a 
greater  and  purer  glory  redounds  to 
himself,  and  that  the  most  precious 
fruit  of  his  disinterested  services  is  the 
strength  of  resolution  and  philanthropy 
which  is  accumulated  in  his  own  soul  ? 

I have  thus  endeavored  to  illustrate 
and  support  the  doctrine  that  spiritual 
freedom,  or  force  and  elevation  of  soul, 
is  the  great  good  to  which  civil  freedom 
is  subordinate,  and  which  all  social  in- 
stitutions should  propose  as  their  su- 
preme end. 

I proceed  to  point  out  some  of  the 
means  by  which  this  spiritual  liberty 
may  be  advanced ; and,  passing  over  a 
great  variety  of  topics,  I shall  confine 
myself  to  two,  — religion  and  govern- 
ment. 

I begin  with  religion,  the  mightiest 
agent  in  human  affairs.  To  this  be- 
longs pre-eminently  the  work  of  freeing 
and  elevating  the  mind.  All  other  means 
are  comparatively  impotent.  The  sense 
of  God  is  the  only  spring  by  which  the 
crushing  weight  of  sense,  of  the  world, 
and  temptation,  can  be  withstood.  With- 
out a consciousness  of  our  relation  to 
God,  all  other  relations  will  prove  ad- 
verse to  spiritual  life  and  progress.  I 
have  spoken  of  the  religious  sentiment 


as  the  mightiest  agent  on  earth.  It  has 
accomplished  more  — it  has  strengthen- 
ed men  to  do  and  suffer  more  — than  all 
other  principles.  It  can  sustain  the  mind 
against  all  other  powers.  Of  all  prin- 
ciples it  is  the  deepest,  the  most  inerad- 
icable. In  its  perversion,  indeed,  it  has 
been  fruitful  of  crime  and  woe  ; but  the 
very  energy  which  it  has  given  to  the 
passions,  when  they  have  mixed  with 
and  corrupted  it,  teaches  us  the  omnip- 
otence with  which  it  is  imbued. 

Religion  gives  life,  strength,  elevation 
to  the  mind,  by  connecting  it  with  the 
Infinite  Mind;  by  teaching  it  to  regard 
itself  as  the  offspring  and  care  of  the 
Infinite  Father,  who  created  it  that  He 
might  communicate  to  it  his  own  spirit 
and  perfections,  who  framed  it  for  truth 
and  virtue,  who  framed  it  for  himself, 
who  subjects  it  to  sore  trials,  that  by 
conflict  and  endurance  it  may  grow 
strong,  and  who  has  sent  his  Son  to 
purify  it  from  every  sin,  and  to  clothe  it 
with  immortality.  It  is  religion  alone 
which  nourishes  patient,  resolute  hopes 
and  efforts  for  our  own  souls.  Without 
it  we  can  hardly  escape  self-contempt 
and  the  contempt  of  our  race.  Without 
God  our  existence  has  no  support,  our 
life  no  aim  our  improvements  no  per- 
manence, our  best  labors  no  sure  and 
enduring  results,  our  spiritual  weakness 
no  power  to  lean  upon,  and  our  noblest 
aspirations  and  desires  no  pledge  of  be- 
ing realized  in  a better  state.  Struggling 
virtue  has  no  friend  ; suffering  virtue  no 
promise  of  victory.  Take  away  God,  and 
life  becomes  mean,  and  man  poorer  than 
the  brute.  I am  accustomed  to  speak 
of  the  greatness  of  human  nature  ; but 
it  is  great  only  through  its  parentage  ; 
great,  because  descended  from  God, 
because  connected  with  a goodness  and 
power  from  which  it  is  to  be  enriched 
for  ever ; and  nothing  but  the  conscious- 
ness of  this  connection  can  give  that 
hope  of  elevation  through  which  alone 
the  mind  is  to  rise  to  true  strength  and 
liberty. 

All  the  truths  of  religion  conspire  to 
one  end,  — spiritual  liberty.  All  the  ob- 
jects which  it  offers  to  our  thoughts  are 
sublime,  kindling,  exalting.  Its  funda- 
mental truth  is  the  existence  of  one  God, 
one  Infinite  and  Everlasting  Father;  and 
it  teaches  us  to  look  on  the  universe  as 
pervaded,  quickened,  and  vitally  joined 
into  one  harmonious  and  beneficent 


12 


SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM. 


178 

whole,  by  his  ever-present  and  omnip- 
otent love.  By  this  truth  it  breaks  the 
power  of  matter  and  sense,  of  present 
pleasure  and  pain,  of  anxiety  and  fear. 
It  turns  the  mind  from  the  visible,  the 
outward  and  perishable,  to  the  Unseen, 
Spiritual,  and  Eternal,  and,  allying  it 
with  pure  and  great  objects,  makes  it 
free. 

I well  know  that  what  I now  say  may 
seem  to  some  to  want  the  sanction  of 
experience.  By  many  religion  is  per- 
haps regarded  as  the  last  principle  to 
give  inward  energy  and  freedom.  I may 
be  told  of  its  threatenings,  and  of  the 
bondage  which  they  impose.  I acknowl- 
edge that  religion  has  threatenings,  and 
it  must  have  them ; for  evil,  misery,  is 
necessarily  and  unchangeably  bound  up 
with  wrong-doing,  with  the  abuse  of  moral 
power.  From  the  nature  of  things,  a 
mind  disloyal  to  God  and  duty  must 
suffer ; and  religion,  in  uttering  this, 
only  re-echoes  the  plain  teaching  of  con- 
science. But  let  it  be  remembered  that 
the  single  end  oi;  the  threatenings  of 
religion  is  to  make  us  spiritually  free. 
They  are  all  directed  against  the  passions 
which  enthrall  and  degrade  us.  They 
are  weapons  given  to  conscience,  with 
which  to  fight  the  good  fight  and  to  es- 
tablish its  throne  within  us.  When  not 
thus  used,  they  are  turned  from  their 
end ; and  if  by  injudicious  preaching 
they  engender  superstition,  let  not  the 
fault  be  laid  at  the  door  of  religion. 

I do  not  indeed  wonder  that  so  many 
doubt  the  power  of  religion  to  give 
strength,  dignity,  and  freedom  to  the 
mind.  What  bears  this  name  too  often 
yields  no  such  fruits.  Here,  religion  is 
a form,  a round  of  prayers  and  rites,  an 
attempt  to  propitiate  God  by  flattery  and 
fawning.  There,  it  is  terror  and  sub- 
jection to  a minister  or  priest ; and  there, 
it  is  a violence  of  emotion,  bearing  away 
the  mind  like  a whirlwind,  and  robbing 
it  of  self-direction.  But  true  religion 
disclaims  connection  with  these  usurpers 
of  its  name.  It  is  a calm,  deep  convic- 
tion of  God’s  paternal  interest  in  the  im- 
provement, happiness,  and  honor  of  his 
creatures, — a practical  persuasion  that 
He  delights  in  virtue  and  not  in  forms 
and  flatteries,  and  that  He  especially 
delights  in  resolute  effort  to  conform 
ourselves  to  the  disinterested  love  and 
rectitude  which  constitute  his  own  glory. 
It  is  for  this  religion  that  I claim  the 


honor  of  giving  dignity  and  freedom  to 
the  mind.  — 

The  need  of  religion  to  accomplish 
this  work  is  in  no  degree  superseded  by 
what  is  called  the  progress  of  society. 
I should  say  that  civilization,  so  far  from 
being  able  of  itself  to  give  moral  strength 
and  elevation,  includes  causes  of  degra- 
dation which  nothing  but  the  religious 
principle  can  withstand.  It  multiplies, 
undoubtedly,  the  comforts  and  enjoy- 
ments of  life  ; but  in  these  I see  sore 
trials  and  perils  to  the  soul.  These 
minister  to  the  sensual  element  in  hu- 
man nature,  to  that  part  of  our  constitu- 
tion which  allies  — and  too  often  enslaves 
— us  to  the  earth.  Of  consequence, 
civilization  needs  that  proportional  aid 
should  be  given  to  the  spiritual  element 
in  man,  and  I know  not  where  it  is  to 
be  found  but  in  religion.  Without  this 
the  civilized  man,  with  all  his  properties 
and  refinements,  rises  little  in  true  dignity 
above  the  savage  whom  he  disdains. 
You  tell  me  of  civilization,  of  its  arts 
and  sciences,  as  the  sure  instruments  of 
human  elevation.  You  tell  me,  how  by 
these  man  masters  and  bends  to  his  use 
the  powers  of  nature.  I know  he  mas- 
ters them,  but  it  is  to  become  in  turn 
their  slave.  He  explores  and  cultivates 
the  earth,  but  it  is  to  grow  more  earthly. 
He  explores  the  hidden  mine,  but  it  is  to 
forge  himself  chains.  He  visits  all  re- 
gions, but  therefore  lives  a stranger  to 
his  own  soul.  In  the  very  progress  of 
civilization  I see  the  need  of  an  antag- 
onist principle  to  the  senses,  of  a power 
to  free  man  from  matter;  to  recall  him 
from  the  outward  to  the  inward  world ; 
and  religion  alone  is  equal  to  so  great  a 
work. 

The  advantages  of  civilization  have 
their  peril.  In  such  a state  of  society 
opinion  and  law  impose  salutary  re- 
straint, and  produce  general  order  and 
security.  But  the  power  of  opinion 
grows  into  a despotism  which  more 
than  all  things  represses  original  and 
free  thought,  subverts  individuality  of 
character,  reduces  the  community  to  a 
spiritless  monotony,  and  chills  the  love 
of  perfection.  Religion,  considered 
simply  as  the  principle  which  balances 
the  power  of  human  opinion,  which 
takes  man  out  of  the  grasp  of  custom 
and  fashion,  and  teaches  him  to  refer 
himself  to  a higher  tribunal,  is  an  infi- 
nite aid  to  moral  strength  and  elevation. 


SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM. 


179 


An  important  benefit  of  civilization, 
of  which  we  hear  much  from  the  polit- 
ical economist,  is  the  division  of  labor, 
by  which  arts  are  perfected.  But  this, 
by  confining  the  mind  to  an  unceasing 
round  of  petty  operations,  tends  to 
break  it  into  littleness.  We  possess 
improved  fabrics,  but  deteriorated  men. 
Another  advantage  of  civilization  is, 
that  manners  are  refined  and  accom- 
plishments multiplied ; but  these  are 
continually  seen  to  supplant  simplicity 
of  character,  strength  of  feeling,  the 
love  of  nature,  the  love  of  inward  beauty 
and  glory.  Under  outward  courtesy  we 
see  a cold  selfishness,  a spirit  of  calcu- 
lation, and  little  energy  of  love. 

I confess  I look  round  on  civilized 
society  with  many  fears,  and  with  more 
and  more  earnest  desire  that  a regener- 
ating spirit  from  heaven,  from  religion, 
may  descend  upon  and  . pervade  it.  I 
particularly  fear  that  various  causes  are 
acting  powerfully  among  ourselves  to 
inflame  and  madden  that  enslaving  and 
degrading  principle,  the  passion  for 
property.  For  example,  the  absence 
of  hereditary  distinctions  in  our  coun- 
try gives  prominence  to  the  distinction 
of  wealth,  and  holds  up  this  as  the  chief 
prize  to  ambition.  Add  to  this  the  epi- 
curean, self-indulgent  habits  which  our 
prosperity  has  multiplied,  and  which 
crave  insatiably  for  enlarging  wealth  as 
the  only  means  of  gratification.  This 
peril  is  increased  by  the  spirit  of  our 
times,  which  is  a spirit  of  commerce, 
industry,  internal  improvements,  me- 
chanical invention,  political  economy, 
and  peace.  Think  not  that  I would  dis- 
parage commerce,  mechanical  skill,  and 
especially  pacific  connections  among 
states.  But  there  is  danger  that  these 
blessings  may  by  perversion  issue  in  a 
slavish  love  of  lucre.  It  seems  to  me 
that  some  of  the  objects  which  once 
moved  men  most  powerfully  are  grad- 
ually losing  their  sway,  and  thus  the 
mind  is  left  more  open  to  the  excite- 
ment of  wealth.  For  example,  military 
distinction  is  taking  the  inferior  place 
which  it  deserves  ; and  the  consequence 
will  be,  that  the  energy  and  ambition 
which  have  been  exhausted  in  war  will 
seek  new  directions  ; and  happy  shall 
we  be  if  they  do  not  flow  into  the  chan- 
nel of  gain.  So  I think  that  political 
eminence  is  to  be  less  and  Rss  coveted ; 
and  there  is  danger  that  the  energies 


absorbed  by  it  will  be  spent  in  seeking 
another  kifid  of  dominion,  — the  domin- 
ion of  property.  And  if  such  be  the 
result,  what  shall  we  gain  by  what  is 
called  the  progress  of  society  ? What 
shall  we  gain  by  national  peace  if  men, 
instead  of  meeting  on  the  field  of  battle, 
wage  with  one  another  the  more  inglori- 
ous strife  of  dishonest  and  rapacious 
traffic  ? What  shall  we  gain  by  the 
waning  of  political  ambition  if  the  in- 
trigues of  the  exchange  take  place  of 
those  of  the  cabinet,  and  private  pomp 
and  luxury  be  substituted  for  the  splen- 
dor of  public  life  ? I am  no  foe  to  civ- 
ilization. I rejoice  in  its  progress.  But 
I mean  to  say  that,  -without  a pure  re- 
ligion to  modify  its  tendencies,  to  inspire 
and  refine  it,  we  shall  be  corrupted,  not 
ennobled  by  it.  It  is  the  excellence  of 
the  religious  principle,  that  it  aids  and 
carries  forward  civilization,  extends 
science  and  arts,  multiplies  the  conven- 
iences and  ornaments  of  life,  and  at 
the  same  time  spoils  them  of  their  en- 
slaving power,  and  even  converts  them 
into  means  and  ministers  of  that  spirit- 
ual freedom  which,  when  left  to  them- 
selves, they  endanger  and  destroy. 

In  order,  however,  that  religion  should 
yield  its  full  and  best  fruits,  one  thing  is 
necessary ; and  the  times  require  that  I 
should  state  it  with  great  distinctness. 
It  is  necessary  that  religion  should  be 
held  and  professed  in  a liberal  spirit. 
Just  as  far  as  it  assumes  an  intolerant, 
exclusive,  sectarian  form,  it  subverts, 
instead  of  strengthening,  the  soul  s free- 
dom, and  becomes  the  heaviest  and 
most  galling  yoke  which  is  laid  on  the 
intellect  and  conscience.  Religion  must 
be  viewed,  not  as  a monopoly  of  priests, 
ministers,  or  sects  ; not  as  conferring 
on  any  man  a right  to  dictate  to  his 
fellow-beings ; not  as  an  instrument  by 
which  the  few  may  awe  the  many ; not 
as  bestowing  on  one  a prerogative  which 
is  not  enjoyed  by  all ; but  as  the  prop- 
erty of  every  human  being,  and  as  the 
great  subject  for  every  human  mind.  It 
must  be  regarded  as  the  revelation  of  a 
common  Father,  to  whom  all  have  equal 
access,  who  invites  all  to  the  like  imme- 
diate communion,  who  has  no  favorites, 
who  has  appointed  no  infallible  ex- 
pounders of  his  will,  who  opens  his 
works  and  word  to  every  eye,  and  calls 
upon  all  to  read  for  themselves,  and  to 
follow  fearlessly  the  best  convictions  of 


i8o 


SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM. 


their  own  understandings.  Let  religion 
be  seized  on  by  individuals  of  sects,  as 
their  special  province  ; let  them  clothe 
themselves  with  God’s  prerogative  of 
judgment ; let  them  succeed  in  enforc- 
ing their  creed  by  penalties  of  law  or 
penalties  of  opinion ; let  them  succeed 
in  fixing  a brand  on  virtuous  men,  whose 
only  crime  is  free  investigation ; and 
religion  becomes  the  most  blighting 
tyranny  which  can  establish  itself  over 
the  mind.  You  have  all  heard  of  the 
outward  evils  which  religion,  when  thus 
turned  into  tyranny,  has  inflicted  ; how 
it  has  dug  dreary  dungeons,  kindled 
fires  for  the  martyr,  and  invented  instru- 
ments of  exquisite  torture.  But  to  me 
all  this  is  less  fearful  than  its  influence 
over  the  mind.  When  I see  the  super- 
stitions which  it  has  fastened  on  the 
conscience,  the  spiritual  terrors  with 
which  it  has  haunted  and  subdued  the 
ignorant  and  susceptible,  the  dark,  ap- 
palling views  of  God  which  it  has  spread 
far  and  wide,  the  dread  of  inquiry  which 
it  has  struck  into  superior  understand- 
ings, and  the  servility  of  spirit  which  it 
has  made  to  pass  for  piety, — when  I 
see  all  this,  the  fire,  the  scaffold,  and 
the  outward  inquisition,  terrible  as  they 
are,  seem  to  me  inferior  evils.  I look 
with  a solemn  joy  on  the  heroic  spirits 
who  have  met  freely  and  fearlessly  pain 
and  death  in  the  cause  of  truth  and  hu- 
man rights.  But  there  are  other  victims 
of  intolerance  on  whom  I look  with  un- 
mixed sorrow.  They  are  those  who, 
spell-bound  by  early  prejudice,  or  by 
intimidations  from  the  pulpit  and  the 
press,  dare  not  think  ; who  anxiously 
stifle  every  doubt  or  misgiving  in  regard 
to  their  opinions,  as  if  to  doubt  were  a 
crime  ; who  shrink  from  the  seekers 
after  truth  as  from  infection  ; who  deny 
all  virtue  which  does  not  wear  the  liv- 
ery of  their  own  sect ; who,  surrendering 
to  others  their  best  powers,  receive  un- 
resistingly a teaching  which  wars  against 
reason  and  conscience  ; and  who  think 
it  a merit  to  impose  on  such  as  live  with- 
in their  influence  the  grievous  bondage 
which  they  bear  themselves.  How  much 
to  be  deplored  is  it  that  religion,  the 
very  principle  which  is  designed  to  raise 
men  above  the  judgment  and  power  of 
man,  should  become  the  chief  instru- 
ment of  usurpation  over  the  soul. 

Is  it  said  that  in  this  country,  where 
the  rights  of  private  judgment,  and  of 


speaking  and  writing  according  to  our 
convictions,  are  guaranteed  with  every 
solemnity  by  institutions  and  laws,  re- 
ligion can  never  degenerate  into  tyr- 
anny ; that  here  its  whole  influence 
must  conspire  to  the  liberation  and  dig- 
nity of  the  mind  ? I answer,  we  dis- 
cover little  knowledge  of  human  nature 
if  we  ascribe  to  constitutions  the  power 
of  charming  to  sleep  the  spirit  of  intol- 
erance and  exclusion.  Almost  every 
other  bad  passion  may  sooner  be  put  to 
rest ; and  for  this  plain  reason,  that  in- 
tolerance always  shelters  itself  under 
the  name  and  garb  of  religious  zeal. 
Because  we  live  in  a country  where  the 
gross,  outward,  visible  chain  is  broken, 
we  must  not  conclude  that  we  are  neces- 
sarily free.  There  are  chains  not  made 
of  iron,  which  eat  more  deeply  into  the 
soul.  An  espionage  of  bigotry  may  as 
effectually  close  our  lips  and  chill  our 
hearts  as  an  armed  and  hundred-eyed 
police.  There  are  countless  ways  by 
which  men  in  a free  country  may  en- 
croach on  their  neighbors’  rights.  In 
religion,  the  instrument  is  ready  made 
and  always  at  hand.  I refer  to  opinion 
combined  and  organized  in  sects  and 
swayed  by  the  clergy.  We  say  we  have 
no  Inquisition.  But  a sect  skilfully  or- 
ganized, trained  to  utter  one  cry,  com- 
bined to  cover  with  reproach  whoever 
may  differ  from  themselves,  to  drown 
the  free  expression  of  opinion  by  de- 
nunciations of  heresy,  and  to  strike 
terror  into  the  multitude  by  joint  and 
perpetual  menace,  — such  a sect  is  as 
perilous  and  palsying  to  the  intellect  as 
the  Inquisition.  It  serves  the  ministers 
as  effectually  as  the  sword.  The  pres- 
ent age  is  notoriously  sectarian,  and 
therefore  hostile  to  liberty.  One  of  the 
strongest  features  of  our  times  is  the 
tendency  of  men  to  run  into  associa- 
tions, to  lose  themselves  in  masses,  to 
think  and  act  in  crowds,  to  act  from  the 
excitement  of  numbers,  to  sacrifice  indi- 
viduality, to  identify  themselves  with 
parties  and  sects.  At  such  a period  we 
ought  to  fear  — and  cannot  too  much 
dread  — lest  a host  should  be  marshalled 
under  some  sectarian  standard,  so  nu- 
merous and  so  strong  as  to  overawe 
opinion,  stifle  inquiry,  compel  dissenters 
to  a prudent  silence,  and  thus  accom- 
plish the  end,  without  incurring  the 
odium,  of  penal  laws.  We  have  indeed 
no  small  protection  against  this  evil  in 


SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM . 


the  multiplicity  of  sects.  But  let  us  not 
forget  that  coalitions  are  as  practicable 
and  as  perilous  in  church  as  in  state  ; 
and  that  minor  differences,  as  they  are 
called,  may  be  sunk  for  the  purpose  of 
joint  exertion  against  a common  foe. 
Happily,  the  spirit  of  this  people,  in 
spite  of  all  narrowing  influences,  is  es- 
sentially liberal.  Here  lies  our  safety. 
The  liberal  spirit  of  the  people,  I trust, 
is  more  and  more  to  temper  and  curb 
that  exclusive  spirit  which  is  the  beset- 
ting sin  of  their  religious  guides. 

~ ' In  this  connection  I may  be  permitted 
to  say  — and  I say  it  with  heartfelt  joy  — 
that  the  government  of  this  Common- 
wealth has  uniformly  distinguished  itself 
by  the  spirit  of  religious  freedom.  In- 
tolerance, however  rife  abroad,  has 
found  no  shelter  in  our  halls  of  legis- 
lation. As  yet,  no  sentence  of  proscrip- 
tion has  been  openly  or  indirectly  passed 
on  any  body  of  men  for  religious  opin- 
ions. A wise  and  righteous  jealousy 
has  watched  over  our  religious  liberties, 
and  been  startled  by  the  first  movement, 
the  faintest  sign,  of  sectarian  ambition. 
Our  Commonwealth  can  boast  no  higher 
glory.  May  none  of  us  live  to  see  it 
fade  away  ! 

I have  spoken  with  great  freedom  of 
the  sectarian  and  exclusive  spirit  of  our 
age.  I would  earnestly  recommend  lib- 
erality of  feeling  and  judgment  towards 
men  of  different  opinions.  But,  in  so 
doing,  I intend  not  to  teach  that  opin- 
ions are  of  small  moment,  or  that  we 
should  make  no  effort  for  spreading 
such  as  we  deem  the  truth  of  God.  I 
do  mean,  however,  that  we  are  to  spread 
them  by  means  which  will  not  enslave 
ourselves  to  a party  or  bring  others  into 
bondage.  We  must  respect  alike  our 
own  and  others’  minds.  We  must  not 
demand  a uniformity  in  religion  which 
exists  nowhere  else,  but  expect,  and  be 
willing,  that  the  religious  principle,  like 
other  principles  of  our  nature,  should 
manifest  itself  in  different  methods  and 
degrees.  Let  us  not  forget  that  spirit- 
ual, like  animal  life,  may  subsist  and 
grow  under  various  forms.  Whilst  ear- 
nestly recommending  what  we  deem  the 
pure  and  primitive  faith,  let  us  remem- 
ber that  those  who  differ  in  word  or 
speculation  may  agree  in  heart ; that  the 
spirit  of  Christianity,  though  mixed  and 
encumbered  with  error,  is  still  divine  ; 
and  that  sects  which  assign  different 


1 8 1 

ranks  to  Jesus  Christ  may  still  adore 
that  godlike  virtue  which  constituted 
him  the  glorious  representative  of  his 
Father.  Under  the  disguises  of  Papal 
and  Protestant  creeds,  let  us  learn  to 
recognize  the  lovely  aspect  of  Christi- 
anity, and  rejoice  to  believe  that,  amidst 
dissonant  forms  and  voices,  the  common 
Father  discerns  and  accepts  the  same 
deep  filial  adoration.  This  is  true  free- 
dom and  enlargement  of  mind,  — a lib- 
erty which  he  who  knows  it  would  not 
barter  for  the  widest  dominion  which 
priests  and  sects  have  usurped  over  the 
human  soul. 

I have  spoken  of  religion ; I pass  to 
government,  another  great  means  of 
promoting  that  spiritual  liberty,  that 
moral  strength  and  elevation,  which  we 
have  seen  to  be  our  supreme  good.  I 
thus  speak  of  government,  not  because 
it  always  promotes  this  end,  but  because 
it  may  and  should  thus  operate.  Civil 
institutions  should  be  directed  chiefly  to 
a moral  or  spiritual  good,  and  until  this 
truth  is  felt  they  will  continue,  I fear,  to 
be  perverted  into  instruments  of  crime 
and  misery.  Other  views  of  their  design, 
I am  aware,  prevail.  We  are  some- 
times told  that  government  has  no  pur- 
pose but  an  earthly  one  ; that  whilst 
religion  takes  care  of  the  soul,  govern- 
ment is  to  watch  over  outward  and 
bodily  interests.  This  separation  of 
our  interests  into  earthly  and  spiritual 
seems  to  me  unfounded.  There  is  a 
unity  in  our  whole  being.  There  is  one 
great  end  for  which  body  and  mind  were 
created,  and  all  the  relations  of  life  were 
ordained  ; one  central  aim,  to  which  our 
whole  being  should  tend  ; and  this  is 
the  unfolding  of  our  intellectual  and 
moral  nature  ; and  no  man  thoroughly 
understands  government  but  he  who 
reverences  it  as  a part  of  God’s  stupen- 
dous machinery  for  this  sublime  design. 
I do  not  deny  that  government  is  insti- 
tuted to  watch  over  our  present  inter- 
ests. But  still  it  has  a spiritual  or 
moral  purpose,  because  present  inter- 
ests are,  in  an  important  sense,  spirit- 
ual ; that  is,  they  are  instruments  and 
occasions  of  virtue,  calls  to  duty,  sources 
of  obligation,  and  are  only  blessings 
when  they  contribute  to  the  health  of 
the  soul.  For  example,  property,  the 
principal  object  of  legislation,  is  the 
material,  if  I may  so  speak,  on  which 
justice  acts,  or  through  which  this  car- 


SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM. 


182 

dinal  virtue  is  exercised  and  expressed ; 
and  property  has  no  higher  end  than  to 
invigorate,  by  calling  forth,  the  principle 
of  impartial  rectitude. 

Government  is  the  great  organ  of  civil 
society,  and  we  should  appreciate  the 
former  more  justly  if  we  better  under- 
stood the  nature  and  foundation  of  the 
latter.  I say,  then,  that  society  is 
throughout  a moral  institution.  It  is 
something  very  different  from  an  as- 
semblage of  animals  feeding  in  the  same 
pasture.  It  is  the  combination  of  ra- 
tional beings  for  the  security  of  right. 
Right,  a moral  idea,  lies  at  the  very 
foundation  of  civil  communities ; and 
the  highest  happiness  which  they  confer 
is  the  gratification  of  moral  affections. 
We  are  sometimes  taught  that  society  is 
the  creature  of  compact  and  selfish  cal- 
culation ; that  men  agree  to  live  together 
for  the  protection  of  private  interests. 
But  no.  Society  is  of  earlier  and  higher 
origin.  It  is  God’s  ordinance,  and  an- 
swers to  what  is  most  godlike  in  our 
nature.  The  chief  ties  that  hold  men 
together  in  communities  are  not  self- 
interests,  or  compacts,  or  positive  in- 
stitutions, or  force.  They  are  invisible, 
refined,  spiritual  ties,  bonds  of  the  mind 
and  heart.  Our  best  powers  and  affec- 
tions crave  instinctively  for  society  as  the 
sphere  in  which  they  are  to  find  their  life 
and  happiness.  That  men  may  greatly 
strengthen  and  improve  society  by  writ- 
ten constitutions,  I readily  grant.  There 
is,  however,  a constitution  which  pre- 
cedes all  of  men’s  making,  and  after 
which  all  others  are  to  be  formed  ; a 
constitution,  the  great  lines  of  which  are 
drawn  in  our  very  nature  ; a primitive 
law  of  justice,  rectitude,  and  philan- 
thropy, which  all  other  laws  are  bound 
to  enforce,  and  from  which  all  others 
derive  their  validity  and  worth. 

Am  I now  asked  how  government  is 
to  promote  energy  and  elevation  of  moral 
principle  ? I answer,  not  by  making  the 
various  virtues  matters  of  legislation,  not 
by  preaching  morals,  not  by  establishing 
religion ; for  these  are  not  its  appro- 
priate functions.  It  is  to  serve  the 
cause  of  spiritual  freedom,  not  by  teach- 
ing or  persuasion,  but  by  action ; that 
is,  by  rigidly  conforming  itself,  in  all 
its  measures,  to  the  moral  or  Christian 
law ; by  the  most  public  and  solemn 
manifestations  of  reverence  for  right, 
for  justice,  for  the  general  weal,  for 


the  principles  of  virtue.  Government 
is  the  most  conspicuous  of  human  in- 
stitutions, and  were  moral  rectitude 
written  on  its  front,  stamped  conspicu- 
ously on  all  its  operations,  an  immense 
power  would  be  added  to  pure  principle 
in  the  breasts  of  individuals. 

To  be  more  particular,  a government 
may,  and  should,  ennoble  the  mind  of 
the  citizen,  by  continually  holding  up 
to  him  the  idea  of  the  general  good. 
This  idea  should  be  impressed  in  char- 
acters of  light  on  all  legislation  ; and  a 
government  directing  itself  resolutely 
and  steadily  to  this  end,  becomes  a 
minister  of  virtue.  It  teaches  the  citi- 
zen to  attach  a sanctity  to  the  public 
weal,  carries  him  beyond  selfish  regards, 
nourishes  magnanimity,  and  the  purpose 
of  sacrificing  himself,  as  far  as  virtue 
will  allow,  to  the  commonwealth.  On 
the  other  hand,  a government  which 
wields  its  power  for  selfish  interests, 
which  sacrifices  the  many  to  a few,  or 
the  state  to  a party,  becomes  a public 
preacher  of  crime,  taints  the  mind  of 
the  citizen,  does  its  utmost  to  make 
him  base  and  venal,  and  prepares  him, 
by  its  example,  to  sell  or  betray  that 
public  interest  for  which  he  should  be 
ready  to  die. 

Again,  on  government,  more  than  on 
any  institution,  depends  that  most  im- 
portant principle, — the  sense  of  justice 
in  the  community.  To  promote  this,  it 
should  express  in  all  its  laws  a rever- 
ence for  right,  and  an  equal  reverence 
for  the  rights  of  high  and  low,  of  rich 
and  poor.  It  should  choose  to  sacrifice 
the  most  dazzling  advantages  rather  than 
break  its  own  faith,  rather  than  unsettle 
the  fixed  laws  of  property,  or  in  any  way 
shock  the  sentiment  of  justice  in  the 
community. 

Let  me  add  one  more  method  by  which 
government  is  to  lift  up  and  enlarge  the 
minds  of  its  citizens.  In  its  relations  to 
other  governments  it  should  inviolably 
adhere  to  the  principles  of  justice  and 
philanthropy.  By  its  moderation,  sin- 
cerity, uprightness,  and  pacific  spirit  to- 
wards foreign  states,  by  abstaining  from 
secret  arts  and  unfair  advantages,  by 
cultivating  free  and  mutually  beneficial 
intercourse,  it  should  cherish  among  its 
citizens  the  ennobling  consciousness  of 
belonging  to  the  human  family,  and  of 
having  a common  interest  with  the  whole 
human  race.  Government  only  fulfils 


SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM. 


its  end  when  it  thus  joins  with  Christi- 
anity in  inculcating  the  law  of  universal 
love. 

Unhappily,  governments  have  seldom 
recognized  as  the  highest  duty  the  obli- 
gation of  strengthening  pure  and  noble 
principle  in  the  community.  I fear  they 
are  even  to  be  numbered  among  the  chief 
agents  in  corrupting  nations.  Of  all  the 
doctrines  by  which  vice  has  propagated 
itself,  I know  none  more  pernicious  than 
the  maxim  that  statesmen  are  exempted 
from  the  common  restraints  of  morality, 
that  nations  are  not  equally  bound  with 
individuals  by  the  eternal  laws  of  justice 
and  philanthropy.  Through  this  doc- 
trine vice  has  lifted  its  head  unblush- 
ingly  in  the  most  exalted  stations.  Vice 
has  seated  itself  on  the  throne.  The 
men  who  have  wielded  the  power  and 
riveted  the  gaze  of  nations  have  lent  the 
sanction  of  their  greatness  to  crime.  In 
the  very  heart  of  nations,  in  the  cabinet 
of  rulers,  has  been  bred  a moral  pesti- 
lence which  has  infected  and  contami- 
nated all  orders  of  the  state.  Through 
the  example  of  rulers,  private  men  have 
learned  to  regard  the  everlasting  law  as 
a temporary  conventional  rule,  and  been 
blinded  to  the  supremacy  of  virtue. 

That  the  prosperity  of  a people  is  in- 
timately connected  with  this  reverence 
for  virtue  which  I have  inculcated  on 
legislators,  is  most  true,  and  cannot  be 
too  deeply  felt.  There  is  no  foundation 
for  the  vulgar  doctrine,  that  a state  may 
flourish  by  arts  and  crimes.  Nations 
and  individuals  are  subjected  to  one 
law.  The  moral  principle  is  the  life  of 
communities.  No  calamity  can  befall  a 
people  so  great  as  temporary  success 
through  a criminal  policy,  as  the  hope 
thus  cherished  of  trampling  with  im- 
punity on  the  authority  of  God.  Sooner 
or  later,  insulted  virtue  avenges  itself 
terribly  on  states  as  well  as  on  private 
men.  We  hope,  indeed,  security  and 
the  quiet  enjoyment  of  our  wealth  from 
our  laws  and  institutions.  But  civil  laws 
find  their  chief  sanction  in  the  law  writ- 
ten within  by  the  finger  of  God.  In 
proportion  as  a people  enslave  them- 
selves to  sin,  the  fountain  of  public 
justice  becomes  polluted.  The  most 
wholesome  statutes,  wanting  the  sup- 
port of  public  opinion,  grow  impotent. 
Self  -seekers,  unprincipled  men,  by  flat- 
tering bad  passions,  and  by  darkening 
the  public  mind,  usurp  the  seat  of  judg- 


183 

ment  and  places  of  power  and  trust,  and 
turn  free  institutions  into  lifeless  forms 
or  instruments  of  oppression.  I espe- 
cially believe  that  communities  suffer 
sorely  by  that  species  of  immorality 
which  the  herd  of  statesmen  have  in- 
dustriously cherished  as  of  signal  util- 
ity, — I mean,  by  hostile  feeling  towards 
other  countries.  The  common  doctrine 
has  been,  that  prejudice  and  enmity  to- 
wards foreign  states  are  means  of  foster- 
ing a national  spirit,  and  of  confirming 
union  at  home.  But  bad  passions,  once 
instilled  into  a people,  will  never  ex- 
haust themselves  abroad.  Vice  never 
yields  the  fruits  of  virtue.  Injustice  to 
strangers  does  not  breed  justice  to  our 
friends.  Malignity,  in  every  form,  is  a 
fire  of  hell,  and  the  policy  which  feeds 
it  is  infernal.  Domestic  feuds  and  the 
madness  of  party  are  its  natural  and 
necessary  issues  ; and  a people  hostile 
to  others  will  demonstrate,  in  its  history, 
that  no  form  of  inhumanity  or  injustice 
escapes  its  just  retribution. 

Our  great  error  as  a people  is,  that 
we  put  an  idolatrous  trust  in  our  free 
institutions  ; as  if  these,  by  some  magic 
power,  must  secure  our  rights,  however 
we  enslave  ourselves  to  evil  passions. 
We  need  to  learn  that  the  forms  of  lib- 
erty are  not  its  essence ; that  whilst  the 
letter  of  a free  constitution  is  preserved 
its  spirit  may  be  lost ; that  even  its 
wisest  provisions  and  most  guarded 
powers  may  be  made  weapons  of  tyr- 
anny. In  a country  called  free,  a ma- 
jority may  become  a faction,  and  a 
proscribed  minority  may  be  insulted, 
robbed,  and  oppressed.  Under  elec- 
tive governments,  a dominant  party 
may  become  as  truly  a usurper,  and  as 
treasonably  conspire  against  the  state, 
as  an  individual  who  forces  his  way  by 
arms  to  the  throne.  • 

I know  that  it  is  supposed  that  politi- 
cal wisdom  can  so  form  institutions  as 
to  extract  from  them  freedom,  notwith- 
standing a people’s  sins.  The  chief  ex- 
pedient for  this  purpose  has  been  to 
balance,  as  it  is  called,  men’s  passions 
and  interests  against  each  other ; to  use 
one  man’s  selfishness  as  a check  against 
his  neighbor’s  ; to  produce  peace  by  the 
counteraction  and  equilibrium  of  hostile 
forces.  This  whole  theory  I distrust. 
The  vices  can  by  no  management  or 
skilful  poising  be  made  to  do  the  work 
of  virtue.  Our  own  history  has  al-. 


184 


SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM. 


ready  proved  this.  Our  government  was 
founded  on  the  doctrine  of  checks  and 
balances  ; and  what  does  experience 
teach  us  ? It  teaches,  what  the  prin- 
ciples of  our  nature  might  have  taught, 
that  whenever  the  country  is  divided  in- 
to two  great  parties,  the  dominant  party 
will  possess  itself  of  both  branches  of 
the  legislature,  and  of  the  different  de- 
partments of  the  state,  and  will  move 
towards  its  objects  with  as  little  check, 
and  with  as  determined  purpose,  as  if 
all  powers  were  concentrated  in  a sin- 
gle body.  There  is  no  substitute  for 
virtue.  Free  institutions  secure  rights 
only  when  secured  by,  and  when  invig- 
orating that  spiritual  freedom,  that  moral 
power  and  elevation,  which  I have  set 
before  you  as  the  supreme  good  of  our 
nature. 

According  to  these  views,  the  first 
duty  of  a statesman  is  to  build  up  the 
moral  energy  of  a people.  This  is  their 
first  interest ; and  he  who  weakens  it 
inflicts  an  injury  which  no  talent  can 
repair  ; nor  should  any  splendor  of  ser- 
vices, or  any  momentary  success,  avert 
from  him  the  infamy  which  he  has 
earned.  Let  public  men  learn  to  think 
more  reverently  of  their  function.  Let 
them  feel  that  they  are  touching  more 
vital  interests  than  property.  Let  them 
fear  nothing  so  much  as  to  sap  the 
moral  convictions  of  a people  by  un- 
righteous legislation  or  a selfish  policy. 
Let  them  cultivate  in  themselves  the 
spirit  of  religion  and  virtue,  as  the  first 
requisite  to  public  station.  Let  no  ap- 
parent advantage  to  the  community,  any 
more  than  to  themselves,  seduce  them 
to  the  infraction  of  any  moral  law.  Let 
them  put  faith  in  virtue  as  the  strength 
of  nations.  Let  them  not  be  disheart- 
ened by  temporary  ill  success^  in  up- 
right exertion.  Let  them  remember 
that,  while  they  and  their  contempora- 
ries live  but  for  a day,  the  state  is  to 
live  for  ages  ; and  that  Time,  the  un- 
erring arbiter,  will  vindicate  the  wis- 
dom as  well  as  the  magnanimity  of  the 
public  man  who,  confiding  in  the  power 
of  truth,  justice,  and  philanthropy,  as- 
serts their  claims,  and  reverently  fol- 
lows their  monitions,  amidst  general 
disloyalty  and  corruption. 

I have  hitherto  spoken  of  the  general 
influence  which  government  should  ex- 
ert on  the  moral  interests  of  a people, 
by  expressing  reverence  for  the  moral 


law  in  its  whole  policy  and  legislation. 
It  is  also  bound  to  exert  a more  particu- 
lar and  direct  influence.  I refer  to  its 
duty  of  preventing  and  punishing  crime. 
This  is  one  of  the  chief  ends  of  govern- 
ment, but  it  has  received  as  yet  very 
little  of  the  attention  which  it  deserves. 
Government,  indeed,  has  not  been  slow 
to  punish  crime,  nor  has  society  suf- 
fered for  want  of  dungeons  and  gib- 
bets. But  the  prevention  of  crime  and 
the  reformation  of  the  offender  have 
nowhere  taken  rank  amon^j  the  first 
objects  of  legislation.  Penal  codes, 
breathing  vengeance,  and  too  often 
written  in  blood,  have  been  set  in  array 
against  the  violence  of  human  passions, 
and  the  legislator’s  conscience  has  been 
satisfied  with  enacting  these.  Whether 
by  shocking  humanity  he  has  not  mul- 
tiplied offenders,  is  a question  into 
which  he  would  do  wisely  to  inquire. 

On  the  means  of  preventing  crime  I 
want  time,  and  still  more  ability,  to  en- 
large. I would  only  say  that  this  ob- 
ject should  be  kept  in  view  through  the 
whole  of  legislation.  For  this  end,  laws 
should  be  as  few  and  as  simple  as  may 
be  ; for  an  extensive  and  obscure  code 
multiplies  occasions  of  offence,  and 
brings  the  citizen  unnecessarily  into 
collision  with  the  state.  Above  all,  let 
the  laws  bear  broadly  on  their  front  the 
impress  of  justice  and  humanity,  so  that 
the  moral  sense  of  the  community  may 
become  their  sanction.  Arbitrary  and 
offensive  laws  invite  offence,  and  take 
from  disobedience  the  consciousness  of 
guilt.  It  is  even  wise  to  abstain  from 
laws  which,  however  wise  and  good  in 
themselves,  have  the  semblance  of  in- 
equality, which  find  no  response  in  the 
heart  of  the  citizen,  and  which  will  be 
evaded  with  little  remorse.  The  wis- 
dom of  legislation  is  especially  seen  in 
grafting  laws  on  conscience.  I add, 
what  seems  to  me  of  great  importance, 
that  the  penal  code  should  be  brought 
to  bear  with  the  sternest  impartiality  on 
the  rich  and  exalted  as  well  as  on  the 
poor  and  fallen.  Society  suffers  from 
the  crimes  of  the  former  not  less  than 
by  those  of  the  latter.  It  has  been  truly 
said,  that  the  amount  of  property  taken 
by  theft  and  forgery  is  small  compared 
with  what  is  taken  by  dishonest  insol- 
vency. Yet  the  thief  is  sent  to  prison, 
and  the  dishonest  bankrupt  lives  per- 
haps in  state.  The  moral  sentiment  of 


SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM . 


the  community  is  thus  corrupted  ; and, 
for  this  and  other  solemn  reasons,  a re- 
form is  greatly  needed  in  the  laws  which 
respect  insolvency.  I am  shocked  at 
the  imprisonment  of  the  honest  debtor ; 
and  the  legislation  which  allows  a cred- 
itor to  play  the  tyrant  over  an  innocent 
man  would  disgrace,  I think,  a barbar- 
ous age.  I am  not  less  shocked  by  the 
impunity  with  which  criminal  insolvents 
continually  escape,  and  by  the  lenity  of 
the  community  towards  these  transgres- 
sors of  its  most  essential  laws. 

Another  means  of  preventing  crime  is 
to  punish  it  wisely  ; and  by  wise  punish- 
ment I mean  th*at  which  aims  to  reform 
the  offender.  I know  that  this  end  of 
punishment  has  been  questioned  by 
wise  and  good  men.  But  what  higher 
or  more  practicable  end  can  be  pro- 
posed ? You  say  we  must  punish  for 
example.  But  history  shows  that  what 
is  called  exemplary  punishment  cannot 
boast  of  great  efficiency.  Crime  thrives 
under  severe  penalties,  thrives  on  the 
blood  of  offenders.  The  frequent  exhi- 
bition of  such  punishments  hardens  a 
people’s  heart,  and  produces  defiance 
and  reaction  in  the  guilty.  Until  re- 
cently, government  seems  to  have  la- 
bored to  harden  the  criminal  by  throw- 
ing him  into  a crowd  of  offenders,  into 
the  putrid  atmosphere  of  a common 
prison.  Humanity  rejoices  in  the  re- 
form which,  in  this  respect,  is  spreading 
through  our  country.  To  remove  the 
convict  from  bad  influences  is  an  essen- 
tial step  to  his  moral  restoration.  It  is, 
however,  but  a step.  To  place  him  un- 
der the  aid  of  good  influence  is  equally 
important ; and  here  individual  exertion 
must  come  to  the  aid  of  legislative  pro- 
visions. Private  Christians,  selected  at 
once  for  their  judiciousness  and  philan- 
thropy, must  connect  themselves  with 
the  solitary  prisoner,  and  by  manifesta- 
tions of  a sincere  fraternal  interest,  by 
conversation,  books,  and  encourage- 
ment, must  touch  within  him  chords 
which  have  long  ceased  to  vibrate ; 
must  awaken  new  hopes ; must  show 
him  that  all  is  not  lost,  — that  God,  and 
Christ,  and  virtue,  and  the  friendship  of 
the  virtuous,  and  honor,  and  immortality, 
may  yet  be  secured.  Of  this  glorious 
ministry  of  private  Christianity  I do  not 
despair.  I know  I shall  be  told  of  the 
failure  of  all  efforts  to  reclaim  criminals. 
They  have  not  always  failed.  And  be- 


185 

sides,  has  philanthropy,  has  genius,  has 
the  strength  of  humanity,  been  fairly 
and  fervently  put  forth  in  this  great 
concern  ? I find  in  the  New  Testament 
no  class  of  human  beings  whom  charity 
is  instructed  to  forsake.  I find  no  ex- 
ception made  by  Him  who  came  to  seek 
and  save  that  which  was  lost.  I must 
add,  that  the  most  hopeless  subjects  are 
not  always  to  be  found  in  prisons.  That 
convicts  are  dreadfully  corrupt,  I know  ; 
but  not  more  corrupt  than  some  who 
walk  at  large,  and  are  not  excluded 
from  our  kindness.  The  rich  man  who 
defrauds  is  certainly  as  criminal  as  the 
poor  man  who  steals.  The  rich  man 
who  drinks  to  excess  contracts  deeper 
guilt  than  he  who  sinks  into  this  vice 
under  the  pressure  of  want.  The  young 
man  who  seduces  innocence  deserves 
more  richly  the  house  of  correction  than 
the  unhappy  female  whom  he  allured 
into  the  path  of  destruction.  Still  more, 
I cannot  but  remember  how  much  the 
guilt  of  the  convict  results  from  the 
general  corruption  of  society.  When  I 
reflect  how  much  of  the  responsibility 
for  crimes  rests  on  the  state,  how  many 
of  the  offences  which  are  most  severely 
punished  are  to  be  traced  to  neglected 
education,  to  early  squalid  want,  to 
temptations  and  exposures  which  soci- 
ety might  do  much  to  relieve, — I feel 
that  a spirit  of  mercy  should  temper 
legislation ; that  we  should  not  sever 
ourselves  so  widely  from  our  fallen 
brethren  ; that  we  should  recognize  in 
them  the  countenance  and  claims  of 
humanity  ; that  we  should  strive  to  win 
them  back  to  God. 

I have  thus  spoken  of  the  obligation 
of  government  to  contribute  by  various 
means  to  the  moral  elevation  of  a peo- 
ple. I close  this  head  with  expressing 
sorrow  that  an  institution,  capable  of 
such  purifying  influences,  should  so 
often  be  among  the  chief  engines  of  a 
nation’s  corruption. 

In  this  discourse  I have  insisted  on 
the  supreme  importance  of  virtuous 
principle,  of  moral  force,  and  elevation 
in  the  community ; and  I have  thus 
spoken,  not  that  I might  conform  to 
professional  duty,  but  from  deep  per- 
sonal conviction.  I feel  — as  I doubt  not 
many  feel  — that  the  great  distinction  of 
a nation,  the  only  one  worth  possessing, 
and  which  brings  after  it  all  other  bless- 
ings, is  the  prevalence  of  pure  principle 


SPIRITUAL  FREEDOM. 


1 86 

among  the  citizens.  I wish  to  belong 
to  a state  in  the  character  and  institu- 
tions of  which  I may  find  a spring  of 
improvement,  which  I can  speak  of  with 
an  honest  pride,  in  whose  records  I may 
meet  great  and  honored  names,  and 
which  is  making  the  world  its  debtor 
by  its  discoveries  of  truth,  and  by  an 
example  of  virtuous  freedom.  Oh,  save 
me  from  a country  which  worships 
wealth  and  cares  not  for  true  glory  ; in 
which  intrigue  bears  rule  ; in  which 
patriotism  borrows  its  zeal  from  the 
prospect  of  office  ; in  which  hungry  syc- 
ophants besiege  with  supplications  all 
the  departments  of  state  ; in  which  pub- 
lic men  bear  the  brand  of  vice,  and  the 
seat  of  government  is  a noisome  sink  of 
private  licentiousness  and  political  cor- 
ruption ! Tell  me  not  of  the  honor  of 
belonging  to  a free  country.  I ask,  does 
our  liberty  bear  generous  fruits  ? Does 
it  exalt  us  in  manly  spirit,  in  public 
virtue,  above  countries  trodden  under 
foot  by  despotism  ? Tell  me  not  of  the 
extent  of  our  territory.  I care  not  how 
large  it  is  if  it  multiply  degenerate  men. 
Speak  not  of  our  prosperity.  Better  be 
one  of  a poor  people,  plain  in  manners, 
revering  God  and  respecting  themselves, 
than  belong  to  a rich  country  which 
knows  no  higher  good  than  riches. 
Earnestly  do  I desire  for  this  country 
that,  instead  of  copying  Europe  with  an 
undiscerning  servility,  it  may  have  a 
character  of  its  own,  corresponding  to 
the  freedom  and  equality  of  our  institu- 
tions. One  Europe  is  enough.  One 
Paris  is  enough.  How  much  to  be  de- 
sired is  it  that,  separated  as  we  are  from 
the  eastern  continent  by  an  ocean,  we 
should  be  still  more  widely  separated  by 
simplicity  of  manners,  by  domestic  pu- 
rity, by  inward  piety,  by  reverence  for 
human  nature,  by  moral  independence, 
by  withstanding  that  subjection  to  fash- 
ion and  that  debilitating  sensuality, 
which  characterize  the  most  civilized 
portions  of  the  Old  World. 

Of  this  country  I may  say  with  pecu- 
liar emphasis  that  its  happiness  is  bound 


up  in  its  virtue.  On  this  our  union  can 
alone  stand  firm.  Our  union  is  not  like 
that  of  other  nations,  confirmed  by  the 
habits  of  ages  and  riveted  by  force.  It 
is  a recent,  and,  still  more,  a voluntary 
union.  It  is  idle  to  talk  of  force  as 
binding  us  together.  Nothing  can  re- 
tain a member  of  this  confederacy  when 
resolved  on  separation.  The  only  bonds 
that  can  permanently  unite  us  are  moral 
ones.  That  there  are  repulsive  powers, 
principles  of  discord,  in  these  States, 
we  all  feel.  The  attraction  which  is  to  - 
counteract  them  is  only  to  be  found  in  a 
calm  wisdom,  controlling  the  passions, 
in  a spirit  of  equity  and  regard  to  the 
common  weal,  and  in  virtuous  patriot- 
ism, clinging  to  union  as  the  only  pledge 
of  freedom  and  peace.  The  union  is 
threatened  by  sectional  jealousies  and 
collisions  of  local  interests,  which  can 
be  reconciled  only  by  a magnanimous  lib- 
erality. It  is  endangered  by  the  prosti- 
tution of  executive  patronage,  through 
which  the  public  treasury  is  turned  into 
a fountain  of  corruption,  and  by  the  lust 
for  power  which  perpetually  convulses 
the  country  for  the  sake  of  throwing 
office  into  new  hands  ; and  the  only 
remedy  for  these  evils  is  to  be  found  in 
the  moral  indignation  of  the  community, 
in  a pure,  lofty  spirit,  which  will  over- 
whelm with  infamy  this  selfish  ambition. 

To  the  chief  magistrate  of  this  Com- 
monwealth, and  to  those  associated  with 
him  in  the  executive  and  legislative  de- 
partments, I respectfully  commend  the 
truths  which  have  now  been  delivered  ; 
and,  with  the  simplicity  becoming  a 
minister  of  Jesus  Christ,  I would  re- 
mind them  of  their  solemn  obligations 
to  God,  to  their  fellow-creatures,  and 
to  the  interests  of  humanity,  freedom, 
virtue,  and  religion.  We  trust  that,  in 
their  high  stations,  they  will  seek,  not 
themselves,  but  the  public  weal,  and 
will  seek  it  by  inflexible  adherence  to 
the  principles  of  the  constitution,  and 
still  more  to  the  principles  of  God’s 
everlasting  law. 


IMPORTANCE  OF  RELIGION  TO  SOCIETY. 


i87 


IMPORTANCE  OF  RELIGION  TO  SOCIETY. 


Few  men  suspect,  perhaps  no  man 
comprehends,  the  extent  of  the  support 
given  by  religion  to  the  virtues  of  ordi- 
nary life.  No  man,  perhaps,  is  aware 
how  much  our  moral  and  social  senti- 
ments are  fed  from  this  fountain  ; how 
powerless  conscience  would  become 
without  the  belief  of  a God ; how  pal- 
sied would  be  human  benevolence,  were 
there  not  the  sense  of  a higher  benevo- 
lence to  quicken  and  sustain  it ; how 
suddenly  the  whole  social  fabric  would 
quake,  and  with  what  a fearful  crash  it 
would  sink  into  hopeless  ruins,  were  the 
ideas  of  a Supreme  Being,  of  account- 
ableness, and  of  a future  life,  to  be 
utterly  erased  from  every  mind.  Once 
let  men  thoroughly  believe  that  they  are 
the  work  and  sport  of  chance  ; that  no 
superior  intelligence  concerns  itself  with 
human  affairs  ; that  all  their  improve- 
ments perish  for  ever  at  death  ; that  the 
weak  have  no  guardian  and  the  injured 
no  avenger  ; that  there  is  no  recompense 
for  sacrifices  to  uprightness  and  the  pub- 
lic good ; that  an  oath  is  unheard  in 
heaven  ; that  secret  crimes  have  no  wit- 
ness but  the  perpetrator ; that  human 
existence  has  no  purpose,  and  human 
virtue  no  unfailing  friend ; that  this 
brief  life  is  every  thing  to  us,  and  death 
is  total,  everlasting  extinction; — once 
let  men  thoroughly  abandon  religion, 
and  who  can  conceive  or  describe  the 
extent  of  the  desolation  which  would 
follow  ? We  hope,  perhaps,  that  human 
laws  and  natural  sympathy  would  hold 
society  together.  As  reasonably  might 
we  believe  that,  were  the  sun  quenched 
in  the  heavens,  our  torches  could  illumi- 
nate and  our  fires  quicken  and  fertilize 
the  earth.  What  is  there  in  human  nat- 
ure to  awaken  respect  and  tenderness, 
if  man  is  the  unprotected  insect  of  a 
day  ? and  what  is  he  more,  if  atheism  be 
true  ? Erase  all  thought  and  fear  of 
God  from  a community,  and  selfishness 
and  sensuality  would  absorb  the  whole 
man.  Appetite  knowing  no  restraint, 
and  poverty  and  suffering  having  no 
solace  or  hope,  would  trample  in  scorn 


on  the  restraints  of  human  laws.  Virtue, 
duty,  principle,  would  be  mocked  and 
spurned  as  unmeaning  sounds.  A sor- 
did self-interest  would  supplant  every 
other  feeling,  and  man  would  become  in 
fact,  what  the  theory  of  atheism  declares 
him  to  be,  a companion  for  brutes. 

It  particularly  deserves  attention  in 
this  discussion,  that  the  Christian  re- 
ligion is  singularly  important  to  free 
communities.  In  truth,  we  may  doubt 
whether  civil  freedom  can  subsist  with- 
out it.  This  at  least  we  know,  that  equal 
rights  and  an  impartial  administration  of 
justice  have  never  been  enjoyed  where 
this  religion  has  not  been  understood. 

It  favors  free  institutions,  first,  because 
its  spirit  is  the  very  spirit  of  liberty ; 
that  is,  a spirit  of  respect  for  the  inter- 
ests and  rights  of  others.  Christianity 
recognizes  the  essential  equality  of  man- 
kind ; beats  down  with  its  whole  might 
those  aspiring  and  rapacious  principles 
of  our  nature  which  have  subjected  the 
many  to  the  few ; and,  by  its  refining 
influence,  as  well  as  by  direct  precept, 
turns  to  God,  and  to  him  only,  that  su- 
preme homage  which  has  been  so  im- 
piously lavished  on  crowned  and  titled  / 
fellow-creatures.  Thus  its  whole  ten- 
dency is  free.  It  lays  deeply  the  only 
foundations  of  liberty,  which  are  the 
principles  of  benevolence,  justice,  and 
respect  for  human  nature.  The  spirit  of 
liberty  is  not  merely,  as  multitudes  im- 
agine, a jealousy  of  our  own  particular 
rights,  an  unwillingness  to  be  oppressed 
ourselves,  but  a respect  for  the  rights  of 
others,  and  an  unwillingness  that  any 
man,  whether  high  or  low,  should  be 
wronged  and  trampled  under  foot.  Now 
this  is  the  spirit  of  Christianity ; and 
liberty  has  no  security,  any  farther  than 
this  uprightness  and  benevolence  of  sen- 
timent actuates  a community. 

In  another  method  religion  befriends 
liberty.  It  diminishes  the  necessity  of 
public  restraints,  and  supersedes  in  a 
great  degree  the  use  of  force  in. admin- 
istering the  laws  ; and  this  it  does  by 
making  men  a law  to  themselves,  and  by 


1 88 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


repressing  the  disposition  to  disturb  and 
injure  society.  Take  away  the  purify- 
ing and  restraining  influence  of  religion, 
and  selfishness,  rapacity,  and  injustice 
will  break  out  in  new  excesses ; and 
amidst  the  increasing  perils  of  society 
government  must  be  strengthened  to 
defend  it,  must  accumulate  means  of  re- 
pressing disorder  and  crime  ; and  this 
strength  and  these  means  may  be,  and 
often  have  been,  turned  against  the  free- 
dom of  the  state  which  they  were  meant 
to  secure.  Diminish  principle,  and  you 
increase  the  need  of  force  in  a com- 
munity. In  this  country  government 
needs  not  the  array  of  power  which  you 
meet  in  other  nations,  — no  guards  of 
soldiers,  no  hosts  of  spies,  no  vexatious 


regulations  of  police  ; but  accomplishes 
its  beneficent  purposes  by  a few  unarmed 
judges  and  civil  officers,  and  operates  so 
silently  around  us,  and  comes  so  seldom 
in  contact  with  us,  that  many  of  us  enjoy 
its  blessings  with  hardly  a thought  of 
its  existence.  This  is  the  perfection  of 
freedom ; and  to  what  do  we  owe  this 
condition  ? I answer,  to  the  power  of 
those  laws  which  religion  writes  on  our 
hearts,  which  unite  and  concentrate  pub- 
lic opinion  against  injustice  and  oppres- 
sion, which  spread  a spirit  of  equity  and 
good-will  through  the  community.  Thus 
religion  is  the  soul  of  freedom,  and  no 
nation  under  heaven  has  such  an  inter- 
est in  it  as  ourselves. 


EVIDENCES  OF 

Romans  i.  16 : “ I am  not  ashamed  of  the  Gospel 
of  Christ.” 

Part  I. 

These  words  of  Paul  are  worthy  of 
his  resolute  and  disinterested  spirit.  In 
uttering  them  he  was  not  an  echo  of 
the  multitude,  a servile  repeater  of  es- 
tablished doctrines.  The  vast  majority 
around  him  were  ashamed  of  Jesus. 
The  cross  was  then  coupled  with  in- 
famy. Christ’s  name  was  scorned  as  a 
malefactor’s,  and  to  profess  his  religion 
was  to  share  his  disgrace.  Since  that 
time  what  striking  changes  have  oc- 
curred ! The  cross  now  hangs  as  an 
ornament  from  the  neck  of  beauty.  It 
blazes  on  the  flags  of  navies  and  the 
standards  of  armies.  Millions  bow  be- 
fore it  in  adoration,  as  if  it  were  a shrine 
of  the  divinity.  Of  course,  the  tempta- 
tion to  be  ashamed  of  Jesus  is  very  much 
-•diminished.  Still  it  is  not  wholly  re- 
moved. Much  of  the  homage  now  paid 
to  Christianity  is  outward,  political, 
worldly,  and  paid  to  its  corruptions  much 
more  than  to  its  pure  and  lofty  spirit ; 
and  accordingly  its  conscientious  and 
intrepid  friends  must  not  think  it  a 
strange  thing  to  be  encountered  with 
occasional  coldness  or  reproach.  We 
may  still  be  tempted  to  be  ashamed  of 


CHRISTIANITY. 

our  religion,  by  being  thrown  among 
sceptics  who  deny  and  deride  it.  We 
may  be  tempted  to  be  ashamed  of  the 
simple  and  rational  doctrines  of  Christ, 
by  being  brought  into  connection  with 
narrow  zealots,  who  enforce  their  dark 
and  perhaps  degrading  peculiarities  as 
essential  to  salvation.  We  may  be 
tempted  to  be  ashamed  of  his  pure, 
meek,  and  disinterested  precepts,  by 
being  thrown  among  the  licentious,  self- 
seeking,  and  vindictive.  Against  these 
perils  we  should  all  go  armed.  To  be 
loyal  to  truth  and  conscience  under 
such  trials  is  one  of  the  signal  proofs  of 
virtue.  No  man  deserves  the  name  of 
Christian  but  he  who  adheres  to  his 
principles  amidst  the  unbelieving,  the 
intolerant,  and  the  depraved. 

“ I am  not  ashamed  of  the  gospel  of 
Christ.”  So  said  Paul.  So  would  I 
say.  Would  to  God  that  I could  catch 
the  spirit  as  well  as  the  language  of  the 
Apostle,  and  bear  my  testimony  to  Chris- 
tianity with  the  same  heroic  resolution  ! 
Do  any  ask,  why  I join  in  this  attesta- 
tion to  the  gospel  ? Some  of  my  reasons 
I propose  now  to  set  before  you  ; and, 
in  doing  so,  I ask  the  privilege  of  speak- 
ing, as  the  Apostle  has  done,  in  the  first 
person  ; of  speaking  in  my  own  name, 
and  of  laying  open  my  own  mind  in  the 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY, 


most  direct  language.  There  are  cases 
in  which  the  ends  of  public  discourse 
may  be  best  answered  by  the  frank  ex- 
pression of  individual  feeling ; and  this 
mode  of  address,  when  adopted  with 
such  views,  ought  not  to  be  set  down  to 
the  account  of  egotism. 

I proceed  to  state  the  reasons  why  I 
am  not  ashamed  of  the  gospel  of  Christ ; 
and  I begin  with  one  so  important  that 
it  will  occupy  the  present  discourse. 

I am  not  ashamed  of  the  gospel  of 
Christ,  because  it  is  true . This  is  my 
first  reason.  The  religion  is  true , and 
no  consideration  but  this  could  induce 
me  to  defend  it.  I adopt  it,  not  because 
it  is  popular,  for  false  and  ruinous  sys- 
tems have  enjoyed  equal  reputation  ; nor 
because  it  is  thought  to  uphold  the  order 
of  society,  for  I believe  that  nothing  but 
truth  can  be  permanently  useful.  It  is 
true ; and  I say  this  not  lightly,  but 
after  deliberate  examination.  I am  not 
repeating  the  accents  of  the  nursery.  I 
do  not  affirm  the  truth  of  Christianity 
because  I was  so  taught  before  I could 
inquire,  or  because  I was  brought  up  in 
a community  pledged  to  this  belief.  It 
is  not  unlikely  that  my  faith  and  zeal 
will  be  traced  by  some  to  these  sources  ; 
and  believing  such  imputations  to  be 
groundless,  fidelity  to  the  cause  of  truth 
binds  me  to  repel  them.  The  circum- 
stance of  having  been  born  and  educated 
under  Christianity,  so  far  from  disposing 
me  to  implicit  faith,  has  often  been  to 
me  the  occasion  of  serious  distrust  of 
our  religion.  On  observing  how  com- 
mon it  is  for  men  of  all  countries  and 
names,  whether  Christians,  Jews,  or 
Mahometans,  to  receive  the  religion  of 
their  fathers,  I have  again  and  again 
asked  myself  whether  I too  was  not  a 
slave,  whether  I too  was  not  blindly 
walking  in  the  path  of  tradition,  and 
yielding  myself  as  passively  as  others  to 
an  hereditary  faith.  I distrust  and  fear 
the  power  of  numbers  and  of  general 
opinion  over  my  judgment ; and  few 
things  incite  me  more  to  repel  a doctrine 
than  intolerant  attempts  to  force  it  on 
my  understanding.  Perhaps  my  Chris- 
tian education  and  connections  have 
inclined  me  to  scepticism,  rather  than 
bowed  my  mind  to  authority. 

It  may  still  be  said  that  the  pride  and 
prejudices  and  motives  of  interest  which 
belong  to  my  profession  as  a Christian 
minister  throw  a suspiciousness  over  my 


189 

reasoning  and  judgment  on  the  present 
subject.  I reply,  that  to  myself  I seem 
as  free  from  biases  of  this  kind  as  the 
most  indifferent  person.  I have  no 
priestly  prepossessions.  I know  and 
acknowledge  the  corruptions  and  per- 
versions of  the  ministerial  office  from 
the  earliest  age  of  the  church.  I repro- 
bate the  tyranny  which  it  exercises  so 
often  over  the  human  mind.  I recognize 
no  peculiar  sanctity  in  those  who  sus- 
tain it.  I think,  then,  that  I come  to  the 
examination  of  Christianity  with  as  few 
blinding  partialities  as  any  man.  I in- 
deed claim  no  exemption  from  error ; I 
ask  no  implicit  faith  in  my  conclusions  ; 

I care  not  how  jealously  and  thoroughly 
my  arguments  are  sifted.  I only  ask 
that  I may  not  be  prejudged  as  a servile 
or  interested  partisan  of  Christianity. 

I ask  that  I may  be  heard  as  a friend  of 
truth,  desirous  to  aid  my  fellow-creat- 
ures in  determining  a question  of  great 
and  universal  concern.  I appear  as  the 
advocate  of  Christianity,  solely  because 
it  approves  itself  to  my  calmest  reason 
as  a revelation  from  God,  and  as  the 
purest,  brightest  light  which  He  has 
shed  on  the  human  mind.  I disclaim 
all  other  motives.  No  policy,  no  vas- 
salage to  opinion,  no  dread  of  reproach 
even  from  the  good,  no  private  interest, 
no  desire  to  uphold  a useful  superstition, 
nothing,  in  short,  but  a deliberate  con- 
viction of  the  truth  of  Christianity  in- 
duces me  to  appear  in  its  ranks.  I 
should  be  ashamed  of  it  did  I not  be- 
lieve it  true. 

In  discussing  this  subject,  I shall  ex- 
press my  convictions  strongly  ; I shall 
speak  of  infidelity  as  a gross  and  peril- 
ous error.  But  in  so  doing  I beg  not  to 
be  understood  as  passing  sentence  on  the 
character  of  individual  unbelievers.  I 
shall  show  that  the  Christian  religion  is 
true  is  from  God  ; but  I do  not  therefore 
conclude  that  all  who  reject  it  are  the 
enemies  of  God,  and  are  to  be  loaded 
with  reproach.  I would  uphold  the 
truth  without  ministering  to  unchari- 
tableness. The  criminality,  the  damna-*' 
ble  guilt  of  unbelief  in  all  imaginable 
circumstances,  is  a position  which  I 
think  untenable ; and  persuaded^  as  I 
am  that  it  prejudices  the  cause  of  Chris- 
tianity, by  creating  an  antipathy  between 
its  friends  and  opposers  which  injures 
both,  and  drives  the  latter  into  more  de- 
termined hostility  to  the  truth,  I think  it 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


I90 

worthy  of  a brief  consideration  in  this 
stage  of  the  discussion. 

I lay  it  down  as  a principle  that  unbe- 
lief, considered  in  itself,  has  no  moral 
quality,  is  neither  a virtue  nor  a vice, 
but  must  receive  its  character,  whether 
good  or  bad,  from  the  dispositions  or 
motives  which  produce  or  pervade  it. 
Mere  acts  of  the  understanding  are 
neither  right  nor  wrong.  When  I speak 
of  faith  as  a holy  or  virtuous  principle, 
I extend  the  term  beyond  its  primitive 
meaning,  and  include  in  it  not  merely 
the  assent  of  the  intellect,  but  the  dis- 
position or  temper  by  which  this  assent 
is  determined,  and  which  it  is  suited  to 
confirm  ; and  I attach  as  broad  a signifi- 
cation to  unbelief,  when  I pronounce  it 
a crime.  The  truth  is,  that  the  human 
mind,  though  divided  by  our  philosophy 
into  many  distinct  capacities,  seldom  or 
never  exerts  them  separately,  but  gen- 
erally blends  them  in  one  act.  Thus, 
in  forming  a judgment,  it  exerts  the  will 
and  affections,  or  the  moral  principles 
of  our  nature,  as  really  as  the  power  of 
thought.  Men’s  passions  and  interests 
mix  with,  and  are  expressed  in,  the 
decisions  of  the  intellect.  In  the  Script- 
ures, which  use  language  freely,  and 
not  with  philosophical  strictness,  faith 
and  unbelief  are  mental  acts  of  this 
complex  character,  or  joint  products  of 
the  understanding  and  heart ; and  on 
this  account  alone  they  are  objects  of 
approbation  or  reproof.  In  these  views, 
I presume,  reflecting  Christians  of  every 
name  agree. 

According  to  these  views,  opinions 
cannot  be  laid  down  as  unerring  and 
immutable  signs  of  virtue  and  vice.  The 
very  same  opinion  may  be  virtuous  in 
one  man  and  vicious  in  another,  sup- 
posing it  as  is  very  possible,  to  have 
originated  in  different  states  of  mind. 
For  example  if  through  envy  and  malig- 
nity, I should  rashly  seize  on  the  slight- 
est proofs  of  guilt  in  my  neighbor,  my 
judgment  of  his  criminality  would  be 
morally  wrong.  Let  another  man  arrive 
at  the  same  conclusion,  in  consequence 
of  impartial  inquiry  and  love  of  truth, 
and  his  decision  would  be  morally  right. 
Still  more,  according  to  these  views  it 
is  possible  for  the  belief  of  Christianity 
to  be  as  criminal  as  unbelief.  Undoubt- 
edly the  reception  of  a system  so  pure 
in  spirit  and  tendency  as  the  gospel 
is  to  be  regarded  in  general  as  a favor- 


able sign.  But  let  a man  adopt  this 
religion  because  it  will  serve  his  interest 
and  popularity ; let  him  shut  his  mind 
against  objections  to  it,  lest  they  should 
shake  his  faith  in  a gainful  system  ; let 
him  tamper  with  his  intellect,  and  for 
base  and  selfish  ends  exhaust  its  strength 
in  defence  of  the  prevalent  faith,  and  he 
is  just  as  criminal  in  believing  as  another 
would  be  in  rejecting  Christianity  under 
the  same  bad  impulses.  Our  religion  is 
at  this  moment  adopted  and  passionately 
defended  by  vast  multitudes,  on  the 
ground  of  the  very  same  pride,  worldl:- 
ness,  love  of  popularity,  and  blind  devo- 
tion to  hereditary  prejudices,  which  led 
the  Jews  and  Heathens  to  reject  it  in 
the  primitive  age  ; and  the  faith  of  the 
first  is  as  wanting  in  virtue  as  was  the 
infidelity  of  the  last. 

To  judge  of  the  character  of  faith  and 
unbelief,  we  must  examine  the  times 
and  the  circumstances  in  which  they 
exist.  At  the  first  preaching  of  the 
gospel,  to  believe  on  Christ  was  a strong 
proof  of  an  upright  mind  ; to  enlist 
among  his  followers  was  to  forsake  ease, 
honor,  and  worldly  success  ; to  confess 
him  was  an  act  of  signal  loyalty  to  truth, 
virtue,  and  God.  To  believe  in  Christ 
at  the  present  moment  has  no  such  sig- 
nificance. To  confess  him  argues  no 
moral  courage.  It  may  even  betray  a 
servility  and  worldliness  of  mind.  These 
remarks  apply  in  their  spirit  to  unbelief. 
At  different  periods,  and  in  different 
conditions  of  society,  unbelief  may  ex- 
press very  different  states  of  mind.  Be- 
fore we  pronounce  it  a crime  and  doom 
it  to  perdition,  we  ought  to  know  the 
circumstances  under  which  it  has  sprung 
up,  and  to  inquire  with  candor  whether 
they  afford  no  palliation  or  defence. 
When  Jesus  Christ  was  on  earth,  when 
his  miracles  were  wrought  before  men’s 
eyes,  when  his  voice  sounded  in  their 
ears,  when  not  a shade  of  doubt  could 
be  thrown  over  the  reality  of  his  super- 
natural works,  and  not  a human  corrup- 
tion had  mingled  with  his  doctrine,  there 
was  the  strongest  presumption  against 
the  uprightness  and  the  love  of  truth 
of  those  who  rejected  him.  He  knew, 
too,  the  hearts  and  lives  of  those  who 
surrounded  him,  and  saw  distinctly  in 
their  envy,  ambition,  worldliness,  sensu- 
ality, the  springs  of  their  unbelief ; and 
accordingly  he  pronounced  it  a crime. 
Since  that  period,  what  changes  have 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


taken  place ! Jesus  Christ  has  left  the 
world.  His  miracles  are  events  of  a 
remote  age,  and  the  proofs  of  them, 
though  abundant,  are  to  many  perfectly 
unknown ; and,  what  is  incomparably 
more  important,  his  religion  has  under- 
gone corruption,  adulteration,  disastrous 
change,  and  its  likeness  to  its  Founder 
is  in  no  small  degree  effaced.  The  clear, 
consistent,  quickening  truth,  which  came 
from  the  lips  of  Jesus,  has  been  ex- 
changed for  a hoarse  jargon  and  vain 
babblings.  The  stream,  so  pure  at  the 
fountain,  has  been  polluted  and  poisoned 
through  its  whole  course.  Not  only 
has  Christianity  been  overwhelmed  by 
absurdities,  but  by  impious  doctrines, 
which  have  made  the  Universal  Father, 
now  a weak  and  vain  despot,  to  be  pro- 
pitiated by  forms  and  flatteries,  and  now 
an  almighty  torturer,  foreordaining  mul- 
titudes of  his  creatures  to  guilt,  and  then 
glorifying  his  justice  by  their  everlasting 
woe.  When. I think  what  Christianity 
has  become  in  the  hands  of  politicians 
and  priests,  how  it  has  been  shaped  into  a 
weapon  of  power,  how  it  has  crushed  the 
human  soul  for  ages,  how  it  has  struck 
the  intellect  with  palsy  and  haunted  the 
imagination  with  superstitious  phantoms, 
how  it  has  broken  whole  nations  to  the 
yoke,  and  frowned  on  every  free  thought ; 
when  I think  how,  under  almost  every 
form  of  this  religion,  its  ministers  have 
taken  it  into  their  own  keeping,  have 
hewn  and  compressed  it  into  the  shape 
of  rigid  creeds,  and  have  then  pursued 
by  menaces  of  everlasting  woe  whoever 
should  question  the  divinity  of  these 
works  of  their  hands  ; — when  I consider, 
in  a word,  how,  under  such  influences, 
Christianity  has  been  and  still  is  exhib- 
ited, in  forms  which  shock  alike  the 
reason,  conscience,  and  heart,  I feel 
deeply,  painfully,  what  a different  system 
it  is  from  that  which  Jesus  taught,  and 
I dare  not  apply  to  unbelief  the  terms 
of  condemnation  which  belonged  to  the 
infidelity  of  the  primitive  age. 

Perhaps  I ought  to  go  further.  Per- 
haps I ought  to  say  that  to  reject  Chris- 
tianity under  some  of  its  corruptions  is 
rather  a virtue  than  a crime.  At  the 
present  moment,  I would  ask  whether 
it  is  a vice  to  doubt  the  truth  of  Chris- 
tianity as  it  is  manifested  in  Spain  and 
Portugal  ? When  a patriot  in  those 
benighted  countries,  who  knows  Chris- 
tianity only  as  a bulwark  of  despotism, 


IQI 

as  a rearer  of  inquisitions,  as  a stern 
jailer  immuring  wretched  women  in  the 
convent,  as  an  executioner  stained  and 
reeking  with  the  blood  of  the  friends  of 
freedom ; I say,  when  the  patriot,  who 
sees  in  our  religion  the  instrument  of 
these  crimes  and  woes,  believes  and 
affirms  that  it  is  not  from  God,  are  we 
authorized  to  charge  his  unbelief  on 
dishonesty  and  corruption  of  mind,  and 
to  brand  him  as  a culprit  ? May  it  not 
be  that  the  spirit  of  Christianity  in  his 
heart  emboldens  him  to  protest  with  his 
lips  against  what  bears  the  name  ? And 
if  he  thus  protest,  through  a deep  sym- 
pathy with  the  oppression  and  suffer- 
ings of  his  race,  is  he  not  nearer  the 
kingdom  of  God  than  the  priest  and 
inquisitor  who  boastingly  and  exclu- 
sively assume  the  Christian  name  ? 
Jesus  Christ  has  told  us  that  “this  is 
the  condemnation  ” of  the  unbelieving, 
“that  they  love  darkness  rather  than 
light ; ” and  who  does  not  see  that  this 
ground  of  condemnation  is  removed  just 
in  proportion  as  the  light  is  quenched, 
or  Christian  truth  is  buried  in  darkness 
and  debasing  error  ? 

I know  I shall  be  told  that  a man  in 
the  circumstances  now  supposed  would 
still  be  culpable  for  his  unbelief,  be- 
cause the  Scriptures  are  within  his 
reach,  and  these  are  sufficient  to  guide 
him  to  the  true  doctrines  of  Christ. 
But  in  the  countries  of  which  I have 
spoken,  the  Scriptures  are  not  com- 
mon ; and  if  they  were,  I apprehend 
that  we  should  task  human  strength  too 
severely,  in  requiring  it,  under  every 
possible  disadvantage,  to  gain  the  truth 
from  this  source  alone.  A man,  born 
and  brought  up  in  the  thickest  dark- 
ness, and  amidst  the  grossest  corrup- 
tions of  Christianity,  accustomed  to  hear 
the  Scriptures  disparaged,  accustomed 
to  connect  false  ideas  with  their  princi- 
pal terms,  and  wanting  our  most  com- 
mon helps  of  criticism,  can  hardly  be 
expected  to  detach  from  the  mass  of 
error  which  bears  the  name  of  the  gos- 
pel, the  simple  principles  of  the  primi- 
tive faith.  Let  us  not  exact  too  much 
of  our  fellow-creatures.  In  our  zeal 
for  Christianity  let  us  not  forget  its 
spirit  of  equity  and  mercy.  In  these 
remarks  I have  taken  an  extreme  case. 

I have  supposed  a man  subjected  to  the 
greatest  disadvantages  in  regard  to  the 
knowledge  of  Christianity.  But  obsta- 


192 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


cles  less  serious  may  exculpate  the  un- 
believer. In  truth,  none  of  us  can  draw 
the  line  which  separates  between  inno- 
cence and  guilt  in  this  particular.  To 
measure  the  responsibility  of  a man 
who  doubts  or  denies  Christianity,  we 
must  know  the  history  of  his  mind,  his 
capacity  of  judgment,  the  early  influ- 
ences and  prejudices  to  which  he  was 
exposed,  the  forms  under  which  the 
religion  and  its  proofs  first  fixed  his 
thoughts,  and  the  opportunities  since  en- 
joyed of  eradicating  errors,  which  struck 
root  before  the  power  of  trying  them 
was  unfolded.  We  are  not  his  judges. 
At  another  and  an  unerring  tribunal  he 
must  give  account. 

I cannot,  then,  join  in  the  common 
cry  against  infidelity  as  the  sure  mark 
of  a corrupt  mind.  That  unbelief  often 
has  its  origin  in  evil  dispositions  I can- 
not doubt.  The  character  of  the  unbe- 
liever often  forces  us  to  acknowledge 
that  he  rejects  Christianity  to  escape 
its  rebukes  ; that  its  purity  is  its  chief 
offence  ; that  he  seeks  infidelity  as  a 
refuge  from  fear  and  virtuous  restraint. 
But  to  impute  these  unholy  motives  to 
a man  of  pure  life  is  to  judge  rashly, 
and  it  may  be  unrighteously.  I cannot 
look  upon  unbelief  as  essentially  and 
unfailingly  a crime.  But  I do  look 
upon  it  as  among  the  greatest  of  ca- 
lamities. It  is  the  loss  of  the  chief  aid 
of  virtue,  of  the  mightiest  power  over 
temptation,  of  the  most  quickening 
knowledge  of  God,  of  the  only  unfail- 
ing light,  of  the  only  sure  hope.  The 
unbeliever  would  gain  unspeakably  by 
parting  with  every  possession  for  the 
truth  which  he  doubts  or  rejects.  And 
how  shall  we  win  him  to  the  faith? 
Not  by  reproach,  by  scorn,  by  tones  of 
superiority ; but  by  paying  due  respect 
to  his  understanding,  his  virtues,  and 
his  right  of  private  judgment ; by  set- 
ting before  him  Christianity  in  its  simple 
majesty,  its  reasonableness,  and  won- 
derful adaptation  to  the  wants  of  our 
spiritual  nature  ; by  exhibiting  its  proofs 
without  exaggeration,  yet  in  their  full 
strength  ; and,  above  all,  by  showing  in 
our  own  characters  and  lives  that  there 
is  in  Christianity  a power  to  purify, 
elevate,  and  console,  which  can  be 
found  in  no  human  teaching.  These 
are  the  true  instruments  of  conversion. 
The  ignorant  and  superstitious  may 
indeed  be  driven  into  a religion  by 


menace  and  reproach.  But  the  reflect- 
ing unbeliever  cannot  but  distrust  a 
cause  which  admits  such  weapons.  He 
must  be  reasoned  with  as  a man,  an 
equal,  and  a brother.  Perhaps  we  may 
silence  him  for  a time  by  spreading 
through  the  community  a fanatical  ex- 
citement and  a persecuting  hatred  of 
infidelity.  But  as  by  such  processes 
Christianity  would  be  made  to  take  a 
more  unlovely  and  irrational  form,  its 
secret  foes  would  be  multiplied ; its 
brightest  evidence  would  be  dimmed, 
its  foundation  sapped,  its  energy  im- 
paired ; and  whenever  the  time  should 
arrive  for  throwing  off  the  mask  (and 
that  time  would  come),  we  should  learn 
that  in  the  very  ranks  of  its  nominal 
disciples  there  had  been  trained  a host 
of  foes,  who  would  burn  to  prostrate 
the  intolerant  faith  which  had  so  long 
sealed  their  lips,  and  trampled  on  the 
rights  and  freedom  of  the  human  mind. 

According  to  these  views,  I do  not 
condemn  the  unbeliever,  unless  he  bear 
witness  against  himself  by  an  immoral 
and  irreligious  life.  It  is  not  given  me 
to  search  his  heart.  But  this  power  is 
given  to  himself,  and,  as  a friend,  I call 
upon  him  to  exert  it  ;*  I ask  him  to  look 
honestly  into  his  own  mind,  to  question 
his  past  life,  and  to  pronounce  impartial 
sentence  on  the  causes  of  his  unbelief. 
Let  him  ask  himself  whether  he  has 
inquired  into  the  principles  and  proofs 
of  Christianity  deliberately  and  in  the 
love  of  truth  ; whether  the  desire  to 
discover  and  fulfil  his  duties  to  God 
and  his  fellow-creatures  has  governed 
his  examination  ; whether  he  has  sur- 
rendered himself  to  no  passions  or  pur- 
suits which  religion  and  conscience 
rebuke,  and  which  bar  the  mind  and 
sear  the  heart  against  the  truth.  If, 
thus  self  questioned,  his  heart  acquit 
him,  let  no  man  condemn  him,  and  let 
him  heed  no  man’s  condemnation.  But 
if  conscience  bear  witness  against  him, 
he  has  cause  to  suspect  and  dread  his 
unbelief.  He  has  reason  to  fear  that 
it  is  the  fruit  of  a depraved  mind,  and 
that  it  will  ripen  and  confirm  the  de- 
pravity from  which  it  sprung. 

I know  that  there  are  those  who  will 
construe  what  they  will  call  my  lenity 
towards  unbelief  into  treachery  towards 
Christianity.  There  are  those  who  think 
that  unless  scepticism  be  ranked  among 
the  worst  crimes,  and  the  infidel  be 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


193 


marked  out  for  abhorrence  and  dread, 
the  multitude  of  men  will  lose  their 
hold  on  the  gospel.  An  opinion  more 
discreditable  to  Christianity  cannot  ea- 
sily be  advanced  by  its  friends.  It 
virtually  admits  that  the  proofs  of  our 
religion,  unless  examined  under  the 
influence  of  terror,  cannot  work  con- 
viction ; that  the  gospel  cannot  be  left, 
like  other  subjects,  to  the  calm  and 
unbiassed  judgment  of  mankind.  It 
discovers  a distrust  of  Christianity  with 
which  I have  no  sympathy.  And  here 
I would  remark  that  the  worst  abuses 
of  our  religion  have  sprung  from  this 
cowardly  want  of  confidence  in  its 
power.  Its  friends  have  feared  that  it 
could  not  stand  without  a variety  of 
artificial  buttresses.  They  have  im- 
agined that  men  must  now  be  bribed 
into  faith  by  annexing  to  it  temporal 
privileges,  now  driven  into  it  by  mena- 
ces and  inquisitions,  now  attracted  by 
gorgeous  forms,  now  awed  by  mysteries 
and  superstitions  ; in  a word,  that  the 
multitude  must  be  imposed  upon,  or  the 
religion  will  fall.  I have  no  such  dis- 
trust of  Christianity  ; I believe  in  its 
invincible  powers.  It  is  founded  in  our 
nature.  It  m^ts  our  deepest  wants. 
Its  proofs  as  well  as  principles  are 
adapted  to  the  common  understandings 
of  men,  and  need  not  to  be  aided  by 
appeals  to  fear  or  any  other  passion, 
which  would  discourage  inquiry  or  dis- 
turb the  judgment.  I fear  nothing  for 
Christianity  if  left  to  speak  in  its  own 
tones,  to  approach  men  with  its  un- 
veiled, benignant  countenance.  I do 
fear  much  from  the  weapons  of  policy 
and  intimidation  which  are  framed  to 
uphold  the  imagined  weakness  of  Chris- 
tian truth. 

I now  come  to  the  great  object  of  this 
discourse,  — an  exhibition  of  the  proofs 
of  Christianity  ; and  I begin  with  a topic 
which  is  needed  to  prepare  some,  if  not 
many,  to  estimate  these  proofs  fairly, 
and  according  to  their  true  weight.  I 
begin  with  the  position,  that  there  is 
nothing  in  the  general  idea  of  revelation 
&t  which  reason  ought  to  take  offence, 
nothing  inconsistent  with  any  established 
truth,  or  with  our  best  views  of  God  and 
nature.  This  topic  meets  a prejudice 
not  very  rare.  I repeat  it,  then,  revela- 
tion is  nothing  incredible,  nothing  which 
carries  contradiction  on  its  face,  nothing 
4t  war  with  any  great  principles  of  rea- 


son or  experience.  On  hearing  of  God’s 
teaching  us  by  some  other  means  than 
the  fixed  order  of  nature,  we  ought  not 
to  be  surprised,  nor  ought  the  suggestion 
to  awaken  resistance  in  our  minds. 

Revelation  is  not  at  war  with  nature. 
From  the  necessity  of  the  case,  the 
earliest  instruction  must  have  come  to 
human  beings  from  this  source.  If  our 
race  had  a beginning  (and  nothing  but 
the  insanity  of  atheism  can  doubt  this), 
then  its  first  members,  created  as*  they 
were  without  human  parentage,  and  hav- 
ing no  resource  in  the  experience  of 
fellow-creatures  who  had  preceded  them, 
required  an  immediate  teaching  from 
their  Creator  ; they  would  have  perished 
without  it.  Revelation  was  the  very 
commencement  of  human  history,  the 
foundation  of  all  later  knowledge  and 
improvement.  It  was  an  essential  part 
of  the  course  of  Providence,  and  must 
not  then  be  regarded  as  a discord  in 
God’s  general  system. 

Revelation  is  not  at  war  with  nature. 
Nature  prompts  us  to  expect  it  from  the 
relation  which  God  bears  to  the  human 
race.  The  relation  of  Creator  is  the 
most  intimate  which  can  subsist ; and  it 
leads  us  to  anticipate  a free  and  affec- 
tionate intercourse  with  the  creature. 
That  the  Universal  Father  should  be 
bound  by  a parental  interest  to  his  off- 
spring, that  He  should  watch  over  and 
assist  the  progress  of  beings  whom  He 
has  enriched  with  the  divine  gifts  of 
reason  and  conscience,  is  so  natural  a 
doctrine,  so  accordant  with  his  charac- 
ter, that  various  sects,  both  philosophical 
and  religious,  both  anterior  and  subse- 
quent to  Christianity,  have  believed  not 
only  in  general  revelation,  but  that  God 
reveals  himself  to  every  human  soul. 
When  I think  of  the  vast  capacities  of 
the  human  mind,  of  God’s  nearness  to 
it  and  unbounded  love  towards  it,  I am 
disposed  to  wonder,  not  that  revelations 
have  been  made,  but  that  they  have  not 
been  more  variously  vouchsafed  to  the 
wants  of  mankind. 

Revelation  has  a striking  agreement 
with  the  chief  method  which  God  has 
instituted  for  carrying  forward  individ- 
uals and  the  race,  and  is  thus  in 
harmony  with  his  ordinary  operations. 
Whence  is  it  that  we  all  acquire  our  chief 
knowledge  ? Not  from  the  outward  uni- 
verse,— not  from  the  fixed  laws  of 
material  nature,  — but  from  intelligent 
13 


194 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


beings  more  advanced  than  ourselves. 
The  teachings  of  the  wise  and  good  are 
our  chief  aids.  Were  our  connection 
with  superior  minds  broken  off,  had  we 
no  teacher  but  nature,  with  its  fixed  laws, 
its  unvarying  revolutions  of  night  and 
day  and  seasons,  we  should  remain  for 
ever  in  the  ignorance  of  childhood.  Nat- 
ure is  a volume  which  we  can  read  only 
by  the  help  of  an  intelligent  interpreter. 
The  great  law  under  which  man  is  placed 
is  that  he  shall  receive  illumination  and 
impulse. from  beings  more  improved  than 
himself.  Now  revelation  is  only  an  ex- 
tension of  this  universal  method  of  car- 
rying forward  mankind.  In  this  case, 
God  takes  on  himself  the  office  to  which 
all  rational  beings  are  called.  He  be- 
comes an  immediate  teacher  to  a few, 
communicating  to  them  a higher  order 
of  truths  than  had  before  been  attained, 
which  they  in  turn  are  to  teach  to  their 
race.  Here  is  no  new  power  or  element 
introduced  into  the  system,  but  simply 
an  enlargement  of  that  agency  on  which 
the  progress  of  man  chiefly  depends. 

Let  me  next  ask  you  to  consider  why 
or  for  what  end  God  has  ordained,  as 
the  chief  means  of  human  improvement, 
the  communication  of  light  from  superior 
to  inferior  minds  ; and  if  it  shall  then  ap- 
pear that  revelation  is  strikingly  adapted 
to  promote  a similar  though  more  im- 
portant end,  you  will  have  another  mark 
of  agreement  between  revelation  and  hi» 
ordinary  providence.  Why  is  it  that 
God  has  made  men's  progress  dependent 
on  instruction  from  their  fellow-beings  ? 
Why  are  the  more  advanced  commis- 
sioned to  teach  the  less  informed  ? A 
great  purpose,  I believe  the  chief  pur- 
pose, is  to  establish  interesting  relations 
among  men  to  bind  them  to  one  another 
by  generous  sentiments,  to  promote  af- 
fectionate intercourse,  to  call  forth  a 
purer  love  than  could  spring  from  a com- 
munication of  mere  outward  gifts.  Now 
it  is  rational  to  believe  that  the  Creator 
designs  to  bind  his  creatures  to  himself 
as  truly  as  to  one  another,  and  to  awaken 
towards  himself  even  stronger  gratitude, 
confidence,  and  love  ; for  these  senti- 
ments towards  God  are  more  happy  and 
ennobling  than  towards  any  other  being  ; 
and  it  is  plain  that  revelation,  or  immedi- 
ate divine  teaching,  serves  as  effectually 
to  establish  these  ties  between  God  and 
man  as  human  teaching  to  attach  men 
to  one  another.  We  see,  then,  in  revela- 


tion an  end  corresponding  to  what  the 
Supreme  Being  adopts  in  his  common 
providence.  That  the  end  here  affirmed 
is  worthy  of  his  interposition,  who  can 
doubt  ? His  benevolence  can  propose 
no  higher  purpose  than  that  of  raising 
the  minds  and  hearts  of  his  creatures  to 
himself.  His  parental  character  is  a 
pledge  that  he  must  intend  this  ineffable 
happiness  for  his  rational  offspring  ; and 
revelation  is  suited  to  this  end,  not  only 
by  unfolding  new  doctrines  in  relation 
to  God,  but  by  the  touching  proof  which 
it  carries  in  itself  of  the  special  interest 
which  He  takes  in  his  human  family. 
There  is  plainly  an  expression  of  deeper 
concern,  a more  affectionate  character, 
in  this  mode  of  instruction,  than  in 
teaching  us  by  the  fixed  order  of  nature. 
Revelation  is  God  speaking  to  us  in  our 
own  language,  in  the  accents  which  hu- 
man friendship  employs.  It  shows  a 
love,  breaking  through  the  reserve  and 
distance,  which  we  all  feel  to  belong  to 
the  method  of  teaching  us  by  his  works 
alone.  It  fastens  our  minds  on  him. 
We  can  look  on  nature,  and  not  think  of 
the  Being  whose  glory  it  declares  ; but 
God  is  indissolubly  connected  with,  and 
indeed  is  a part  of,  the  ictea  of  revelation. 
How  much  nearer  does  mis  direct  inter- 
course bring  him  to  the  mass  of  man- 
kind ! On  this  account  revelation  would 
seem  to  me  important,  were  it  simply  to 
repeat  the  teachings  of  nature.  /This 
reiteration  of  great  truths  in  a less 
formal  style,  in  kinder,  more  familiar 
tones,  is  peculiarly  fitted  to  awaken  the 
soul  to  the  presence  and  benignity  of  its 
heavenly  Parent.  I see,  then,  in  revela- 
tion a purpose  corresponding  with  that 
for  which  human  teaching  was  instituted. 
Both  are  designed  to  bring  together  the 
teacher  and  the  taught  in  pure  affec- 
tions. 

Let  me  next  ask  you  to  consider  what 
is  the  kind  of  instruction  which  the 
higher  minds  among  men  are  chiefly 
called  to  impart  to  the  inferior.  You 
will  here  see  another  agreement  be- 
tween revelation  and  that  ordinary 
human  teaching  which  is  the  great  in- 
strument of  improving  the  race.  What 
kind  of  instruction  is  it  which  parents, 
which  the  aged  and  experienced,  are 
most  anxious  to  give  to  the  young,  and 
on  which  the  safety  of  this  class  mainly 
depends  ? It  is  instruction  in  relation 
to  the  future,  to  their  adult  years,  such 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


195 


as  is  suited  to  prepare  them  for  the  life 
that  is  opening  before  them.  It  is 
God’s  will,  when  He  gives  us  birth,  that 
we  should  be  forewarned  of  the  future 
stages  of  our  being,  of  approaching 
manhood  or  womanhood,  of  the  scenes, 
duties,  labors,  through  which  we  are  to 
pass  ; and  for  this  end  He  connects  us 
with  beings  who  have  traversed  the 
paths  on  which  we  are  entering,  and 
whose  duty  it  is  to  train  us  for  a more 
advanced  age.  Instruction  in  regard  to 
futurity  is  the  great  means  of  improve- 
ment. Now  the  Christian  revelation  has 
for  its  aim  to  teach  us  on  this  very  sub- 
ject, — to  disclose  the  life  which  is  be- 
fore us,  and  to  fit  us  for  it.  A future 
state  is  its  constant  burden.  That  God 
should  give  us  light  in  regard  to  that 
state,  if  He  designs  us  for  it,  is  what  we 
should  expect  from  his  solicitude  to 
teach  us  in  regard  to  what  is  future  in 
our  earthly  existence.  Nature  thirsts 
for,  and  analogy  almost  promises,  some 
illumination  on  the  subject  of  human 
destiny.  This  topic  I shan  insist  on 
more  largely  hereafter.  I wish  now 
simply  to  show  you  the  agreement  of 
revelation,  in  this  particular,  with  the 
ordinary  providence  of  God. 

I proceed  to  another  order  of  reflec- 
tions, which  to  my  own  mind  is  particu- 
larly suited  to  meet  the  vague  idea  that 
revelation  is  at  war  with  nature.  To 
judge  of  nature,  we  should  look  at  its 
highest  rank  of  beings.  We  should  in- 
quire of  the  human  soul,  which  we  all 
feel  to  be  a higher  existence  than  mat- 
ter. Now  I maintain  that  there  are  in 
the  human  soul  wants,  deep  wants,  which 
are  not  met  by  the  influences  and  teach- 
ing which  the  ordinary  course  of  things 
affords.  I am  aware  that  this  is  a topic 
to  provoke  distrust,  if  not  derision,  in 
the  low-minded  and  sensual ; but  I 
speak  what  I do  know ; and  nothing 
moves  me  so  little  as  the  scoffs  of  men 
who  despise  their  own  nature.  One  of 
the  most  striking  views  of  human  nature 
is  the  disproportion  between  what  it 
conceives  and  thirsts  for,  and  what  it 
finds  or  can  secure  in  the  range  of  the 
present  state.  It  is  prone  to  stretch  be- 
yond its  present  bounds.  Ideas  of  ex- 
cellence and  happiness  spring  up  which 
it  cannot  realize  now.  It  carries  within 
itself  a standard,  of  which  it  daily  and 
hourly  falls  short.  This  self-contradic- 
tion is  the  source  of  many  sharp  pains. 


There  is,  in  most  men,  a dim  conscious- 
ness, at  least,  of  being  made  for  some- 
thing higher  than  they  have  gained, 
a feeling  of  internal  discord,  a want  of 
some  stable  good,  a disappointment  in 
merely  outward  acquisitions ; and  in 
proportion  as  these  convictions  and 
wants  become  distinct,  they  break  out 
in  desires  of  illumination  and  aids  from 
God  not  found  in  nature.  I am  aware 
that  the  wants  of  which  I have  spoken 
are  but  faintly  developed  in  the  major- 
ity of  men.  Accustomed  to  give  their 
thoughts  and  strength  to  the  outward 
world,  multitudes  do  not  penetrate  and 
cannot  interpret  their  own  souls.  They 
impute  to  outward  causes  the  miseries 
which  spring  from  an  internal  fountain. 
They  do  not  detain,  and  are  scarcely  con- 
scious of,  the  better  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings which  sometimes  dart  through  their 
minds.  Still  there  are  few  who  are  not 
sometimes  dissatisfied  with  themselves, 
who  do  not  feel  the  wrong  which  they 
have  done  to  themselves,  and  who  do 
not  desire  a purer  and  nobler  state  of 
mind.  The  suddenness  with  which  the 
multitude  are  thrilled  by  the  voice  of 
fervent  eloquence,  when  it  speaks  to 
them  of  the  spiritual  world  in  tones  of 
reality,  shows  the  deep  wants  of  human 
nature  even  amidst  ignorance  and  deg- 
radation. But  all  men  do  not  give  them- 
selves wholly  to  outward  things.  There 
are  those,  and  not  a few,  who  are  more 
true  to  their  nature,  and  ought  therefore 
to  be  regarded  as  its  more  faithful  rep- 
resentatives ; and  in  such  the  wants  of 
which  I have  spoken  are  unfolded  with 
energy.  There  are  those  who  feel  pain- 
fully the  weight  of  their  present  imper- 
fection ; who  are  fired  by  rare  examples 
of  magnanimity  and  devotion  ; who  de- 
sire nothing  so  intensely  as  power  over 
temptation,  as  elevation  above  selfish 
passions,  as  conformity  of  will  to  the  in- 
ward law  of  duty,  as  the  peace  of  con- 
scious rectitude  and  religious  trust ; who 
would  rejoice  to  lay  down  the  present 
life  for  that  spotless,  bright,  disinter- 
ested virtue,  of  which  they  have  the 
type  or  germ  in  their  own  minds.  Such 
men  can  find  no  resource  but  in  God, 
and  are  prepared  to  welcome  a revela- 
tion of  his  merciful  purposes  as  an  un- 
speakable gift.  I say,  then,  that  the 
human  mind  has  wants  which  nature 
does  not  answer.  And  these  are  not 
accidental  feelings,  unaccountable  ca- 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


196 

prices,  but  are  deep,  enduring,  and 
reproduced  in  all  ages  under  one  or 
another  form.  They  breathe  through 
the  works  of  genius  ; they  burn  in  the 
loftiest  souls.  Here  are  principles  im- 
planted by  God  in  the  highest  order  of 
his  creatures  on  earth,  to  which  revela- 
tion is  adapted  ; and  I say,  then,  that 
revelation  is  any  thing  but  hostility  to 
nature. 

I will  offer  but  one  more  view  in  illus- 
tration of  this  topic.  I ask  you  to  con- 
sider on  what  principle  of  human  nature 
the  Christian  revelation  is  intended  to 
bear  and  to  exert  influence,  and  then  to 
inquire  whether  the  peculiar  importance 
of  this  principle  be  not  a foundation  for 
peculiar  interposition  in  its  behalf.  If 
so,  revelation  may  be  said  to  be  a de- 
mand of  the  human  soul,  and  its  imag- 
ined incongruity  with  nature  will  disap- 
pear. For  what  principle  or  faculty  of 
the  mind,  then,  was  Christianity  in- 
tended ? It  was  plainly  not  given  to 
enrich  the  intellect  by  teaching  philos- 
ophy, or  to  perfect  the  imagination  and 
taste  by  furnishing  sublime  and  beauti- 
ful models  of  composition.  It  was  not 
meant  to  give  sagacity  in  public  life,  or 
skill  and  invention  in  common  affairs. 
It  was  undoubtedly  designed  to  develop 
all  these  faculties,  but  secondarily,  and 
through  its  influence  on  a higher  prin- 
ciple. It  addresses  itself  primarily,  and 
is  especially  adapted,  to  the  moral  power 
in  man.  It  regards  and  is  designed  for 
man  as  a moral  being,  endued  with  con- 
science or  the  principle  of  duty,  who  is 
capable  of  that  peculiar  form  of  excel- 
lence which  we  call  righteousness  or 
virtue,  and  exposed  to  that  peculiar  evil, 
guilt.  Now  the  question  offers  itself, 
Why  does  God  employ  such  extraordi- 
nary means  for  promoting  virtue  rather 
than  science,  for  aiding  conscience 
rather  than  intellect  and  our  other  pow- 
ers ? Is  there  a foundation  in  the  moral 
principle  for  peculiar  interpositions  in 
its  behalf  ? I affirm  that  there  is.  I 
affirm  that  a broad  distinction  exists 
between  our  moral  nature  and  our  other 
capacities.  Conscience  is  the  supreme 
power  within  us.  Its  essence,  its  grand 
characteristic,  is  sovereignty.  It  speaks 
with  a divine  authority.  Its  office  is  to 
command, . to  rebuke,  to  reward ; and 
happiness  and  honor  depend  on  the 
reverence  with  which  we  listen  to  it. 
All  our  other  powers  become  useless, 


and  worse  than  useless,  unless  controlled 
by  the  principle  of  duty.  Virtue  is  the 
supreme  good,  the  supreme  beauty,  the 
divinest  of  God’s  gifts,  the  healthy  and 
harmonious  unfolding  of  the  soul,  and 
the  germ  of  immortality.  It  is  worth 
every  sacrifice,  and  has  power  to  trans- 
mute sacrifices  and  sufferings  into  crowns 
of  glory  and  rejoicing.  Sin,  vice,  is  an 
evil  of  its  own  kind,  and  not  to  be  con- 
founded with  any  other.  Who  does  not 
feel  at  once  the  broad  distinction  be- 
tween misfortune  and  crime,  between 
disease  of  body  and  turpitude  of  soul  ? 
Sin,  vice,  is  war  with  the  highest  power 
in  our  own  breasts,  and  in  the  universe. 
It  makes  a being  odious  to  himself,  and 
arms  against  him  the  principle  of  recti- 
tude in  God  and  in  all  pure  beings  It 
poisons  or  dries  up  the  fountains  of 
enjoyment,  and  adds  unspeakable  weight 
to  the  necessary  pains  of  life.  It  is  not 
a foreign  evil,  but  a blight  and  curse 
in  the  very  centre  of  our  being.  Its 
natural  associates  are  fear,  shame,  and 
self-tortun?;  and,  whilst  it  robs  the 
present  of  consolation,  it  leaves  the 
future  without  hope.  Now  I say  that 
in  this  peculiar  ruin  wrought  by  moral 
evil,  and  in  this  peculiar  worth  of  moral 
goodness,  we  see  reasons  for  special 
interpositions  of  God  in  behalf  of  virtue, 
in  resistance  of  sin.  It  becomes  the 
Infinite  Father  to  manifest  peculiar 
interest  in  the  moral  condition  and  wants 
of  his  creatures.  Their  great  and  con- 
tinued corruption  is  an  occasion  for 
peculiar  methods  of  relief ; and  a reve- 
lation given  to  restore  them,  and  carry 
them  forward  to  perfection,  has  an  end 
which  justifies,  if  it  does  not  demand, 
this  signal  expression  of  parental  love. 

The  preceding  views  have  been  of- 
fered, not  as  sufficient  to  prove  that  a 
revelation  has  been  given,  but  for  the 
purpose  of  removing  the  vague  notion 
that  it  is  at  war  with  nature,  and  of 
showing  its  consistency  with  the  spirit 
and  principles  of  the  divine  administra- 
tion. I proceed  now  to  consider  the 
direct  and  positive  proofs  of  Christian- 
ity, beginning  with  some  remarks  on  the 
nature  and  sufficiency  of  the  evidence  on 
which  it  chiefly  relies. 

Christianity  sprung  up  about  eighteen 
hundred  years  ago.  Of  course  its  evi- 
dences are  to  be  sought  in  history.  We 
must  go  back  to  the  time  of  its  birth, 
and  understand  the  condition  in  which 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


197 


it  found  the  world,  as  well  as  the  cir- 
cumstances of  its  origin,  progress,  and 
establishment ; and  happily,  on  these 
points,  we  have  all  the  light  necessary 
to  a just  judgment.  We  must  not  imag- 
ine that  a religion  which  bears  the  date 
of  so  distant  an  age  must  therefore  be 
involved  in  obscurity.  We  know  enough 
of  the  earliest  times  of  Christianity  to 
place  the  question  of  its  truth  within 
our  reach.  The  past  may  be  known  as 
truly  as  the  present ; and  I deem  this 
principle  so  important  in  the  present 
discussion  that  I ask  your  attention 
to  it. 

The  past,  I have  said,  may  be  known  ; 
nor  is  this  all ; we  derive  from  it  our 
most  important  knowledge.  Former 
times  are  our  chief  instructors.  Our 
political  as  well  as  religious  institutions, 
our  laws,  customs,  modes  of  thinking, 
arts  of  life,  have  come  down  from  ear- 
lier ages,  and  most  of  them  are  unintel- 
ligible without  a light  borrowed  from 
history. 

Not  only  are  we  able  to  know  the 
nearest  of  past  ages,  or  those  which 
touch  on  our  own  times,  but  those  which 
are  remote.  No  educated  man  doubts 
any  more  of  the  victories  of  Alexander 
or  Caesar,  before  Christ,  than  of  Napo- 
leon’s conquests  in  our  own  day.  So 
open  is  our  communication  with  some 
ages  of  antiquity,  so  many  are  the  rec- 
ords which  they  have  transmitted,  that 
we  know  them  even  better  than  nearer 
times  ; and  a religion  which  grew  up 
eighteen  hundred  years  ago  may  be 
more  intelligible  and  accompanied  with 
more  decisive  proofs  of  truth  or  false- 
hood, than  one  which  is  not  separated 
from  us  by  a fourth  part  of  that  dura- 
tion. 

From  the  nature  of  things,  we  may 
and  must  know  much  of  the  past ; for 
the  present  has  grown  out  of  the  past, 
— is  its  legacy,  fruit,  representative,  and 
is  deeply  impressed  with  it.  Events  do 
not  expire  at  the  moment  of  their  occur- 
rence. Nothing  takes  place  without 
leaving  traces  behind  it ; and  these  are 
in  many  cases  so  distinct  and  various  as 
to  leave  not  a doubt  of  their  cause.  We 
all  understand,  how,  in  the  material 
world,  events  testify  of  themselves  to 
future  ages.  Should  we  visit  an  un- 
known region,  and  behold  masses  of 
lava  covered  with  soil  of  different  de- 
grees of  thickness,  and  surrounding  a 


blackened  crater,  we  should  have  as  firm 
a persuasion  of  the  occurrence  of  re- 
mote and  successive  volcanic  eruptions 
as  if  we  had  lived  through  the  ages  in 
which  they  took  place.  The  chasms 
of  the  earth  would  report  how  terribly 
it  had  been  shaken,  and  the  awful  might 
of  long-extinguished  fires  would  be 
written  in  desolations  which  ages  had 
failed  to  efface.  Now  conquest,  and 
civil  and  religious  revolutions,  leave 
equally  their  impressions  on  society, 
leave  institutions,  manners,  and  a vari- 
ety of  monuments,  which  are  inexpli- 
cable without  them,  and  which,  taken 
together,  admit  not  a doubt  of  their 
occurrence.  The  past  stretches  into 
the  future,  the  present  is  crowded  with 
it,  and  can  be  interpreted  only  by  the 
light  of  history. 

But  besides  these  effects  and  remains 
of  earlier  times,  we  have  other  and  more 
distinct  memorials  of  the  past,  which, 
when  joined  with  the  former,  place  it 
clearly  within  our  knowledge.  I refer 
to  books.  A book  is  more  than  a monu- 
ment of  a preceding  age.  It  is  a voice 
coming  to  us  over  the  interval  ot  cen- 
turies. Language,  when  written,  as 
truly  conveys  to  us  another’s  mind  as 
when  spoken.  It  is  a species  of  per- 
sonal intercourse.  By  it  the  wise  of 
former  times  give  us  their  minds  as 
really  as  if  by  some  miracle  they  were 
to  rise  from  the  dead  and  communicate 
with  us  by  speech. 

From  these  remarks  we  learn  that 
Christianity  is  not  placed  beyond  the 
reach  of  our  investigations  by  the  re- 
moteness of  its  origin ; and  they  are 
particularly  applicable  to  the  age  in 
which  the  gospel  was  first  given  to 
the  world.  Our  religion  did  not  spring 
up  before  the  date  of  authentic  history. 
Its  birth  is  not  hidden  in  the  obscurity 
of  early  and  fabulous  times.  We  have 
abundant  means  of  access  to  its  earliest 
stages ; and,  what  is  very  important, 
the  deep  and  peculiar  interest  which 
Christianity  has  awakened  has  fixed  the 
earnest  attention  of  the  most  learned 
and  sagacious  men  on  the  period  of 
its  original  publication,  so  that  no  age 
of  antiquity  is  so  thoroughly  understood. 
Christianity  sprung  up  at  a time  when 
the  literature  and  philosophy  of  Greece 
was  spread  far  and  wide,  and  had  given 
a great  impulse  to  the  human  mind  ; and 
when  Rome,  by  unexampled  conquests, 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


198 

had  become  a centre  and  bond  of  union 
to  the  civilized  world  and  to  many  half- 
civilized  regions,  and  had  established  a 
degree  of  communication  between  distant 
countries  before  unknown.  We  are  not, 
then,  left  to  grope  our  way  by  an  un- 
steady light.  Our  means  of  information 
are  various  and  great.  We  have  incon- 
testable facts  in  relation  to  the  origin  of 
our  religion,  from  which  its  truth  may  be 
easily  deduced.  A few  of  these  facts, 
which  form  the  first  steps  of  our  reason- 
ing on  this  subject,  I will  now  lay  before 
you. 

1.  First,  then,  we  know  with  certainty 
the  time  when  Christianity  was  founded. 
As  to  this  fact,  there  is  and  can  be  no 
doubt.  Heathen  and  Christian  histo- 
rians speak  on  this  point  with  one  voice. 
Christianity  was  first  preached  in  the  age 
of  Tiberius.  Not  a trace  of  it  exists 
before  that  period,  and  afterwards  the 
marks  and  proofs  of  its  existence  are 
so  obvious  and  acknowledged  as  to  need 
no  mention.  Here  is  one  important  fact 
placed  beyond  doubt. 

2.  In  the  next  place,  we  know  the 
place  where  Christianity  sprung  up.  N-o 
one  can  dispute  the  country  of  its  birth. 
Its  Jewish  origin  is  not  only  testified  by 
all  history,  but  is  stamped  on  its  front 
and  woven  into  its  frame.  The  lan- 
guage in  which  it  is  conveyed  carries  us 
at  once  to  Judea.  Its  name  is  derived 
from  Jewish  prophecy.  None  but  Jews 
could  have  written  the  New  Testament. 
So  natural,  undesigned,  and  perpetual 
are  the  references  and  allusions  of  the 
writers  to  the  opinions  and  manners 
of  that  people,  so  accustomed  are  they 
to  borrow  from  the  same  source  the 
metaphors,  similitudes,  types,  by  which 
they  illustrate  their  doctrines,  that  Chris- 
tianity, as  to  its  outward  form,  may  be 
said  to  be  steeped  in  Judaism.  We  have, 
then,  another  established  fact.  We  know 
where  it  was  born. 

3.  Again,  we  know  the  individual  by 
whom  Christianity  was  founded.  We 
know  its  Author,  and  from  the  nature 
of  the  case  this  fact  cannot  but  be 
known.  The  founder  of  a religion  is 
naturally  and  necessarily  the  object  of 
general  inquiry.  Wherever  the  new 
faith  is  carried,  the  first  and  most  eager 
questions  are,  “From  whom  does  it 
come  ? On  whose  authority  does  it 
rest  ? ” Curiosity  is  never  more  intense 
than  in  regard  to  the  individual  who 


claims  a divine  commission  and  sends 
forth  a new  religion.  He  is  the  last 
man  to  be  overlooked  or  mistaken.  In 
the  case  of  Christianity  especially,  its 
Founder  may  be  said  to  have  been 
forced  on  men’s  notice,  for  his  history 
forms  an  essential  part  of  his  religion. 
Christianity  is  not  an  abstract  doctrine, 
which  keeps  its  Author  out  of  sight.  He 
is  its  very  soul.  It  rests  on  him,  and 
finds  its  best  illustration  in  his  life. 
These  reflections,  however,  may  be 
spared.  The  simple  consideration  that 
Christianity  must  have  had  an  author, 
and  that  it  has  been  always  ascribed  to 
Jesus,  and  to  no  one  else,  places  the 
great  fact  which  I would  establish  be- 
yond doubt. 

4.  I next  observe,  that  we  not  only 
know  the  Founder  of  Christianity,  but 
the  ministers  by  whom  he  published  and 
spread  it  through  the  world.  A new 
religion  must  have  propagators,  first 
teachers,  and  with  these  it  must  be- 
come intimately  associated.  A com- 
munity can  no  more  be  ignorant  as  to 
the  teachers  who  converted  it  to  a new 
faith,  than  as  to  the  conqueror  who  sub- 
jected it  to  a new  government ; and 
where  the  art  of  writing  is  known  and 
used  for  recording  events,  the  latter 
fact  will  not  more  certainly  be  trans- 
mitted to  posterity  than  the  former. 
We  have  the  testimony  of  all  ages  that 
the  men  called  Apostles  were  the  first 
propagators  of  Christianity,  nor  have 
any  others  been  named  as  sustaining 
this  office ; and  it  is  impossible  that, 
on  such  a point,  such  testimony  should 
be  false. 

5.  Again,  we  know  not  only  when, 
and  where,  and  by  whom  Christianity 
was  introduced  ; we  know,  from  a great 
variety  of  sources,  what  in  the  main  this 
religion  was,  as  it  came  from  the  hands 
of  its  Founder.  To  assure  ourselves  on 
this  point,  we  need  not  recur  to  any 
sacred  books.  From  the  age  following 
that  of  Christ  and  the  Apostles,  down 
to  the  present  day,  we  have  a series, 
and  an  almost  numberless  host,  of 
writers  on  the  subject  of  Christianity ; 
and  whilst  we  discover  in  them  a great 
diversity  of  opinions  and  opposite  inter- 
pretations of  some  of  Christ's  teachings, 
yet  on  the  whole  they  so  far  agree  in 
the  great  facts  of  his  history,  and  in 
certain  great  principles  of  his  religion, 
that  we  cannot  mistake  as  to  the  general 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


199 


character  of  the  system  which  he  taught. 
There  is  not  a shadow  of  reason  for  the 
opinion  that  the  original  system  which 
Jesus  taught  was  lost,  and  a new  one 
substituted  and  fastened  on  the  world 
in  his  name.  The  many  and  great  cor- 
ruptions of  Christianity  did  not  and 
could  not  hide  its  principal  features. 
The  greatest  corruptions  took  place  in 
the  century  which  followed  the  death  of 
the  Apostles,  when  certain  wild  and 
visionary  sects  endeavored  to  establish 
a union  between  the  hew  religion  and 
the  false  philosophy  to  which  they  had 
been  wedded  in  their  heathen  state. 
You  may  judge  of  their  character  and 
claims,  when  I tell  you  that  they  gen- 
erally agreed  in  believing  that  the  God 
who  made  the  world,  and  who  was  wor- 
shipped by  the  Jews,  was  not  the  su- 
preme God,  but  an  inferior  and  imperfect 
deity,  and  that  matter  had  existed  from 
eternity,  and  was  essentially  and  un- 
changeably evil.  Yet  these  sects  en- 
deavored to  sustain  themselves  on  the 
writings  which  the  great  body  of  Chris- 
tians received  and  honored  as  the  works 
of  the  Apostles  ; and,  amidst  their  de- 
lusions, they  recognized  and  taught  the 
miracles  of  Christ,  his  resurrection,  and 
the  most  important  principles  of  his  re- 
ligion ; so  that  the  general  nature  of 
Christianity,  as  it  came  from  its  Found- 
er, may  be  ascertained  beyond  a doubt. 
Here  another  great  point  is  fixed. 

6.  I have  now  stated  to  you  several 
particulars  relating  to  Christianity  which 
admit  no  doubt ; and  these  indisputa- 
ble facts  are  of  great  weight  in  a dis- 
cussion of  the  Christian  evidences. 
There  is  one  point  more,  of  impor- 
tance, which  cannot  be  settled  so  expe- 
ditiously as  these.  I hope,  however, 
enough  may  be  said  to  place  it  beyond 
doubt,  without  exceeding  the  limits  of 
a discourse  ; and  I invite  to  it  your 
serious  attention.  I say,  then,  that  we 
not  only  know  in  general  what  Chris- 
tianity was  at  its  first  promulgation  ; 
but  we  know  precisely  what  its  first 
propagators  taught,  for  we  have  their 
writings.  We  have  their  religion  under 
their  own  hands.  We  have  particu- 
larly four  narratives  of  the  life,  works, 
and  words  of  their  Master,  which  put 
us  in  possession  of  his  most  private  as 
well  as  public  teaching.  It  is  true  that 
without  those  writings  we  should  still 
have  strong  arguments  for  the  truth  of 


Christianity  ; but  we  should  be  left  in 
doubt  as  to  some  of  its  important  prin- 
ciples ; and  its  internal  evidence,  which 
corroborates,  and,  as  some  think,  ex- 
ceeds the  external,  would  be  very  much 
impaired.  The  possession  of  the  writ- 
ings of  the  first  propagators  of  the  gos- 
pel must  plainly  render*  us  great  aid  in 
judging  of  its  claims.  These  writings, 
I say,  we  have,  and  this  point  I would 
now  establish. 

I am  aware  that  the  question  to  which 
I now  ask  your  attention  is  generally 
confined  to  professed  students.  But  it 
is  one  on  which  men  of  good  sense  are 
competent  to  judge,  and  its  great  im- 
portance gives  it  a claim  to  the  serious 
consideration  of  every  Christian. 

The  question  is,  whether  the  four 
Gospels  are  genuine,  — that  is,  whether 
they  were  written  by  those  to  whom 
they  are  ascribed.  To  answer  it,  let 
us  consider  how  we  determine  the 
genuineness  of  books  in  general.  I 
begin  with  the  obvious  remark  that  to 
know  the  author  of  a work,  it  is  not 
necessary  that  we  should  be  eye-wit- 
nesses of  its  composition.  Perhaps  of 
the  numberless  publications  of  the  pres- 
ent day,  we  have  not  seen  one  growing 
under  the  pen  of  the  writer.  By  far 
the  greater  number  come  to  us  across 
the  ocean,  and  yet  we  are  as  confident 
in  regard  to  their  authors  as  if  we  had 
actually  seen  them  first  committed  to 
paper.  The  ascription  of  a book  to  an 
individual,  during  his  life,  by  those  who 
are  interested  in  him,  and  who  have 
the  best  means  of  knowing  the  truth, 
removes  all  doubts  as  to  its  author.  A 
strong  and  wide-spread  conviction  of 
this  kind  must  have  a cause,  and  can 
only  be  explained  by  the  actual  produc- 
tion of  the  work  by  the  reputed  writer. 
It  should  here  be  remembered  that 
there  is  a strong  disposition  in  men  to 
ascertain  the  author  of  an  important 
and  interesting  work.  We  have  had  a 
remarkable  illustration  of  this  in  our 
own  times.  The  author  of  u Waver- 
ley  ” saw  fit  to  wrap  himself  for  a time 
in  mystery ; and  what  was  the  conse- 
quence ? No  subject  in  politics  or 
science  was  agitated  more  generally 
than  the  question  to  whom  the  work 
belonged.  It  was  not  only  made  a 
topic  in  almost  every  periodical  publi- 
cation, but  one  book  was  expressly 
written  to  solve  the  problem.  The  in- 


200 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


stance,  I know,  was  remarkable  ; but 
this  inquisitiveness  in  regard  to  books 
is  a principle  of  our  nature,  and  is  par- 
ticularly active  when  the  book  in  de- 
bate is  a work  of  singular  authority. 

I have  spoken  of  the  confidence 
which  we  feel  as  to  the  authors  of 
books  published  in  our  own  times. 
But  our  certainty  is  not  confined  to 
these.  Every  reading  man  is  as  sure 
that  Hume  and  Robertson  wrote  the 
histories  which  bear  their  names,  as 
that  Scott  has  in  our  own  time  sent  out 
the  “ Life  of  Bonaparte.”  Those  emi- 
nent men  were  born  more  than  a hun- 
dred years  ago,  and  they  died  before 
the  birth  of  most  to  whom  I speak  ; 
but  the  communication  between  their 
times  and  our  own  is  so  open  and  vari- 
ous, that  we  know  their  literary  labors 
as  well  as  those  of  the  present  day. 
Not  a few  persons  now  living  have  had 
intercourse  with  some  of  the  contem- 
poraries of  these  historians  ; and  through 
this  channel  in  particular  we  of  this 
generation  have  the  freest  access  to  the 
preceding,  and  know  its  convictions  in 
regard  to  the  authors  of  interesting 
books  as  fully  as  if  we  had  lived  in  it 
ourselves.  That  the  next  age  will  have 
the  same  communication  with  the  pres- 
ent as  the  present  has  with  the  past, 
and  that  these  convictions  of  our  pre- 
decessors will  be  transmitted  by  us  to 
our  immediate  successors,  you  will  eas- 
ily comprehend  ; and  you  will  thus  learn 
the  respect  which  is  due  to  the  testi- 
mony of  the  third  generation  on  such  a 
subject. 

In  what  has  now  been  said,  we  see 
with  what  confidence  and  certainty  we 
determine  the  authors  of  writings  pub- 
lished in  our  own  age  or  in  the  times 
nearest  our  own.  These  remarks  may 
be  easily  applied  to  the  productions  of 
antiquity.  When  the  question  arises, 
whether  an  ancient  book  was  written 
by  the  individual  whose  name  it  bears, 
we  must  inquire  into  the  opinion  of  his 
contemporaries,  or  of  those  who  suc- 
ceeded his  contemporaries  so  nearly  as 
to  have  intimate  communication  with 
them.  The  competency  of  these  to  a 
just  judgment  on  the  subject  we  have 
seen  ; and  if  they  have  transmitted  their 
convictions  to  us  in  undisputed  writ- 
ings, it  ought  to  be  decisive.  On  this 
testimony,  we  ascribe  many  ancient 
books  to  their  authors  with  the  firmest 


faith  ; and,  in  truth,  we  receive  as  genu- 
ine many  works  of  antiquity  on  far  in- 
ferior proofs.  There  are  many  books 
of  which  no  notice  can  be  found  for 
several  ages  after  the  time  of  their  re- 
puted authors.  Still  the  fact  that,  as 
soon  as  they  are  named,  they  are  as- 
cribed undoubtingly,  and  by  general 
consent,  to  certain  authors,  is  esteemed 
a sufficient  reason  for  regarding  them 
as  their  productions,  unless  some  oppo- 
site proof  can  be  adduced.  This  gen- 
eral reception  of  a work  as  having  come 
from  a particular  writer  is  an  effect 
which  requires  a cause  ; and  the  most 
natural  and  obvious  explanation  of  his 
being  named,  rather  than  any  other 
man,  is  that  he  actually  composed  it. 

I now  proceed  to  apply  these  princi- 
ples to  the  four  histories  of  Christ,  com- 
monly called  Gospels.  The  question 

is,  What  testimony  respecting  their  au- 
thors has  come  down  to  us  from  the 
age  of  their  reputed  authors,  or  from 
times  so  near  it  and  so  connected  with 

it,  as  to  be  faithful  representatives  of 
its  convictions  ? By  this  testimony,  as 
we  have  seen,  the  genuineness  of  the 
books  must  be  decided.  And  I begin 
with  admitting  that  no  evidence  on  the 
subject  is  to  be  derived  from  contem- 
porary writers.  No  author,  living  in 
the  age  of  the  first  propagators  of 
Christianity,  has  named  the  Gospels. 
The  truth  is,  that  no  undisputed  writ- 
ings of  their  immediate  converts  have 
been  preserved.  A few  tracts,  bearing 
the  name  of  men  acquainted  with  the 
Apostles,  have  indeed  come  down  to  us  ; 
but  so  much  uncertainty  hangs  over 
their  origin  that  I am  unwilling  to 
ground  on  them  any  reasoning.  Nor 
ought  we  to  wonder  that  the  works  of 
private  Christians  of  the  primitive  age 
are  wanting  to  us  ; for  that  was  an  age 
of  persecution,  when  men  were  called  to 
die  rather  than  write  for  their  religion. 
I suppose,  too,  that  during  the  times  of 
the  Apostles,  little  importance  was  at- 
tached to  any  books  but  such  as  were 
published  or  authorized  by  these  emi- 
nent men;  and,  of  course,  what  was 
written  by  others  was  little  circulated, 
and  soon  passed  away. 

The  undisputed  writings  of  the  early 
Christians  begin  about  seventy  years 
after  the  times  of  the  Apostles.  At 
that  period  there  probably  remained 
none  of  the  first  converts  or  contempo- 


201 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


raries  of  the  Apostles.  But  there  were 
living  not  a few  who  had  been  acquainted 
with  the  last  survivors  of  that  honored 
generation.  When  the  Apostles  died, 
they  must  have  left  behind  a multitude 
who  had  known  them  ; and  of  these  not 
a few  must  have  continued  many  years, 
and  must  have  had  intercourse  with  the 
new  generation  which  sprung  up  after 
the  apostolic  age.  Now  in  the  times  of 
this  generation,  the  series  of  Christian 
authors  begins.  Although,  then,  we  have 
no  productions  of  the  apostolic  age  to 
bear  witness  to  the  Gospels,  we  have 
writings  from  the  ages  which  immedi- 
ately followed  it,  and  which,  from  their 
connection  with  it,  ought,  as  we  have 
seen,  to  be  regarded  as  most  credible 
witnesses  on  such  a subject.  What, 
then,  do  these  writings  teach  ? I an- 
swer, their  testimony  is  clear  and  full. 
We  learn  from  them  not  only  that  the 
Gospels  existed  in  those  times,  but  that 
they  were  widely  diffused,  that  they  were 
received  as  the  writings  of  the  men  whose 
names  they  bear,  and  that  they  were  re- 
garded with  a confidence  and  veneration 
yielded  to  no  other  books.  They  are 
quoted  as  books  given  by  their  revered 
authors  to  the  Christian  community,  to 
be  public  and  enduring  records  of  the 
religion ; and  they  are  spoken  of  as  read 
in  the  assemblies  which  were  held  for 
the  inculcation  and  extension  of  the 
faith.  I ask  you  to  weigh  this  testi- 
mony. It  comes  to  us  from  times  con- 
nected intimately  with  the  first  age. 
Had  the  Gospels  been  invented  and  first 
circulated  among  the  generation  which 
succeeded  the  Apostles,  could  that  gen- 
eration have  received  them  as  books 
known  and  honored  before  their  time, 
and  as  the  most  authoritative  and  preci- 
ous records  transmitted  to  them  from 
their  fathers  and  predecessors  ? The 
case  may  seem  too  plain  to  require  ex- 
planation ; but  as  many  are  unaccus- 
tomed to  inquiries  of  this  kind,  I will 
offer  an  example.  You  well  know  that 
nearly  a century  ago  a great  religious 
excitement  was  spread  through  this 
country  chiefly  by  the  ministry  of  White- 
field.  Suppose,  now,  that  four  books 
were  at  this  moment  to  come  forth, 
bearing  the  names  of  four  of  the  most 
distinguished  men  of  that  period,  of 
Whitefield,  of  the  venerable  Edwards, 
and  of  two  others  intimately  associated 
with  them  in  their  religious  labors ; and 


suppose  these  books  not  only  to  furnish 
narratives  of  what  then  took  place,  but 
to  contain  principles  and  rules  urged 
with  all  possible  earnestness  and  au- 
thority on  the  disciples  or  admirers  of 
these  religious  leaders.  Do  you  think 
it  possible  that  their  followers  of  the 
present  day,  and  the  public,  could  be 
made  to  believe  that  these  books  had 
been  published  by  their  pretended  au- 
thors, had  been  given  as  standards  to 
a religious  community,  and  had  been 
handed  down  as  venerated  books,  when 
no  such  works  had  been  heard  of  be- 
fore ? This  is  but  a faint  illustration  ; 
for  Whitefield  and  Edwards  are  names 
of  little  weight  or  authority,  compared 
with  what  the  Apostles  possessed  in  the 
primitive  church. 

We  have,  then,  strong  and  sufficient 
reasons  for  believing  that  the  histories 
called  Gospels  were  received,  in  the 
times  of  the  Apostles,  as  works  of  those 
whose  names  they  bear ; and  were 
handed  down  as  theirs  with  veneration 
by  their  contemporaries.  Will  any  say 
that  all  this  may  be  true,  but  that,  during 
the  lives  of  the  Apostles,  books  forged  in 
their  names  may  have  obtained  general 
currency  ? To  this  extravagant  suppo- 
sition it  would  be  sufficient  to  reply,  ac- 
cording to  my  previous  remarks,  that  the 
general  ascription  of  a book  to  an  author 
during  his  life  is  the  ground  on  which 
the  genuineness  of  the  most  unques- 
tioned works  depends.  But  I would 
add  that  this  evidence  is  singularly  con- 
clusive in  the  present  case.  The  orig- 
inal propagators  of  Christianity,  to  whom 
the  Gospels  were  ascribed,  were,  from 
their  office,  among  the  public  men  of 
their  age.  They  must  have  travelled 
extensively.  They  must  have  been  con- 
sulted by  inhabitants  of  various  coun- 
tries on  the  subject  of  the  new  religion. 
They  must  have  been  objects  of  deep 
interest  to  the  first  converts.  They 
lived  in  the  world’s  eye.  Their  move- 
ments, visits,  actions,  words,  and  writ- 
ings must  have  awakened  attention. 
Books  from  their  hands  must  have  pro- 
duced a great  sensation.  We  cannot 
conceive  a harder  task  than  to  impose 
writings,  forged  in  their  name,  on  Chris- 
tians and  Christian  communities  thus 
intimately  connected  with  them,  and  so 
alive  to  their  efforts  for  the  general 
cause.  The  opportunities  of  detecting 
the  falsehood  were  abundant ; and  to 


202 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


imagine  falsehood  to  prosper  under  such 
circumstances  argues  a strange  igno- 
rance of  literary  history  and  of  human 
nature. 

Let  me  add,  that  the  motives  of  the 
first  Christians  to  ascertain  distinctly 
whether  writings  ascribed  to  the  Apos- 
tles were  truly  theirs,  were  the  strongest 
which  can  be  conceived.  I have  men- 
tioned, in  my  previous  remarks,  the 
solicitude  of  the  world  to  learn  the 
author  of  “Waverley.”  The  motive 
was  mere  curiosity  ; and  yet  to  what 
earnest  inquiries  were  multitudes  im- 
pelled. The  name  of  the  author  was  of 
little  or  no  moment.  The  book  was  the 
same,  its  portraits  equally  vivid,  its  de- 
velopments of  the  human  heart  equally 
true  and  powerful,  whether  the  author 
were  known  or  not.  So  it  is  with  most 
works.  Books  of  science,  philosophy, 
morals,  and  polite  literature,  owe  their 
importance  and  authority,  not  to  their 
writers,  but  to  their  contents.  Now,  the 
four  Gospels  were  different  in  this  re- 
spect. They  were  not  the  same  to  the 
first  converts,  come  from  whom  they 
might.  If  written  by  Apostles  or  by 
their  associates,  they  had  an  authority 
and  sacredness  which  could  belong  to 
them  on  no  other  condition.  They 
became  books  of  laws  to  the  Christian 
community,  became  binding  on  their 
consciences  and  lives.  To  suppose 
such  books  received  blindly  and  with- 
out inquiry,  by  great  numbers  who  had 
all  the  means  of  ascertaining  their  true 
origin,  is  to  suppose  the  first  converts 
insane  or  idiots,  — a charge  'which  I be- 
lieve their  worst  enemies  will  not  think  of 
urging  against  them,  and  which  the  vast 
superiority  of  their  religious  and  moral 
system  to  all  the  philosophical  systems 
of  the  times  abundantly  disproves. 

I have  now  finished  what  is  called  the 
historical  or  external  evidence  of  the 
genuineness  of  the  four  Gospels,  — that 
is,  the  evidence  drawn  from  their  being 
received  and  revered  as  the  writings  of 
the  Apostles  in  the  first  and  succeeding 
ages  of  Christianity.  But  before  leav- 
ing this  head,  I would  notice  a difficulty 
which  may  press  on  some  minds.  I 
suppose  that  many  of  you  have  heard 
that  very  early,  probably  about  the  be- 
ginning of  the  second  century,  writings 
were  forged  in  the  name  of  the  Apos- 
tles ; and  some  may  ask  why  the  four 
Gospels  may  not  belong  to  this  descrip- 


tion. The  answer  is,  that  the  Gospels, 
as  we  have  seen,  were  received  and  hon- 
ored by  the  great  body  of  Christians,  in 
the  first  and  succeeding  ages  of  Christi- 
anity, as  writings  of  Apostles  or  their  as- 
sociates. The  forgeries  are  known  to  be 
forgeries,  because  they  were  not  so  re- 
ceived, because  they  were  held  in  no  ven- 
eration, but  were  rejected  as  fictitious 
by  the  Christian  community.  Here  is  a 
broad  line  of  distinction.  It  must  not 
surprise  us  that,  in  the  great  excitement 
produced  by  the  first  publication  and 
triumphs  of  Christianity,  a variety  of 
extravagant  notions  should  spring  up, 
and  that  attempts  should  be  made  to 
blend  the  new  religion  with  established 
systems  ; and  as  the  names  of  the  first 
propagators  of  the  gospel  were  held  in 
peculiar  reverence,  we  cannot  wonder 
that  the  leaders  of  sects  should  strive 
to  attach  an  apostolic  sanction  to  their 
opinions,  by  sending  abroad  partly  true 
and  partly  false  accounts  of  the  preach- 
ing of  these  eminent  men.  Whether 
these  writings  were  sent  forth  as  com- 
positions of  the  Apostles,  or  only  as 
records  of  their  teaching,  made  by  their 
hearers,  is  a question  open  to  debate  ; 
but  as  to  their  origin  there  can  be  little 
doubt.  We  can  account  for  their  exist- 
ence, and  for  the  degree  of  favor  which 
they  obtained.  They  were  generally 
written  to  give  authority  to  the  dreams 
or  speculations  of  some  extravagant 
sects,  to  which  they  were  very  much 
confined,  and  with  which  most  of  them 
passed  away.  There  is  not  a shadow  of 
reason  for  confounding  with  these  our 
Gospels,  which  were  spread  from  the 
beginning  through  the  Christian  world, 
and  were  honored  and  transmitted  as  the 
works  of  the  venerated  men  by  whose 
names  they  were  called. 

Having  now  given  the  historical  argu- 
ment in  favor  of  the  genuineness  of  the 
Gospels,  that  is,  in  favor  of  their  being 
written  by  their  reputed  authors,  I now 
add  that  there  are  several  presumptive 
and  internal  proofs  of  the  same  truth, 
which,  taken  alone,  have  great  weight, 
and,  when  connected  with  the  preceding, 
form  an  amount  of  evidence  not  easily 
withstood.  I have  time  to  glance  at 
only  a few  of  these. 

It  is  a presumption  in  favor  of  the 
claims  of  an  author,  that  the  book  as- 
cribed to  him  has  never  been  assigned 
to  any  other  individual.  Now  I am  not 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


203 


aware  that  unbelief  has  in  any  age  named 
any  individuals  to  whom  the  Gospels 
maybe  traced  rather  than  to  those  whose 
names  they  bear.  We  are  not  called 
upon  to  choose  between  different  writers. 
In  common  cases,  this  absence  of  rival 
claims  is  considered  as  decisive  in  favor 
of  the  reputed  author,  unless  the  books 
themselves  give  ground  to  suspect  an- 
other hand.  Why  shall  not  this  prin- 
ciple be  applied  to  the  Gospels  as  well 
as  to  all  other  works  ? 

Another  presumption  in  favor  of  the 
belief  that  these  histories  were  written 
by  the  first  propagators  of  Christianity, 
arises  from  the  consideration  that  such 
books  were  to  be  expected  from  them. 
It  is  hardly  conceivable  that  the  Apos- 
tles, whose  zeal  carried  abroad  their 
system  through  so  many  nations,  and 
who  lived  in  an  age  of  reading  and 
writing,  should  leave  their  doctrines  to 
tradition,  should  neglect  the  ordinary  pre- 
caution of  embodying  them  in  the  only 
permanent  form,  the  only  one  in  which 
they  could  be  accurately  transmitted,- 
and  by  which  all  other  systems  were 
preserved.  It  is  reasonable  to  suppose 
that  they  wrote  what  they  taught ; and 
if  so,  it  is  hardly  possible  that  their 
writings  should  be  lost.  Their  accounts 
must  have  been  received  and  treasured 
up  just  as  we  know  the  Gospels  were 
cherished ; and  hence  arises  a strong 
presumption  in  favor  of  the  genuineness 
of  these  books. 

Again,  these  books  carry  one  strong 
mark  of  having  been  written  in  the  time 
of  the  Apostles.  .They  contain  no  trace 
of  later  times,  nothing  to  indicate  that 
the  authors  belonged  to  another  age. 
Now,  to  those  of  you  who  are  acquainted 
with  such  subjects,  it  is  hardly  necessary 
to  observe  how  difficult  it  is  for  a writer 
to  avoid  betraying  the  period  in  which 
he  lives ; and  the  cause  is  very  obvious. 
Every  age  has  its  peculiarities,  — has 
manners,  events,  feelings,  words,  phrases 
of  its  own ; and  a man  brought  up  among 
these  falls  so  naturally  under  their  influ- 
ence, and  incorporates  them  so  fully  with 
his  own  mind,  that  they  break  out  and 
manifest  themselves,  almost  necessarily 
and  without  his  consciousness,  in  his 
words  and  writings.  The  present  makes 
an  impression  incomparably  more  vivid 
than  the  past,  and  accordingly  traces  of 
the  real  age  of  a writer  may  almost 
always  be  discovered  by  a critical  eye, 


however  anxious  he  may  be  to  assume 
the  style  and  character  of  a preceding 
age.  Now  the  Gospels  betray  no  marks 
of  the  feelings,  manners,  contentions, 
events  of  a period  later  than  that  in 
which  the  Apostles  lived  ; and  when  we 
consider  that,  with  the  exception  of 
Luke’s  history,  they  have-  all  the  appear- 
ance of  having  come  from  plain  men, 
unused  to  composition,  this  argument 
applies  to  them  with  peculiar  force. 
Under  this  head,  I might  place  before 
you  the  evidence  of  the  genuineness  of 
these  books  derived  from  the  language, 
dialect,  idiom,  in  which  they  are  written. 
You  can  easily  understand  that  by  these 
helps  the  country  and  age  of  a writing 
may  often  be  traced ; but  the  argument 
belongs  to  the  learned.  It  may,  how- 
ever, be  satisfactory  to  know,  that  the 
profoundest  scholars  see  in  the  dialect 
and  idiom  of  the  Gospels  a precise 
accordance  with  what  might  be  expected 
of  Jews,  writing  in  the  age  of  the  Apos- 
tles. 

Another  internal  proof,  and  one  within 
the  reach  of  all,  may  be  gathered  from 
the  style  and  character  of  the  evangelical 
narratives.  They  are  written  with  the 
simplicity,  minuteness,  and  ease  which 
are  the  natural  tones  of  truth,  which 
belong  to  writers  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  their  subjects,  and  writing  from 
reality.  You  discover  in  them  nothing 
of  the  labor,  caution,  and  indistinctness 
which  can  scarcely  be  escaped  by  men 
who  are  assuming  a character  not  their 
own,  and  aiming  to  impose  on  the  world. 
There  is  a difference  which  we  have  all 
discerned  and  felt,  though  we  cannot 
describe  it,  between  an  honest,  simple- 
hearted  witness,  who  tells  what  he  has 
seen  or  is  intimately  acquainted  with, 
and  the  false  witness,  who  affects  an 
intimate  knowledge  of  events  and  indi- 
viduals, which  are  in  whole  or  in  part 
his  own  fabrication.  Truth  has  a native 
frankness,  an  unaffected  freedom,  a style 
and  air  of  its  own,  and  never  were  narra- 
tives more  strongly  characterized  by 
these  than  the  Gospels.  It  is  a striking 
circumstance  in  these  books,  that  whilst 
the  life  and  character  which  they  portray 
are  the  most  extraordinary  in  history, 
the  style  is  the  most  artless.  There  is 
no  straining  for  epithets  or  for  elevation 
of  language  to  suit  the  dignity  of  the 
great  personage  who  is  the  subject. 
You  hear  plain  men  telling  you  what 


204 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY, 


they  know,  of  a character  which  they 
venerated  too  much  to  think  of  adorning 
or  extolling.  It  is  also  worthy  of  remark, 
that  the  character  of  Jesus,  though  the 
most  peculiar  and  exalted  in  history, 
though  the  last  to  be  invented  and  the 
hardest  to  be  sustained,  is  yet  unfolded 
through  a great  variety  of  details  and 
conditions  with  perfect  unity  and  con- 
sistency. The  strength  of  this  proof 
can  only  be  understood  by  those  who 
are  sufficiently  acquainted  with  literary 
history  to  appreciate  the  difficulty  of 
accomplishing  a consistent  and  success- 
ful forgery.  Such  consistency  is,  in  the 
present  case,  an  almost  infallible  test. 
Suppose  four  writers,  of  a later  age,  to 
have  leagued  together  in  the  scheme  of 
personating  the  first  propagators  of 
Christianity,  and  of  weaving,  in  their 
name,  the  histories  of  their  Master’s 
life.  Removed  as  these  men  would  have 
been  from  the  original,  and  having  no 
model  or  type  of  his  character  in  the 
elevation  of  their  own  minds,  they  must 
have  portrayed  him  with  an  unsteady 
hand,  must  have  marred  their  work  with 
incongruous  features,  must  have  brought 
down  their  hero  on  some  occasion  to  the 
ordinary  views  and  feelings  of  men,  and 
in  particular  must  have  been  warped  in 
their  selection  and  representation  of  in- 
cidents by  the  private  purpose  which 
led  them  to  this  singular  co-operation. 
That  four  writers,  under  such  circum- 
stances, should  sustain  throughout  so 
peculiar  and  elevated  a character  as 
Jesus,  and  should  harmonize  with  each 
other  in  the  delineation,  would  be  a 
prodigy  which  no  genius,  however  pre- 
eminent, could  achieve.  I say,  then, 
that  the  narratives  bear  strong  internal 
marks  of  having  been  drawn  from  the 
living  original,  by  those  who  had  the  best 
means  of  knowing  his  character  and  life. 

So  various,  strong,  sufficient  are  the 
proofs  that  the  four  Gospels  are  the 
works  of  the  first  preachers  of  Chris- 
tianity, whose  name  they  bear.  I will 
only  add  that  the  genuineness  of  few 
ancient  books  is  supported  by  proofs 
equally  strong.  Most  of  the  works 
which  have  come  down  to  us  from  an- 
tiquity, and  which  are  ascribed  to  their 
reputed  writers  with  undoubting  con- 
fidence, are  so  ascribed  on  evidence 
inferior  to  that  on  which  the  claims  of 
the  Evangelists  rest.  On  this  point, 
therefore,  not  a doubt  should  remain. 


Here  I pause.  The  proofs  of  Chris- 
tianity which  are  involved  in  or  founded 
on  the  facts  now  established,  will  be  the 
subjects  of  future  discussion. 


Part  II. 

I have  now  stated  some  of  the  great 
facts  relating  to  the  origin  of  Christian- 
ity of  which  we  have  clear  and  full  proof. 
We  know  when  and  where  this  religion 
sprung  up.  We  know  its  Author,  and 
the  men  whom  he  employed  as  the  first 
propagators  of  his  doctrine.  We  know 
the  great  features  of  the  religion  as  it 
was  originally  taught ; and  still  more, 
we  have  the  writings  of  its  first  teachers, 
by  which  its  precise  character  is  placed 
beyond  doubt.  I now  proceed  to  lay 
before  you  some  of  the  arguments  in 
support  of  Christianity  which  are  in- 
volved in  or  are  founded  on  these  facts. 
I must  confine  myself  to  a few,  and  will 
select  those  to  which  some  justice  may 
be  done  in  the  compass  of  a discourse. 

. I.  I believe  Christianity  to  be  true, 
or  to  have  come  from  God,  because  it 
seems  to  me  impossible  to  trace  it  to 
any  other  origin.  It  must  have  had  a 
cause,  and  no  other  adequate  cause  can 
be  assigned.  The  incongruity  between 
this  religion  and  all  the  circumstances 
amidst  which  it  grew  up  is  so  remark- 
able, that  we  are  compelled  to  look 
beyond  and  above  this  world  for  its 
explanation.  When  I go  back  to  the 
origin  of  Christianity,  and  place  myself 
in  the  age  and  country  of  its  birth,  I can 
find  nothing  in  the  opinions  of  men,  or 
in  the  state  of  society,  which  can  account 
for  its  beginning  or  diffusion.  There 
was  no  power  on  earth  to  create  or 
uphold  such  a system.  There  was  noth- 
ing congenial  with  it  in  Judaism,  in 
heathenism,  or  in  the  state  of  society 
among  the  most  cultivated  communities. 
If  you  study  the  religions,  governments, 
and  philosophical  systems  of  that  age, 
you  will  discover  in  them  not  even  a 
leaning  towards  Christianity.  It  sprung 
up  in  opposition  to  all,  making  no  com- 
promise with  human  prejudice  or  pas- 
sion ; and  it  sprung  up,  not  only  superior 
to  all,  but  possessing  at  its  very  begin- 
ning a perfection  which  has  been  the 
admiration  of  ages,  and  which,  instead 
of  being  dimmed  by  time,  has  come 
forth  more  brightly,  in  proportion  to 
the  progress  of  the  human  mind. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


205 


I know,  indeed,  that  at  the  origin  of 
our  religion,  the  old  heathen  worship 
had  fallen  into  disrepute  among  the 
enlightened  classes  through  the  Roman 
Empire,  and  was  gradually  losing  its 
hold  on  the  populace.  Accordingly, 
some  have  pretended  that  Christianity 
grew  from  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  faith. 
But  this  is  not  true  ; for  the  decline  of 
the  heathen  systems  was  the  product 
of  causes  singularly  adverse  to  the  orig- 
ination of  such  a system  as  Christianity. 
One  cause  was  the  monstrous  depravity 
of  the  age,  which  led  multitudes  to  an 
utter  scorn  of  religion  in  all  its  forms 
and  restraints,  and  which  prepared 
others  to  exchange  their  old  worship 
for  still  grosser  and  more  licentious 
superstitions,  particularly  for  the  mag- 
ical arts  of  Egypt.  Surely  this  corrup- 
tion of  manners,  this  wide-wasting  moral 
pestilence,  will  not  be  considered  by 
any  as  a germ  of  the  Christian  religion. 
Another  principal  agent  in  loosening 
the  foundations  of  the  old  systems  was 
philosophy,  — a noble  effort,  indeed,  of 
the  human  intellect,  but  one  which  did 
nothing  to  prepare  the  way  for  Chris- 
tianity. The  most  popular  systems  of 
philosophy  at  the  birth  of  Christianity 
were  the  Sceptical  and  the  Epicurean, 
the  former  of  which  turned  religion  into 
a jest,  denied  the  possibility  of  arriving 
at  truth,  and  cast  the  mind  on  an  ocean 
of  doubt  in  regard  to  every  subject  of 
inquiry ; whilst  the  latter  placed  hap- 
piness in  ease,  inculcated  a calm  indif- 
ference both  as  to  this  world  and  the 
next,  and  would  have  set  down  the 
Christian  doctrine  of  self-sacrifice,  of 
suffering  for  truth  and  duty,  as  absolute 
insanity.  Now  I ask  in  what  single 
point  do  these  systems  touch  Christi- 
anity, or  what  impulse  could  they  have 
given  to  its  invention  ? There  was, 
indeed,  another  philosophical  sect  of  a 
nobler  character,  — I mean  the  Stoical. 
This  maintained  that  virtue  was  the 
supreme  good,  and  it  certainly  nurtured 
some  firm  and  lofty  spirits  amidst  the 
despotism  which  then  ground  all  classes 
in  the  dust.  But  the  self-reliance, 
sternness,  apathy,  and  pride  of  the 
Stoic,  his  defiance  and  scorn  of  man- 
kind, his  want  of  sympathy  with  human 
suffering,  and  his  extravagant  exagger- 
ations of  his  own  virtue,  placed  this 
sect  in  singular  opposition  to  Chris- 
tianity ; so  that  our  religion  might  as 


soon  have  sprung  from  Scepticism  and 
Epicureanism,  as  from  Stoicism.  There 
was  another  system,  if  it  be  worthy  of 
the  name,  which  prevailed  in  Asia,  and 
was  not  unknown  to  the  Jews,  often 
called  the  oriental  philosophy.  But  this, 
though  certainly  an  improvement  on  the 
common  heathenism,  was  visionary  and 
mystical,  and  placed  happiness  in  an 
intuition  or  immediate  perception  of 
God,  which  was  to  be  gained  by  con- 
templation and  ecstasies,  by  emaciation 
of  the  body,  and  desertion  of  the  world. 
I need  not  tell  you  how  infinitely  re- 
moved was  the  practical,  benevolent 
spirit  of  Christianity  from  this  spurious 
sanctity  and  profitless  enthusiasm.  I 
repeat  it,  then,  that  the  various  causes 
which  were  silently  operating  against 
the  established  heathen  systems  in  the 
time  of  Christ  had  no  tendency  to  sug- 
gest and  spread  such  a religion  as  he 
brought,  but  were  as  truly  hostile  to  it 
as  the  worst  forms  of  heathenism. 

We  cannot  find,  then,  the  origin  of 
Christianity  in  the  heathen  world.  Shall 
we  look  for  it  in  the  Jewish  ? This  topic 
is  too  familiar  to  need  much  exposition. 
You  know  the  character,  feelings,  ex- 
pectations of  the  descendants  of  Abra- 
ham at  the  appearing  of  Jesus  ; and  you 
need  not  be  told  that  a system  more 
opposed  to  the  Jewish  mind  than  that 
which  he  taught  cannot  be  imagined. 
There  was  nothing  friendly  to  it  in  the 
soil  or  climate  of  Judea.  As  easily  might 
the  luxuriant  tre^  of  our  forest  spring 
from  the  sands  of  an  Arabian  desert. 
There  was  never  perhaps  a national 
character  so  deeply  stamped  as  the  Jew- 
ish. Ages  after  ages  of  unparalleled 
suffering  have  done  little  to  wear  away 
its  indelible  features.  In  the  time  of 
Jesus  the  whole  influence  of  education 
and  religion  was  employed  to  fix  it  in 
every  member  of  the  state.  In  the 
bosom  of  this  community,  and  among 
its  humblest  classes,  sprung  up  Chris- 
tianity, — a religion  as  unfettered  by 
Jewish  prejudices,  as  untainted  by  the 
earthly,  narrow  views  of  the  age,  as  if  it 
had  come  from  another  world.  Judaism 
was  all  around  it,  but  did  not  mar  it  by 
one  trace,  or  sully  its  brightness  by  a 
single  breath.  Can  we  find,  then,  the 
cause  of  Christianity  in  the  Jewish  any 
more  than  in  the  heathen  world  ? 

Christianity,  I maintain,  was  not  the 
growth  of  any  of  the  circumstances, 


20  6 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


principles,  or  feelings  of  the  age  in 
which  it  appeared.  In  truth,  one  of  the 
great  distinctions  of  the  Gospel  is,  that 
it  did  not  grow.  The  conception  which 
filled  the  mind  of  Jesus,  of  a religion 
more  spiritual,  generous,  comprehensive, 
and  unworldly  than  Judaism,  and  des- 
tined to  take  its  place,  was  not  of  grad- 
ual formation.  We  detect  no  signs  of 
it,  and  no  efforts  to  realize  it,  before  his 
time  ; nor  is  there  an  appearance  of  its 
having  been  gradually  matured  by  Jesus 
himself.  Christianity  was  delivered  from 
the  first  in  its  full  proportions,  in  a style 
of  singular  freedom  and  boldness,  and 
without  a mark  of  painful  elaboration. 
This  suddenness  with  which  this  religion 
broke  forth,  this  maturity  of  the  system 
at  the  very  moment  of  its  birth,  this  ab- 
sence of  gradual  development,  seems  to 
me  a strong  mark  of  its  divine  original. 
If  Christianity  be  a human  invention, 
then  I can  be  pointed  to  something  in 
the  history  of  the  age  which  impelled 
and  fitted  the  mind  of  its  author  to  its 
production ; then  I shall  be  able  to  find 
some  germ  of  it,  some  approximation  to 
it,  in  the  state  of  things  amidst  which  it 
first  appeared.  How  was  it  that  from 
thick  darkness  there  burst  forth  at  once 
meridian  light  ? Were  I told  that  the 
sciences  of  the  civilized  world  had 
sprung  up  to  perfection  at  once,  amidst 
a barbarous  horde,  I should  pronounce  it 
incredible.  Nor  can  I easily  believe  that 
Christianity,  — the  religion  of  unbound- 
ed love,  a religion  wjiich  broke  down 
the  barrier  between  Jew  and  Gentile,  and 
the  barriers  between  nations,  which  pro- 
claimed one  Universal  Father,  which 
abolished  forms  and  substituted  the  wor- 
ship of  the  soul,  which  condemned  alike 
the  false  greatness  of  the  Roman  and 
the  false  holiness  of  the  Jew,  and  which 
taught  an  elevation  of  virtue  that  the 
growing  knowledge  of  succeeding  ages 
has  made  more  admirable,  — I say,  I 
cannot  easily  believe  that  such  a religion 
was  suddenly,  immediately  struck  out  by 
human  ingenuity,  among  a people  dis- 
tinguished by  bigotry  and  narrowness 
of  spirit,  by  superstitious  reliance  on 
outward  worship,  by  hatred  and  scorn 
of  other  nations,  and  by  the  proud,  im- 
patient hope  of  soon  bending  all  nations 
to  their  sway. 

Christianity,  I repeat  it,  was  not  the 
growth  of  the  age  in  which  it  appeared. 
It  had  no  sympathy  with  that  age.  It 


was  the  echo  of  no  sect  or  people.  It 
stood  alone  at  the  moment  of  its  birth. 
It  used  not  a word  of  conciliation.  It 
stooped  to  no  error  or  passion.  It  had 
its  own  tone,  — the  tone  of  authority  and 
superiority  to  the  world.  It  struck  at 
the  root  of  what  was  everywhere  called 
glory,  reversed  the  judgments  of  all  for- 
mer ages,  passed  a condemning  sentence 
on  the  idols  of  this  world’s  admiration, 
and  held  forth,  as  the  perfection  of  hu- 
man nature,  a spirit  of  love,  so  pure  and 
divine,  so  free  and  full,  so  mild  and  for- 
giving, so  invincible  in  fortitude  yet  so 
tender  in  its  sympathies,  that  even  now 
few  comprehend  it  in  its  extent  and 
elevation.  Such  a religion  had  not  its 
origin  in  this  world. 

I have  thus  sought  to  unfold  one  of 
the  evidences  of  Christianity.  Its  in- 
congruity with  the  age  of  its  birth,  its 
freedom  from  earthly  mixtures,  its  orig- 
inal, unborrowed,  solitary  greatness,  and 
the  suddenness  with  which  it  broke  forth 
amidst  the  general  gloom,  these  are  to 
me  strong  indications  of  its  divine  de- 
scent. I cannot  reconcile  them  with  a 
human  origin. 

II.  Having  stated  the  argument  in 
favor  of  Christianity,  derived  from  the 
impossibility  of  accounting  for  it  by  the 
state  of  the  world  at  the  time  of  its 
birth,  I proceed,  in  the  second  place,  to 
observe  that  it  cannot  be  accounted  for 
by  any  of  the  motives  which  instigate 
men  to  the  fabrication  of  religions.  Its 
aims  and  objects  are  utterly  irreconcil- 
able with  imposture.  They  are  pure, 
lofty,  and  worthy  of  the  most  illustrious 
delegate  of  heaven.  This  argument  de- 
serves to  be  unfolded  with  some  par- 
ticularity. 

Men  act  from  motives.  The  invent- 
ors of  religions  have  purposes  to  answer 
by  them.  Some  systems  have  been 
framed  by  legislators  to  procure  rever- 
ence to  their  laws,  to  bow  the  minds  of 
the  people  to  the  civil  power ; and  some 
have  been  forged  by  priests,  to  establish 
th£ir  sway  over  the  multitude,  to  form 
themselves  into  a dominant  caste,  and 
to  extort  the  wealth  of  the  industrious. 
Now,  I affirm  that  Christianity  cannot 
be  ascribed  to  any  selfish,  ambitious, 
earthly  motive.  It  is  suited  to  no  pri- 
vate end.  Its  purpose  is  generous  and 
elevated,  and  thus  bears  witness  to  its 
heavenly  origin. 

The  great  object  which  has  seduced 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


20  7 


men  to  pretend  to  inspiration,  and  to 
spread  false  religions,  has  been  power, 
in  one  form  or  another,  — sometimes 
political  power,  sometimes  spiritual, 
sometimes  both.  Is  Christianity  to  be 
explained  by  this  selfish  aim  ? I answer, 
No.  I affirm  that  the  love  of  power  is 
the  last  principle  to  be  charged  on  the 
Founder  of  our  religion.  Christianity  is 
distinguished  by  nothing  more  than  by 
its  earnest  enforcement  of  a meek  and 
humble  spirit,  and  by  its  uncompromis- 
ing reprobation  of  that  passion  for  do- 
minion which  had  in  all  ages  made  the 
many  the  prey  of  the  few,  and  had  been 
worshipped  as  the  attribute  and  impulse 
of  the  greatest  minds.  Its  tone  on  this 
subject  was  original,  and  altogether  its 
own.  Jesus  felt,  as  none  had  felt  before, 
and  as  few  feel  now,  the  baseness  of  self- 
ish ambition,  and  the  grandeur  of  that 
benevolence  which  waives  every  mark  of 
superiority,  that  it  may  more  effectually 
bless  mankind.  He  taught  this  les- 
son, not  only  in  the  boldest  language, 
but,  accommodating  himself  to  the  em- 
blematical mode  of  religious  instruction 
prevalent  in  the  East,  he  set  before  his 
disciples  a little  child  as  their  pattern, 
and  himself  washed  their  feet.  His 
whole  life  was  a commentary  on  his 
teaching.  Not  a trace  of  the  passion 
for  distinction  and  sway  can  be  detected 
in  the  artless  narratives  of  his  historians. 
He  wore  no  badge  of  superiority,  ex- 
acted no  signs  of  homage,  coveted  no 
attentions,  resented  no  neglect.  He 
discouraged  the  ruler  who  prostrated 
himself  before  him  with  flattering  salu- 
tations, but  received  with  affection- 
ate sensibility  the  penitent  who  bathed 
his  feet  with  her  tears.  He  lived  with 
his  obscure  disciples  as  a friend,  and 
mixed  freely  with  all  ranks  of  the  com- 
munity. He  placed  himself  in  the  way 
of  scorn,  and  advanced  to  meet  a death 
more  suited  than  any  other  imaginable 
event  to  entail  infamy  on  his  name. 
Stronger  marks  of  an  infinite  superiority 
to  what  the  world  calls  glory  cannot  be 
conceived  than  we  meet  in  the  history  of 
Jesus. 

I have  named  two  kinds  of  power,  po- 
litical and  spiritual,  as  the  ordinary  ob- 
jects of  false  religions.  I wish  to  show 
you  more  particularly  the  elevation  of 
Christianity  above  these  aims.  That 
the  gospel  was  not  framed  for  political 
purposes  is  too  plain  to  require  proof ; 


but  its  peculiarity  in  this  respect  is  not 
sufficiently  considered..  In  ancient  times 
religion  was  everywhere  a national  con- 
cern. In  Judea  the  urn  ion  between  re- 
ligion and  government  was  singularly 
close  ; and  political  sovereignty  was  one 
of  the  chief  splendors  with,  which  the  Jew- 
ish imagination  had  surrounded  the  ex- 
pected Messiah.  That  in  such  an  age 
and  country  a religion  should  arise 
which  hardly  seems  to  kno'w  that  gov- 
ernment exists  ; which  makes  no  refer- 
ence to  it  except  in  a few  general  incul- 
cations of  obedience  to  the  civil  powers  ; 
which  says  not  a word  nor  throws  out 
a hint  of  allying  itself  with  the  state  ; 
which  assumes  to  itself  no  control  of 
political  affairs,  and  intermeddles  with 
no  public  concerns  ; which  has  ^no  ten- 
dency, however  indirect,  to  accumulate 
power  in  particular  hands  ; which  pro- 
vides no  form  of  national  worship  as  a 
substitute  for  those  which  it  was;  in- 
tended to  destroy  ; and  which  treats', the 
distinctions  of  rank  and  office  as  worth- 
less in  comparison  with  moral  influence 
and  an  unostentatious  charity; — that 
such  a religion  should  spring  up  in  su 6h 
a state  of  the  world  is  a remarkable  fact. 
We  here  see  a broad  line  between  Chris- 
tianity and  other  systems,  and  a striking' 
proof  of  its  originality  and  elevation. 
Other  systems  were  framed  for  commu- 
nities ; Christianity  approached  men  as 
individuals.  It  proposed,  not  the  glory 
of  the  state,  but  the  perfection  of  the 
individual  mind.  So  far  from  being 
contrived  to  build  up  political  power, 
Christianity  tends  to  reduce  and  gradu- 
ally to  supplant  it,  by  teaching  men  to 
substitute  the  sway  of  truth  and  love  for 
menace  and  force,  by  spreading  through 
all  ranks  a feeling  of  brotherhood  alto- 
gether opposed  to  the  spirit  of  domina- 
tion, and  by  establishing  principles  which 
nourish  self-respect  in  every  human  be- 
ing, and  teach  the  obscurest  to  look  with 
an  undazzled  eye  on  the  most  powerful 
of  their  race. 

Christianity  bears  no  mark  of  the 
hands  of  a politician.  One  of  its  main 
.purposes  is  to  extinguish  the  very  spirit 
which  the  ambitious  statesman  most 
anxiously  cherishes,  and  on  which  he 
founds  his  success.  It  proscribes  a 
narrow  patriotism,  shows  no  mercy  to 
the  spirit  of  conquest,  requires  its  disci- 
ples to  love  other  countries  as  truly  as 
their  own,  and  enjoins  a spirit  of  peace 


208 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


and  forbearance  in  language  so  broad 
and  earnest,  that  not  a few  of  its  profes- 
sors consider  wai*  in  every  shape  and 
under  all  circumstances  as  a crime.  The 
hostility  between  Christianity  and  all  the 
political  maxims  of  that  age  cannot  easily 
be  comprehended  at  the  present  day.  No 
doctrines  were  then  so  rooted  as  that  con- 
quest was  the  chief  interest  of  a nation, 
and  that  an  exclusive  patriotism  was  the 
first  and  noblest  of  social  virtues.  Chris- 
tianity, in  loosening  the  tie  which  bound 
man  to  the  state,  that  it  might  connect 
him  with  hits  race,  opposed  itself  to  what 
was  deemed  the  vital  principle  of  na- 
tional safety  and  grandeur,  and  com- 
menced ct  political  revolution  as  original 
and  unsparing  as  the  religious  and  moral 
reform  iX  which  it  aimed. 

Christianity,  then,  was  not  framed  for 
political  purposes.  But  I shall  be  asked 
whether  it  stands  equally  clear  of  the 
charge  of  being  intended  to  accumulate 
spiri  tual  power.  Some  may  ask,  whether 
its  Founder  was  not  instigated  by  the 
pas.sion  for  religious  domination,  — 
wh  ether  he  did  not  aim  to  subdue  men’s 
m'inds,  to  dictate  to  the  faith  of  the 
world,  to  make  himself  the  leader  of  a 
.spreading  sect,  to  stamp  his  name  as  a 
•prophet  on  human  history,  and  thus  to 
secure  the  prostration  of  multitudes  to 
his  will,  more  abject  and  entire  than 
kings  and  conquerors  can  achieve  ? 

To  this  I might  reply  by  what  I have 
said  of  the  character  of  Jesus,  and  of 
the  spirit  of  his  religion.  It  is  plain 
that  the  Founder  of  Christianity  had  a 
perception  quite  peculiar  to  himself  of 
the  moral  beauty  and  greatness  of  a 
disinterested,  meek,  and  self-sacrificing 
spirit ; and  such  a person  was  not  likely 
to  meditate  the  subjugation  of  the  world 
to  himself.  But,  leaving  this  topic,  I 
observe  that,  on  examining  Christianity, 
we  discover  none  of  the  features  of  a 
religion  framed  for  spiritual  domination. 
One  of  the  infallible  marks  of  such  a 
system  is,  that  it  makes  some  terms 
with  the  passions  and  prejudices  of 
men.  It  does  not  — cannot — provoke 
and  ally  against  itself  all  the  powers, 
whether  civil  or  religious,  of  the  world. 
Christianity  was  throughout  uncompro- 
mising and  exasperating,  and  threw  it- 
self in  the  way  of  hatred  and  scorn. 
Such  a system  was  any  thing  but  a 
scheme  for  seizing  the  spiritual  empire 
of  the  world. 


There  is  another  mark  of  a religion 
which  springs  from  the  love  of  spiritual 
domination.  It  infuses  a servile  spirit. 
Its  author,  desirous  to  stamp  his  name 
and  image  on  his  followers,  has  an  inter- 
est in  curbing  the  free  action  of  their 
minds,  imposes  on  them  arbitrary  doc- 
trines, fastens  on  them  badges  which 
may  separate  them  from  others,  and 
besets  them  with  rules,  forms,  and  dis- 
tinctive observances,  which  may  perpet- 
ually remind  them  of  their  relation  to 
their  chief.  Now  I see  nothing  in 
Christianity  of  this  enslaving  legisla- 
tion. It  has  but  one  aim,  which  is,  not 
to  exalt  its  teacher,  but  to  improve  the 
disciple  ; not  to  fasten  Christ’s  name  on 
mankind,  but  to  breathe  into  them  his 
spirit  of  universal  love.  Christianity  is 
not  a religion  of  forms.  It  has  but  two 
ceremonies,  as  simple  as  they  are  ex- 
pressive ; and  these  hold  so  subordinate 
a place  in  the  New  Testament  that  some 
of  the  best  Christians  question  or  deny 
their  permanent  obligation.  Neither  is 
it  a narrow  creed,  or  a mass  of  doctrines 
which  find  no  support  in  our  rational 
nature.  It  may  be  summed  up  in  a few 
great,  universal,  immutable  principles, 
which  reason  and  conscience,  as  far  as 
they  are  unfolded,  adopt  and  rejoice  in 
as  their  own  everlasting  laws,  and  which 
open  perpetually  enlarging  views  to  the 
mind.  As  far  as  I am  a Christian,  I am 
free.  My  religion  lays  on  me  not  one 
chain.  It  does  not  prescribe  a certain 
range  for  my  mind  beyond  which  nothing 
can  be  learned.  It  speaks  of  God  as  the 
Universal  Father,  and  sends  me  to  all 
his  works  for  instruction.  It  does  not 
hem  me  round  with  a mechanical  ritual, 
does  not  enjoin  forms,  attitudes,  and 
hours  of  prayer,  does  not  descend  to 
details  of  dress  and  food,  does  not  put 
on  me  one  outward  badge.  It  teaches 
and  enkindles  love  to  God,  but  com- 
mands no  precise  expressions  of  this 
sentiment.  It  prescribes  prayer;  but 
lays  the  chief  stress  on  the  prayer  of 
the  closet,  and  treats  all  worship  as 
worthless  but  that  of  the  mind  and 
heart.  It  teaches  us  to  do  good,  but 
leaves  us  to  devise  for  ourselves  the 
means  by  which  we  may  best  serve 
mankind.  In  a word,  the  whole  relig- 
ion of  Christ  may  be  summed  up  in  the 
love  of  God  and  of  mankind,  and  it 
leaves  the  individual  to  cherish  and 
express  this  spirit  by  the  methods  most 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


209 


accordant  with  his  own  condition  and 
peculiar  mind.  Christianity  is  eminently 
the  religion  of  freedom.  The  views 
which  it  gives  of  the  parental,  impartial, 
universal  goodness  of  God,  and  of  the 
equal  right  of  every  human  being  to 
inquire  into  his  will,  and  its  inculcations 
of  candor,  forbearance,  and  mutual  re- 
spect, contribute  alike  to  freedom  of 
thought  and  enlargement  of  the  heart. 
I repeat  it,  Christianity  lays  on  me  no 
chains.  It  is  any  thing  but  a contriv- 
ance for  spiritual  domination. 

I am  aware  that  I shall  be  told  that 
Christianity,  if  judged  by  its  history,  has 
no  claim  to  the  honorable  title  of  a re- 
ligion of  liberty.  I shall  be  told  that  no 
system  of  heathenism  ever  weighed  more 
oppressively  on  men’s  souls  ; that  the 
Christian  ministry  has  trained  tyrants, 
who  have  tortured,  now  the  body  with 
material  fire,  and  now  the  mind  with  the 
dread  of  fiercer  flames,  and  who  have 
proscribed  and  punished  free  thought 
and  free  speech  as  the  worst  of  crimes. 
I have  no  disposition  to  soften  the  feat- 
ures of  priestly  oppression  ; but  I say, 
let  not  Christianity  be  made  to  answer 
for  it.  Christianity  gives  its  ministers 
no  such  power.  They  have  usurped  it 
in  the  face  of  the  sternest  prohibitions, 
and  in  opposition  to  the  whole  spirit  of 
their  Master.  Christianity  institutes  no 
priesthood,  in  the  original  and  proper 
sense  of  that  word.  It  has  not  the  name 
of  priest  among  its  officers  ; nor  does  it 
confer  a shadow  of  priestly  power.  It 
invests  no  class  of  men  with  peculiar 
sanctity,  ascribing  to  their  intercessions 
a special  influence  over  Godj  or  sus- 
pending the  salvation  of  the  private 
Christian  on  ceremonies  which  they 
alone  can  administer.  Jesus,  indeed,  ap- 
pointed twelve  of  his  immediate  disciples 
to  be  the  great  instruments  of  propagat- 
ing his  religion ; but  nothing  can  be 
simpler  than  their  office.  They  went 
forth  to  make  known  through  all  nations 
the  life,  death,  resurrection,  and  teach- 
ings of  Jesus  Christ ; and  this  truth 
they  spread  freely  and  without  reserve. 
They  did  not  give  it  as  a mystery  to  a 
few  who  were  to  succeed  them  in  their 
office,  and  according  to  whose  direction 
it  was  to  be  imparted  to  others.  They 
communicated  it  to  the  whole  body  of 
converts,  to  be  their  equal  and  common 
property,  thus  securing  to  all  the  invalu- 
able rights  of  the  mind.  It  is  true,  they 


appointed  ministers  01-  teachers  in  the  va- 
rious congregations  wlfich  they  formed  ; 
and  in  that  early  age,  ydien  the  religion 
was  new  and  unknown,,  and  when  oral 
teaching  was  the  only  mode  of  com- 
municating it,  there  seem.s  to  have  been 
no  way  for  its  diffusion  but  this  appoint- 
ment of  the  most  enlightened  disciples 
to  the  work  of  instruction.  But  the 
New  Testament  nowhere  intimates  that 
these  men  were  to  monopolize  the  priv- 
ilege of  studying  their  religion  or  of 
teaching  it  to  others.  Not  a single  man 
can  claim  under  Christianity  the  right  to 
interpret  it  exclusively,  or  to  impose  his 
interpretation  on  his  brethren!.  The 
Christian  minister  enjoys  no  nearer  ac- 
cess to  God,  and  no  promise  oJ^  more 
immediate  illumination,  than  other-  men. 
He  is  not  intrusted  with  the  Chri.stian 
records  more  than  they,  and  by  these 
records  it  is  both  their  right  and  duty  to 
try  his  instructions.  I have  here  pointed 
out  a noble  peculiarity  of  Christianity. 
It  is  the  religion  of  liberty.  It  is  in  ne> 
degree  tainted  with  the  passion  for  spirit- 
ual power.  “ Call  no  man  master,  for  ye 
are  all  brethren,”  is  its  free  and  gener- 
ous inculcation,  and  to  every  form  of 
freedom  it  is  a friend  and  defence. 

We  have  seen  that  Christianity  is  not 
to  be  traced  to  the  love  of  power,  that 
master  passion  in  the  authors  of  false 
religions.  I add,  that  no  other  object  of 
a selfish  nature  could  have  led  to  its  in- 
vention. The  Gospel  is  not  of  this 
world.  At  the  time  of  its  origin  no  in- 
genuity could  have  brought  it  to  bear 
on  any  private  or  worldly  interest.  Its 
spirit  is  self-denial.  Wealth,  ease,  and 
honor  it  counts  among  the  chief  perils 
of  life,  and  it  insists  on  no  duty  more 
earnestly  than  on  that  of  putting  them 
to  hazard  and  casting  them  from  us  if 
the  cause  of  truth  and  humanity  so  re- 
quire. And  these  maxims  were  not 
mere  speculations  or  rhetorical  common- 
places in  the  times  of  Christ  and  his 
Apostles.  The  first  propagators  of 
Christianity  were  called  upon  to  prac- 
tise what  they  preached,  to  forego  every 
interest  on  its  account.  They  could  not 
but  foreknow  that  a religion  so  uncom- 
promising and  pure  would  array  against 
them  the  world.  They  did  not  merely 
take  the  chance  of  suffering,  but  were 
sure  that  the  whole  weight  of  scorn, 
pain,  and  worldly  persecution  would  de- 
scend on  their  heads.  How  inexplicable, 


210 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


then,  is  Christianity  by  any  selfish  ob- 
ject or  any  low  ai*n  ! 

The  Gospel  h^s  but  one  object,  and 
that  too  plain  to  be  mistaken.  In  read- 
ing the  New  Testament^  we  see  the 
greatest  simplicity  of  aim.  There  is  no 
lurking  purpose,  no  by-end,  betraying 
itself  through  attempts  to  disguise  it. 
A perfect  singleness  of  design  runs 
through  the  records  of  the  religion,  and 
is  no  mea-n  evidence  of  their  truth. 
This  end  of  Christianity  is  the  moral 
perfection  of  the  human  soul.  It  aims 
and  it  tends,  in  all  its  doctrines,  pre- 
cepts, ;md  promises,  to  rescue  men 
from  the  power  of  moral  evil ; to  unite 
them  to  God  by  filial  love,  and  to  one 
another  in  the  bonds  of  brotherhood ; 
to  inspire  them  with  a philanthropy  as 
meek  • and  unconquerable  as  that  of 
Christ ; and  to  kindle  intense  desire, 
hope,  and  pursuit  of  celestial  and  im- 
mortal virtue 

And  now,  I ask,  what  is  the  plain 
inference  from  these  views  ? If  Chris- 
tianity can  be  traced  to  no  selfish  or 
worldly  motive,  — if  it  was  framed,  not 
for  dominion,  not  to  compass  any  pri- 
vate purpose,  but  to  raise  men  above 
themselves,  and  to  conform  them  to 
God,  — can  we  help  pronouncing  it  wor- 
thy of  God  ? And  to  whom  but  to  God 
can  we  refer  its  origin  ? Ought  we  not 
to  recognize  in  the  first  propagators 
of  such  a faith  the  holiest  of  men,  the 
friends  of  their  race,  and  the  messen- 
gers of  Heaven  ? Christianity,  from 
its  very  nature,  repels  the  charge  of 
imposture.  It  carries  in  itself  the  proof 
of  pure  intention.  Bad  men  could  not 
have  conceived  it,  much  less  have 
adopted  it,  as  the  great  object  of  their 
lives.  The  supposition  of  selfish  men 
giving  up  every  private  interest  to  spread 
a system  which  condemned  themselves, 
and  which  tended  only  to  purify  man- 
kind, is  an  absurdity  as  gross  as  can 
be  found  in  the  most  irrational  faith. 
Christianity,  therefore,  when  tried  by 
its  motives,  approves  itself  to  be  of 
God. 

III.  I now  proceed  to  another  and 
very  important  ground  of  my  belief  in 
the  divine  origin  of  Christianity.  Its 
truth  was  attested  by  miracles.  Its  first 
teachers  proved  themselves  the  minis- 
ters of  God  by  supernatural  works. 
They  did  what  man  cannot  do,  what 
bore  the  impress  of  a divine  power,  and 


what  thus  sealed  the  divinity  of  their 
mission.  A religion  so  attested  must 
be  true.  This  topic  is  a great  one,  and 
I ask  your  patient  attention  to  it. 

I am  aware  that  a strong  prejudice 
exists  in  some  minds  against  the  kind 
of  evidence  which  I have  now  adduced. 
Miracles  seem  to  them  to  carry  a con- 
futation in  themselves.  The  presump- 
tion against  them  seems  next  to  infinite. 
In  this  respect,  the  present  times  differ 
from  the  past.  There  have  been  ages 
when  men  believed  any  thing  and  every 
thing ; and  the  more  monstrous  the 
story,  the  more  eagerly  was  it  received 
by  the  credulous  multitude.  In  the 
progress  of  knowledge,  men  have  come 
to  see  that  most  of  the  prodigies  and 
supernatural  events  in  which  their  fore- 
fathers believed  were  fictions  of  fancy, 
or  fear,  or  imposture.  The  light  of 
knowledge  has  put  to  flight  the  ghosts 
and  witches  which  struck  terror  into 
earlier  times.  We  now  know  that  not  a 
few  of  the  appearances  in  the  heavens 
which  appalled  nations,  and  were  inter- 
preted as  precursors  of  divine  ven- 
geance, were  natural  effects.  We  have 
learned,  too,  that  a highly  excited  im- 
agination can  work  some  of  the  cures 
once  ascribed  to  magic  ; and  the  lesson 
taught  us  by  these  natural  solutions  of 
apparent  miracles  is,  that  accounts  of 
supernatural  events  are  to  be  sifted 
with  great  jealousy  and  received  with 
peculiar  care. 

But  the  result  of  this  new  light 
thrown  on  nature  and  history  is,  that 
some  are  disposed  to  discredit  all  mira- 
cles indiscriminately.  So  many  having 
proved  groundless,  a sweeping  sentence 
of  condemnation  is  passed  on  all.  The 
human  mind,  by  a natural  reaction,  has 
passed  from  extreme  credulousness  to 
the  excess  of  incredulity.  Some  per- 
sons are  even  hardy  enough  to  deride 
the  very  idea  of  a miracle.  They  pro- 
nounce the  order  of  nature  something 
fixed  and  immutable,  and  all  suspen- 
sions of  it  incredible.  This  prejudice, 
for  such  it  is,  seems  to  deserve  particu- 
lar attention ; for,  until  it  is  removed, 
the  evidences  of  Christian  miracles  will 
have  little  weight.  Let  us  examine  it 
patiently  and  impartially. 

The  sceptic  tells  me  that  the  order 
of  nature  is  fixed.  I ask  him,  By  whom 
or  by  what  is  it  fixed  ? By  an  iron  fate  ? 
— by  an  inflexible  necessity  ? Does  not 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


211 


nature  bear  the  signatures  of  an  intelli- 
gent Cause  ? Does  not  the  very  idea 
of  its  order  imply  an  ordaining  or  dis- 
posing Mind  ? Does  not  the  universe, 
the  more  it  is  explored,  bear  increasing 
testimony  to  a Being  superior  to  itself  ? 
Then  the  order  of  nature  is  fixed  by  a 
Will  which  can  reverse  it.  Then  a 
power  equal  to  miracles  exists.  Then 
miracles  are  not  incredible. 

It  may  be  replied,  that  God  indeed 
can  work  miracles,  but  that  he  will  not. 
He  will  not  ? And  how  does  the  scep- 
tic know  this  ? Has  God  so  told  him  ? 
This  language  does  not  become  a being 
of  our  limited  faculties  ; and  the  pre- 
sumptuousness which  thus  makes  laws 
for  the  Creator,  and  restricts  his  agency 
to  particular  modes,  is  as  little  the  spirit 
of  true  philosophy  as  of  religion. 

The  sceptic  sees  nothing  in  miracles 
but  ground  of  offence.  To  me,  they 
seem  to  involve  in  their  very  nature  a 
truth  so  great,  so  vital,  that  I am  not 
only  reconciled  to  them,  but  am  dis- 
posed to  receive  joyfully  any  sufficient 
proofs  of  their  having  been  performed. 
To  the  sceptic,  no  principle  is  so  impor- 
tant as  the  uniformity  of  nature,  the 
constancy  of  its  laws.  To  me,  there  is 
a vastly  higher  truth,  to  which  miracles 
bear  witness,  and  to  which  I welcome 
their  aid.  What  I wish  chiefly  to  know 
is,  that  mind  is  the  supreme  power  in 
the  universe  ; that  matter  is  its  instru- 
ment and  slave  ; that  there  is  a will  to 
which  nature  can  offer  no  obstruction  ; 
that  God  is  unshackled  by  the  laws  of 
the  universe,  and  controls  them  at  his 
pleasure.  This  absolute  sovereignty  of 
the  Divine  Mind  over  the  universe  is 
the  only  foundation  of  hope  for  the 
triumph  of  the  human  mind  over  mat- 
ter, over  physical  influences,  over  im- 
perfection and  death.  Now,  it  is  plain 
that  the  strong  impressions  which  we 
receive  through  the  senses  from  the 
material  creation,  joined  to  our  experi- 
ence of  its  regularity,  and  to  our  instinc- 
tive trust  in  its  future  uniformity,  do 
obscure  this  supremacy  of  God,  do 
tempt  us  to  ascribe  a kind  of  omnipo- 
tence to  nature’s  laws,  and  to  limit  our 
hopes  to  the  good  which  is  promised  by 
these.  There  is  a strong  tendency  in 
men  to  attach  the  idea  of  necessity  to 
an  unchanging  regularity  of  operation, 
and  to  imagine  bounds  to  a being  who 
keeps  one  undeviating  path,  or  who  re- 


peats himself  perpetually.  Hence  I say 
that  I rejoice  in  miracles.  They  show 
and  assert  the  supremacy  of  mind  in 
the  universe.  They  manifest  a spiritual 
power  which  is  in  no  degree  enthralled 
by  the  laws  of  matter.  I rejoice  in 
these  witnesses  to  so  great  a truth.  I 
rejoice  in  whatever  proves  that  this 
order  of  nature,  which  so  often  weighs 
on  me  as  a chain,  and  which  contains 
no  promise  of  my  perfection,  is  not 
supreme  and  immutable,  and  that  the 
Creator  is  not  restricted  to  thq  narrow 
modes  of  operation  with  which  I am 
most  familiar.  \ 

Perhaps  the  form  in  which  the  objec- 
tion to  miracles  is  most  frequently  ex- 
pressed is  the  following  : “ It  is  d&r°ga” 
tory,”  says  the  sceptic,  “ to  the  perfect 
wisdom  of  God,  to  suppose  him  to  break 
in  upon  the  order  of  his  own  works.  It 
is  only  the  unskilful  artist  who  vis 
obliged  to  thrust  his  hand  into  the 
machine  for  the  purpose  of  supplying 
its  defects,  and  of  giving  it  a new  im-\ 
pulse  by  an  immediate  agency.”  To  this 
objection  I reply  that  it  proceeds  on  false 
ideas  of  God  and  of  the  creation.  God 
is  not  an  artist,  but  a moral  Parent  and 
Governor  ; nor  is  the  creation  a machine. 
If  it  were,  it  might  be  urged  with  greater 
speciousness  that  miracles  cannot  be 
needed  or  required.  One  of  the  most 
striking  views  of  the  creation  is  the  con- 
trast or  opposition  of  the  elements  of 
which  it  consists.  It  includes  not  only 
matter  but  mind,  — not  only  lifeless  and 
unconscious  masses,  but  rational  beings, 
free  agents  ; and  these  are  its  noblest 
parts  and  ultimate  objects.  The  mate- 
rial universe  was  framed  not  for  itself, 
but  for  these.  Its  order  was  not  ap- 
pointed for  its  own  sake,  but  to  instruct 
and  improve  a higher  rank  of  beings  the 
intelligent  offspring  of  God  ; and  when- 
ever a departure  from  this  order,  — that 
is.  whenever  miraculous  agency  can  con- 
tribute to  the  growth  and  perfection  of 
his  intelligent  creatures,  — it  is  demand- 
ed by  his  wisdom,  goodness,  and  all  his 
attributes.  If  the  Supreme  Being  pro- 
posed only  such  ends  as  mechanism  can 
produce,  then  He  might  have  framed  a 
machinery  so  perfect  and  sure  as  to 
need  no  suspension  of  its  ordinary  move- 
ments. But  He  has  an  incomparably 
nobler  end.  His  great  purpose  is  to 
educate  to  rescue  from  evil,  to  carry  for- 
ward for  ever  the  free,  rational  mind  or 


212 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


soul ; and  who  that  understands  what  a 
free  mind  is,  and  what  a variety  of  teach- 
ing and  discipline  it  requires,  will  pre- 
sume to  affirm  that  no  lights  or  aids  but 
such  as  come  to  it  through  an  invariable 
order  of  nature,  are  necessary  to  unfold 
it  ? 

Much  of  the  difficulty  in  regard  to 
miracles,  as  I apprehend,  would  be  re- 
moved if  we  were  to  consider  more  par- 
ticularly that  the  chief  distinction  of 
intelligent  beings  is  moral  freedom,  the 
power  of  determining  themselves  to  evil 
as  well  as  good,  and  consequently  the 
power  of  involving  themselves  in  great 
misery.  When  God  made  man,  He  framed 
not  a machine,  but  a free  being,  who  was 
to  ris6  or  fall  according  to  his  use  or 
abuse  of  his  powers.  This  capacity,  at 
once  the  most  glorious  and  the  most 
fearful  which  we  can  conceive,  shows  us 
ho'w  the  human  race  may  have  come  into 
a condition  to  which  the  illumination  of 
nature  was  inadequate.  In  truth,  the 
more  we  consider  the  freedom  of  intelli- 
gent beings,  the  more  we  shall  question 
the  possibility  of  establishing  an  un- 
changeable order  which  will  meet  fully 
all  their  wants  ; for  such  beings,  having 
of  necessity  a wide  range  of  action,  may 
bring  themselves  into  a vast  variety  of 
conditions,  and  of  course  may  come  to 
need  a relief  not  contained  in  the  re- 
sources of  nature.  The  history  of  the 
human  race  illustrates  these  truths.  At 
the  introduction  of  Christianity,  the  hu- 
man family  were  plunged  into  gross  and 
debasing  error,  and  the  light  of  nature 
had  not  served  for  ages  to  guide  them 
back  to  truth.  Philosophy  had  done  its 
best,  and  failed.  A new  element,  a new 
power,  seems  to  have  been  wanting  to 
the  progress  of  the  race.  That  in  such 
an  exigence  miraculous  aid  should  be 
imparted  accords  with  our  best  views  of 
God.  I repeat  it,  — were  men  mechanical 
beings,  an  undeviating  order  of  nature 
might  meet  all  their  wants.  They  are 
free  beings,  who  bear  a moral  relation  to 
God,  and  as  such  may  need,  and  are 
worthy  of,  a more  various  and  special 
care  than  is  extended  over  the  irrational 
creation. 

When  I examine  nature,  I see  reasons 
for  believing  that  it  was  not  intended  by 
God  to  be  the  only  method  of  instruct- 
ing and  improving  mankind.  I see  rea- 
sons. as  I think,  why  its  order  or  regular 
course  should  be  occasionally  suspended, 


and  why  revelation  should  be  joined  to 
it  in  the  work  of  carrying  forward  the 
race.  I can  offer  only  a few  considera- 
tions on  this  point,  but  they  seem  to  me 
worthy  of  serious  attention.  The  first 
is,  that  a fixed,  invariable  order  of  nat- 
ure does  not  give  us  some  views  of  God 
which  are  of  great  interest  and  impor- 
tance, or  at  least  it  does  not  give  them 
with  that  distinctness  which  we  all  de- 
sire. It  reveals  him  as  the  Universal 
Sovereign  who  provides  for  the  whole  or 
for  the  general  weal,  but  not,  with  suffi- 
cient clearness,  as  a tender  father,  in- 
terested in  the  individual.  I see,  in 
this  fixed  order,  his  care  of  the  race, 
but  not  his  constant,  boundless  concern 
for  myself.  Nature  speaks  of  a general 
divinity,  not  of  the  friend  and  benefactor 
of  each  living  soul.  This  is  a necessary 
defect  attending  an  inflexible,  unvary- 
ing administration  by  general  laws  ; and 
it  seems  to  require  that  God,  to  carry 
forward  the  race,  should  reveal  himself 
by  some  other  manner  than  by  general 
laws.  No  conviction  is  more  important 
to  human  improvement  than  that  of 
God’s  paternal  interest  in  every  human 
being;  and  how  can  He  communicate 
this  persuasion  so  effectually  as  by 
suspending  nature’s  order,  to  teach, 
through  an  inspired  messenger,  his  pa- 
ternal love  ? 

My  second  remark  is,  that,  whilst 
nature  teaches  many  important  lessons, 
it  is  not  a direct,  urgent  teacher.  Its 
truths  are  not  prominent,  and  conse- 
quently men  may  neglect  it,  and  place 
themselves  beyond  its  influence.  For 
example,  nature  holds  out  the  doctrine 
of  One  God,  but  does  not  compel  atten- 
tion to  it.  God’s  name  is  not  written  in 
the  sky  in  letters  of  light  which  all  na- 
tions must  read,  nor  sounded  abroad  in 
a voice  deep  and  awful  as  thunders,  so 
that  all  must  hear.  Nature  is  a gentle  — 
I had  almost  said  a reserved  — teacher, 
demanding  patient  thought  in  the  learner, 
and  may  therefore  be  unheeded.  Men 
may  easily  shut  their  ears  and  harden 
their  hearts  against  its  testimony  to  God. 
Accordingly  we  learn  that,  at  Christ’s 
coming,  almost  all  nations  had  lost  the 
knowledge  of  the  true  glory  of  the  Crea- 
tor, and  given  themselves  up  to  gross 
superstitions.  To  such  a condition  of 
the  world  nature’s  indirect  and  unim- 
posing mode  of  instruction  is  not  fitted, 
and  thus  it  furnishes  a reason  for  a 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


213 


more  immediate  and  impressive  teach- 
ing. In  such  a season  of  moral  dark- 
ness, was  it  not  worthy  of  God  to  kindle 
another  and  more  quickening  beam  ? 
When  the  long-repeated  and  almost 
monotonous  language  of  creation  was 
not  heard,  was  it  unworthy  of  God  to 
speak  with  a new  and  more  startling 
voice  ? What  fitter  method  was  there 
for  rousing  those  whom  nature’s  quiet 
regularity  could  not  teach,  than  to  in- 
terrupt its  usual  course  ? 

I proceed  to  another  reason  for  ex- 
pecting revelation  to  be  added  to  the 
light  of  nature.  Nature,  I have  said, 
is  not  a direct  or  urgent  teacher,  and 
men  may  place  themselves  beyond  its 
voice.  I say,  thirdly,  that  there  is  one 
great  point,  on  which  we  are  deeply 
concerned  to  know  the  truth,  and  which 
is  yet  taught  so  indistinctly  by  nature, 
that  men,  however  disposed  to  learn, 
cannot  by  that  light  alone  obtain  full 
conviction.  What,  let  me  ask,  is  the 
question  in  which  each  man  has  the 
deepest  interest  ? It  is  this  : Are  we 
to  live  again,  or  is  this  life  all  ? Does 
the  principle  of  thought  perish  with  the 
body,  or  does  it  survive  ? And  if  it 
survive,  where  ? how  ? in  what  condi- 
tion ? under  what  law  ? There  is  an 
inward  voice  which  speaks  of  judgment 
to  come.  Will  judgment  indeed  come  ? 
and  if  so,  what  award  may  we  hope  or 
fear?  The  future  state  of  man,  — this 
is  the  great  question  forced  on  us  by 
our  changing  life  and  by  approaching 
death.  I will  not  say  that  on  this  topic 
nature  throws  no  light.  I think  it  does  ; 
and  this  light  continually  grows  brighter 
to  them  whose  eyes  revelation  has 
couched  and  made  strong  to  see.  But 
nature  alone  does  not  meet  our  wants. 
I might  prove  this  by  referring  you  to 
the  ages  preceding  Christ,  when  the 
anxious  spirit  of  man  constantly  sought 
to  penetrate  the  gloom  beyond  the 
grave,  — when  imagination  and  philoso- 
phy alike  plunged  into  the  future,  but 
found  no  resting-place.  But  every  man 
must  feel  that,  left  to  nature  as  his  only 
guide,  he  must  wander  in  doubt  as  to 
the  life  to  come.  Where  but  from  God 
himself  can  I learn  my  destination  ? I 
ask  at  the  mouth  of  the  tomb  for  intelli- 
gence of  the  departed,  and  the  tomb 
gives  me  no  reply.  I examine  the  vari- 
ous regions  of  nature,  but  I can  discover 
no  process  for  restoring  the  mouldering 


body,  and  no  sign  or  track  of  the  spirit's 
ascent  to  another  sphere.  I see  the 
need  of  a power  above  nature  to  restore 
or  perpetuate  life  after  death  ; and  if 
God  intended  to  give  assurance  of  this 
life,  I see  not  how  He  can  do  it  but  by 
supernatural  teaching,  — by  a miraculous 
revelation.  Miracles  are  the  appropri- 
ate, and  would  seem  to  be  the  only,  mode 
of  placing  beyond  doubt  man’s  future 
and  immortal  being ; and  no  miracles 
can  be  conceived  so  peculiarly  adapted 
to  this  end  as  the  very  ones  which  hold 
the  highest  place  in  Christianity,  — I 
mean  the  resurrection  of  Lazarus,  and, 
still  more,  the  resurrection  of  Jesus. 
No  man  will  deny  that,  of  all  truths,  a 
future  state  is  most  strengthening  to 
virtue  and  consoling  to  humanity.  Is 
it,  then,  unworthy  of  God  to  employ 
miracles  for  the  awakening  or  the  con- 
firmation of  this  hope  ? May  they  not 
even  be  expected  if  nature,  as  we  haye 
seen,  sheds  but  a faint  light  on  this  mo^t 
interesting  of  all  verities  ? \ 

I add  one  more  consideration  in  sup- 
port of  the  position  that  nature  was  not 
intended  to  be  God’s  only  method  of 
teaching  mankind.  In  surveying  the 
human  mind,  we  discover  a principle 
which  singularly  fits  it  to  be  wrought 
upon  and  benefited  by  miraculous  agen- 
cy, and  which  might  therefore  lead  us 
to  expect  such  interposition.  I refer  to 
that  principle  of  our  nature  by  which 
we  become  in  a measure  insensible  or 
indifferent  to  what  is  familiar,  but  are 
roused  to  attention  and  deep  interest  by 
what  is  singular,  strange,  supernatural. 
This  principle  of  wonder  is  an  important 
part  of  our  constitution ; and  that  God 
should  employ  it  in  the  work  of  our 
education  is  what  reason  might  antici- 
pate. I see,  then,  a foundation  for 
miracles  in  the  human  mind  ; and,  when 
I consider  that  the  mind  is  God’s  noblest 
work,  I ought  to  look  to  this  as  the  in- 
terpreter of  his  designs.  We  are  plainly 
so  constituted  that  the  order  of  nature, 
the  more  it  is  fixed,  excites  us  the  less. 
Our  interest  is  blunted  by  its  ceaseless 
uniformity.  On  the  contrary,  departures 
from  this  order  powerfully  stir  the  soul, 
break  up  its  old  and  slumbering  habits 
of  thought,  turn  it  with  a new  solicitude 
to  the  Almighty  Interposer,  and  prepare 
it  to  receive  with  awe  the  communica- 
tions of  his  will.  Was  it  unworthy  of 
God,  who  gave  us  this  sensibility  to  the 


214 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


wonderful,  to  appeal  to  it  for  the  recovery 
of  his  creatures  to  himself? 

I here  close  my  remarks  on  the  great 
objection  of  scepticism,  that  miracles 
are  inconsistent  with  the  divine  perfec- 
tions ; that  the  Supreme  Being,  having 
established  an  order  of  operation,  cannot 
be  expected  to  depart  from  it.  To  me 
such  reasoning,  if  reasoning  it  may  be 
called,  is  of  no  weight.  When  I con- 
sider God’s  paternal  and  moral  relation 
to  mankind,  and  his  interest  in  their 
progress  ; when  I consider  how  accord- 
ant it  is  with  his  character  that  He 
should  make  himself  known  to  them  by 
methods  most  fitted  to  awaken  the  mind 
and  heart  to  his  goodness  ; when  I con- 
sider the  need  we  have  of  illumination 
in  regard  to  the  future  life,  more  distinct 
and  full  than  the  creation  affords  ; when 
I consider  the  constitution  and  condition 
of  man,  his  free  agency,  and  the  corrup- 
tion into  which  he  had  fallen  ; when  I 
consider  how  little  benefit  a being  so 
/depraved  was  likely  to  derive  from  an 
order  of  nature  to  which  he  had  grown 
familiar,  and  how  plainly  the  mind  is 
fitted  to  be  quickened  by  miraculous 
interposition  ; — I say,  when  I take  all 
these  things  into  view,  I see,  as  I think, 
a foundation  in  nature  for  supernatural 
light  and  aid,  and  I discern  in  a miracu- 
lous revelation  such  as  Christianity  a 
provision  suited  at  once  to  the  frame 
and  wants  of  the  human  soul,  and  to  the 
perfections  of  its  Author. 

There  are  other  objections  to  miracles, 
though  less  avowed,  than  that  which  I 
have  now  considered,  yet  perhaps  not 
less  influential,  and  probably  operating 
on  many  minds  so  secretly  as  to  be  un- 
perceived. At  two  of  these  I will  just 
glance.  Not  a few,  I am  confident,  have 
doubts  of  the  Christian  miracles,  because 
they  see  none  now.  Were  their  scep- 
ticism to  clothe  itself  in  language,  it  would 
say,  “ Show  us  miracles,  and  we  will  be- 
lieve them.  We  suspect  them,  because 
they  are  confined  to  the  past.”  Now  this 
objection  is  a childish  one.  It  may  be 
resolved  into  the  principle,  that  nothing 
in  the  past  is  worthy  of  belief  which  is 
not  repeated  in  the  present.  Admit  this, 
and  where  will  incredulity  stop  ? How 
many  forms  and  institutions  of  society, 
recorded  in  ancient  history,  have  passed 
away  ? Has  history,  then,  no  title  to 
respect  ? If,  indeed,  the  human  race 
were  standing  still ; if  one  age  were 


merely  a copy  of  preceding  ones  ; if  each 
had  precisely  the  same  wants,  then  the 
miracles  required  at  one  period  would 
be  reproduced  in  all.  But  who  does  not 
know  that  there  is  a progress  in  human 
affairs  ? that  formerly  mankind  were  in 
a different  stage  from  that  through  which 
they  are  now  passing  ? that  of  course 
the  education  of  the  race  must  be  varied  ? 
and  that  miracles,  important  once,  may 
be  superfluous  now  ? Shall  we  bind  the 
Creator  to  invariable  modes  of  teaching 
and  training  a race  whose  capacities 
and  wants  are  undergoing  a perpetual 
change  ? Because  in  periods  of  thick 
darkness  God  introduced  a new  religion 
by  supernatural  works,  shall  we  expect 
these  works  to  be  repeated,  when  the 
darkness  is  scattered  and  their  end 
attained  ? Who  does  not  see  that  mira- 
cles, from  their  very  nature,  must  be 
rare,  occasional,  limited  ? Would  not 
their  power  be  impaired  by  frequency  ? 
and  would  it  not  wholly  cease,  were  they 
so  far  multiplied  as  to  seem  a part  of 
the  order  of  nature  ? 

The  objection  I am  now  considering 
shows  us  the  true  character  of  scep- 
ticism. Scepticism  is  essentially  a nar- 
rowness of  mind,  which  makes  the 
present  moment  the  measure  of  the 
past  and  future.  It  is  the  creature  of 
sense.  In  the  midst  of  a boundless 
universe,  it  can  conceive  no  mode  of 
operation  but  what  falls  under  its  imme- 
diate observation.  The  visible,  the  pres- 
ent, is  every  thing  to  the  unbeliever. 
Let  him  but  enlarge  his  views  ; let  him 
look  round  on  the  immensity  of  the  uni- 
verse ; let  him  consider  the  infinity  of 
resources  which  are  comprehended  in 
omnipotence  ; let  him  represent  to  him- 
self the  manifold  stages  through  which 
the  human  race  is  appointed  to  pass  ; 
let  him  remember  that  the  education  of 
the  ever-growing  mind  must  require  a 
great  variety  of  discipline  ; and  espe- 
cially let  him  admit  the  sublime  thought, 
of  which  the  germ  is  found  in  nature, 
that  man  was  created  to  be  trained  for, 
and  to  ascend  to,  an  incomparably  higher 
order  of  existence  than  the  present, — 
and  he  will  see  the  childishness  of  mak- 
ing his  narrow  experience  the  standard 
of  all  that  is  past  and  is  to  come  in 
human  history. 

It  is  strange,  indeed,  that  men  of  sci- 
ence should  fall  into  this  error.  The 
improved  science  of  the  present  day 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


215 


teaches  them  that  this  globe  of  ours, 
which  seems  so  unchangeable,  is  not 
now  what  it  was  a few  thousand  years 
ago.  They  find  proofs,  by  digging  into 
the  earth,  that  this  globe  was  inhabited 
before  the  existence  of  the  human  race 
by  classes  of  animals  which  have  per- 
ished, and  the  ocean  peopled  by  races 
now  unknown,  and  that  the  human  race 
are  occupying  a ruined  and  restored 
world.  Men  of  science  should  learn  to 
free  themselves  from  the  vulgar  narrow- 
ness which  sees  nothing  in  the  past  but 
the  present,  and  should  learn  the  stu- 
pendous and  infinite  variety  of  the  dis- 
pensations of  God. 

There  is  another  objection  to  miracles, 
and  the  last  to  be  now  considered,  which 
is  drawn  from  the  well-known  fact,  that 
pretended  miracles  crowd  the  pages  of 
ancient  history.  No  falsehoods,  we  are 
told,  have  been  more  common  than  ac- 
counts of  prodigies,  and  therefore  the 
miraculous  character  of  Christianity  is  a 
presumption  against  its  truth.  I acknowl- 
edge that  this  argument  has  its  weight ; 
and  I am  ready  to  say,  that,  did  I know 
nothing  of  Christianity  but  that  it  was  a 
religion  full  of  miracles  ; did  I know 
nothing  of  its  doctrines,  its  purpose,  its 
influences,  and  whole  history,  I should 
suspect  it  as  much  as  the  unbeliever. 
There  is  a strong  presumption  agains-t 
miracles,  considered  nakedly,  or  sepa- 
rated from  their  design  and  from  all  cir- 
cumstances which  explain  and  support 
them.  There  is  a like  presumption 
against  events  not  miraculous,  but  of  an 
extraordinary  character.  But  this  is 
only  a reason  for  severe  scrutiny  and 
slow  belief,  not  for  resisting  strong  and 
multiplied  proofs.  I blame  no  man  for 
doubting  a report  of  miracles  when  first 
brought  to  his  ears.  Thousands  of  ab- 
surd prodigies  have  been  created  by 
ignorance  and  fanaticism,  and  thousands 
more  been  forged  by  imposture.  I 
invite  you,  then,  to  try  scrupulously  the 
miracles  of  Christianity ; and,  if  they 
bear  the  marks  of  the  superstitious  leg- 
ends of  false  religions,  do  not  spare 
them.  I only  ask  for  them  a fair  hear- 
ing and  calm  investigation. 

It  is  plainly  no  sufficient  argument  for 
rejecting  all  miracles  that  men  have  be- 
lieved in  many  which  are  false.  If  you 
go  back  to  the  times  when  miraculous 
stories  were  swallowed  most  greedily, 
and  read  the  books  then  written  on  his- 


tory, geography,  and  natural  science,  you 
will  find  all  of  them  crowded  with  error  ; 
but  do  they  therefore  contain  nothing 
worthy  your  trust  ? Is  there  not  a vein 
of  truth  running  through  the  prevalent 
falsehood  ? And  cannot  a sagacious 
mind  very  often  detach  the  real  from  the 
fictitious,  explain  the  origin  of  many  mis- 
takes, distinguish  the  judicious  and  hon- 
est from  the  credulous  or  interested 
narrator,  and  by  a comparison  of  testi- 
monies detect  the  latent  truth  ? Where 
will  you  stop  if  you  start  with  believing 
nothing  on  points  where  former  ages 
have  gone  astray  ? You  must  pronounce 
all  religion  and  all  morality  to  be  delu- 
sion, for  on  both  topics  men  have  grossly 
erred.  Nothing  is  more  unworthy  of  a 
philosopher  than  to  found  a universal 
censure  on  a limited  number  of  unfavor- 
able facts.  This  is  much  like  the  rea- 
soning of  the  misanthrope,  who,  because 
he  sees  much  vice,  infers  that  there  is  no 
virtue,  and,  because  he  has  sometimes 
been  deceived,  pronounces  all  men  hyp- 
ocrites. 

I maintain  that  the  multiplicity  of  false 
miracles,  far  from  disproving,  gives  sup- 
port to  those  on  which  Christianity  rests  ; 
for,  first,  there  is  generally  some  foun- 
dation for  falsehood,  especially  when  it 
obtains  general  belief.  The  love  of  truth 
is  an  essential  principle  of  human  nature ; 
men  generally  embrace  error  on  account 
of  some  precious  ingredient  of  truth 
mixed  with  it,  and  for  the  time  insepa- 
rable from  it.  The  universal  belief  of 
past  ages  in  miraculous  interpositions  is 
to  me  a presumption  that  miracles  have 
entered  into  human  history.  Will  the 
unbeliever  say  that  it  only  shows  the 
insatiable  thirst  of  the  human  mind  for 
the  supernatural  ? I reply,  that  in  this 
reasoning  he  furnishes  a weapon  against 
himself ; for  a strong  principle  in  the 
human  mind,  impelling  men  to  seek  for 
and  to  cling  to  miraculous  agency,  affords 
a presumption  that  the  Author  of  our 
being,  by  whom  this  thirst  for  the  super- 
natural was  given,  intended  to  furnish 
objects  for  it,  and  to  assign  it  a place  in 
the  education  of  the  race. 

But  I observe,  in  the  next  place,  and 
it  is  an  observation  of  great  importance, 
that  the  exploded  miracles  of  ancient 
times,  if  carefully  examined,  not  only 
furnish  a general  presumption  in  favor 
of  the  existence  of  genuine  ones,  but 
yield  strong  proof  of  the  truth  of  those 


21 6 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


in  particular  upon  which  Christianity 
rests.  I say  to  the  sceptic,  You  affirm 
nothing  but  truth  in  declaring  history  to 
abound  in  false  miracles  ; I agree  with 
you  in  exploding  by  far  the  greater  part 
of  the  supernatural  accounts  of  which 
ancient  religions  boast.  But  how  do  we 
know  these  to  be  false  ? We  do  not  so 
judge  without  proofs.  We  discern  in 
them  the  marks  of  delusion.  Now  I ask 
you  to  examine  these  marks,  and  then  to 
answer  me  honestly,  whether  you  find 
them  in  the  miracles  of  Christianity.  Is 
there  not  a broad  line  between  Christ’s 
works  and  those  which  we  both  agree  in 
rejecting  ? I maintain  that  there  is,  and 
that  nothing  but  ignorance  can  confound 
the  Christian  miracles  with  the  prodigies 
of  heathenism.  The  contrast  between 
them  is  so  strong  as  to  forbid  us  to  refer 
them  to  a common  origin.  The  miracles 
of  superstition  carry  the  brand  of  false- 
hood in  their  own  nature,  and  are  dis- 
pioved  by  the  circumstances  under  which 
they  were  imposed  on  the  multitude. 
The  objects  for  which  they  are  said  to 
have  been  wrought  are  such  as  do  not 
require  or  justify  a divine  interposition. 
Many'  of  them  are  absurd,  childish,  or 
extravagant,  and  betray  a weak  intellect 
or  diseased  imagination.  Many  can  be 
explained  by  natural  causes.  Many  are 
attested  by  persons  who  lived  in  differ- 
ent countries  and  ages,  and  enjoyed  no 
opportunities  of  inquiring  into  their  truth. 
We  can  see  the  origin  of  many  in  the 
self-interest  of  those  who  forged  them, 
and  can  account  for  their  reception  by 
the  condition  of  the  world.  In  other 
words,  these  spurious  miracles  were  the 
natural  growth  of  the  ignorance,  pas- 
sions, prejudices,  and  corruptions  of  the 
times,  and  tended  to  confirm  them.  Now 
it  is  not  enough  to  say,  that  these  various 
marks  of  falsehood  cannot  be  found  in 
the  Christian  miracles.  We  find  in  them 
characters  directly  the  reverse.  They 
were  wrought  for  an  end  worthy  of  God  ; 
they  were  wrought  in  an  age  of  improve- 
ment ; they  are  marked  by  a majesty, 
beneficence,  unostentatious  simplicity, 
and  wisdom,  which  separate  them  im- 
measurably from  the  dreams  of  a dis- 
ordered fancy,  or  the  contrivances  of 
imposture.  They  can  be  explained  by 
no  interests,  passions,  or  prejudices  of 
men.  They  are  parts  of  a religion  which 
was  singularly  at  variance  with  estab- 
lished ideas  and  expectations,  which 


breathes  purity  and  benevolence,  which 
transcended  the  improvements  of  the 
age,  and  which  thus  carries  with  it  the 
presumption  of  a divine  original.  Whence 
this  immense  distance  between  the  two 
classes  of  miracles  ? Will  you  trace 
both  to  one  source,  and  that  a polluted 
one  ? Will  you  ascribe  to  one  spirit 
works  as  different  as  light  and  darkness, 
as  earth  and  heaven  ? I am  not,  then, 
shaken  in  my  faith  by  the  false  miracles 
of  other  religions.  I have  no  desire  to 
keep  them  out  of  sight ; I summon  them 
as  my  witnesses.  They  show  me  how 
naturally  imposture  and  superstition 
leave  the  stamp  of  themselves  on  their 
fictions.  They  show  how  man,  when  he 
aspires  to  counterfeit  God’s  agency,  be- 
trays more  signally  his  impotence  and 
folly.  When  I place  side  by  side  the 
mighty  works  of  Jesus  and  the  prodigies 
of  heathenism,  I see  that  they  can  no 
more  be  compared  with  one  another  than 
the  machinery  and  mock  thunders  of  the 
theatre  can  be  likened  to  the  awful  and 
beneficent  powers  of  the  universe. 

In  the  preceding  remarks  on  miracles, 
I have  aimed  chiefly  to  meet  those  gen- 
eral objections  by  which  many  are  preju- 
diced against  supernatural  interpositions 
universally,  and  are  disinclined  to  weigh 
any  proof  in  their  support.  Hoping  that 
this  weak  scepticism  has  been  shown  to 
want  foundation  in  nature  and  reason,  I 
proceed  now  to  state  more  particularly 
the  principal  grounds  on  which  I be- 
lieve that  the  miracles  ascribed  to  Jesus 
and  the  first  propagators  of  Christianity 
were  actually  wrought  in  attestation  of 
its  truth. 

The  evidences  of  facts  are  of  two 
kinds,  presumptive  and  direct,  and  both 
meet  in  support  of  Christian  miracles. 
First,  there  are  strong  presumptions  in 
its  favor.  To  this  class  of  proofs  be- 
long the  views  already  given  of  the 
accordance  of  revelation  and  miracles 
with  the  wants  and  principles  of  human 
nature,  with  the  perfections  of  God,  with 
his  relations  to  his  human  family,  and 
with  his  ordinary  providence.  These  I 
need  not  repeat.  I will  only  observe 
that  a strong  presumption  in  support  of 
the  miracles  arises  from  the  importance 
of  the  religion  to  which  they  belong. 
If  I were  told  of  supernatural  works 
performed  to  prove  that  three  are  more 
than  one,  or  that  human  life  requires 
food  for  its  support,  I should  know 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY, 


21 7 


that  they  were  false.  The  presumption 
against  them  would  be  invincible.  The 
Author  of  nature  could  never  supersede 
its  wise  and  stupendous  order  to  teach 
what  falls  within  the  knowledge  of  every 
child.  Extraordinary  interpositions  of 
God  suppose  that  truths  of  extraordi- 
nary dignity  and  beneficence  are  to  be 
imparted.  Now,  in  Christianity  I find 
truths  of  transcendent  importance,  which 
throw  into  shade  all  the  discoveries  of 
science,  and  which  give  a new  character, 
aim,  and  interest  to  our  existence.  Here 
is  a fit  occasion  for  supernatural  inter- 
position. A presumption  exists  in  favor 
of  miracles,  by  which  a religion  so  wor- 
thy of  God  is  sustained. 

But  a presumption  in  favor  of  facts 
is  not  enough.  It,  indeed,  adds  much 
force  to  the  direct  proofs  ; still  these  are 
needed,  nor  are  they  wanting  to  Chris- 
tianity. The  direct  proofs  of  facts  are 
chiefly  of  two  kinds  ; they  consist  of 
testimony,  oral  or  written,  and  of  effects, 
traces,  monuments,  which  the  facts  have 
left  behind  them.  The  Christian  miracles 
are  supported  by  both.  We  have,  first,  the 
most  unexceptionable  testimony,  nothing 
less  than  that  of  contemporaries  and  eye- 
witnesses, of  the  companions  of  Jesus, 
and  the  first  propagators  of  his  religion. 
We  have  the  testimony  of  men  who 
could  not  have  been  deceived  as  to  the 
facts  which  they  report ; who  bore  their 
witness  amidst  perils  and  persecutions  ; 
who  bore  it  on  the  very  spot  where  their 
Master  lived  and  died ; who  had  nothing 
to  gain,  and  every  thing  to  lose,  if  their 
testimony  were  false ; whose  writings 
breathe  the  sincerest  love  of  virtue  and 
of  mankind ; and  who  at  last  sealed 
their  attestations  with  their  blood.  More 
unexceptionable  witnesses  to  facts  can- 
not be  produced  or  conceived. 

Do  you  say,  “These  witnesses  lived 
ages  ago  ; could  we  hear  these  accounts 
from  their  own  lips,  we  should  be  satis- 
fied”? I answer,  You  have  something 
better  than  their  own  lips,  or  than  their 
own  word  taken  alone.  You  have,  as 
has  been  proved,  their  writings.  Per- 
haps you  hear  with  some  surprise  that  a 
book  may  be  a better  witness  than  its 
author ; but  nothing  is  more  true,  and  I 
will  illustrate  it  by  an  imaginary  case  in 
our  own  times. 

Suppose,  then,  that  a man  claiming  to 
be  an  eye-witness  should  relate  to  me  the 
events  of  the  three  memorable  days  of 


July,  in  which  the  last  revolution  of 
France  was  achieved;  suppose,  next, 
that  a book,  a history  of  that  revolution, 
published  and  received  as  true  in  France, 
should  be  sent  to  me  from  that  country. 
Which  is  the  best  evidence  of  the  facts  ? 
I say  the  last.  A single  witness  may 
deceive ; but  that  a writer  should  pub- 
lish in  France  the  history  of  a revolu- 
tion which  never  occurred  there,  or 
which  differed  essentially  from  the  true 
one,  is  in  the  highest  degree  improbable  ; 
and  that  such  a history  should  obtain 
currency,  that  it  should  not  be  instantly 
branded  as  a lie,  is  utterly  impossible.  A 
history  received  by  a people  as  true,  not 
only  gives  us  the  testimony  of  the  writer, 
but  the  testimony  of  the  nation  among 
whom  it  obtains  credit.  It  is  a concen- 
tration of  thousands  of  voices,  of  many 
thousand  witnesses.  I say,  then,  that  the 
writings  of  the  first  teachers  of  Christi- 
anity, received  as  they  were  by  the  mul- 
titude of  Christians  in  their  own  times 
and  in  those  which  immediately  fol- 
lowed, are  the  testimonies  of  that  mul- 
titude as  well  as  of  the  writers. 
Thousands  nearest  to  the  events,  join 
in  bearing  testimony  to  the  Christian 
miracles. 

But  there  is  another  class  of  evidence, 
sometimes  more  powerful  than  direct 
witnesses,  and  this  belongs  to  Chris- 
tianity. Facts  are  often  placed  beyond 
doubt  by  the  effects  which  they  leave 
behind  them.  This  is  the  case  with  the 
miracles  of  Christ.  Let  me  explain  this 
branch  of  evidence.  I am  told,  when 
absent  and  distant  from  your  city,  that 
on  a certain  day  a tide,  such  as  had 
never  been  known,  rose  in  your  harbor, 
overflowed  your  wharves,  and  rushed 
into  your  streets  ; I doubt  the  fact ; but 
hastening  here,  I see  what  were  once 
streets  strewed  with  sea-weed,  and 
shells,  and  the  ruins  of  houses,  and  I 
cease  to  doubt.  A witness  may  deceive, 
but  such  effects  cannot  lie.  All  great 
events  leave  effects,  and  these  speak  di- 
rectly of  the  cause.  What,  I ask,  are 
the  proofs  of  the  American  revolution  ? 
Have  we  none  but  written  or  oral  testi- 
mony ? Our  free  constitution,  the  whole 
form  of  our  society,  the  language  and 
spirit  of  our  laws,  all  these  bear  witness 
to  our  English  origin,  and  to  our  suc- 
cessful conflict  for  independence.  Now 
the  miracles  of  Christianity  have  left 
effects  which  equally  attest  their  reality, 


218 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


and  cannot  be  explained  without  them. 

I go  back  to  the  age  of  Jesus  Christ,  and 
I am  immediately  struck  with  the  com- 
mencement and  rapid  progress  of  the 
most  remarkable  revolution  in  the  an- 
nate of  the  world.  I see  a new  religion, 
of  a^haracter  altogether  its  own,  which 
bore  no  likeness  to  any  past  or  existing 
faith,  spreading  in  a few  years  through 
all  civilized  nations,  and  introducing  a 
new  era,  a new  state  of  society,  a change 
of  the  human  mind,  which  has  broadly 
distinguished  all  following  ages.  Here 
is  a plain  fact,  which  the  sceptic  will  not 
deny,  however  he  may  explain  it.  I see 
this  religion  issuing  from  an  obscure, 
despised,  hated  people.  Its  Founder 
had  died  on  the  cross,  a mode  of  pun- 
ishment as  disgraceful  as  the  pillory  or 
gallows  of  the  present  day.  Its  teachers 
w ere  poor  men,  without  rank,  office,  or 
education,  taken  from  the  fishing-boat 
and  other  occupations  which  had  never 
furnished  teachers  to  mankind.  I see 
these  men  beginning  their  work  on  the 
spot  where  their  Master’s  blood  had 
been  shed,  as  of  a common  malefactor  ; 
and  I hear  them  summoning  first  his 
murderers,  and  then  all  nations  and  all 
ranks,  the  sovereign  on  the  throne,  the 
priest  in  the  temple,  the  great  and  the 
learned,  as  well  as  the  poor  and  the  ig- 
norant, to  renounce  the  faith  and  the 
worship  which  had  been  hallowed  by 
the  veneration  of  all  ages,  and  to  take 
the  yoke  of  their  crucified  Lord.  I see 
passion  and  prejudice,  the  sword  of  the 
magistrate,  the  curse  of  the  priest,  the 
scorn  of  the  philosopher,  and  the  fury  of 
the  populace,  joined  to  crush  this  com- 
mon enemy ; and  yet,  without  a human 
weapon  and  in  opposition  to  all  human 
power,  I see  the  humble  Apostles  of 
Jesus  winning  their  way,  overpowering 
prejudice,  breaking  the  ranks  of  their 
opposers,  changing  enemies  into  friends, 
breathing  into  multitudes  a calm  spirit 
of  martyrdom,  and  carrying  to  the 
bounds  of  civilization,  and  even  into 
half-civilized  regions,  a religion  which 
has  contributed  to  advance  society  more 
than  all  other  causes  combined.  Here 
is  the  effect.  Here  is  a monument  more 
durable  than  pillars  or  triumphal  arches. 
Now  I ask  for  an  explanation  of  these 
effects.  If  Jesus  Christ  and  his  Apos- 
tles were  indeed  sent  and  empowered 
by  God,  and  wrought  miracles  in  attes- 
tation of  their  mission,  then  the  estab- 


lishment of  Christianity  is  explained. 
Suppose  them,  on  the  other  hand,  to 
have  been  insane  enthusiasts,  or  selfish 
impostors,  left  to  meet  the  whole  strength 
of  human  opposition,  with  nothing  but 
their  own  power,  or  rather  their  own 
weakness,  and  you  have  no  cause  for 
the  stupendous  effect  I have  described. 
Such  men  could  no  more  have  changed 
the  face  of  the  world  than  they  could 
have  turned  back  rivers  to  their  sources, 
sunk  mountains  into  valleys,  or  raised 
valleys  to  the  skies.  Christianity,  then, 
has  not  only  the  evidence  of  unexcep- 
tionable witnesses,  but  that  of  effects,  — 
a proof  which  will  grow  stronger  by  com- 
paring its  progress  with  that  of  other 
religions,  such  as  Mahometanism,  which 
sprang  from  human  passions,  and  were 
advanced  by  human  power. 

IV.  Having  given  my  views  on  the 
subject  of  Christian  miracles,  I now 
pass  to  the  last  topic  of  this  discourse. 
Its  extent  and  importance  will  lead  me 
to  enlarge  upon  it  in  a subsequent  dis- 
course ; but  a discussion  of  Christian 
evidences  in  which  it  should  find  no 
place  would  be  essentially  defective.  I 
refer  to  the  proof  of  Christianity  derived 
from  the  character  of  its  Author.  The 
character  of  Jesus  was  original.  He 
formed  a new  era  in  the  moral  history  of 
the  human  race.  His  perfection  was 
not  that  of  his  age,  nor  a copy  of  the 
greatness  which  had  long  engrossed  the 
world’s  admiration.  Jesus  stood  apart 
from  other  men.  He  borrowed  from 
none  and  leaned  on  none.  Surrounded 
by  men  of  low  thoughts,  he  rose  to  the 
conception  of  a higher  form  of  human 
virtue  than  had  yet  been  realized  or 
imagined,  and  deliberately  devoted  him- 
self to  its  promotion,  as  the  supreme 
object  of  his  life  and  death.  Conscious 
of  being  dedicated  to  this  great  work,  he 
spoke  with  a calm  dignity,  an  unaffected 
elevation,  which  separated  him  from  all 
other  teachers.  Unsupported,  he  never 
wavered  ; sufficient  to  himself,  he  re- 
fused alliance  with  wealth  or  power. 
Yet,  with  all  this  self-subsistence  and 
uncompromising  energy,  his  character 
was  the  mildest,  the  gentlest,  the  most 
attractive,  ever  manifested  among  men. 
It  could  not  have  been  a fiction  for  who 
could  have  conceived  it,  or  who  could 
have  embodied  the  conception  in  such  a 
life  as  Jesus  is  said  to  have  led  in  ac- 
tions, words,  manners,  so  natural  and 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY, 


219 


unstudied,  so  imbued  with  reality,  so 
worthy  of  the  Son  of  God  ? 

The  great  distinction  of  Jesus  was  a 
philanthropy  without  mixture  and  with- 
out bounds ; a philanthropy  uniting 
grandeur  and  meekness  in  beautiful 
proportions  ; a philanthropy  as  wise  as 
it  was  fervent,  which  comprehended  the 
true  wants  and  the  true  good  of  man, 
which  compassionated,  indeed,  his  suf- 
ferings from  abroad,  but  which  saw  in 
the  soul  the  deep  fountain  of  his  miser- 
ies, and  labored,  by  regenerating  this, 
to  bring  him  to  a pure  and  enduring 
happiness.  So  peculiar,  so  unparalleled 
was  the  benevolence  of  Jesus,  that  it 
has  impressed  itself  on  all  future  times. 
There  went  forth  a virtue,  a beneficent 
influence  from  his  character,  which  op- 
erates even  now.  Since  the  death  of 
Christ,  a spirit  of  humanity,  unknown 
before,  has  silently  diffused  itself  over 
a considerable  portion  of  the  earth.  A 
new  standard  of  virtue  has  gradually 
possessed  itself  of  the  veneration  of 
men.  A new  power  has  been  acting  on 
society,  which  has  done  more  than  all 
other  causes  combined  to  disarm  the  self- 
ish passions,  and  to  bind  men  strongly 
to  one  another  and  to  God.  What  a 
monument  have  we  here  to  the  virtue 
of  Jesus  ! and  if  Christianity  has  such 
a Founder,  it  must  have  come  from 
Heaven. 

There  are  other  remarkable  proofs 
of  the  power  and  elevation  of  the 
character  of  Christ.  It  has  touched 
and  conciliated  not  a few  of  the  de- 
termined adversaries  of  his  religion. 
Infidelity,  whilst  it  has  laid  unsparing 
hands  on  the  system,  has  generally 
shrunk  from  offering  violence  to  its 
Author.  In  truth,  unbelievers  have 
occasionally  borne  eloquent  testimony 
to  the  benignant  and  celestial  virtues 
of  Jesus  ; and  I record  this  with  pleas- 
ure, not  only  as  honorable  to  Chris- 
tianity, but  as  showing  that  unbelief 
does  not  universally  sear  the  moral 
feelings,  or  breathe  hostility  to  good- 
ness. Nor  is  this  all.  The  character 
of  Christ  has  withstood  the  most  deadly 
and  irresistible  foe  of  error  and  un- 
founded claims,  — I mean  Time.  It 
has  lost  nothing  of  its  elevation  by  the 
improvements  of  ages.  Since  he  ap- 
peared, society  has  gone  forward,  men’s 
views  have  become  enlarged,  and  phil- 
osophy has  risen  to  conceptions  of  far 


purer  virtues  than  were  the  boast  of 
antiquity.  But,  however  the  human 
mind  may  have  advanced,  it  must  still 
look  upward  if  it  would  see  and  under- 
stand Christ.  He  is  still  above  it. 
Nothing  purer,  nobler,  has  yet  dawned 
on  human  thoughts.  Then  Christianity 
is  true.  The  delineation  of  Jesus  in 
the ' Gospels,  so  warm  with  life,  and  so 
unrivalled  in  loveliness  and  grandeur, 
required  the  existence  of  an  original. 
To  suppose  that  this  character  was 
invented  by  unprincipled  men,  amidst 
Jewish  and  heathen  darkness,  and  was 
then  imposed  as  a reality  in  the  very 
age  of  the  Founder  of  Christianity, 
argues  an  excess  of  credulity,  and  a 
strange  ignorance  of  the  powers  and 
principles  of  human  nature.  The  char- 
acter of  Jesus  was  real;  and  if  so, 
Jesus  must  have  been  what  he  professed 
to  be,  the  Son  of  God,  and  the  revealer 
of  his  mercy  and  his  will  to  mankind. 

I have  now  completed  what  I pro- 
posed in  this  discourse.  I have  laid 
before  you  some  of  the  principal  evi- 
dences of  Christianity.  I have  aimed 
to  state  them  without  exaggeration. 
That  an  honest  mind,  which  thoroughly 
comprehends  them,  can  deny  their  force, 
seems  to  me  hardly  possible.  Stronger 
proofs  may,  indeed,  be  conceived ; but 
it  is  doubtful  whether  these  could  be 
given  in  consistency  with  our  moral 
nature,  and  with  the  moral  government 
of  God.  Such  a government  requires 
that  truth  should  not  be  forced  on  the 
mind,  but  that  we  should  be  left  to  gain 
it  by  an  upright  use  of  our  understand- 
ings, and  by  conforming  ourselves  to 
what  we  have  already  learned.  God 
might,  indeed,  shed  on  us  an  overpow- 
ering light,  so  that  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  us  to  lose  our  way ; but  in  so 
doing  He  would  annihilate  an  impor- 
tant part  of  our  present  probation.  It 
is,  then,  no  objection  to  Christianity 
that  its  evidences  are  not  the  very 
strongest  which  might  be  given,  and 
that  they  do  not  extort  universal  assent. 
In  this  respect  it  accords  with  other 
great  truths.  These  are  not  forced  on 
our  belief.  Whoever  will  may  shut  his 
eyes  on  their  proofs  and  array  against 
them  objections.  In  the  measure  of 
evidence  with  which  Christianity  is  ac- 
companied, I see  a just  respect  for  the 
freedom  of  the  mind,  and  a wise  adap- 
tation to  that  moral  nature  which  it  is 


220 


EVIDENCES  OF  REVEALED  RELIGION 


the  great  aim  of  this  religion  to  carry 
forward  to  perfection. 

I close  as  I began.  I am  not  ashamed 
of  the  gospel  of  Christ,  for  it  is  true. 
It  is  true  ; and  its  truth  is  to  break 
forth  more  and  more  gloriously.  Of 
this  I have  not  a doubt.  I know,  indeed, 
that  our  religion  has  been  questioned, 
even  by  intelligent  and  good  men  ; but 
this  does  not  shake  my  faith  in  its 
divine  original  or  in  its  ultimate  tri- 
umphs. Such  men  have  questioned  it, 
because  they  have  known  it  chiefly  by 
its  corruptions.  In  proportion  as  its 
original  simplicity  shall  be  restored,  the 
doubts  of  the  well-disposed  will  yield. 
I have  no  fears  from  infidelity  ; espe- 
cially from  that  form  of  it  which  some 
are  at  this  moment  laboring  to  spread 
through  our  country,  — I mean  that  in- 
sane, desperate  unbelief  which  strives 
to  quench  the  light  of  nature  as  well  as 
of  revelation,  and  to  leave  us,  not  only 
without  Christ,  but  without  God.  This 
I dread  no  more  than  I should  fear  the 
efforts  of  men  to  pluck  the  sun  from  his 
sphere,  or  to  storm  the  skies  with  the 
artillery  of  the  earth.  We  were  made 
for  religion  ; and  unless  the  enemies  of 
our  faith  can  change  our  nature,  they 
will  leave  the  foundation  of  religion  un- 
shaken. The  human  soul  was  created 
to  look  above  material  nature.  It  wants 
a Deity  for  its  love  and  trust,  an  immor- 
tality for  its  hope.  It  wants  consola- 


tions not  found  in  philosophy,  wants 
strength  in  temptation,  sorrow,  and 
death,  which  human  wisdom  cannot 
minister ; and  knowing,  as  I do,  that 
Christianity  meets  these  deep  wants  of 
men,  I have  no  fear  or  doubt  as  to  its 
triumphs.  Men  cannot  long  live  with- 
out religion.  In  France  there  is  a 
spreading  dissatisfaction  with  the  scep- 
tical spirit  of  the  past  generation.  A 
philosopher  in  that  country  would  now 
blush  to  quote  Voltaire  as  an  authority 
in  religion.  Already  atheism  is  dumb 
where  once  it  seemed  to  bear  sway. 
The  greatest  minds  in  France  are  work- 
ing back  their  way  to  the  light  of  truth. 
Many  of  them,  indeed,  cannot  yet  be 
called  Christians ; but  their  path,  like 
that  of  the  wise  men  of  old,  who  came 
star-guided  from  the  East,  is  towards 
Christ.  I am  not  ashamed  of  the  gos- 
pel of  Christ.  It  has  an  immortal  life, 
and  will  gather  strength  from  the  vio- 
lence of  its  foes.  It  is  equal  to  all  the 
wants  of  men.  The  greatest  minds 
have  found  in  it  the  light  which  they 
most  anxiously  desired.  The  most  sor- 
rowful and  broken  spirits  have  found 
in  it  a healing  balm  for  their  woes.  It 
has  inspired  the  subiimest  virtues  and 
the  loftiest  hopes.  For  the  corruptions 
of  such  a religion  I weep,  and  I should 
blush  to  be  their  advocate ; but  of  the 
gospel  itself  I can  never  be  ashamed. 


THE  EVIDENCES  OF  REVEALED  RELIGION: 

Discourse  before  the  University  in  Cambridge , at  the  Dudleian 
Lecture,  14 th  March,  1821. 


John  iii.  2:  “The  same  came  to  Jesus  by  night, 
and  said  unto  him,  Rabbi,  we  know  that  thou  art  a 
teacher  come  from  God;  for  no  man  can  do  these 
miracles  that  thou  doest,  except  God  be  with  him.” 

The  evidences  of  revealed  religion 
are  the  subject  of  this  lecture,  — a sub- 
ject of  great  extent  as  well  as  of  vast 
importance.  In  discussing  it,  an  im- 
mense variety  of  learning  has  been 
employed,  and  all  the  powers  of  the 
intellect  been  called  forth.  History, 


metaphysics,  ancient  learning,  criticism, 
ethical  science,  and  the  science  of  hu- 
man nature,  have  been  summoned  to 
the  controversy,  and  have  brought  impor- 
tant contributions  to  the  Christian  cause. 
To  condense  into  one  discourse  what 
scholars  and  great  men  have  written  on 
this  point  is  impossible,  even  if  it  were 
desirable  ; and  I have  stated  the  extent 
of  speculation  into  which  our  subject 
has  led,  not  because  I propose  to  give 


EVIDENCES  OF  REVEALED  RELIGION 


221 


an  abstract  of  others’  labors,  but  be- 
cause I wish  you  to  understand  that  the 
topic  is  one  not  easily  despatched,  and 
because  I would  invite  you  to  follow  me 
in  a discussion  which  will  require  con- 
centrated and  continued  attention.  A 
subject  more  worthy  of  attention  than 
the  claims  of  that  religion  which  was 
impressed  on  our  childhood,  and  which 
is  acknowledged  to  be  the  only  firm 
foundation  of  the  hope  of  immortality, 
cannot  be  presented ; and  our  minds 
must  want  the  ordinary  seriousness  of 
human  nature,  if  it  cannot  arrest  us. 

That  Christianity  has  been  opposed  is 
a fact  implied  in  the  establishment  of 
this  lecture.  That  it  has  had  adversa- 
ries of  no  mean  intellect,  you  know.  I 
propose  in  this  discourse  to  make  some 
remarks  on  what  seems  to  me  the  great 
objection  to  Christianity,  on  the  general 
principle  on  which  its  evidences  rest, 
and  on  some  of  its  particular  evidences. 

The  great  objection  to  Christianity  — 
the  only  one  which  has  much  influence 
at  the  present  day  — meets  us  at  the 
very  threshold.  We  cannot,  if  we  would, 
evade  it,  fdr  it  is  founded  on  a primary 
and  essential  attribute  of  this  religion. 
The  objection  is  oftener  felt  than  ex- 
pressed, and  amounts  to  this,  that 
miracles  are  incredible,  and  that  the 
supernatural  character  of  an  alleged 
fact  is  proof  enough  of  its  falsehood. 
So  strong  is  this  propensity  to  doubt  of 
departures  from  the  order  of  nature, 
that  there  are  sincere  Christians  who 
incline  to  rest  their  religion  wholly  on 
its  internal  evidence,  and  to  overlook 
the  outward  extraordinary  interposition 
of  God  by  which  it  was  at  first  estab- 
lished. But  the  difficulty  cannot  in  this 
way  be  evaded  ; for  Christianity  is  not 
only  confirmed  by  miracles,  but  is  in  it- 
self, in  its  very  essence,  a miraculous 
religion.  It  is  not  a system  which  the 
human  mind  might  have  gathered  in  the 
ordinary  exercise  of  its  powers  from 
the  ordinary  course  of  nature.  Its  doc- 
trines, especially  those  which  relate  to 
its  Founder,  claim  for  it  the  distinction 
of  being  a supernatural  provision  for 
the  recovery  of  the  human  race.  So 
that  the  objection  which  I have  stated 
still  presses  upon  us,  and,  if  it  be  well 
grounded,  it  is  fatal  to  Christianity. 

It  is  proper,  then,  to  begin  the  dis- 
cussion with  inquiring  whence  the  dis- 
position to  discredit  miracles  springs, 


and  how  far  it  is  rational.  A prelimi- 
nary remark  of  some  importance  is,  that 
this  disposition  is  not  a necessary  part 
or  principle  of  our  mental  constitution, 
like  the  disposition  to  trace  effects  to 
adequate  causes.  We  are  indeed  so 
framed  as  to  expect  a continuance  of 
that  order  of  nature  which  we  have  uni- 
formly experienced ; but  not  so  framed 
as  to  revolt  at  alleged  violations  of  that 
order,  and  to  account  them  impossible 
or  absurd.  On  the  contrary,  men  at 
large  discover  a strong  and  incurable 
propensity  to  believe  in  miracles.  Al- 
most all  histories,  until  within  the  two 
last  centuries,  reported  seriously  super- 
natural facts.  Scepticism  as  to  miracles 
is  comparatively  a new  thing,  if  we  ex- 
cept the  Epicurean  or  atheistical  sect 
among  the  ancients  ; and  so  far  from 
being  founded  in  human  nature,  it  is  re- 
sisted by  an  almost  infinite  preponder- 
ance of  belief  on  the  other  side. 

Whence,  then,  has  this  scepticism 
sprung?  It  may  be  explained  by  two 
principal  causes.  i.  It  is  now  an  ac- 
knowledged fact  among  enlightened 
men  that  in  past  times  and  in  our  own 
a strong  disposition  has  existed,  and 
still  exists,  to  admit  miracles  without 
examination.  Human  credulity  is  found 
to  have  devoured  nothing  more  eagerly 
than  reports  of  prodigies.  Now  it  is 
argued  that  we  discover  here  a principle 
of  human  nature,  namely,  the  love  of 
the  supernatural  and  marvellous,  which 
accounts  sufficiently  for  the  belief  of 
miracles  wherever  we  find  it  ; and  that 
it  is,  consequently,  unnecessary  and  un- 
philosophical  to  seek  for  other  causes, 
and  especially  to  admit  that  most  im- 
probable one,  — the  actual  existence  of 
miracles.  This  sweeping  conclusion  is 
a specimen  of  that  rash  habit  of  gen- 
eralizing which  rather  distinguishes  our 
times,  and  shows  that  philosophical  rea- 
soning has  made  fewer  advances  than  we 
are  apt  to  boast.  It  is  true  that  there  is 
a principle  of  credulity  as  to  prodigies 
in  a considerable  part  of  society,  a dis- 
position to  believe  without  due  scrutiny. 
But  this  principle,  like  every  other  in 
our  nature,  has  its  limits  ; acts  accord- 
ing to  fixed  laws  ; is  not  omnipotent, — ■ 
cannot  make  the  eyes  see,  and  the  ears 
hear,  and  the  understanding  credit  de- 
lusions under  all  imaginable  circum- 
stances ; but  requires  the  concurrence 
of  various  circumstances  and  of  other 


222 


EVIDENCES  OF  REVEALED  RELIGION 


principles  of  our  nature  in  order  to  its 
operation.  For  example,  the  belief  of 
spectral  appearances  has  been  very  com- 
mon ; but  under  what  circumstances  and 
in  what  state  of  mind  has  it  occurred  ? 
Do  men  see  ghosts  in  broad  day  and 
amidst  cheerful  society  ? or  in  solitary 
places ; in  grave-yards  ; in  twilights  or 
mists,  where  outward  objects  are  so  un- 
defined as  easily  to  take  a form  from 
imagination  ; and  in  other  circumstances 
favorable  to  terror,  and  associated  with 
the  delusion  in  question  ? The  princi- 
ple of  - credulity  is  as  regular  in  its  op- 
eration as  any  other  principle  of  the 
mind  ; and  is  so  dependent  on  circum- 
stances and  so  restrained  and  checked  by 
other  parts  of  human  nature,  that  some- 
times the  most  obstinate  in  credulity 
is  found  in  that  very  class  of  people 
whose  easy  belief  on  other  occasions 
moves  our  contempt.  It  is  well  known, 
for  example,  that  the  efficacy  of  the 
vaccine  inoculation  has  been  encoun- 
tered with  much  more  unyielding  scep- 
ticism among  the  vulgar  than  among 
the  improved  ; and  in  general  it  may  be 
affirmed,  that  the  credulity  of  the  igno- 
rant operates  under  the  control  of  their 
strongest  passions  and  impressions,  and 
that  no  class  of  society  yield  a slower 
assent  to  positions  which  manifestly 
subvert  their  old  modes  of  thinking  and 
most  settled  prejudices.  It  is,  then, 
very  unphilosophical  to  assume  this 
principle  as  an  explanation  of  all  mira- 
cles whatever.  I grant  that  the  fact, 
that  accounts  of  supernatural  agency  so 
generally  prove  false,  is  a reason  for 
looking  upon  them  with  peculiar  dis- 
trust. Miracles  ought  on  this  account 
to  be  sifted  more  than  common  facts. 
But  if  we  find  that  a belief  in  a series 
of  supernatural  works  has  occurred  un- 
der circumstances  very  different  from 
those  under  which  false  prodigies  have 
been  received,  under  circumstances  most 
unfavorable  to  the  operation  of  credulity, 
then  this  belief  cannot  be  resolved  into 
the  common  causes  which  have  blinded 
men  in  regard  to  supernatural  agency. 
We  must  look  for  other  causes,  and  if 
none  can  be  found  but  the  actual  exist- 
ence of  the  miracles,  then  true  philos- 
ophy binds  us  to  believe  them.  I close 
this  head  with  observing  that  the#  pro- 
pensity of  men  to  believe  in  what  is 
strange  and  miraculous,  though  a pre- 
sumption against  particular  miracles,  is 


not  a presumption  against  miracles  uni- 
versally, but  rather  the  reverse  ; for  great 
principles  of  human  nature  have  generally 
a foundation  in  truth,  and  one  explana- 
tion of  this  propensity  so  common  to  man- 
kind is  obviously  this,  that  in  the  earlier 
ages  of  the  human  race  miraculous  in- 
terpositions, suited  to  man's  infant  state, 
were  not  uncommon,  and,  being  the  most 
striking  facts  of  human  history,  they 
spread  through  all  future  times  a belief 
and  expectation  of  miracles. 

I proceed  now  to  the  second  cause  of 
the  scepticism  in  regard  to  supernatural 
agency  which  has  grown  up,  especially 
among  the  more  improved,  in  later  times. 
These  later  times  are  distinguished,  as 
you  well  know,  by  successful  researches 
into  nature  : and  the  discoveries  of  sci- 
ence have  continually  added  strength  to 
that  great  principle,  that  the  phenomena 
of  the  universe  are  regulated  by  general 
and  permanent  laws,  or  that  the  Author 
of  the  universe  exerts  his  power  accord- 
ing to  an  established  order.  Nature, 
the  more  it  is  explored,  is  found  to  be 
uniform.  We  observe  an  unbroken  suc- 
cession of  causes  and  effects.  Many 
phenomena,  once  denominated  irregular, 
and  ascribed  to  supernatural  agency,  are 
found  to  be  connected  with  preceding 
circumstances  as  regularly  as  the  most 
common  events.  The  comet,  we  learn, 
observes  the  same  attraction  as  the  sun 
and  planets.  When  a new  phenomenon 
now  occurs,  no  one  thinks  it  miraculous, 
but  believes  that,  when  better  under- 
stood, it  may  be  reduced  to  laws  already 
known,  or  is  an  example  of  a law  not 
yet  investigated. 

Now  this  increasing  acquaintance  with 
the  uniformity  of  nature  begets  a distrust 
of  alleged  violations  of  it,  and  a rational 
distrust  too ; for,  while  many  causes  of 
mistake  in  regard  to  alleged  miracles 
may  be  assigned,  there  is  but  one  ade- 
quate cause  of  real  miracles,  that  is,  the 
power  of  God  ; and  the  regularity  of  nat- 
ure forms  a strong  presumption  against 
the  miraculous  exertion  of  this  power, 
except  in  extraordinary  circumstances, 
and  for  extraordinary  purposes,  to  which 
the  established  laws  of  the  creation  are 
not  competent.  But  the  observation  of 
the  uniformity  of  nature  produces,  in 
multitudes,  not  merely  this  rational  dis- 
trust of  alleged  violations  of  it,  but  a 
secret  feeling,  as  if  such  violations  were 
impossible.  That  attention  to  the  pow- 


EVIDENCES  OF  REVEALED  RELIGION. 


223 


ers  of  nature  which  is  implied  in  sci- 
entific research  tends  to  weaken  the 
practical  conviction  of  a higher  power ; 
and  the  laws  of  the  creation,  instead  of 
being  regarded  as  the  modes  of  Divine 
operation,  come  insensibly  to  be  con- 
sidered as  fetters  on  his  agency,  — as 
too  sacred  to  be  suspended  even  by  their 
Author.  This  secret  feeling,  essentially 
atheistical,  and  at  war  with  all  sound 
philosophy,  is  the  chief  foundation  of 
that  scepticism  which  prevails  in  regard 
to  miraculous  agency,  and  deserves  our 
particular  consideration. 

To  a man  whose  belief  in  God  is 
strong  and  practical,  a miracle  will  appear 
as  possible  as  any  other  effect,  as  the 
most  common  event  in  life  ; and  the 
argument  against  miracles,  drawn  from 
the  uniformity  of  nature,  will  weigh  with 
him  only  as  far  as  this  uniformity  is  a 
pledge  and  proof  of  the  Creator’s  dis- 
position to  accomplish  his  purposes  by 
a fixed  order  or  mode  of  operation. 
Now  it  is  freely  granted  that  the  Crea- 
tor’s regard  or  attachment  to  such  an 
order  maybe  inferred  from  the  steadiness 
with  which  He  observes  it ; and  a strong 
presumption  lies  against  any  violation 
of  it  on  slight  occasions,  or  for  purposes 
to  which  the  established  laws  of  nature 
are  adequate.  But  this  is  the  utmost 
which  the  order  of  nature  authorizes  us 
to  infer  respecting  its  Author.  It  forms 
no  presumption  against  miracles  univer- 
sally, in  all  imaginable  cases  ; but  may 
even  furnish  a presumption  in  their 
favor. 

We  are  never  to  forget  that  God’s 
adherence  to  the  order  of  the  universe 
is  not  necessary  and  mechanical,  but  in- 
telligent and  voluntary.  He  adheres  to 
it,  not  for  its  own  sake,  or  because  it 
has  a sacredness  which  compels  him  to 
respect  it,  but  because  it  is  most  suited 
to  accomplish  his  purposes.  It  is  a 
means,  and  not  an  end  ; and,  like  ail 
other  means,  must  give  way  when  the 
end  can  best  be  promoted  without  it. 
It  is  the  mark  of  a weak  mind  to  make 
an  idol  of  order  and  method  ; to  cling 
to  established  forms  of  business  when 
they  clog  instead  of  advancing  it.  If, 
then,  the  great  purposes  of  the  universe 
can  best  be  accomplished  by  departing 
from  its  established  laws,  these  laws 
will  undoubtedly  be  suspended  ; and 
though  broken  in  the  letter,  they  will  be 
observed  in  their  spirit,  for  the  ends  for 


which  they  were  first  instituted  will  be 
advanced  by  their  violation.  Now  the 
question  arises,  For  what  purposes  were 
nature  and  its  order  appointed  ? and 
there  is  no  presumption  in  saying  that 
the  highest  of  these  is  the  improvement 
of  intelligent  beings.  Mind  (by  which 
we  mean  both  moral  and  intellectual 
powers)  is  God’s  first  end.  The  great 
purpose  for  which  an  order  of  nature  is 
fixed,  is  plainly  the  formation  of  mind. 
In  a creation  without  order,  where  events 
would  follow  without  any  regular  suc- 
cession, it  is  obvious  that  mind  must  be 
kept  in  perpetual  infancy  ; for,  in  such 
a universe,  there  could  be  no  reasoning 
from  effects  to  causes,  no  induction  to 
establish  general  truths,  no  adaptation 
of  means  to  ends  ; that  is,  no  science 
relating  to  God,  or  matter,  or  mind ; no 
action  ; no  virtue.  The  great  purpose 
of  God,  then,  I repeat  it,  in  establishing 
the  order  of  nature,  is  to  form  and  ad- 
vance the  mind  ; and  if  the  case  should 
occur  in  which  the  interests  of  the  mind 
could  best  be  advanced  by  departing 
from  this  order,  or  by  miraculous  agency, 
then  the  great  purpose  of  the  creation, 
the  great  end  of  its  laws  and  regularity, 
would  demand  such  departure  ; and 
miracles,  instead  of  warring  against, 
would  concur  with  nature. 

Now  we  Christians  maintain  that  such 
a case  has  existed.  We  affirm  that, 
when  Jesus  Christ  came  into  the  world, 
nature  had  failed  to  communicate  in- 
structions to  men  in  which,  as  intel- 
ligent beings,  they  had  the  deepest 
concern,  and  on  which  the  full  develop- 
ment of  their  highest  faculties  essen- 
tially depended ; and  we  affirm,  that  there 
was  no  prospect  of  relief  from  nature ; 
so  that  an  exigence  had  occurred  in 
which  additional  communications,  su- 
pernatural lights,  might  rationally  be 
expected  from  the  Father  of  spirits. 
Let  me  state  two  particulars  out  of 
many  in  which  men  needed  intellectual 
aids  not  given  by  nature.  I rerer  to  the 
doctrine  of  one  God  and  Father,  on 
which  all  piety  rests  ; and  to  the  doc- 
trine of  immortality,  which  is  the  great 
spring  of  virtuous  effort.  Had  I time 
to  enlarge  on  the  history  of  that  period, 
I might  show  you  under  what  heaps  of 
rubbish  and  superstition  these  doctrines 
were  buried.  But  I should  repeat  only 
what  you  know  familiarly.  The  works 
of  ancient  genius,  which  form  your 


224 


EVIDENCES  OF  REVEALED  RELIGION 


studies,  carry  on  their  front  the  brand 
of  polytheism,  and  of  debasing  error 
on  subjects  of  the  first  and  deepest 
concern.  It  is  more  important  to  ob- 
serve, that  the  very  uniformity  of  nature 
had  some  tendency  to  obscure  the  doc- 
trines which  I have  named,  or  at  least 
to  impair  their  practical  power,  so  that 
a departure  from  this  uniformity  was 
needed  to  fasten  them  on  men’s  minds. 

That  a fixed  order  of  nature,  though 
a proof  of  the  One  God  to  reflecting 
and  enlarged  understandings,  has  yet  a 
tendency  to  hide  him  from  men  in  gen- 
eral, will  appear,  if  we  consider,  first, 
that  as  the  human  mind  is  constituted, 
what  is  regular  and  of  constant  occur- 
rence excites  it  feebly ; and  benefits 
flowing  to  it  through  fixed,  unchanging 
laws,  seem  to  come  by  a kind  of  neces- 
sity, and  are  apt  to  be  traced  up  to 
natural  causes  alone.  Accordingly,  re- 
ligious convictions  and  feelings,  even 
in  the  present  advanced  condition  of 
society,  are  excited  not  so  much  by  the 
ordinary  course  of  God’s  providence,  as 
by  sudden,  unexpected  events  which 
rouse  and  startle  the  mind,  and  speak 
of  a Power  higher  than  nature.  There 
is  another  way  in  which  a fixed  order  of 
nature  seems  unfavorable  to  just  im- 
pressions respecting  its  Author.  It  dis- 
covers to  us  in  the  Creator  a regard  to 
general  good  rather  than  an  affection 
to  individuals.  The  laws  of  nature, 
operating  as  they  do  with  an  inflexible 
steadiness,  never  varying  to  meet  the 
cases  and  wants  of  individuals,  and  in- 
flicting much  private  suffering  in  their 
stern  administration  for  the  general 
weal,  give  the  idea  of  a distant,  reserved 
sovereign  much  more  than  of  a tender 
parent ; and  yet  this  last  view  of  God 
is  the  only  effectual  security  from  su- 
perstition and  idolatry.  Nature,  then, 
we  fear,  would  not  have  brought  back 
the  world  to  its  Creator.  And  as  to  the 
doctrine  of  immortality,  the  order  of 
the  natural  world  had  little  tendency  to 
teach  this,  at  least  with  clearness  and 
energy.  The  natural  world  contains  no 
provisions  or  arrangements  for  reviving 
the  dead.  The  sun  and  the  rain,  which 
cover  the  tomb  with  verdure,  send  no 
vital  influences  to  the  mouldering  body. 
The  researches  of  science  detect  no 
secret  processes  for  restoring  the  lost 
powers  of  life.  If  man  is  to  live  again, 
he  is  not  to  live  through  any  known 


laws  of  nature,  but  by  a power  higher 
than  nature  ; and  how,  then,  can  we  be 
assured  of  this  truth  but  by  a mani- 
festation of  this  power,  that  is,  by 
miraculous  agency,  confirming  a future 
life  ? 

I have  labored  in  these  remarks  to 
show  that  the  uniformity  of  nature  is  no 
presumption  against  miraculous  agency 
when  employed  in  confirmation  of  such 
a religion  as  Christianity.  Nature,  on 
the  contrary,  furnishes  a presumption 
in  its  favor.  Nature  clearly  shows  to 
us  a power  above  itself,  so  that  it  proves 
miracles  to  be  possible.  Nature  re- 
veals purposes  and  attributes  in  its 
Author  with  which  Christianity  remark- 
ably agrees.  Nature,  too,  has"  deficien- 
cies, which  show  that  it  was  not  in- 
tended by  its  Author  to  be  his  whole 
method  of  instructing  mankind ; and  in 
this  way  it  gives  great  confirmation  to 
Christianity,  which  meets  its  wants, 
supplies  its  chasms,  explains  its  mys- 
teries, and  lightens  its  heart-oppressing 
cares  and  sorrows. 

Before  quitting  the  general  consider- 
ation of  miracles,  I ought  to  take  some 
notice  of  Hume’s  celebrated  argument 
on  this  subject ; not  that  it  merits  the 
attention  which  it  has  received,  but 
because  it  is  specious,  and  has  de- 
rived weight  from  the  name  of  its 
author.  The  argument  is  briefly  this, 
— “ That  belief  is  founded  upon  and 
regulated  by  experience.  Now  we  often 
experience  testimony  to  be  false,  but 
never  witness  a departure  from  the 
order  of  nature.  That  men  may  de- 
ceive us  when  they  testify  to  miracles, 
is  therefore  more  accordant  with  experi- 
ence than  that  nature  should  be  irregu- 
lar; and  hence  there  is  a balance  of 
proof  against  miracles,  a presumption 
so  strong  as  to  outweigh  the  strongest 
testimony.”  The  usual  replies  to  this 
argument  I have  not  time  to  repeat. 
Dr.  Campbell’s  work,  which  is  acces- 
sible to  all,  will  show  you  that  it  rests 
on  an  equivocal  use  of  terms,  and  will 
furnish  you  with  many  fine  remarks  on 
testimony  and  on  the  conditions  or 
qualities  which  give  it  validity.  I will 
only  add  a few  remarks  which  seem  to 
me  worthy  of  attention. 

i.  This  argument  affirms  that  the 
credibility  of  facts  or  statements  is  to 
be  decided  by  their  accordance  with  the 
established  order  of  nature,  and  by  this 


EVIDENCES  OF  REVEALED  RELIGION 


225 


standard  only.  Now,  if  nature  compre- 
hended all  existences  and  all  powers, 
this  position  might  be  admitted.  But 
if  there  is  a Being  -higher  than  nature, 
the  origin  of  all  its  powers  and  motions, 
and  whose  character  falls  under  our 
notice  and  experience  as  truly  as  the 
creation,  then  there  is  an  additional 
standard  to  which  facts  and  statements 
are  to  be  referred  ; and  works  which 
violate  nature’s  order  will  still  be  credi- 
ble, if  they  agree  with  the  known  prop- 
erties and  attributes  of  its  Author ; 
because  for  such  works  we  can  assign 
an  adequate  cause  and  sufficient  rea- 
sons, and  these  are  the  qualities  and 
conditions  on  which  credibility  de- 
pends. 

2.  This  argument  of  Hume  proves 
too  much,  and  therefore  proves  nothing. 
It  proves  too  much ; for  if  I am  to 
reject  the  strongest  testimony  to  mira- 
cles because  testimony  has  often  de- 
ceived me,  whilst  nature’s  order  has 
never  been  found  to  fail,  then  I ought 
to  reject  a miracle,  even  if  I should  see 
it  with  my  own  eyes,  and  if  all  my 
senses  should  attest  it  ; for  all  my 
senses  have  sometimes  given  false  re- 
ports, whilst  nature  has  never  gone 
astray ; and,  therefore,  be  the  circum- 
stances ever  so  decisive  or  inconsistent 
with  deception,  still  I must  not  believe 
what  I see,  and  hear,  and  touch, — 
what  my  senses,  exercised  according  to 
the  most  deliberate  judgment,  declare 
to  be  true.  All  this  the  argument  re- 
quires ; and  it  proves  too  much  ; for 
disbelief  in  the  case  supposed  is  out  of 
our  power,  and  is  instinctively  pro- 
nounced absurd  ; and  what  is  more,  it 
would  subvert  that  very  order  of  nature 
on  which  the  argument  rests  ; for  this 
order  of  nature  is  learned  only  by  the 
exercise  of  my  senses  and  judgment, 
and  if  these  fail  me  in  the  most  un- 
exceptionable circumstances,  then  their 
testimony  to  nature  is  of  little  worth. 

Once  more  ; this  argument  is  built  on 
an  ignorance  of  the  nature  of  testimony. 
Testimony,  we  are  told,  cannot  prove  a 
miracle.  Now  the  truth  is  that  testi- 
mony of  itself  and  immediately  proves 
no  facts  whatever,  not  even  the  most 
common.  Testimony  can  do  nothing 
more  than  show  us  the  state  of  another’s 
mind  in  regard  to  a given  fact.  It  can 
only  show  us  that  the  testifier  has  a 
belief,  a conviction,  that  a certain  phe- 


nomenon or  event  has  occurred.  Here 
testimony  stops  ; and  the  reality  of  the 
event  is  to  be  judged  altogether  from  the 
nature  and  degree  of  this  conviction,  and 
from  the  circumstances  under  which  it 
exists.  This  conviction  is  an  effect,  which 
must  have  a cause,  and  needs  to  be  ex- 
plained ; and  if  no  cause  can  be  found  but 
the  real  occurrence  of  the  event,  then  this 
occurrence  is  admitted  as  true.  Such  is 
the  extent  of  testimony.  Now  a man 
who  affirms  a miraculous  phenomenon 
or  event,  may  give  us  just  as  decisive 
proofs,  by  his  character  and  conduct,  of 
the  strength  and  depth  of  his  conviction, 
as  if  he  were  affirming  a common  occur- 
rence. Testimony,  then,  does  just  as 
much  in  the  case  of  miracles  as  of  com- 
mon events  ; that  is,  it  discloses  to  us 
the  conviction  of  another’s  mind.  Now 
this  conviction  in  the  case  of  miracles 
requires  a cause,  an  explanation,  as  much 
as  in  every  other ; and  if  the  circum- 
stances be  such  that  it  could  not  have 
sprung  up  and  been  established  but  by 
the  reality  of  the  alleged  miracle,  then 
that  great  and  fundamental  principle  of 
human  belief,  namely,  that  every  effect 
must  have  a cause,  compels  us  to  admit 
the  miracle. 

It  may  be  observed  of  Hume  and  of 
other  philosophical  opposers  of  our  re- 
ligion, that  they  are  much  more  inclined 
to  argue  against  miracles  in  general  than 
against  the  particular  miracles  on  which 
Christianity  rests.  And  the  reason  is 
obvious.  Miracles,  when  considered  in 
a general,  abstract  manner,  that  is,  when 
divested  of  all  circumstances,  and  sup- 
posed to  occur  as  disconnected  facts,  to 
stand  alone  in  history,  to  have  no  expla- 
nations or  reasons  in  preceding  events, 
and  no  influence  on  those  which  follow, 
are  indeed  open  to  great  objection,  as 
wanton  and  useless  violations  of  nat- 
ure’s order ; and  it  is  accordingly  against 
miracles,  considered  in  this  naked,  gen- 
eral form,  that  the  arguments  of  infidel- 
ity are  chiefly  urged.  But  it  is  great 
disingenuity  to  class  under  this  head 
the  miracles  of  Christianity.  They  are 
palpably  different.  They  do  not  stand 
alone  in  history ; but  are  most  inti- 
mately incorporated  with  it.  They  were 
demanded  by  the  state  of  the  world 
which  preceded  them,  and  they  have  left 
deep  traces  on  all  subsequent  ages.  In 
fact,  the  history  of  the  whole  civilized 
world,  since  their  alleged  occurrence, 

5 


226 


EVIDENCES  OF  REVEALED  RELIGION. 


has  been  swayed  and  colored  by  them, 
and  is  wholly  inexplicable  without  them. 
Now  such  miracles  are  not  to  be  met, 
and  disposed  of  by  general  reasonings, 
which  apply  only  to  insulated,  unim- 
portant, uninfluential  prodigies. 

I have  thus  considered  the  objections 
to  miracles  in  general ; and  1 would 
close  this  head  with  observing,  that 
these  objections  will  lose  their  weight 
just  in  proportion  as  we  strengthen  our 
conviction  of  God’s  power  over  nature 
and  of  his  parental  interest  in  his  creat- 
ures. The  great  repugnance  to  the 
belief  of  miraculous  agency  is  founded 
in  a lurking  atheism,  which  ascribes 
supremacy  to  nature,  and  which,  whilst 
iUprofesses  to  believe  in  God,  questions 
his  tender  concern  for  the  improvement 
of  men.  To  a man  who  cherishes  a sense 
of  God,  the  great  difficulty  is,  not  to 
account  for  miracles,  but  to  account  for 
their  rare  occurrence.  One  of  the  mys- 
teries of  the  universe  is  this,  that  its 
Author  retires  so  continually  behind 
the  veil  of  his  works,  that  the  great  and 
good  Father  does  not  manifest  himself 
more  distinctly  to  his  creatures.  There 
is  something  like  coldness  and  repul- 
siveness in  instructing  us  only  by  fixed, 
inflexible  laws  of  nature.  The  inter- 
course of  God  with  Adam  and  the  patri- 
archs suits  our  best  conceptions  of  the 
relation  which  He  bears  to  the  human 
race,  and  ought  not  to  surprise  us  more 
than  the  expression  of  a human  parent’s 
tenderness  and  concern  towards  his  off- 
spring. 

After  the  remarks  now  made  to  re- 
move the  objection  to  revelation  in  gen- 
eral, I proceed  to  consider  the  evidences 
of  the  Christian  religion  in  particular ; 
and  these  are  so  numerous  that  should  I 
attempt  to  compress  them  into  the  short 
space  which  now  remains,  I could  give 
but  a syllabus.,  — a dry  and  uninteresting 
index.  It  will  be  more  useful  to  state  to 
you,  with  some  distinctness,  the  gen- 
eral principle  into  which  all  Christian 
evidences  may  be  resolved,  and  on  which 
the  whole  religion  rests,  and  then  to 
illustrate  it  in  a few  striking  partic- 
ulars. 

All  the  evidences  of  Christianity  may 
be  traced  to  this  great  principle,  — that 
every  effect  must  have  an  adequate  cause. 
We  claim  for  our  religion  a divine  orig- 
inal, because  no  adequate  cause  for  it 
can  be  found  in  the  powers  or  passions 


of  human  nature,  or  in  the  circumstances 
under  which  it  appeared ; because  it 
can  only  be  accounted  for  by  the  interpo- 
sition of  that  Being  to  whom  its  first 
preachers  universally  ascribed  it,  and 
with  whose  nature  it  perfectly  agrees. 

Christianity,  by  which  we  mean  not 
merely  the  doctrines  of  the  religion,  but 
every  thing  relating  to  it,  its  rise,  its 
progress,  the  character  of  its  Author,  the 
conduct  of  its  propagators,  — Christi- 
anity, in  this  broad  sense,  can  only  be 
accounted  for  in  two  ways.  It  either 
sprung  from  the  principles  of  human 
nature,  under  the  excitements,  motives, 
impulses  of  the  age  in  which  it  was  first 
preached,  or  it  had  its  origin  in  a higher 
and  supernatural  agency.  To  which  of 
these  causes  the  religion  should  be 
referred  is  not  a question  beyond  our 
reach  ; for,  being  partakers  of  human 
nature,  and  knowing  more  of  it  than  of 
any  other  part  of  creation,  we  can  judge 
with  sufficient  accuracy  of  the  operation 
of  its  principles,  and  of  the  effects  to 
which  they  are  competent.  It  is  indeed 
true  that  human  powers  are  not  exactly 
defined,  nor  can  we  state  precisely  the 
bounds  beyond  which  they  cannot  pass  ; 
but  still,  the  disproportion  between  hu- 
man nature  and  an  effect  ascribed  to 
it  may  be  so  vast  and  palpable  as  to  sat- 
isfy us  at  once  that  the  effect  is  inex- 
plicable by  human  power.  I know  not 
precisely  what  advances  may  be  made  by 
the  intellect  of  an  unassisted  savage  ; 
but  that  a savage  in  the  woods  could  not 
compose  the  “ Principia  ” of  Newton,  is 
about  as  plain  as  that  he  could  not  create 
the  world.  I know  not  the  point  at  which 
bodily  strength  must  stop ; but  that  a 
man  cannot  carry  Atlas  or  Andes  on  his 
shoulders,  is  a safe  position.  The  ques- 
tion, therefore,  whether  the  principles  of 
human  nature,  under  the  circumstances 
in  which  it  was  placed  at  Christ’s  birth, 
will  explain  his  religion,  is  one  to  which 
we  are  competent,  and  is  the  great  ques- 
tion on  which  the  whole  controversy 
turns. 

Now  we  maintain  that  a great  variety 
of  facts  belonging  to  this  religion, — 
such  as  the  character  of  its  Founder; 
its  peculiar  principles ; the  style  and 
character  of  its  records  ; its  progress  ; 
the  conduct,  circumstances,  and  suffer- 
ings of  its  first  propagators  ; the  recep- 
tion of  it  from  the  first  on  the  ground  of 
miraculous  attestations ; the  prophecies 


EV/BEJVCES  OF  REVEALED  RELIGION 


227 


which  it  fulfilled  and  which  it  contains  ; 
its  influence  on  society,  and  other  cir- 
cumstances connected  with  it  — are  ut- 
terly inexplicable  by  human  powers  and 
principles,  but  accord  with,  and  are  fully 
explained  by,  the  power  and  perfections 
of  God. 

These  various  particulars  I cannot 
attempt  to  unfold.  One  or  two  may  be 
illustrated  to  show  you  the  mode  of  ap- 
plying the  principles  which  I have  laid 
down.  I will  take  first  the  character  of 
Jesus  Christ.  How  is  this  to  be  ex- 
plained by  the  principles  of  human  nat- 
ure ? We  are  immediately  struck  with 
this  peculiarity  in  the  Author  of  Chris- 
tianity, that,  whilst  all  other  men  are 
formed  in  a measure  by  the  spirit  of  the 
age,  we  can  discover  in  Jesus  no  impres- 
sion of  the  period  in  which  he  lived. 
We  know  with  considerable  accuracy 
the  state  of  society,  the  modes  of  think- 
ing, the  hopes  and  expectations  of  the 
country  in  which  Jesus  was  born  and 
grew  up ; and  he  is  as  free  from  them, 
and  as  exalted  above  them,  as  if  he  had 
lived  in  another  world,  or  with  every 
sense  shut  on  the  objects  around  him. 
His  character  has  in  it  nothing  local  or 
temporary.  It  can  be  explained  by 
nothing  around  him.  His  history  shows 
him  to  us  a solitary  being,  living  for 
purposes  which  none  but  himself  com- 
prehended, and  enjoying  not  so  much 
as  the  sympathy  of  a single  mind. 
His  Apostles,  his  chosen  companions, 
brought  to  him  the  spirit  of  the  age  ; 
and  nothing  shows  its  strength  more 
strikingly  than  the  slowness  with  which 
it  yielded  in  these  honest  men  to  the 
instructions  of  Jesus. 

Jesus  came  to  a nation  expecting  a 
Messiah  ; and  he  claimed  this  character. 
But  instead  of  conforming  to  the  opin- 
ions which  prevailed  in  regard  to  the 
Messiah,  he  resisted  them  wholly  and 
without  reserve.  To  a people  anticipat- 
ing a triumphant  leader,  under  whom 
vengeance  as  well  as  ambition  was  to  be 
glutted  by  the  prostration  of  their  op- 
pressors, he  came  as  a spiritual  leader, 
teaching  humility  and  peace.  This  un- 
disguised hostility  to  the  dearest  hopes 
and  prejudices  of  his  nation  ; this  dis- 
dain of  the  usual  compliances  by  which 
ambition  and  imposture  conciliate  ad- 
herents ; this  deliberate  exposure  of 
himself  to  rejection  and  hatred,  cannot 
easily  be  explained  by  the  common 


principles  of  human  nature,  and  ex- 
cludes the  possibility  of  selfish  aims  in 
the  Author  of  Christianity. 

One  striking  peculiarity  in  Jesus  is 
the  extent,  the  vastness,  of  his  views. 
Whilst  all  around  him  looked  for  a 
Messiah  to  liberate  God’s  ancient  peo- 
ple, whilst  to  every  other  Jew,  Judea  was 
the  exclusive  object  of  pride  and  hope, 
Jesus  came,  declaring  himself  to  be 
the  deliverer  and  light  of  the  world, 
and  in  his  whole  teaching  and  life  you 
see  a consciousness  which  never  for- 
sakes him,  of  a relation  to  the  whole 
human  race.  This  idea  of  blessing  man- 
kind, of  spreading  a universal  religion, 
was  the  most  magnificent  which  had 
ever  entered  man’s  mind.  All  previous 
religions  had  been  given  to  particular 
nations.  No  conqueror,  legislator,  phil- 
osopher, in  the  extravagance  of  ambition, 
had  ever  dreamed  of  subjecting  all  na- 
tions to  a common  faith. 

This  conception  of  a universal  relig- 
ion, intended  alike  for  Jew  and  Gentile, 
for  all  nations  and  climes,  is  wholly  in- 
explicable by  the  circumstances  of  Jesus. 
He  was  a Jew,  and  the  first  and  deepest 
and  most  constant  impression  on  a Jew’s 
mind  was  that  of  the  superiority  con- 
ferred on  his  people  and  himself  by  the 
national  religion  introduced  by  Moses. 
The  wall  between  the  Jew  and  the  Gen- 
tile seemed  to  reach  to  heaven.  The 
abolition  of  the  peculiarity  of  Moses, 
the  prostration  of  the  temple  on  Mount 
Zion,  the  erection  of  a new  religion,  in 
which  all  men  would  meet  as  brethren, 
and  which  would  be  the  common  and 
equal  property  of  Jew  and  Gentile,  these 
were  of  all  ideas  the  last  to  spring  up  in 
Judea,  the  last  for  enthusiasm  or  im- 
posture to  originate. 

Compare  next  these  views  of  Christ 
with  his  station  in  life.  He  was  of  hum- 
ble birth  and  education,  with  nothing  in 
his  lot,  with  no  extensive  means,  no 
rank,  or  wealth,  or  patronage,  to  infuse 
vast  thoughts  and  extravagant  plans. 
The  shop  of  a carpenter,  the  village  of 
Nazareth,  were  not  spots  for  ripening  a 
scheme  more  aspiring  and  extensive 
than  had  ever  been  formed.  It  is  a 
principle  of  human  nature  that,  except 
in  case  of  insanity,  some  proportion  is 
observed  between  the  power  of  an  indi- 
vidual and  his  plans  and  hopes.  The 
purpose  to  which  Jesus  devoted  him- 
self was  as  ill  suited  to  his  condition  as 


228 


EVIDENCES  OF  REVEALED  RELIGION 


an  attempt  to  change  the  seasons,  or  to 
make  the  sun  rise  in  the  west.  That  a 
young  man  in  obscure  life,  belonging  to 
an  oppressed  nation,  should  seriously 
think  of  subverting  the  time-hallowed 
and  deep-rooted  religions  of  the  world, 
is  a strange  fact ; but  with  this  purpose 
we  see  the  mind  of  Jesus  thoroughly 
imbued ; and,  sublime  as  it  is,  he  never 
falls  below  it  in  his  language  or  conduct, 
but  speaks  and  acts  with  a conscious- 
ness of  superiority,  with  a dignity  and 
authority,  becoming  this  unparalleled 
destination. 

In  this  connection  I cannot  but  add 
another  striking  circumstance  in  Jesus, 
and  that  is,  the  calm  confidence  with 
which  he  always  looked  forward  to  the 
accomplishment  of  his  design.  He  fully 
knew  the  strength  of  the  passions  and 
powers  which  were  arrayed  against  him, 
and  was  perfectly  aware  that  his  life  was 
to  be  shortened  by  violence ; yet  not  a 
word  escapes  him  implying  a doubt  of 
the  ultimate  triumphs  of  his  religion. 
One  of  the  beauties  of  the  Gospels,  and 
one  of  the  proofs  of  their  genuineness, 
is  found  in  our  Saviour’s  indirect  and 
obscure  allusions  to  his  approaching 
sufferings,  and  to  the  glory  which  was 
to  follow,  — allusions  showing  us  the 
workings  of  a mind  thoroughly  con- 
scious of  being  appointed  to  accomplish 
infinite  good  through  great  calamity. 
This  entire  and  patient  relinquishment 
of  immediate  success,  this  ever-present 
persuasion  that  he  was  to  perish  before 
his  religion  would  advance,  and  this 
calm,  unshaken  anticipation  of  distant 
and  unbounded  triumphs,  are  remark- 
able traits,  throwing  a tender  and  sol- 
emn grandeur  over  our  Lord,  and  wholly 
inexplicable  by  human  principles,  or  by 
the  circumstances  in  which  he  was 
placed. 

The  views  hitherto  taken  of  Christ 
relate  to  his  public  character  and  office. 
If  we  pass  to  what  may  be  called  his 
private  character,  we  shall  receive  the 
same  impression  of  inexplicable  excel- 
lence. The  most  striking  trait  in  Jesus 
was,  undoubtedly,  benevolence  ; and,  al- 
though this  virtue  had  existed  before, 
yet  it  had  not  been  manifested  in  the 
same  form  and  extent.  Christ’s  benev- 
olence was  distinguished  first  by  its  ex- 
pansiveness. At  that  age  an  unconfined 
philanthropy,  proposing  and  toiling  to 
do  good  without  distinction  of  country 


or  rank,  was  unknown.  Love  to  man 
as  man,  love  comprehending  the  hated 
Samaritan  and  the  despised  publican, 
was  a feature  which  separated  Jesus 
from  the  best  men  of  his  nation  and  of 
the  world.  Another  characteristic  of 
the  benevolence  of  Jesus  was  its  gentle- 
ness and  tenderness,  forming  a strong 
contrast  with  the  hardness  and  ferocity 
of  the  spirit  and  manners  which  then 
prevailed,  and  with  that  sternness  and 
inflexibility  which  the  purest  philosophy 
of  Greece  and  Rome  inculcated  as  the 
perfection  of  virtue.  But  its  most  dis- 
tinguishing trait  was  its  superiority  to 
injury.  Revenge  was  one  of  the  recog- 
nized rights  of  the  age  in  which  he 
lived  ; and  though  a few  sages,  who  had 
seen  its  inconsistency  with  man’s  dig- 
nity, had  condemned  it,  yet  none  had 
inculcated  the  duty  of  regarding  one’s 
worst  enemies  with  that  kindness  which 
God  manifests  to  sinful  men,  and  of  re- 
turning curses  with  blessings  and  pray- 
ers. This  form  of  benevolence,  the  most 
disinterested  and  divine  form,  was,  as 
you  well  know,  manifested  by  Jesus 
Christ  in  infinite  strength,  amidst  in- 
juries and  indignities  which  cannot  be 
surpassed.  Now  this  singular  eminence 
of  goodness,  this  superiority  to  the  de- 
grading influences  of  the  age,  under  which 
all  other  men  suffered,  needs  to  be  ex- 
plained ; and  one  thing  it  demonstrates, 
that  Jesus  Christ  was  not  an  unprincipled 
deceiver,  exposing  not  only  his  own  life 
but  the  lives  of  confiding  friends  in  an 
enterprise  next  to  desperate. 

I cannot  enlarge  on  other  traits  of  the 
character  of  Christ.  I will  only  observe 
that  it  had  one  distinction  which  more 
than  any  thing  forms  a perfect  char- 
acter. It  was  made  up  of  contrasts  ; 
in  other  words,  it  was  a union  of  excel- 
lences which  are  not  easily  reconciled, 
which  seem  at  first  sight  incongruous, 
but  which,  when  blended  and  duly  pro- 
portioned, constitute  moral  harmony, 
and  attract  with  equal  power  love  and 
veneration.  For  example,  we  discover 
in  Jesus  Christ  an  unparalleled  dignity 
of  character,  a consciousness  of  great- 
ness never  discovered  or  approached  by 
any  other  individual  in  history  ; and  yet 
this  was  blended  with  a condescension, 
lowliness,  and  unostentatious  simplicity 
which  had  never  before  been  thought 
consistent  with  greatness.  In  like  man- 
ner, he  united  an  utter  superiority  to  the 


EVIDENCES  OF  REVEALED  RELIGION 


229 


world,  to  its  pleasures  and  ordinary  in- 
terests, with  suavity  of  manners  and 
freedom  from  austerity.  He  joined 
strong  feeling  and  self-possession ; an 
indignant  sensibility  to  sin,  and  compas- 
sion to  the  sinner  ; an  intense  devotion 
to  his  work,  and  calmness  under  opposi- 
tion and  ill  success  ; a universal  philan- 
thropy, and  a susceptibility  of  private 
attachments ; the  authority  which  be- 
came the  Saviour  of  the  world,  and  the 
tenderness  and  gratitude  of  a son.  Such 
was  the  Author  of  our  religion.  And 
is  his  character  to  be  explained  by  im- 
posture or  insane  enthusiasm  ? Does  it 
not  bear  the  unambiguous  marks  of  a 
heavenly  origin  ? 

Perhaps  it  may  be  said  this  character 
never  existed.  Then  the  invention  of 
it  is  to  be  explained,  and  the  reception 
which  this  fiction  met  with  ; and  these 
perhaps  are  as  difficult  of  explanation  on 
natural  principles  as  its  real  existence. 
Christ’s  history  bears  all  the  marks  of 
reality ; a more  frank,  simple,  unlabor- 
ed, unostentatious  narrative  was  never 
penned.  Besides,  his  character,  if  in- 
vented, must  have  been  an  invention  of 
singular  difficulty,  because  no  models  ex- 
isted on  which  to  frame  it.  He  stands 
alone  in  the  records  of  time.  The  concep- 
tion of  a being,  proposing  such  new  and 
exalted  ends,  and  governed  by  higher 
principles  than  the  progress  of  society  had 
developed,  implies  singular  intellectual 
power.  That  several  individuals  should 
join  in  equally  vivid  conceptions  of  this 
character,  and  should  not  merely  de- 
scribe in  general  terms  the  fictitious  be- 
ing to  whom  it  was  attributed,  but  should 
introduce  him  into  real  life,  should 
place  him  in  a great  variety  of  cir- 
cumstances, in  connection  with  various 
ranks  of  men,  with  friends  and  foes,  and 
should  in  all  preserve  his  identity,  show 
the  same  great  and  singular  mind  always 
acting  in  harmony  with  itself ; this  is  a 
supposition  hardly  credible,  and,  when 
the  circumstances  of  the  writers  of  the 
New  Testament  are  considered,  seems 
to  be  as  inexplicable  on  human  prin- 
ciples as  what  I before  suggested,  the 
composition  of  Newton’s  “Principia” 
by  a savage.  The  character  of  Christ, 
though  delineated  in  an  age  of  great 
moral  darkness,  has  stood  the  scrutiny  of 
ages  ; and,  in  proportion  as  men’s  moral 
sentiments  have  been  refined,  its  beauty 
has  been  more  seen  and  felt.  To  suppose 


I it  invented  is  to  suppose  that  its  authors, 
outstripping  their  age,  had  attained  to  a 
singular  delicacy  and  elevation  of  moral 
perception  and  feeling.  But  these  at- 
tainments are  not  very  reconcilable  with 
the  character  of  its  authors,  supposing 
it  to  be  a fiction  ; that  is,  with  the  char- 
acter of  habitual  liars  and  impious  de- 
ceivers. 

But  we  are  not  only  unable  to  discover 
powers  adequate  to  this  invention.  There 
must  have  been  motives  for  it ; for  men 
do  not  make  great  efforts  without  strong 
motives  ; and,  in  the  whole  compass  of 
human  incitements,  we  challenge  the  in- 
fidel to  suggest  any  which  could  have 
prompted  to  the  work  now  to  be  ex- 
plained. 

Once  more,  it  must  be  recollected  that 
this  invention,  if  it  were  one,  was  re- 
ceived as  real  at  a period  so  near  to  the 
time  ascribed  to  Christ’s  appearance 
that  the  means  of  detecting  it  were  in- 
finite. That  men  should  send  out  such 
a forgery,  and  that  it  should  prevail 
and  triumph,  are  circumstances  not  eas- 
ily reconcilable  with  the  principles  of 
our  nature. 

The  character  of  Christ,  then,  was 
real.  Its  reality  is  the  only  explanation 
of  the  mighty  revolution  produced  by 
his  religion.  And  how  can  you  account 
for  it,  but  by  that  cause  to  which  he 
always  referred  it,  — a mission  from  the 
Father  ? 

Next  to  the  character  of  Christ,  his 
religion  might  be  shown  to  abound  in 
circumstances  which  contradict  and  re- 
pel the  idea  of  a human  origin.  For 
example,  its  representations  of  the  pater- 
nal character  of  God  ; its  inculcation  of 
a universal  charity ; the  stress  which  it 
lavs  on  inward  purity ; its  substitution 
of  a spiritual  worship  for  the  forms 
and  ceremonies  which  everywhere  had 
usurped  the  name  and  extinguished  the 
life  of  religion  ; its  preference  of  humil- 
ity, and  of  the  mild,  unostentatious, 
passive  virtues,  to  the  dazzling  qualities 
which  had  monopolized  men’s  admira- 
tion ; its  consistent  and  bright  discover- 
ies of  immortality  ; its  adaptation  to  the 
wants  of  man  as  a sinner  ; its  adaptation 
to  all  the  conditions,  capacities,  and 
sufferings  of  human  nature  ; its  pure, 
sublime,  yet  practicable  morality ; its 
high  and  generous  motives  ; and  its  fit- 
ness to  form  a character  which  plainly 
prepares  for  a higher  life  than  the  pres- 


230 


EVIDENCES  OF  REVEALED  RELIGION 


ent ; these  are  peculiarities  of  Chris- 
tianity, which  will  strike  us  more  and 
more  in  proportion  as  we  understand 
distinctly  the  circumstances  of  the  age 
and  country  in  which  this  religion  ap- 
peared, and  for  which  no  adequate  hu- 
man cause  has  been  or  can  be  assigned. 

Passing  over  these  topics,  each  of 
which  might  be  enlarged  into  a dis- 
course, I will  make  but  one  remark  on 
this  religion,  which  strikes  my  own 
mind  very  forcibly.  Since  its  introduc- 
tion, human  nature  has  made  great 
progress,  and  society  experienced  great 
changes  ; and  in  this  advanced  condi- 
tion of  the  world  Christianity,  instead  of 
losing  its  application  and  importance,  is 
found  to  be  more  and  more  congenial 
and  adapted  to  man’s  nature  and  wants. 
Men  have  outgrown  the  other  institu- 
tions of  that  period  when  Christianity 
appeared,  — its  philosophy,  its  modes  of 
warfare,  its  policy,  its  public  and  private 
economy ; but  Christianity  has  never 
shrunk  as  intellect  has  opened,  but  has 
always  kept  in  advance  of  men’s  facul- 
ties, and  unfolded  nobler  views  in  pro- 
portion as  they  have  ascended.  The 
highest  powers  and  affections  which  our 
nature  has  developed  find  more  than  ad- 
equate objects  in  this  religion.  Christi- 
anity is  indeed  peculiarly  fitted  to  the 
more  improved  stages  of  society,  to  the 
more  delicate  sensibilities  of  refined 
minds,  and  especially  to  that  dissatis- 
faction with  the  present  state  which  al- 
ways grows  with  the  growth  of  our  moral 
powers  and  affections.  As  men  advance 
in  civilization,  they  become  susceptible 
of  mental  sufferings  to  which  ruder  ages 
are  strangers  ; and  these  Christianity  is 
fitted  to  assuage.  Imagination  and  in- 
tellect become  more  restless  ; and  Chris- 
tianity brings  them  tranquillity,  by  the 
eternal  and  magnificent  truths,  the  sol- 
emn and  unbounded  prospects,  which  it 
unfolds.  This  fitness  of  our  religion  to 
more  advanced  stages  of  society  than 
that  in  which  it  was  introduced,  to  wants 
of  human  nature  not  then  developed, 
seems  to  me  very  striking.  The  relig- 
ion bears  the  marks  of  having  come  from 
a Being  who  perfectly  understood  the 
human  mind,  and  had  power  to  provide 
for  its  progress.  This  feature  of  Chris- 
tianity is  of  the  nature  of  prophecy.  It 
was  an  anticipation  of  future  and  dis- 
tant ages  ; and,  when  we  consider  among 
whom  our  religion  sprung,  where,  but  in 


God,  can  we  find  an  explanation  of  this 
peculiarity  ? 

I have  now  offered  a few  hints  on  the 
character  of  Christ,  and  on  the  charac- 
ter of  his  religion  ; and  before  quitting 
these  topics  I would  observe,  that  they 
form  a strong  presumption  in  favor  of 
the  miraculous  facts  of  the  Christian  his- 
tory. These  miracles  were  not  wrought 
by  a man  whose  character  in  other  re- 
spects was  ordinary.  They  were  acts 
of  a being,  whose  mind  was  as  singular 
as  his  works,  who  spoke  and  acted  with 
more  than  human  authority,  whose  moral 
qualities  and  sublime  purposes  were  in 
accordance  with  superhuman  powers. 
Christ’s  miracles  are  in  unison  with  his 
whole  character,  and  bear  a proportion 
to  it  like  that  which  we  observe  in  the 
most  harmonious  productions  of  nature  ; 
and  in  this  way  they  receive  from  it 
great  confirmation.  And  the  same  pre- 
sumption in  their  favor  arises  from  his 
religion.  That  a religion  carrying  in  it- 
self such  marks  of  divinity,  and  so  inex- 
plicable on  human  principles,  should 
receive  outward  confirmations  from 
Omnipotence,  is  not  surprising.  The 
extraordinary  character  of  the  religion 
accords  with  and  seems  to  demand  ex- 
traordinary interpositions  in  its  behalf. 
Its  miracles  are  not  solitary,  naked,  un- 
explained, disconnected  events,  but  are 
bound  up  with  a system  which  is  worthy 
of  God,  and  impressed  with  God  : which 
occupies  a large  space,  and  is  operating, 
with  great  and  increasing  energy,  in 
human  affairs. 

As  yet  I have  not  touched  on  what 
seem  to  many  writers  the  strongest 
proofs  of  Christianity,  — I mean  the  di- 
rect evidences  of  its  miracles ; by  which 
we  mean  the  testimony  borne  to  them,  in- 
cluding the  character,  conduct,  and  con- 
dition of  the  witnesses.  These  I have  not 
time  to  unfold  ; nor  is  this  labor  needed ; 
for  Paley’s  inestimable  work,  which  is  one 
of  your  classical  books,  has  stated  these 
proofs  with  great  clearness  and  power. 
I would  only  observe  that  they  may  all 
be  resolved  into  this  single  principle  ; 
namely,  that  the  Christian  miracles 
were  originally  believed  under  such  cir- 
cumstances that  this  belief  can  only  be 
explained  by  their  actual  occurrence. 
That  Christianity  was  received  at  first 
on'  the  ground  of  miracles,  and  that  its 
first  preachers  and  converts  proved  the 
depth  and  strength  of  their  conviction 


EVIDENCES  OF  REVEALED  RELIGION 


231 


of  these  facts  by  attesting  them  in  suf- 
ferings and  in  death,  we  know  from  the 
most  ancient  records  which  relate  to  this 
religion,  both  Christian  and  heathen ; 
and,  in  fact,  this  conviction  can  alone 
explain  their  adherence  to  Christianity. 
Now,  that  this  conviction  could  only 
have  sprung  from  the  reality  of  the  mir- 
' acles,  we  infer  from  the  known  circum- 
stances of  these  witnesses,  whose  pas- 
sions, interests,  and  strongest  prejudices 
were  originally  hostile  to  the  new  relig- 
ion ; whose  motives  for  examining  with 
care  the  facts  on  which  it  rested  were  as 
urgent  and  solemn,  and  whose  means 
and  opportunities  of  ascertaining  their 
truth  were  as  ample  and  unfailing,  as 
can  be  conceived  to  conspire  ; so  that 
the  supposition  of  their  falsehood  can- 
not be  admitted  without  subverting  our 
trust  in  human  judgment  and  human 
testimony  under  the  most  favorable  cir- 
cumstances for  discovering  truth  ; that 
is,  without  introducing  universal  scepti- 
cism. 

There  is  one  class  of  Christian  evi- 
dences to  which  I have  but  slightly 
referred,  but  which  has  struck  with  pe- 
culiar force  men  of  reflecting  minds.  I 
refer  to  the  marks  of  truth  and  reality 
which  are  found  in  the  Christian  rec- 
ords ; to  the  internal  proofs  which  the 
books  of  the  New  Testament  carry  with 
them  of  having  been  written  by  men  who 
lived  in  the  first  age  of  Christianity,  who 
believed  and  felt  its  truth,  who  bore  a 
part  in  the  labors  and  conflicts  which 
attended  its  establishment,  and  who 
wrote  from  personal  knowledge  and 
deep  conviction.  A few  remarks  to  il- 
lustrate the  nature  and  power  of  these 
internal  proofs,  which  are  furnished  by 
the  books  of  the  New  Testament,  I will 
now  subjoin. 

The  New  Testament  consists  of  his- 
tories and  epistles.  The  historical  books, 
namely,  the  Gospels  and  the  Acts,  are  a 
continued  narrative,  embracing  many 
years,  and  professing  to  give  the  history 
of  the  rise  and  progress  of  the  religion. 
Now  it  is  worthy  of  observation  that 
these  writings  completely  answer  their 
end  ; that  they  completely  solve  the 
problem,  how  this  peculiar  religion  grew 
up  and  established  itself  in  the  world  ; 
that  they  furnish  precise  and  adequate 
causes  for  this  stupendous  revolution  in 
human  affairs.  It  is  also  worthy  of  re- 
mark that  they  relate  a series  of  facts 


which  are  not  only  connected  with  one 
another,  but  are  intimately  linked  with 
the  long  series  which  has  followed  them, 
and  agree  accurately  with  subsequent 
history,  so  as  to  account  for  and  sustain 
it.  Now,  that  a collection  of  fictitious 
narratives,  coming  from  different  hands, 
comprehending  many  years,  and  spread- 
ing over  many  countries,  should  not  only 
form  a consistent  whole,  when  taken  by 
themselves,  but  should  also  connect  and 
interweave  themselves  with  real  history 
so  naturally  and  intimately  as  to  furnish 
no  clue  for  detection,  as  to  exclude  the 
appearance  of  incongruity  and  discord- 
ance, and  as  to  give  an  adequate  ex- 
planation, and  the  only  explanation,  of 
acknowledged  events,  of  the  most  im- 
portant revolution  in  society ; this  is  a 
supposition  from  which  an  intelligent 
man  at  once  revolts,  and  which,  if  ad- 
mitted, would  shake  a principal  founda- 
tion of  history. 

I have  before  spoken  of  the  unity  and 
consistency  of  Christ’s  character  as  de- 
veloped in  the  Gospels,  and  of  the  agree- 
ment of  the  different  writers  in  giving 
us  the  singular  features  of  his  mind. 
Now  there  are  the  same  marks  of  truth 
running  through  the  whole  of  these  nar- 
ratives. For  example,  the  effects  pro- 
duced by  Jesus  on  the  various  classes 
of  society ; the  different  feelings  of  ad- 
miration, attachment,  and  envy,  which 
he  called  forth  ; the  various  expressions 
of  these  feelings  ; the  prejudices,  mis- 
takes, and  gradual  illumination  of  his 
disciples  ; these  are  all  given  to  us  with 
such  marks  of  truth  and  reality  as  could 
not  easily  be  counterfeited.  The  whole 
history  is  precisely  such  as  might  be 
expected  from  the  actual  appearance  of 
such  a person  as  Jesus  Christ,  in  such  a 
state  of  society  as  then  existed. 

The  Epistles,  if  possible,  abound  in 
marks  of  truth  and  reality  even  more 
than  the  Gospels.  They  are  imbued 
thoroughly  with  the  spirit  of  the  first 
age  of  Christianity.  They  bear  all 
the  marks  of  having  come  from  men 
plunged  in  the  conflicts  which  the  new 
religion  excited,  alive  to  its  interests, 
identified  with  its  fortunes.  They  be- 
tray the  very  state  of  mind  which  must 
have  been  generated  by  the  peculiar 
condition  of  the  first  propagators  of  the 
religion.  They  are  letters  written  on 
real  business,  intended  for  immediate 
effects,  designed  to  meet  prejudices  and 


232 


EVIDENCES  OF  REVEALED  RELIGION 


passions  which  such  a religion  must  at 
first  have  awakened.  They  contain  not 
a trace  of  the  circumstances  of  a later 
age,  or  of  the  feelings,  impressions,  and 
modes  of  thinking  by  which  later  times 
were  characterized,  and  from  which  later 
writers  could  not  easily  have  escaped. 
The  letters  of  Paul  have  a remarkable 
agreement  with  his  history.  They  are 
precisely  such  as  might  be  expected 
from  a man  of  a vehement  mind,  who 
had  been  brought  up  in  the  schools  of 
Jewish  literature,  who  had  been  con- 
verted by  a sudden,  overwhelming  mir- 
acle, who  had  been  intrusted  with  the 
preaching  of  the  new  religion  to  the  Gen- 
tiles, and  who  was  everywhere  met  by 
the  prejudices  and  persecuting  spirit  of 
his  own  nation.  They  are  full  of  ob- 
scurities growing  out  of  these  points  of 
Paul’s  history  and  character,  and  out  of 
the  circumstances  of  the  infant  church, 
and  which  nothing  but  an  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  that  early  period  can 
illustrate.  This  remarkable  infusion  of 
the  spirit  of  the  first  age  into  the  Chris- 
tian records  cannot  easily  be  explained 
but  by  the  fact  that  they  were  written  in 
that  age  by  the  real  and  zealous  propa- 
gators of  Christianity,  and  that  they  are 
records  of  real  convictions  and  of  actual 
events. 

There  is  another  evidence  of  Chris- 
tianity still  more  internal  than  any  on 
which  I have  yet  dwelt,  — an  evidence 
to  be  felt  rather  than  described,  but  not 
less  real  because  founded  on  feeling.  I 
refer  to  that  conviction  of  the  divine 
original  of  our  religion  which  springs  up 
and  continually  gains  strength  in  those 
who  apply  it  habitually  to  their  tempers 
and  lives,  and  who  imbibe  its  spirit  and 
hopes.  In  such  men  there  is  a con- 
sciousness of  the  adaptation  of  Chris- 
tianity to  their  noblest  faculties,  — a 
consciousness  of  its  exalting  and  con- 
soling influences,  of  its  power  to  confer 
the  true  happiness  of  human  nature,  to 


give  that  peace  which  the  world  cannot 
give  ; which  assures  them  that  it  is  not 
of  earthly  origin,  but  a ray  from  the 
Everlasting  Light,  a stream  from  the 
Fountain  of  heavenly  wisdom  and  love. 
This  is  the  evidence  which  sustains  the 
faith  of  thousands  who  never  read  and 
cannot  understand  the  learned  books  of 
Christian  apologists,  who  want,  perhaps, 
words  to  explain  the  ground  of  their 
belief,  but  whose  faith  is  of  adamantine 
firmness,  who  hold  the  Gospel  with  a 
conviction  more  intimate  and  unwavering 
than  mere  argument  ever  produced. 

But  I must  tear  myself  from  a subject 
which  opens  upon  me  continually  as  L 
proceed.  Imperfect  as  this  discussion 
is,  the  conclusion,  I trust,  is  placed  be- 
yond doubt,  that  Christianity  is  true. 
And,  my  hearers,  if  true,  it  is  the  greatest 
of  all  truths,  deserving  and  demanding 
our  reverent  attention  and  fervent  grati- 
tude. This  religion  must  never  be  con- 
founded with  our  common  blessings.  It 
is  a revelation  of  pardon  which,  as  sin- 
ners, we  all  need.  Still  more,  it  is  a 
revelation  of  human  immortality,  — a 
doctrine  which,  however  undervalued 
amidst  the  bright  anticipations  of  inex- 
perienced youth,  is  found  to  be  our 
strength  and  consolation,  and  the  only 
effectual  spring  of  persevering  and  vic- 
torious virtue, %when  the  realities  of  life 
have  scattered  our  visionary  hopes  ; 
when  pain,  disappointment,  and  tempta- 
tion press  upon  us  ; when  this  world’s 
enjoyments  are  found  unable  to  quench 
that  deep  thirst  of  happiness  which 
burns  in  every  breast ; when  friends, 
whom  we  love  as  our  own  souls,  die  ; 
and  our  own  graves  open  before  us. 
To  all  who  hear  me,  and  especially  to 
my  young  hearers,  I would  say,  let  the 
truth  of  this  religion  be  the  strongest 
conviction  of  your  understandings  ; let 
its  motives  and  precepts  sway  with  an 
absolute  power  your  characters  and 
lives. 


CHRISTIANITY  A RATIONAL  RELIGION. 


233 


CHRISTIANITY  A RATIONAL  RELIGION. 


Romans  i.  16 : “I  am  not  ashamed  of  the  Gospel 
of  Christ.” 

Such  was  the  language  of  Paul ; and 
every  man  will  respond  to  it  who  com- 
prehends the  character  and  has  felt  the 
influence  of  Christianity.  In  a former 
discourse,  I proposed  to  state  to  you 
some  reasons  for  adopting  as  our  own 
the  words  of  the  Apostle,  for  joining  in 
his  open  and  resolute  testimony  to  the 
gospel  of  Christ.  I observed  that  I was 
not  ashamed  of  the  gospel,  first,  because 
it  is  true,  and  to  this  topic  the  discourse 
was  devoted.  I wish  now  to  continue 
the  subject,  and  to  state  another  ground 
of  undisguised  and  unshaken  adhe- 
rence to  Christianity.  I say,  then,  I am 
not  ashamed  of  the  gospel  of  Christ,  be- 
cause it  is  a rational  religion.  It  agrees 
with  reason  ; therefore  I count  it  worthy 
of  acceptation  ; therefore  I do  not  blush 
to  enroll  myself  among  its  friends  and 
advocates.  The  object  of  the  present 
discourse  will  be  the  illustration  of  this 
claim  of  Christianity.  I wish  to  show 
you  the  harmony  which  subsists  be- 
tween the  light  of  God’s  word  and  that 
primitive  light  of  reason  which  He  has 
kindled  within  us  to  be  our  perpetual 
guide.  If,  in  treating  this  subject,  I 
shall  come  into  conflict  with  any  class 
of  Christians,  I trust  I shall  not  be  con- 
sidered as  imputing  to  them  any  moral 
or  intellectual  defect.  I judge  men  by 
their  motives,  dispositions,  and  lives, 
and  not  by  their  speculations  or  peculiar 
opinions  ; and  I esteem  piety  and  virtue 
equally  venerable  whether  found  in 
friend  or  foe. 

Christianity  is  a rational  religion. 
Were  it  not  so,  I should  be  ashamed 
to  profess  it.  I am  aware  that  it  is 
the  fashion  with  some  to  decry  reason, 
and  to  set  up  revelation  as  an  opposite 
authority.  This  error,  though  counte- 
nanced by  good  men,  and  honestly  main- 
tained for  the  defence  of  the  Christian 
cause,  ought  to  be  earnestly  withstood  ; 
for  it  virtually  surrenders  our  religion 
into  the  hands  of  the  unbeliever.  It 
saps  the  foundation  to  strengthen  the 


building.  It  places  our  religion  in  hos- 
tility to  human  nature,  and  gives  to  its 
adversaries  the  credit  of  vindicating  the 
rights  and  noblest  powers  of  the  mind. 

We  must  never  forget  that  our  ra- 
tional nature  is  the  greatest  gift  of  God. 
For  this  we  owe  him  our  chief  gratitude. 
It  is  a greater  gift  than  any  outward  aid 
or  benefaction,  and  no  doctrine  which 
degrades  it  can  come  from  its  Author. 
The  development  of  it  is  the  end  of  our 
being.  Revelation  is  but  a means,  and 
is  designed  to  concur  with  nature,  prov- 
idence, and  God’s  spirit,  in  carrying  for- 
ward reason  to  its  perfection.  I glory 
in  Christianity  because  it  enlarges,  in- 
vigorates, exalts  my  rational  nature.  If 
I could  not  be  a Christian  without  ceas- 
ing to  be  rational,  I should  not  hesitate 
as  to  my  choice.  I feel  myself  bound 
to  sacrifice  to  Christianity  property, 
reputation,  life ; but  I ought  not  to 
sacrifice  to  any  religion  that  reason 
which  lifts  me  above  the  brute  and 
constitutes  me  a man.  I can  conceive 
no  sacrilege  greater  than  to  prostrate  or 
renounce  the  highest  faculty  which  we 
have  derived  from  God.  In  so  doing 
we  should  offer  violence  to  the  divinity 
within  us.  Christianity  wages  no  war 
with  reason,  but  is  one  with  it,  and  is 
given  to  be  its  helper  and  friend. 

I wish,  in  the  present  discourse,  to 
illustrate  and  confirm  the  views  now 
given.  My  remarks  will  be  arranged 
under  two  heads.  I propose,  first,  to 
show  that  Christianity  is  founded  on 
and  supposes  the  authority  of  reason, 
and  cannot  therefore  oppose  it  without 
subverting  itself.  My  object  in  this 
part  of  the  discourse  will  be  to  expose 
the  error  of  those  who  hope  to  serve 
revelation  by  disparaging  reason.  I 
shall  then,  in  the  second  place,  compare 
Christianity  and  the  light  of  reason,  to 
show  their  accordance  ; and  shall  prove, 
by  descending  to  particulars,  that  Chris- 
tianity is  eminently  a rational  religion. 
My  aim,  under  this  head,  will  be  to  vin- 
dicate the  gospel  from  the  reproaches  of 
the  unbeliever,  and  to  strengthen  the 


234 


CHRISTIANITY  A RA  TIONAL  RELIGION 


faith  and  attachment  of  its  friends. 
Before  1 begin,  let  me  observe  that 
this  discussion,  from  the  nature  of  the 
subject,  must  assume  occasionally  an 
abstract  form,  and  will  demand  serious 
attention.  I am  to  speak  of  reason,  the 
chief  faculty  of  the  mind  ; and  no  sim- 
plicity of  language  in  treating  .such  a 
topic  can  exempt  the  hearer  from  the 
necessity  of  patient  effort  of  thought. 

I am  to  begin  with  showing  that  the 
Christian  revelation  is  founded  on  the 
authority  of  reason,  and  consequently 
cannot  oppose  it ; and  here  it  may  be 
proper  to  settle  the  meaning  of  the 
word  reason.  One  of  the  most  impor- 
tant steps  towards  the  truth  is  to  de- 
termine the  import  of  terms.  Very 
often  fierce  controversies  have  sprung 
from  obscurity  of  language,  and  the 
parties,  on  explaining  themselves,  have 
discovered  that  they  have  been  spend- 
ing their  strength  in  a war  of  words. 
What,  then,  is  reason  ? 

The  term  reason  is  used  with  so  much 
latitude  that  to  fix  its  precise  limits  is 
not  an  easy  task.  In  this  respect  it 
agrees  with  the  other  words  which  ex- 
press the  intellectual  faculties.  One 
idea,  however,  is  always  attached  to  it. 
All  men  understand  by  reason  the  high- 
est faculty  or  energy  of  the  mind.  With- 
out laboring  for  a philosophical  definition 
that  will  comprehend  all  its  exercises,  I 
shall  satisfy  myself  with  pointing  out 
two  of  its  principal  characteristics  or 
functions. 

First,  it  belongs  to  reason  to  compre- 
hend universal  truths.  This  is  among 
its  most  important  offices.  There  are 
particular  and  there  are  universal  truths. 
The  last  are  the  noblest,  and  the  ca- 
pacity of  perceiving  them  is  the  distinc- 
tion of  intelligent  beings ; and  these 
belong  to  reason.  Let  me  give  my 
meaning  by  some  illustrations.  I see 
a stone  falling  to  the  ground.  This  is 
a particular  truth  ; but  I do  not  stop 
here.  I believe  that  not  only  this  par- 
ticular stone  falls  towards  the  earth,  but 
that  every  particle  of  matter,  in  what- 
ever world,  tends,  or,  as  is  sometimes 
said,  is  attracted  towards  all  other  mat- 
ter. Here  is  a universal  truth,  a prin- 
ciple extending  to  the  whole  material 
creation,  and  essential  to  its  existence. 
This  truth  belongs  to  reason.  Again,  I 
see  a man  producing  some  effect,  — a 
manufacture,  a house.  FI  ere  is  a par- 


ticular truth.  But  I am  not  only  capa- 
ble of  seeing  particular  causes  and 
effects  ; I am  sure  that  every  thing  which 
begins  to  exist,  no  matter  when  or  where, 
must  have  a cause,  that  no  change  ever 
has  taken  place  or  ever  will  take  place 
without  a cause.  Here  is  a universal 
truth,  something  true  here  and  every- 
where, true  now  and  through  eternity  ; 
and  this  truth  belongs  to  reason.  Again, 
I see  with  my  eyes,  I traverse  with  my 
hands,  a limited  space  ; but  this  is  not 
all.  I am  sure  that,  beyond  the  limits 
which  my  limbs  or  senses  reach,  there 
is  an  unbounded  space  ; that,  go  where 
I will,  an  infinity  will  spread  around  me. 
Here  is  another  universal  truth,  and  this 
belongs  to  reason.  The  idea  of  infinity 
is  indeed  one  of  the  noblest  conceptions 
of  this  faculty.  Again,  I see  a man  con- 
ferring a good  on  another.  Here  is  a 
particular  truth  or  perception.  But  my 
mind  is  not  confined  to  this.  I see  and 
feel  that  it  is  right  for  all  intelligent  be- 
ings, exist  when  or  where  they  may,  to 
do  good,  and  wrong  for  them  to  seek 
the  misery  of  others.  Here  is  a univer- 
sal truth,  — a law  extending  from  God 
to  the  lowest  human  being ; and  this 
belongs  to  reason.  I trust  I have  con- 
veyed to  you  my  views  in  regard  to  the 
first  characteristic  of  this  highest  power 
of  the  soul.  Its  office  is  to  discern  uni- 
versal truths,  great  and  eternal  princi- 
ples. But  it  does  not  stop  here.  Reason 
is  also  exercised  in  applying  these  uni- 
versal truths  to  particular  cases,  beings, 
events.  For  example,  reason  teaches 
me,  as  we  have  seen,  that  all  changes 
without  exception  require  a cause ; and, 
in  conformity  to  this  principle,  it  prompts 
me  to  seek  the  particular  causes  of  the 
endless  changes  and  appearances  which 
fall  under  my  observation.  Thus  reason 
is  perpetually  at  work  on  the  ideas  fur- 
nished us  by  the  senses,  — by  conscious- 
ness, by  memory,  — associating  them 
with  its  own  great  truths,  or  investing 
them  with  its  own  universality. 

I now  proceed  to  the  second  function 
of  reason,  which  is  indeed  akin  to  the 
first.  Reason  is  the  power  which  tends 
and  is  perpetually  striving  to  reduce  our 
various  thoughts  to  unity  or  consistency. 
Perhaps  the  most  fundamental  convic- 
tion of  reason  is,  that  all  truths  agree 
together,  — that  inconsistency  is  the 
mark  of  error.  Its  intensest,  most  ear- 
nest effort  is  to  bring  concord  into  the 


CHRISTIANITY  A RATIONAL  RELIGION 


235 


intellect,  to  reconcile  what  seem  to  be 
clashing  views.  On  the  observation  of 
a new  fact,  reason  strives  to  incorporate 
it  with  former  knowledge.  It  can  allow 
nothing  to  stand  separate  in  the  mind. 
It  labors  to  bring  together  scattered 
truths,  and  to  give  them  the  strength 
and  beauty  of  a vital  order.  Its  end 
and  delight  is  harmony.  It  is  shocked 
by  an  inconsistency  in  belief,  just  as  a 
fine  ear  is  wounded  by  a discord.  It 
carries  within  itself  an  instinctive  con- 
sciousness that  all  things  which  exist 
are  intimately  bound  together ; and  it 
cannot  rest  until  it  has  connected  what- 
ever we  witness  with  the  infinite  whole. 
Reason,  according  to  this  view,  is  the 
most  glorious  form  or  exercise  of  the 
intellectual  nature.  It  corresponds  to 
the  unity  of  God  and  the  universe,  and 
seeks  to  make  the  soul  the  image  and 
mirror  of  this  sublime  unity. 

I have  thus  given  my  views  of  reason  ; 
but,  to  prevent  all  perversion,  before  I 
proceed  to  the  main  discussion,  let  me 
offer  a word  or  two  more  of  explana- 
tion. In  this  discourse,  when  I speak 
of  the  accordance  of  revelation  with 
reason,  I suppose  this  faculty  to  be  used 
deliberately,  conscientiously,  and  with 
the  love  of  truth.  Men  often  baptize 
with  the  name  of  reason  their  prejudices, 
unexamined  notions,  or  opinions  adopted 
through  interest,  pride,  or  other  unwor- 
thy biases.  It  is  not  uncommon  to 
hear  those  who  sacrifice  the  plainest 
dictates  of  the  rational  nature  to  im- 
pulse and  passion,  setting  themselves  up 
as  oracles  of  reason.  Now,  when  I say 
revelation  must  accord  with  reason,  I do 
not  mean  by  the  term  the  corrupt  and 
superficial  opinions  of  men  who  have 
betrayed  and  debased  their  rational 
powers.  I mean  reason  calmly,  hon- 
estly exercised  for  the  acquisition  of 
truth  and  the  invigoration  of  virtue. 

After  these  explanations,  I proceed  to 
the  discussion  of  the  two  leading  prin- 
ciples to  which  this  discourse  is  de- 
voted. 

First,  I am  to  show  that  revelation  is 
founded  on  the  authority  of  reason,  and 
cannot  therefore  oppose  or  disparage  it 
without  subverting  itself.  Let  me  state 
a few  of  the  considerations  which  con- 
vince me  of  the  truth  of  this  position. 
The  first  is,  that  reason  alone  makes  us 
capable  of  receiving  a revelation.  It 
must  previously  exist  and  operate,  or 


we  should  be  wholly  unprepared  for  the 
communications  of  Christ.  Revelation, 
then,  is  built  on  reason.  You  will  see 
the  truth  of  these  remarks  if  you  will 
consider  to  whom  revelation  is  sent. 
Why  is  it  given  to  men  rather  than  to 
brutes  ? Why  have  not  God’s  messen- 
gers gone  to  the  fields  to  proclaim  his 
glad  tidings  to  bird  and  beast  ? The 
answer  is  obvious.  These  want  reason  ; 
and  wanting  this,  they  have  no  capacity 
or  preparation  for  revealed  truth.  And 
not  only  would  revelation  be  lost  on  the 
brute  ; let  it  speak  to  the  child,  before 
his  rational  faculties  have  been  awak- 
ened, and  before  some  ideas  of  duty 
and  his  own  nature  have  been  devel- 
oped, and  it  might  as  well  speak  to  a 
stone.  Reason  is  the  preparation  and 
ground  of  revelation. 

This  truth  will  be  still  more  obvious  if 
we  consider  not  only  to  whom,  but  in 
what  way,  the  Christian  revelation  is 
communicated.  How  is  it  conveyed  ? 
In  words.  Did  it  make  these  words  ? 
No.  They  were  in  use  ages  before  its 
birth.  Again  I ask,  Did  it  make  the 
ideas  or  thoughts  which  these  words 
express  ? No.  If  the  hearers  of  Jesus 
had  not  previously  attached  ideas  to  the 
terms  which  he  employed,  they  could 
not  have  received  his  meaning.  He 
might  as  well  have  spoken  to  them  in  a 
foreign  tongue.  Thus  the  ideas  which 
enter  into  Christianity  subsisted  be- 
fore. They  were  ideas  of  reason ; so 
that  to  this  faculty  revelation  owes  the 
materials  of  which  it  is  composed. 

Revelation,  we  must  remember,  is  not 
our  earliest  teacher.  Man  is  not  born 
with  the  single  power  of  reading  God’s 
word,  and  sent  immediately  to  that 
guide.  His  eyes  open  first  on  another 
volume,  — that  of  the  creation.  Long 
before  he  can  read  the  Bible  he  looks 
round  on  the  earth  and  sky.  He  reads 
the  countenances  of  his  friends,  and 
hears  and  understands  their  voices.  He 
looks,  too,  by  degrees,  within  himself, 
and  acquires  some  ideas  of  his  own  soul. 
Thus  his  first  school  is  that  of  nature 
and  reason,  and  this  is  necessary  to 
prepare  him  for  a communication  from 
heaven.  Revelation  does  not  find  the 
mind  a blank,  a void,  prepared  to  receive 
unresistingly  whatever  may  be  offered  ; 
but  finds  it  in  possession  of  various 
knowledge  from  nature  and  experience, 
and,  still  more,  in  possession  of  great 


CHRISTIANITY  A RA  TIONAL  RELIGION. 


23  6 


principles,  fundamental  truths,  moral 
ideas,  which  are  derived  from  itself,  and 
which  are  the  germs  of  all  its  future  im- 
provement. This  last  view  is  peculiarly 
important.  The  mind  does  not  receive 
every  thing  from  abroad.  Its  great 
ideas  arise  from  itself,  and  by  those  na- 
tive lights  it  reads  and  comprehends  the 
volumes  of  nature  and  revelation.  We 
speak,  indeed,  of  nature  and  revelation 
as  making  known  to  us  an  intelligent 
First  Cause  ; but  the  ideas  of  intelli- 
gence and  causation  we  derive  originally 
from  our  own  nature.  The  elements  of 
the  idea  of  God  we  gather  from  our- 
selves. Power,  wisdom,  love,  virtue, 
beauty,  and  happiness,  — words  which 
contain  all  that  is  glorious  in  the  uni- 
verse and  interesting  in  our  existence, 
— express  attributes  of  the  mind,  and 
are  understood  by  us  only  through  con- 
sciousness. It  is  true,  these  ideas  or 
principles  of  reason  are  often  obscured 
by  thick  clouds  and  mingled  with  many 
and  deplorable  errors.  Still,  they  are 
never  lost.  Christianity  recognizes  them, 
is  built  on  them,  and  needs  them  as  its 
interpreters.  If  an  illustration  of  these 
views  be  required,  I would  point  you  to 
what  may  be  called  the  most  funda- 
mental idea  of  religion,  — I mean  the 
idea  of  right,  of  duty.  Do  we  derive 
this  originally  and  wholly  from  sacred 
books  ? Has  not  every  human  being, 
whether  born  within  or  beyond  the 
bounds  of  revelation,  a sense  of  the  dis- 
tinction between  right  and  wrong  ? Is 
there  not  an  earlier  voice  than  revela- 
tion approving  or  rebuking  men  accord- 
ing to  their  deeds  ? In  barbarous  ages  is 
not  conscience  heard  ? And  does  it  not 
grow  more  articulate  with  the  progress  of 
society  ? Christianity  does  not  create, 
but  presupposes  the  idea  of  duty  ; and 
the  same  may  be  said  of  other  great 
convictions.  Revelation,  then,  does  not 
stand  alone,  nor  is  it  addressed  to  a 
blank  and  passive  mind.  It  was  meant 
to  be  a joint  worker  with  other  teachers, 
with  nature,  with  Providence,  with  con- 
science, with  our  rational  powers  ; and 
as  these  all  are  given  us  by  God,  they 
cannot  differ  from  each  other.  God 
must  agree  with  himself.  He  has  but 
one  voice.  It  is  man  who  speaks  with 
jarring  tongues.  Nothing  but  harmony 
can  come  from  the  Creator  ; and,  accord- 
ingly, a religion  claiming  to  be  £rom  God 
can  give  no  surer  proof  of  falsehood  than 


by  contradicting  those  previous  truths 
which  God  is  teaching  by  our  very  nat- 
ure. We  have  thus  seen  that  reason 
prepares  us  for  a divine  communication, 
and  that  it  furnishes  the  ideas  or  mate- 
rials of  which  revelation  consists.  This 
is  my  first  consideration. 

I proceed  to  a second.  I affirm,  then, 
that  revelation  rests  on  the  authority  of 
reason,  because  to  this  faculty  it  submits 
the  evidences  of  its  truth,  and  nothing 
but  the  approving  sentence  of  reason 
binds  us  to  receive  and  obey  it.  This  is 
a very  weighty  consideration.  Chris- 
tianity, in  placing  itself  before  the  tribu- 
nal of  reason,  and  in  resting  its  claims 
on  the  sanction  of  this  faculty,  is  one  of 
the  chief  witnesses  to  the  authority  and 
dignity  of  our  rational  nature.  That  I 
have  ascribed  to  this  faculty  its  true  and 
proper  office  may  be  easily  made  to 
appear.  I take  the  New  Testament  in 
hand,  and  on  what  ground  do  I receive 
its  truths  as  divine  ? I see  nothing  on 
its  pages  but  the  same  letters  in  which 
other  books  are  written.  No  miraculous 
voice  from  heaven  assures  me  that  it  is 
God’s  word,  nor  does  any  mysterious 
voice  within  my  soul  command  me  to 
believe  the  supernatural  works  of  Christ. 
How,  then,  shall  I settle  the  question  of 
the  origin  of  this  religion  ? I must 
examine  it  by  the  same  rational  faculties 
by  which  other  subjects  are  tried.  I 
must  ask  what  are  its  evidences,  and  I 
must  lay  them  before  reason,  the  only 
power  by  which  evidence  can  be  weighed. 
I have  not  a distinct  faculty  given  me 
for  judging  a revelation.  I have  not 
two  understandings,  one  for  inquiring 
into  God’s  word  and  another  into  his 
works.  As  with  the  same  bodily  eye  I 
now  look  on  the  earth,  now  on  the  heav- 
ens, so  with  the  same  power  of  reason  I 
examine  now  nature,  now  revelation. 
Reason  must  collect  and  weigh  the 
various  proofs  of  Christianity.  It  must 
especially  compare  this  system  with  those 
great  moral  convictions  which  are  writ- 
ten by  the  finger  of  God  on  the  heart, 
and  which  make  man  a law  to  himself. 
A religion  subverting  these  it  must  not 
hesitate  to  reject,  be  its  evidences  what 
they  may.  A religion,  for  example, 
commanding  us  to  hate  and  injure  soci- 
ety, reason  must  instantly  discard,  with- 
out even  waiting  to  examine  its  proofs. 
From  these  views  we  learn,  not  only  that 
it  is  the  province  of  reason  to  judge  of 


CHRISTIANITY  A RATIONAL  RELIGION 


23  7 


the  truth  of  Christianity,  but,  what  is 
still  more  important,  that  the  rules  or 
tests  by  which  it  judges  are  of  its  own 
dictation.  The  laws  which  it  applies  in 
this  case  have  their  origin  in  itself.  No 
one  will  pretend  that  revelation  can  pre- 
scribe the  principles  by  which  the  ques- 
tion of  its  own  truth  should  be  settled  ; 
for,  until  -proved  to  be  true,  it  has  no 
authority.  Reason  must  prescribe  the 
tests  or  standards  to  which  a professed 
communication  from  God  should  be  re- 
ferred ; and  among  these  none  are  more 
important  than  that  moral  law  which  be- 
longs to  the  very  essence  and  is  the 
deepest  conviction  of  the  rational  nature. 
Revelation,  then,  rests  on  reason,  and 
in  opposing  it  would  act  for  its  own 
destruction. 

I have  given  two  views.  I have  shown 
that  revelation  draws  its  ideas  or  mate- 
rials from  reason,  and  that  it  appeals  to 
this  power  as  the  judge  of  its  truth.  I 
now  assert,  thirdly,  that  it  rests  on  the 
authority  of  reason,  because  it  needs 
and  expects  this  faculty  to  be  its  inter- 
preter, and  without  this  aid  would  be 
worse  than  useless.  How  is  the  right 
of  interpretation,  the  real  meaning,  of 
Scriptures  to  be  ascertained  ? I answer, 
by  reason.  I know  of  no  process  by 
which  the  true  sense  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament is  to  pass  from  the  page  into  my 
mind  without  the  use  of  my  rational 
faculties.  It  will  not  be  pretended  that 
this  book  is  so  exceedingly  plain,  its 
words  so  easy,  its  sentences  so  short, 
its  meaning  so  exposed  on  the  surface, 
that  the  whole  truth  may  be  received  in 
a moment  and  without  any  intellectual 
effort.  There  is  no  such  miraculous 
simplicity  in  the  Scriptures.  In  truth, 
no  book  can  be  written  so  simply  as  to 
need  no  exercise  of  reason.  Almost 
every  word  has  more  than  one  meaning, 
and  judgment  is  required  to  select  the 
particular  sense  intended  by  the  writer. 
Of  all  books,  perhaps  the  Scriptures 
need  most  the  use  of  reason  for  their 
just  interpretation ; and  this,  not  from 
any  imperfection,  but  from  the  strength, 
boldness,  and  figurative  character  of 
their  style,  and  from  the  distance  of  the 
time  when  they  were  written.  I open 
the  New  Testament  and  my  eye  lights  on 
this  passage  : “ If  thy  right  hand  offend 
thee,  .cut  it  off  and  cast  it  from  thee.” 
Is  this  language  to  be  interpreted  in  its 
plainest  and  most  obvious  sense  ? Then 


I must  mutilate  my  body,  and  become  a 
suicide.  I look  again,  and  I find  Jesus 
using  these  words  to  the  Jews  : “ Fill  ye 
up  the  meastire  of  your  iniquities.”  Am 
I to  interpret  this  according  to  the  letter 
or  the  first  ideas  which  it  suggests  ? 
Then  Jesus  commanded  his  hearers  to 
steep  themselves  in  crime,  and  was  him- 
self a minister  of  sin.  It  is  only  by  a 
deliberate  use  of  reason  that  we  can 
penetrate  beneath  the  figurative,  hyper- 
bolical, and  often  obscure  style  of  the 
New  Testament,  to  the  real  meaning. 
Let  me  go  to  the  Bible,  dismissing  my 
reason  and  taking  the  first  impression 
which  the  words  convey,  and  there  is  no 
absurdity,  however  gross,  into  which  I 
shall  not  fall.  I shall  ascribe  a limited 
body  to  God,  and  unbounded  knowledge 
to  man,  for  I read  of  God  having  limbs, 
and  of  man  knowing  all  things.  Noth- 
ing is  plainer  than  that  I must  compare 
passage  with  passage,  and  limit  one  by 
another,  and  especially  limit  all  by  those 
plain  and  universal  principles  of  reason 
which  are  called  common-sense,  or  I 
shall  make  revelation  the  patron  of  every 
folly.and  vice.  So  essential  is  reason  to 
the  interpretation  of  the  Christian  rec- 
ords. Revelation  rests  upon  its  author- 
ity. Can  it  then  oppose  it,  or  teach  us 
to  hold  it  in  light  esteem  ? 

I have  now  furnished  the  proofs  of 
my  first  position,  that  revelation  is 
founded  on  reason  ; and  in  discussing 
this,  I have  wished  not  only  to  support 
the  main  doctrine,  but  to  teach  you  to 
reverence,  more  perhaps  than  you  have 
done,  your  rational  nature.  This  has 
been  decried  by  theologians,  until  men 
have  ceased  to  feel  its  sacredness  and 
dignity.  It  ought  to  be  regarded  as 
God’s  greatest  gift.  It  is  his  image 
within  us.  To  renounce  it  would  be  to 
offer  a cruel  violence  to  ourselves,  to 
take  our  place  among  the  brutes.  Better 
pluck  out  the  eye,  better  quench  the 
light  of  the  body  than  the  light  within 
us.  We  all  feel  that  the  loss  of  reason, 
when  produced  by  disease,  is  the  most 
terrible  calamity  of  life  ; and  we  look 
on  a hospital  for  the  insane  as  the  re- 
ceptacle for  the  most  pitiable  of  our 
race.  But,  in  one  view,  insanity  is  not 
so  great  an  evil  as  the  prostration  of 
reason  to  a religious  sect  or  a religious 
chief ; for  the  first  is  a visitation  of 
Providence,  the  last  is  a voluntary  act, 
the  work  of  our  own  hands. 


CHRISTIANITY  A RA  TIONAL  RELIGION. 


238 

I am  aware  that  those  who  have  spoken 
most  contemptuously  of  human  reason 
have  acted  from  a good  motive,  — their 
aim  has  been  to  exalt  revelation.  They 
have  thought  that  by  magnifying  this  as 
the  only  means  of  divine  teaching,  they 
were  adding  to  its  dignity.  But  truth 
gains  nothing  by  exaggeration ; and 
Christianity,  as  we  have  seen,  is  under- 
mined by  nothing  more  effectually  than 
by  the  sophistry  which  would  bring  dis- 
credit on  our  rational  powers.  Revela- 
tion needs  no  such  support.  For  myself, 
I do  not  find  that  to  esteem  Christianity, 
I must  think  it  the  only  source  of  in- 
struction to  which  I must  repair.  I 
need  not  make  nature  dumb  to  give 
power  or  attraction  to  the  teaching  of 
Christ.  The  last  derives  new  interest 
and  confirmation  from  its  harmony  with 
the  first.  Christianity  would  furnish  a 
weapon  against  itself,  not  easily  repelled, 
should  it  claim  the  distinction  of  being 
the  only  light  vouchsafed  by  God  to 
men  ; for,  in  that  case,  it  would  repre- 
sent a vast  majority  of  the  human  race 
as  left  by  their  Creator  without  guidance 
or  hope.  I believe,  and  rejoice  to  be- 
lieve, that  a ray  from  heaven  descends 
on  the  path  of  every  fellow-creature. 
The  heathen,  though  in  darkness  when 
compared  with  the  Christian,  has  still 
his  light ; and  it  comes  from  the  same 
source  as  our  own,  just  as  the  same  sun 
dispenses,  now  the  faint  dawn,  and  now 
the  perfect  day.  Let  not  nature’s  teach- 
ing be  disparaged.  It  is  from  God  as 
truly  as  his  word.  It  is  sacred,  as  truly 
as  revelation.  Both  are  manifestations 
of  one  infinite  mind,  and  harmonious 
manifestations  ; and  without  this  agree- 
ment the  claims  of  Christianity  could 
not  be  sustained. 

In  offering  these  remarks,  I have  not 
forgotten  that  they  will  expose  me  to 
the  reproach  of  ministering  to  “ the 
pride  of  reason  ; ” and  I may  be  told 
that  there  is  no  worse  form  of  pride  than 
this.  The  charge  is  so  common  as  to 
deserve  a moment’s  attention.  It  will 
appear  at  once  to  be  groundless,  if  you 
consider  that  pride  finds  its  chief  nour- 
ishment and  delight  in  the  idea  of  our 
own  superiority.  It  is  built  on  some- 
thing peculiar  and  distinctive,  on  some- 
thing which  separates  us  from  others 
and  raises  us  above  them,  and  not  on 
powers  which  we  share  with  all  around 
us.  Now,  in  speaking  as  I have  done 


of  the  worth  and  dignity  of  reason,  I 
have  constantly  regarded  and  repre- 
sented this  faculty  as  the  common  prop- 
erty of  all  human  beings.  I have  spoken 
of  its  most  important  truths  as  universal 
and  unconfined,  such  as  no  individual 
can  monopolize  or  make  the  grounds  of 
personal  distinction  or  elevation.  I have 
given,  then,  no  occasion  and  furnished 
no  nutriment  to  pride.  I know,  indeed, 
that  the  pride  of  reason  or  of  intellect 
exists  ; but  how  does  it  chiefly  manifest 
itself?  Not  in  revering  that  rational 
nature  which  all  men  have  derived  from 
God ; but  in  exaggerating  our  particular 
acquisitions  or  powers,  in  magnifying 
our  distinctive  views,  in  looking  con- 
temptuously on  other  minds,  in  making 
ourselves  standards  for  our  brethren,  in 
refusing  new  lights,  and  in  attempting 
to  establish  dominion  over  the  under- 
standings of  those  who  are  placed  within 
our  influence.  Such  is  the  most  common 
form  of  the  pride  of  intellect.  It  is  a 
vice  confined  to  no  sect,  and  perhaps 
will  be  found  to  prevail  most  where  it  is 
most  disclaimed. 

I doubt  not  that  they  who  insist  so 
continually  on  the  duty  of  exalting 
Scripture  above  reason,  consider  them- 
selves as  particularly  secured  against 
the  pride  of  reason.  Yet  none,  I appre- 
hend, are  more  open  to  the  charge. 
Such  persons  are  singularly  prone  to 
enforce  their  own  interpretations  of 
Scripture  on  others,  and  to  see  peril 
and  crime  in  the  adoption  of  different 
views  from  their  own.  Now,  let  me  ask, 
by  what  power  do  these  men  interpret 
revelation?  Is  it  not  by  their  reason? 
Have  they  any  faculties  but  the  rational 
ones  by  which  to  compare  Scripture 
with  Scripture,  to  explain  figurative  lan- 
guage, to  form  conclusions  as  to  the  will 
of  God  ? Do  they  not  employ  on  God’s 
word  the  same  intellect  as  on  his  works  ? 
And  are  not  their  interpretations  of  both 
equally  results  of  reason  ? It  follows, 
that  in  imposing  on  others  their  expli- 
cations of  the  Scriptures,  they  as  truly 
arrogate  to  themselves  a superiority  of 
reason  as  if  they  should  require  con- 
formity to  their  explanations  of  nature. 
Nature  and  Scripture  agree  in  this,  that 
they  cannot  be  understood  at  a glance. 
Both  volumes  demand  patient  investiga- 
tion, and  task  all  our  powers  of  thought. 
Accordingly,  it  is  well  known  that  as 
much  intellectual  toil  has  been  spent  on 


CHRISTIANITY  A RA  TIONAL  RELIGION. 


theological  systems  as  on  the  natural 
sciences  ; and  unhappily  it  is  not  less 
known  that  as  much  intellectual  pride 
has  been  manifested  in  framing  and 
defending  the  first  as  the  last.  I fear, 
indeed,  that  this  vice  has  clung  with 
peculiar  obstinacy  to  the  students  of 
revelation.  Nowhere,  I fear,  have  men 
manifested  such  infatuated  trust  in  their 
own  infallibility,  such  overweening  fond- 
ness for  their  own  conclusions,  such 
positiveness,  such  impatience  of  contra- 
diction, such  arrogance  towards  the  ad- 
vocates of  different  opinions,  as  in  the 
interpretation  of  the  Scriptures  ; and 
yet  these  very  men,  who  so  idolize  their 
own  intellectual  powers,  profess  to 
humble  reason,  and  consider  a criminal 
reliance  on  it  as  almost  exclusively 
chargeable  on  others.  The  true  defence 
against  the  pride  of  reason  is,  not  to 
speak  of  it  contemptuously,  but  to  rever- 
ence it  as  God’s  inestimable  gift  to  every 
human  being,  and  as  given  to  all  for 
never-ceasing  improvements,  of  which 
we  see  but  the  dawn  in  the  present 
acquisitions  of  the  noblest  mind. 

I have  now  completed  my  views  of 
the  first  principle  which  I laid  down  in 
this  discourse  ; namely,  that  the  Chris- 
tian revelation  rests  on  the  authority  of 
reason.  Of  course,  it  cannot  oppose 
reason  without  undermining  and  de- 
stroying itself.  I maintain,  however, 
that  it  does  not  oppose, — that  it  per- 
fectly accords  with  reason.  It  is  a 
rational  religion.  This  is  my  second 
great  position,  and  to  this  I ask  your 
continued  attention.  This  topic  might 
easily  be  extended  to  a great  length.  I 
might  state,  in  succession,  all  the  prin- 
ciples of  Christianity,  and  show  their 
accordance  with  reason.  But  I be- 
lieve that  more  general  views  will  be 
more  useful,  and  such  only  can  be 
given  within  the  compass  of  a dis- 
course. 

In  the  account  which  I gave  you  of 
reason  in  the  beginning  of  this  dis- 
course, I confined  myself  to  two  of  its 
functions ; namely,  its  comprehension 
of  universal  truths,  and  the  effort  it 
constantly  makes  to  reduce  the  thoughts 
to  harmony  or  consistency.  Universal- 
ity and  consistency  are  among  the  chief 
attributes  of  reason.  Do  we  find  these 
in  Christianity  ? If  so,  its  claim  to  the 
character  of  a rational  religion  will  be 
established.  These  tests  I will  there-  I 


239 

fore  apply  to  it,  and  I will  begin  with 
consistency. 

That  a religion  be  rational,  nothing 
more  is  necessary  than  that  its  truths 
should  consist  or  agree  with  one  an- 
other, and  with  all  other  truths,  whether 
derived  from  outward  nature  or  our  own 
souls.  Now  I affirm  that  the  Christian 
doctrines  have  this  agreement ; and  the 
more  we  examine,  the  more  brightly 
this  mark  of  truth  will  appear.  I go  to 
the  gospel,  and  I first  compare  its  vari- 
ous parts  with  one  another.  Among 
these  I find  perfect  harmony  ; and  what 
makes  this  more  remarkable  is,  that 
Christianity  is  not  taught  systematically 
or  like  a science.  Jesus  threw  out,  if 
I may  so  speak,  his  precepts  and  doc- 
trines incidentally,  or  as  they  were  re- 
quired by  the  occasion,  and  yet,  when 
they  are  brought  together,  they  form  a 
harmonious  whole.  I do  not  think  it 
necessary  to  enlarge  on  this  topic,  be- 
cause I believe  it  is  not  questioned  by 
infidelity.  I will  name  but  one  example 
of  this  harmony  in  Christianity.  All 
its  doctrines  and  all  its  precepts  have 
that  species  of  unity  which  is  most 
essential  in  a religion,  — that  is,  they  all 
tend  to  one  object.  They  all  agree  in  a 
single  aim  or  purpose,  and  that  is  to 
exalt  the  human  character  to  a height 
of  virtue  never  known  before.  Let  the 
sceptic  name,  if  he  can,  one  Christian 
principle  which  has  not  a bearing  on 
this  end.  A consistency  of  this  kind 
is  the  strongest  mark  of  a rational  re- 
ligion which  can  be  conceived.  Let  me 
observe,  in  passing,  that,  besides  this 
harmony  of  the  Christian  doctrines, with 
one  another,  there  is  a striking  and 
beautiful  agreement  between  the  teach- 
ings of  Jesus  and  his  character,  which 
gives  confirmation  to  both.  Whatever 
Jesus  taught,  you  may  see  embodied  in 
himself.  There  is  perfect  unity  be- 
tween the  system  and  its  Founder. 
His  life  republished  what  fell  from  his 
lips.  With  his  lips  he  enjoined  ear- 
nestly, constantly,  a strong  and  disin- 
terested philanthropy ; and  how  har- 
moniously and  sublimely  did  his  cross 
join  with  his  word  in  enforcing  this 
exalted  virtue  ! With  his  lips  he  taught 
the  mercy  of  God  to  sinners  ; and  of 
this  attribute  he  gave  a beautiful  illus- 
tration in  his  own  deep  interest  in  the 
sinful,  in  his  free  intercourse  with  the 
most  fallen,  and  in  his  patient  efforts 


240 


CHRISTIANITY  A RATIONAL  RELIGION 


to  recover  them  to  virtue  and  to  filial 
reliance  on  their  Father  in  heaven. 
So,  his  preaching  turned  much  on  the 
importance  of  raising  the  mind  above 
the  world  ; and  his  own  life  was  a con- 
stant renunciation  of  worldly  interests, 
a cheerful  endurance  of  poverty  that  he 
might  make  many  truly  rich.  So,  his 
discourses  continually  revealed  to  man 
the  doctrine  of  immortality ; and  in  his 
own  person  he  brought  down  this  truth 
to  men’s  senses,  by  rising  from  the 
dead  and  ascending  to  another  state  of 
being.  I have  only  glanced  at  the  unity 
which  subsists  between  Jesus  and  his 
religion.  Christianity,  from  every  point 
of  view,  will  be  found  a harmonious 
system.  It  breathes  throughout  one 
spirit  and  one  purpose.  Its  doctrines, 
precepts,  and  examples  have  the  con- 
sistency of  reason. 

But  this  is  not  enough.  A rational 
religion  must  agree  not  only  with  itself, 
but  with  all  other  truths,  whether  re- 
vealed by  the  outward  creation  or  our 
own  souls.  I take,  then,  Christianity 
into  the  creation  ; I place  it  by  the  side 
of  nature.  Do  they  agree  ? I say, 
Perfectly.  I can  discover  nothing,  in 
what  claims  to  be  God’s  word,  at  vari- 
ance with  his  works.  This  is  a bright 
proof  of  the  reasonableness  of  Christi- 
anity. When  I consult  nature  with  the 
lights  modern  science  affords,  I see 
continually  multiplying  traces  of  the 
doctrine  of  One  God.  The  more  I ex- 
tend my  researches  into  nature,  the 
more  I see  that  it  is  a whole,  the  pro- 
duct of  one  wisdom,  power,  and  good- 
ness. It  bears  witness  to  one  Author ; 
nor  has  its  testimony  been  without 
effect ; for  although  the  human  mind 
has  often  multiplied  its  objects  of  wor- 
ship, still  it  has  always  tended  towards 
the  doctrine  of  the  divine  unity,  and 
has  embraced  it  more  and  more  firmly 
in  the  course  of  human  improvement. 
The  heathen,  while  he  erected  many 
altars,  generally  believed  in  one  su- 
preme divinity,  to  whom  the  inferior 
deities  were  subjected  and  from  whom 
they  sprung.  Need  I tell  you  of  the 
harmony  which  subsists  between  nature 
and  revelation  in  this  particular  ? To 
Christianity  belongs  the  glory  of  hav- 
ing proclaimed  this  primitive  truth  with 
new  power,  and  of  having  spread  it 
over  the  whole  civilized  world.  Again  : 
Nature  gives  intimation  of  another 


truth,  — I mean  of  the  universal,  im- 
partial goodness  of  God.  When  I look 
round  on  the  creation,  I see  nothing  to 
lead  me  to  suspect  that  its  Author  con- 
fines his  love  to  a few.  The  sun  sends 
no  brighter  beam  into  the  palace  of  the 
proudest  king  than  into  the  hut  of  the 
meanest  peasant.  The  clouds  select 
not  one  man’s  fields  rather  than  his 
neighbor’s,  but  shed  down  their  bless- 
ings on  rich  and  poor,  and,  still  more,- 
on  the  just  and  the  unjust.  True,  there 
is  a variety  of  conditions  among  men  ; 
but  this  takes  place,  not  by  any  interpo- 
sition of  God,  but  by  fixed  and  general 
laws  of  nature.  Impartial,  universal 
goodness  is  the  character  in  which  God 
is  revealed  by  his  works,  when  they  are 
properly  understood ; and  need  I tell 
you  how  brightly  this  truth  shines  in 
the  pages  of  Christianity,  and  how  this 
religion  has  been  the  great  means  of 
establishing  it  among  men  ? Again : 
When  I look  through  nature,  nothing 
strikes  me  more  than  the  union  which 
subsists  among  all  its  works.  Nothing 
stands  alone  in  the  creation.  The  hum- 
blest plant  has  intimate  connections 
with  the  air,  the  clouds,  the  sun.  Har- 
mony is  the  great  law  of  nature,  and 
how  strikingly  does  Christianity  coin- 
cide here  with  God’s  works  ! for  what 
is  the  design  of  this  religion  but  to 
bring  the  human  race,  the  intelligent 
creation  of  God,  into  a harmony,  union, 
peace,  like  that  which  knits  together 
the  outward  universe  ? I will  give  an- 
other illustration.  It  is  one  of  the 
great  laws  of  nature  that  good  shall 
come  to  us  through  agents  of  God’s 
appointment ; that  beings  shall  receive 
life,  support,  knowledge,  and  safety 
through  the  interposition  and  labors 
and  sufferings  of  others.  Sometimes 
whole  communities  are  rescued  from 
oppression  and  ruin  chiefly  by  the 
efforts  and  sacrifices  of  a wise,  disin- 
terested, and  resolute  individual.  How 
accordant  with  this  ordination  of  nature 
is  the  doctrine  of  Christianity,  that  our 
heavenly  Father,  having  purposed  our 
recovery  from  sin  and  death,  has  insti- 
tuted for  this  end  the  agency  and  medi- 
ation of  his  Son ; that  He  has  given  an 
illustrious  deliverer  to  the  world,  through 
whose  toils  and  sufferings  we  may  rise 
to  purity  and  immortal  life.  I say, 
then,  that  revelation  is  consistent  with 
nature,  when  nature  is  truly  interpreted 


CHRISTIANITY  A RA  TIONAL  RELIGION. 


241 


by  reason.  I see  it  bringing  out  with 
noonday  brightness  the  truths  which 
dawn  in  nature  ; so  that  it  is  reason  in 
its  most  perfect  form. 

I have  thus  carried  Christianity  abroad 
into  nature.  I now  carry  it  within,  and 
compare  it  with  the  human  soul ; and  is 
it  consistent  with  the  great  truths  of 
reason  which  I discover  there  ? I affirm 
that  it  is.  When  I look  into  the  soul,  I 
am  at  once  struck  with  its  immeasurable 
superiority  to  the  body.  I am  struck 
with  the  contrast  between  these  different 
elements  of  my  nature,  — between  this 
active,  soaring  mind,  and  these  limbs 
and  material  organs  which  tend  perpet- 
ually to  the  earth,  and  are  soon  to  be 
resolved  into  dust.  How  consistent  is 
Christianity  with  this  inward  teaching  ! 
In  Christianity,  with  what  strength,  with 
what  bold  relief,  is  the  supremacy  of  the 
spiritual  nature  brought  out ! What 
contempt  does  Jesus  cast  on  the  body 
and  its  interests,  when  compared  with 
the  redemption  of  the  soul ! Another 
great  truth  dawns  on  me  when  I look 
within.  I learn  more  and  more  that  the 
great  springs  of  happiness  and  misery 
are  in  the  mind,  and  that  the  efforts  of 
men  to  secure  peace  by  other  processes 
than  by  inward  purification  are  vain 
strivings  ; and  Christianity  is  not  only 
consistent  with,  but  founded  on,  this 
great  truth  ; teaching  us  that  the  king- 
dom of  heaven  is  within  us,  and  propos- 
ing, as  its  great  end,  to  rescue  the  mind 
from  evil,  and  to  endue  *it  with  strength 
and  dignity  worthy  its  divine  origin. 
Again : When  I look  into  the  soul  I 
meet  intimations  of  another  great  truth. 
I discern  in  it  capacities  which  are  not 
fully  unfolded  here.  I see  desires  which 
find  no  adequate  good  on  earth.  I see 
a principle  of  hope  always  pressing  for- 
ward into  futurity.  Here  are  marks  of 
a nature  not  made  wholly  for  this  world  ; 
and  how  does  Christianity  agree  with 
this  teaching  of  our  own  souls?  Its 
great  doctrine  is  that  of  a higher  life, 
where  the  spiritual  germ  within  us  will 
open  for  ever,  and  where  the  immortal 
good  after  which  the  mind  aspires  will 
prove  a reality.  Had  I time,  I might 
survey  distinctly  the  various  principles 
of  the  soul,  — the  intellectual,  moral, 
social,  and  active, — and  might  show  you 
how  Christianity  accords  with  them  all, 
enlarging  their  scope  and  energy,  pro- 
posing to  them  nobler  objects,  and  aid- 


ing their  development  by  the  impulse  of 
a boundless  hope.  But,  commending 
these  topics  to  your  private  meditation, 
I will  take  but  one  more  view  of  the  soul. 
When  I look  within,  I see  stains  of  sin, 
and  fears  and  forebodings  of  guilt  ; and 
how  adapted  to  such  a nature  is  Chris- 
tianity, — a religion  which  contains 
blood-sealed  promises  of  forgiveness  to 
the  penitent,  and  which  proffers  heavenly 
strength  to  fortify  us  in  our  conflict  with 
moral  evil ! I say,  then,  Christianity  con- 
sists with  the  nature  within  us  as  well 
as  with  nature  around  us.  The  highest 
truths  in  respect  to  the  soul  are  not 
only  responded  to,  but  are  carried  out 
by  Christianity,  so  that  it  deserves  to  be 
called  the  perfection  of  reason. 

I have  now  shown,  in  a variety  of 
particulars,  that  Christianity  has  the 
character  of  consistency,  and  thus  satis- 
fies the  first  demand  of  reason.  It  does 
not  divide  the  mind  against  itself,  — does 
not  introduce  discord  into  the  intellect, 
by  proposing  doctrines  which  our  con- 
sciousness and  experience  repel.  But 
these  views  do  not  exhaust  the  present 
topic.  It  is  not  enough  to  speak  of  Chris- 
tianity as  furnishing  views  which  harmo- 
nize with  one  another,  and  with  all  known 
truth.  It  gives  a new  and  cheering  con- 
sistency to  the  views  with  which  we  are 
furnished  by  the  universe.  Nature  and 
providence,  with  all  their  beauty,  regu- 
larity, and  beneficence,  have  yet  perplex- 
ing aspects.  Their  elements  are  often 
seen  in  conflict  with  one  another.  Sun- 
shine and  storms,  pleasure  and  pain,  suc- 
cess and  disaster,  abundance  and  want, 
health  and  sickness,  life  and  death, 
seem  to  ordinary  spectators  to  be  mixed 
together  confusedly  and  without  aim. 
Reason  desires  nothing  so  earnestly,  so 
anxiously,  as  to  solve  these  discordant 
appearances,  as  to  discover  some  great, 
central,  reconciling  truth,  around  which 
they  may  be  arranged,  and  from  which 
they  may  borrow  light  and  harmony. 
This  deep  want  of  the  rational  nature 
Christianity  has  supplied.  It  has  dis- 
closed a unity  of  purpose  in  the  seem- 
ingly hostile  dispensations  of  providence, 
and  opened  to  the  mind  a new  world  of 
order,  beauty,  and  benevolent  design. 
Christianity,  revealing,  as  it  does,  the 
unbounded  mercy  of  God  to  his  sinful 
creatures  ; revealing  an  endless  futurity, 
in  which  the  inequalities  of  the  present 
state  are  to  be  redressed,  and  which  re- 


242 


CHRISTIANITY  A RA  TIONAL  RELIGION 


duces  by  its  immensity  the  sorest  pains 
of  life  to  light  and  momentary  evils  ; re- 
vealing a moral  perfection  which  is  worth 
all  pain  and  conflicts,  and  which  is  most 
effectually  and  gloriously  won  amidst 
suffering  and  temptation  ; revealing  in 
Jesus  Christ  the  sublimity  and  rewards 
of  tried  and  all-enduring  virtue ; re- 
vealing in  him  the  Founder  of  a new 
moral  kingdom  or  power,  which  is  des- 
tined to  subdue  the  world  to  God  ; and 
proffering  the  Holy  Spirit  to  all  who 
strive  to  build  up  in  themselves  and 
others  the  reign  of  truth  and  virtue  ; — 
Christianity,  I say,  by  these  revelations, 
has  poured  a flood  of  light  over  nature 
and  providence,  and  harmonized  the  in- 
finite complexity  of  the  works  and  ways 
of  God.  Thus  it  meets  the  first  want  of 
the  rational  nature,  the  craving  for  con- 
sistency of  views.  It  is  reason’s  most 
effectual  minister  and  friend.  Is  it  not, 
then,  eminently  a rational  faith  ? 

Having  shown  that  Christianity  has 
the  character  of  consistency,  I proceed 
to  the  second  mark  or  stamp  of  reason 
on  a religion,  that  is,  universality : and 
this  I claim  for  Christianity.  This,  in- 
deed, is  one  of  the  most  distinguishing 
features  of  our  religion,  and  so  obvious 
and  striking  as  to  need  little  illustration. 
When  I examine  the  doctrines,  precepts, 
and  spirit  of  Christianity,  I discover,  in 
them  all,  this  character  of  universality. 
I discover  nothing  narrow,  temporary, 
local.  The  gospel  bears  the  stamp  of 
no  particular  age  or  country.  It  does 
not  concern  itself  with  the  perishable 
interests  of  communities  or  individuals  ; 
but  appeals  to  the  spiritual,  immortal, 
unbounded  principle  in  human  nature. 
Its  aim  is  to  direct  the  mind  to  the  In- 
finite Being,  and  to  an  infinite  good.  It 
is  not  made  up,  like  other  religions,  of 
precise  forms  and  details  ; but  it  incul- 
cates immutable  and  all-comprehending 
principles  of  duty,  leaving  every  man  to 
apply  them  for  himself  to  the  endless 
variety  of  human  conditions.  It  sepa- 
rates from  God  the  partial,  limited  views 
of  Judaism  and  heathenism,  and  holds 
him  forth  in  the  sublime  attributes  of 
the  Universal  Father.  In  like  manner, 
it  inculcates  philanthropy  without  ex- 
ceptions or  bounds,  — a love  to  man  as 
man,  a love  founded  on  that  immortal 
nature  of  which  all  men  partake,  and 
which  binds  us  to  recognize  in  each  a 
child  of  God  and  a brother.  The  spirit 


of  bigotry,  which  confines  its  charity  to  a 
sect,  and  the  spirit  of  aristocracy,  which 
looks  on  the  multitude  as  an  inferior 
race,  are  alike  rebuked  by  Christianity ; 
which,  eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  in  a 
narrow  and  superstitious  age,  taught, 
what  the  present  age  is  beginning  to 
understand,  that  all  men  are  essentially 
equal,  and  that  all  are  to  be  honored, 
because  made  for  immortality  and  en- 
dued with  capacities  of  ceaseless  im- 
provement. The  more  I examine  Chris- 
tianity, the  more  I am  struck  with  its 
universality.  I see  in  it  a religion  made 
for  all  regions  and  all  times,  for  all 
classes  and  all  stages  of  society.  It  is 
fitted,  not  to  the  Asiatic  or  the  Euro- 
pean, but  to  the  essential  principles  of 
human  nature,  — to  man  under  the  trop- 
ical or  polar  skies,  to  all  descriptions  of 
intellect  and  condition.  It  speaks  a lan- 
guage which  all  men  need  and  all  can 
understand  ; enjoins  a virtue  which  is 
man’s  happiness  and  glory  in  every  age 
and  clime  ; and  ministers  consolations 
and  hopes  which  answer  to  man’s  uni- 
versal lot,  — to  the  sufferings,  the  fear, 
and  the  self-rebuke  which  cleave  to  our 
nature  in  every  outward  change.  I see 
in  it  the  light,  not  of  one  nation,  but  of 
the  world  ; and  a light  reaching  beyond 
the  world,  beyond  time,  to  higher  modes 
of  existence  and  to  an  interminable 
futurity.  Other  religions  have  been 
intended  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  par- 
ticular countries  or  times,  and  there- 
fore society  in  its  progress  has  outgrown 
them  ; but  Christianity  meets  more  and 
more  the  wants  of  the  soul  in  propor- 
tion to  the  advancement  of  our  race, 
and  thus  proves  itself  to  be  eternal 
truth.  After  these  remarks,  may  I not 
claim  for  Christianity  that  character  of 
universality  which  is  the  highest  dis- 
tinction of  reason  ? To  understand  fully 
the  confirmation  which  these  views  give 
to  the  gospel,  you  must  compare  it  with 
the  religions  prevalent  in  the  age  of 
Christ,  all  of  which  bore  the  marks  of 
narrow,  local,  temporary  institutions. 
How  striking  the  contrast ! And  how 
singular  the  fact,  that  amid  this  dark- 
ness there  sprung  up  a religion  so  con- 
sistent and  universal  as  to  deserve  to  be 
called  the  perfection  of  reason  ! 

I do  and  must  feel,  my  friends,  that 
the  claim  of  Christianity  to  the  honor  of 
being  a rational  religion  is  fully  estab- 
lished. As  such  I commend  it  to  you. 


CHRISTIANITY  A RATIONAL  RELIGION. 


243 


As  such  it  will  more  and  more  approve 
itself  in  proportion  as  you  study  and 
practise  it.  You  will  never  find  cause 
to  complain  that  by  adopting  it  you 
have  enslaved  or  degraded  your  highest 
powers.  Here,  then.  I might  stop,  and 
might  consider  my  work  as  done.  But 
I am  aware  that  objections  have  been 
made  to  the  rational  character  of  our 
religion  which  may  still  linger  in  the 
minds  of  some  of  my  hearers.  A brief 
notice  of  these  may  aid  the  purpose,  and 
will  form  a proper  conclusion,  of  this 
discourse. 

I imagine  that  were  some  who  are 
present  to  speak,  they  would  tell  me 
that  if  Christianity  be  judged  by  its 
fruits,  it  deserved  any  character  but  that 
of  rational.  I should  be  told  that  no 
religion  has  borne  a more  abundant 
harvest  of  extravagance  and  fanaticism. 
I should  be  told  that  reason  is  a calm, 
reflecting,  sober  principle,  and  I should 
be  asked  whether  such  is  the  character 
of  the  Christianity  which  has  overspread 
the  world.  Perhaps  some  of  you  will 
remind  me  of  the  feverish,  wild,  pas- 
sionate religion  which  is  now  systemat- 
ically dispersed  through  our  country, 
and  I shall  be  asked  whether  a system 
under  which  such  delusions  prevail  can 
be  a rational  one. 

To  these  objections  I answer,  You 
say  much  that  is  true.  I grant  that 
reason  is  a calm  and  reflecting  princi- 
ple, and  I see  little  calmness  or  reflection 
among  many  who  take  exclusively  the 
name  of  Christ.  But  I say,  you  have  no 
right  to  confound  Christianity  with  its 
professors.  This  religion,  as  you  know, 
has  come  down  to  us  through  many  ages 
of  darkness,  during  which  it  must  have 
been  corrupted  and  obscured.  Common 
candor*  requires  that  you  should  judge 
of  it  as  it  came  from  its  Founder.  Go, 
then,  to  its  original  records  ; place  your- 
selves near  Jesus  ; and  tell  me  if  you 
ever  found  yourselves  in  the  presence 
of  so  calm  a teacher.  We  indeed  dis- 
cern in  Jesus  great  earnestness,  but 
joined  with  entire  self-control.  Sensi- 
bility breathes  through  his  whole  teach- 
ing and  life,  but  always  tempered  with 
wisdom.  Amidst  his  boldest  thoughts 
and  expressions,  we  discover  no  marks 
of  ungoverned  feeling  or  a diseased  im- 
agination. * Take,  as  an  example,  his 
longest  discourse,  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount.  How  weighty  the  thoughts ! 


How  grave  and  dignified  the  style  ! You 
recollect  that  the  multitude  were  aston- 
ished, not  at  the  passionate  vehemence, 
but  at  the  authority,  with  which  he 
spoke.  Read  next  the  last  discourse  of 
Jesus  to  his  disciples  in  St.  John’s  Gos- 
pel. What  a deep  yet  mild  and  subdued 
tenderness  mingles  with  conscious  great- 
ness in  that  wonderful  address  ! Take 
what  is  called  the  Lord’s  Prayer,  which 
Jesus  gave  as  the  model  of  all  prayer  to 
God.  Does  that  countenance  fanatical 
fervor  or  violent  appeals  to  our  Creator  ? 
Let  me  further  ask,  Does  Jesus  any- 
where place  religion  in  tumultuous,  un- 
governed emotion  ? Does  he  not  teach 
us,  that  obedience,  not  feeling,  marks 
and  constitutes  true  piety,  and  that  the 
most  acceptable  offering  to  God  is  to 
exercise  mercy  to  our  fellow-creatures  ? 
When  I compare  the  clamorous  preach- 
ing and  passionate  declamation  too  com- 
mon in  the  Christian  world,  with  the 
composed  dignity,  the  deliberate  wisdom, 
the  freedom  from  all  extravagance,  which 
characterized  Jesus,  I can  imagine  no 
greater  contrast ; and  I am  sure  that 
the  fiery  zealot  is  no  representative  of 
Christianity. 

I have  done  with  the  first  objection; 
but  another  class  of  objections  is  often 
urged  against  the  reasonable  character 
of  our  religion.  It  has  been  strenuous- 
ly maintained  that  Christianity  contains 
particular  doctrines  which  are  irrational, 
and  which  involve  the  whole  religion  to 
which  they  are  essential  in  their  own 
condemnation.  To  this  class  of  objec- 
tions I have  a short  reply.  I insist  that 
these  offensive  doctrines  do  not  belong 
to  Christianity,  but  are  human  additions, 
and  therefore  do  not  derogate  from  its 
reasonableness  and  truth.  What  is  the 
doctrine  most  frequently  adduced  to  fix 
the  charge  of  irrationality  on  the  gos- 
pel ? It  is  the  Trinity.  This  is  pro- 
nounced by  the  unbeliever  a gross  offence 
to  reason.  It  teaches  that  there  is  one 
God,  and  yet  that  there  are  three  divine 
persons.  According  to  the  doctrine 
these  three  persons  perform  different 
offices,  and  sustain  different  relations  to 
each  other.  One  is  Father,  another  his 
Son.  One  sends,  another  is  sent.  They 
love  each  other,  converse  with  each 
other,  and  make  a covenant  with  each 
other;  and  yet,  with  all  these  distinc- 
tions, they  are,  according  to  the  doc- 
trine, not  different  beings,  but  one 


244 


CHRISTIANITY  A RATIONAL  RELIGION 


being,  one  and  the  same  God.  Is  this 
a rational  doctrine  ? has  often  been  the 
question  of  the  objector  to  Christianity. 
I answer,  No.  I can  as  easily  believe 
that  the  whole  human  race  are  one  man, 
as  that  three  infinite  persons,  performing 
such  different  offices,  are  one  God.  But 
I maintain  that,  because  the  Trinity  is 
irrational,  it  does  not  follow  that  the 
same  reproach  belongs  to  Christianity ; 
for  this  doctrine  is  no  part  of  the  Chris- 
tian religion.  I know  there  are  passages 
which  are  continually  quoted  in  its  de- 
fence ; but  allow  me  to  prove  doctrines 
in  the  same  way,  — that  is,  by  detaching 
texts  from  their  connection  and  inter- 
preting them  without  reference  to  the 
general  current  of  Scripture,  and  I can 
prove  any  thing  and  every  thing  from 
the  Bible.  I can  prove  that  God  has 
human  passions.  I can  prove  transub- 
stantiation,  which  is  taught  much  more 
explicitly  than  the  Trinity.  Detached 
texts  prove  nothing.  Christ  is  called 
God ; the  same  title  is  given  to  Moses 
and  to  rulers.  Christ  has  said,  “ I and 
my  Father  are  one  ; ” so  he  prayed  that 
all  his  disciples  might  be  one,  meaning 
not  one  and  the  same  being,  but  one  in 
affection  and  purpose.  I ask  you,  be- 
fore you  judge  on  this  point,  to  read  the 
Scriptures  as  a whole,  and  to  inquire 
into  their  general  strain  and  teaching  in 
regard  to  Christ.  I find  him  uniformly 
distinguishing  between  himself  and  God, 
calling  himself,  not  God  the  Son,  but 
the  Son  of  God,  — continually  speaking 
of  himself  as  sent  by  God,  continually 
referring  his  power  and  miracles  to  God. 
I hear  him  saying  that  of  himself  he  can 
do  nothing,  and  praying  to  his  Father 
under  the  character  of  the  only  true 
God.  Such  I affirm  to  be  the  tenor,  the 
current,  the  general  strain  of  the  New 
Testament;  and  the  scattered  passages 
on  which  a different  doctrine  is  built 
should  have  no  weight  against^this  host 
of  witnesses.  Do  not  rest  your  faith  on 
a few  texts.  Sometimes  these  favorite 
texts  are  no  part  of  Scripture.  For 
example,  the  famous  passage  on  which 
the  Trinity  mainly  rests,  “There  are 
three  that  bear  record  in  heaven,  the 
Father,  the  Word,  and  the  Holy  Ghost, 
and  these  three  are  one,”  — this  text,  I 
say,  though  found  at  present  in  John’s 
Epistle,  and  read  in  our  churches,  has 
been  pronounced  by  the  ablest  critics  a 
forgery  ; and  a vast  majority  of  the 


educated  ministers  of  this  country  are 
satisfied  that  it  is  not  a part  of  Scripture. 
Suffer  no  man,  then,  to  select  texts  for 
you  as  decisive  of  religious  contro- 
versies. Read  the  whole  record  for 
yourselves,  and  possess  yourselves  of  its 
general  import.  I am  very  desirous  to 
separate  the  doctrine  in  question  from 
Christianity,  because  it  fastens  the  charge 
of  irrationality  on  the  whole  religion.  It 
is  one  of  the  great  obstacles  to  the  pro- 
pagation of  the  gospel.  The  Jews  will 
not  hear  of  a Trinity.  I have  seen  in 
the  countenance,  and  heard  in  the  tones 
of  the  voice,  the  horror  with  which  that 
people  shrink  from  the  doctrine  that 
God  died  on  the  cross.  Mahometans, 
too,  when  they  hear  this  opinion  from 
Christian  missionaries,  repeat  the  first 
article  of  their  faith,  “ There  is  one 
God ; ” and  look  with  pity  or  scorn  on 
the  disciples  of  Jesus  as  deserters  of  the 
plainest  and  greatest  truth  of  religion. 
Even  the  Indian  of  our  wilderness,  who 
worships  the  Great  Spirit,  has  charged 
absurdity  on  the  teacher  who  has  gone 
to  indoctrinate  him  in  a Trinity.  How 
many,  too,  in  Christian  countries,  have 
suspected  the  whole  religion  for  this  one 
error.  Believing,  then,  as  I do,  that  it 
forms  no  part  of  Christianity,  my  alle- 
giance to  Jesus  Christ  calls  me  openly  to 
withstand  it.  In  so  doing  I would  wound 
no  man’s  feelings.  I doubt  not,  that 
they  who  adopt  this  doctrine  intend, 
equally  with  those  who  oppose  it,  to 
render  homage  to  the  truth  and  service 
to  Christianity.  They  think  that  their 
peculiar  faith  gives  new  interest  to  the 
character  and  new  authority  to  the  teach- 
ing of  Jesus.  But  they  grievously  err. 
The  views  by  which  they  hope  to  build 
up  love  towards  Christ  detract  from  the 
perfection  oF  his  Father;  and  *1  fear 
that  the  kind  of  piety  which  prevails 
now  in  the  Christian  world  bears  witness 
to  the  sad  influence  of  this  obscuration 
of  the  true  glory  of  God.  We  need  not 
desert  reason  or  corrupt  Christianity  to 
insure  the  purest,  deepest  love  towards 
the  only  true  God,  or  towards  Jesus 
Christ,  whom  He  has  sent  for  our  re- 
demption. 

I have  named  one  doctrine  which  is 
often  urged  against  Christianity  as  irra- 
tional. There  is  one  more  on  which  I 
would  offer  a few  remarks.  Christianity 
has  often  been  reproached  with  teaching 
that  God  brings  men  into  life  totally  de- 


CHRISTIANITY  A RATIONAL  RELIGION 


245 


praved,  and  condemns  immense  multi- 
tudes to  everlasting  misery  for  sins  to 
which  their  nature  has  irresistibly  im- 
pelled them.  This  is  said  to  be  irra- 
tional, and  consequently  such  must  be 
the  religion  which  teaches  it.  I cer- 
tainly shall  not  attempt  to  vindicate  this 
theological  fiction.  A more  irrational 
doctrine  could  not,  I think,  be  con- 
trived; and  it  is  something  worse, — it 
is  as  immoral  in  its  tendency  as  it  is  un- 
reasonable. It  is  suited  to  alienate  men 
from  God  and  from  one  another.  Were 
it  really  believed  (which  it  cannot  be), 
men  would  look  up  with  dread  and  de- 
testation to  the  Author  of  their  being, 
and  look  round  with  horror  on  their 
fellow-creatures.  It  would  dissolve  so- 
ciety. Were  men  to  see  in  one  another 
wholly  corrupt  beings,  — incarnate  fiends, 
without  one  genuine  virtue, — society 
would  become  as  repulsive  as  a den  of 
lions  or  a nest  of  vipers.  All  confi- 
dence, esteem,  love,  would  die ; and 
without  these  the  interest,  charm,  and 
worth  of  existence  would  expire.  What 
a pang  would  shoot  through  a parent’s 
heart,  if  he  were  to  see  in  the  smiling 
infant  a moral  being  continually  and 
wholly  propense  to  sin,  in  whose  mind 
were  thickly  sown  the  seeds  of  hatred 
to  God  and  goodness,  and  who  had  com- 
menced his  existence  under  the  curse  of 
his  Creator  ! What  good  man  could 
consent  to  be  a parent,  if  his  offspring 
were  to  be  born  to  this  infinitely  wretched 
inheritance  ? I say,  the  doctrine  is  of 
immoral  tendency  ; but  I do  not  say  that 
they  who  profess  it  are  immoral.  The 
truth  is,  that  none  do  or  can  hold  it  in 
its  full  and  proper  import.  I have  seen 
its  advocates  smile  as  benignantly  on 
the  child  whom  their  creed  has  made  a 
demon  as  if  it  were  an  angel ; and  I have 
seen  them  mingling  with  their  fellow- 
creatures  as  cordially  and  confidingly  as 
if  the  doctrine  of  total  depravity  had 
never  entered  their  ears.  Perhaps  the 
most  mischievous  effect  of  the  doctrine 
is  the  dishonor  which  it  has  thrown  on 
Christianity.  This  dishonor  I would 

wipe  away.  Christianity  teaches  no 

such  doctrine.  Where  do  you  find  it  in 
the  New  Testament  ? Did  Jesus  teach 
it,  when  he  took  little  children  in  his 
arms  and  blessed  them,  and  said,  “ Of 
such  is  the  kingdom  of  God  ? ” Did 
Paul  teach  it  when  he  spoke  of  the  Gen-  j 
tiles,  who  have  not  the  law  or  a written 


revelation,  but  who  do  by  nature  the 
things  contained  in  the  law  ? Christi- 
anity indeed  speaks  strongly  of  human 
guilt,  but  always  treats  men  as  beings 
who  have  the  power  of  doing  right,  and 
who  have  come  into  existence  under  the 
smile  of  their  Creator. 

I have  now  completed  my  vindication 
of  the  claim  of  the  gospel  to  the  char- 
acter of  a rational  religion ; and  my  aim 
has  been,  not  to  serve  a party,  but  the 
cause  of  our  common  Christianity.  At 
the  present  day,  one  of  the  most  urgent 
duties  of  its  friends  is,  to  rescue  it  from 
the  reproach  of  waging  war  with  reason. 
The  character  of  our  age  demands  this. 
There  have  been  times  when  Christi- 
anity, though  loaded  with  unreasonable 
doctrines,  retained  its  hold  on  men’s 
faith  ; for  men  had  not  learned  to  think. 
They  received  their  religion  as  children 
learned  the  catechism  ; they  substituted 
the  priest  for  their  own  understandings, 
and  cared  neither  what  nor  why  they 
believed.  But  that  day  is  gone  by,  and 
the  spirit  of  freedom  which  has  suc- 
ceeded it  is  subjecting  Christianity  to  a 
scrutiny  more  and  more  severe  ; and  if 
this  religion  cannot  vindicate  itself  to 
the  reflecting,  the  calm,  the  wise,  as 
a reasonable  service,  it  cannot  stand. 
Fanatical  sects  may,  for  a time,  spread 
an  intolerant  excitement  through  a com- 
munity, and  impose  silence  on  the  objec- 
tions of  the  sceptical.  But  fanaticism  is 
the  epidemic  of  a season  ; it  wastes  it- 
self by  its  own  violence.  Sooner  or  later 
the  voice  of  reflection  will  be  heard. 
Men  will  ask,  What  are  the  claims  of 
Christianity  ? Does  it  bear  the  marks 
of  truth  ? And  if  it  be  found  to  war 
with  nature  and  reason,  it  will  be,  and  it 
ought  to  be,  abandoned.  On  this  ground, 
I am  anxious  that  Christianity  should  be 
cleared  from  all  human  additions  and 
corruptions.  If,  indeed,  irrational  doc- 
trines belong  to  it,  then  I have  no  desire 
to  separate  them  from  it.  I have  no 
desire,  for  the  sake  of  upholding  the 
gospel,  to  wrap  up  and  conceal,  much 
less  to  deny,  any  of  its  real  principles. 
Did  I think  that  it  was  burdened  with 
one  irrational  doctrine,  I would  say  so, 
and  I would  leave  it,  as  I found  it,  with 
this  mill-stone  round  its  neck.  But  I 
know  none  such.  I meet,  indeed,  some 
difficulties  in  the  narrative  part  of  the 
New  Testament ; and  there  are  argu- 
ments in  the  Epistles  which,  however 


246 


THE  GEE  AT  PURPOSE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


suited  to  the  Jews,  to  whom  they  were 
first  addressed,  are  not  apparently 
adapted  to  men  at  large  ; but  1 see  not 
a principle  of  the  religion  which  my 
reason,  calmly  and  impartially  exercised, 
pronounces  inconsistent  with  any  great 
truth.  I have  the  strongest  conviction 
that  Christianity  is  reason  in  its  most 
perfect  form,  and  therefore  I plead  for 
its  disengagement  from  the  irrational  ad- 
ditions with  which  it  has  been  clogged 
for  ages. 

With  these  views  of  Christianity,  I do 
and  I must  hold  it  fast.  I cannot  sur- 
render it  to  the  cavils  or  scoffs  of  infi- 
delity. I do  not  blush  to  own  it,  for  it 
is  a rational  religion.  It  satisfies  the 
wants  of  the  intellect  as  well  as  those 
of  the  heart.  I know  that  men  of  strong 
minds  have  opposed  it.  But,  as  if  Prov- 
idence intended  that  their  sophistry 


should  carry  a refutation  on  its  own 
front,  they  have  generally  fallen  into 
errors  so  gross  and  degrading  as  to 
prove  them  to  be  any  thing  rather  than 
the  apostles  of  reason.  When  I go 
from  the  study  of  Christianity  to  their 
writings,  I feel  as  if  I were  passing  from 
the  warm,  bright  sun  into  a chilling  twi- 
light which  too  often  deepens  into  utter 
darkness.  I am  not,  then,  ashamed  of 
the  gospel.  I see  it  glorified  by  the 
hostile  systems  which  are  reared  for  its 
destruction.  I follow  Jesus,  because  he 
is  eminently  “ the  Light ; ” and  I doubt 
not  that,  to  his  true  disciples,  he  will  be 
a guide  to  that  world  where  the  obscuri- 
ties of  our  present  state  will  be  dis- 
persed, and  where  reason  as  well  as 
virtue  will  be  unfolded  under  the  quick- 
ening influence  and  in  the  more  manifest 
presence  of  God. 


THE  GREAT  PURPOSE  OF  CHRISTIANITY: 

Discourse  at  the  Installation  of  the  Rev.  M.  I.  Motte,  Boston,  1828. 


2 Timothy  i.  7 : “For  God  hath  not  given  us  the 
spirit  of  fear ; but  of  power,  and  of  love,  and  of  a 
sound  mind.” 

Why  was  Christianity  given  ? Why 
did  Christ  seal  it  with  his  blood  ? Why 
is  it  to  be  preached  ? What  is  the  great 
happiness  it  confers  ? What  is  the  chief 
blessing  for  which  it  is  to  be  prized  ? 
What  is  its  pre-eminent  glory,  its  first 
claim  on  the  gratitude  of  mankind  ? 
These  are  great  questions.  I wish  to 
answer  them  plainly,  according  to  the 
light  and  ability  which  God  has  given 
me.  I read  the  answer  to  them  in  the 
text*  There  I learn  the  great  good 
which  God  confers  through  Jesus  Christ. 
“He  hath  given  us,  not  the  spirit  of 
fear,  but  of  power,  and  of  love,  and  of 
a sound  mind.”  The  glory  of  Chris- 
tianity is  the  pure  and  lofty  action 
which  it  communicates  to  the  human 
mind.  It  does  not  breathe  a timid,  ab- 
ject spirit.  If  it  did,  it  would  deserve 
no  praise.  It  gives  power,  energy, 
courage,  constancy  to  the  will  ; love, 
disinterestedness,  enlarged  affection  to 


the  heart ; soundness,  clearness,  and 
vigor  to  the  understanding.  It  rescues 
him  who  receives  it  from  sin,  from  the 
sway  of  the  passions  ; gives  him  the 
full  and  free  use  of  his  best  powers  ; 
brings  out  and  brightens  the  divine  im- 
age in  which  he  was  created  ; and  in 
this  way  not  only  bestows  the  promise 
but  the  beginning  of  heaven.  This  is 
the  excellence  of  Christianity. 

This  subject  I propose  to  illustrate. 
Let  me  begin  it  with  one  remark  which 
I would  willingly  avoid,  but  which  seems 
to  me  to  be  demanded  by  the  circum- 
stances in  which  I am  placed.  I beg 
you  to  remember  that  in  this  discourse 
I speak  in  my  own  name  and  in  no 
other.  I am  not  giving  you  the  opinions 
of  any  sect  or  body  of  men,  but  my  own. 
I hold  myself  alone  responsible  for  what 
I utter.  Let  none  listen  to  me  for  the 
purpose  of  learning  what  others  think. 
I indeed  belong  to  that  class  of  Chris- 
tians who  are  distinguished  by  believ- 
ing that  there  is  one  God,  even  the  Fa- 
ther, and  that  Jesus  Christ  is  not  this 


THE  GREAT  PURPOSE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


247 


one  God,  but  his  dependent  and  obe- 
dient Son.  But  my  accordance  with 
these  is  far  from  being  universal,  nor 
have  I any  desire  to  extend  it.  What 
other  men  believe  is  to  me  of  little  mo- 
ment. Their  arguments  I gratefully 
hear.  Their  conclusions  I am  free  to 
receive  or  reject.  I have  no  anxiety 
to  wear  the  livery  of  any  party.  I in- 
deed take  cheerfully  the  name  of  a 
Unitarian,  because  unwearied  efforts 
are  used  to  raise  against  it  a popular 
cry  ; and  I have  not  so  learned  Christ 
as  to  shrink  from  reproaches  cast  on 
what  I deem  his  truth.  Were  the  name 
more  honored  I should  be  glad  to  throw 
it  off , for  I fear  the  shackles  which  a 
party  connection  imposes.  I wish  to 
regard  myself  as  belonging  not  to  a 
sect,  but  to  the  community  of  free 
minds,  of  lovers  of  truth,  of  followers 
of  Christ,  both  on  earth  and  in  heaven. 
I desire  to  escape  the  narrow  walls  of 
a particular  church,  and  to  live  under 
the  open  sky,  in  the  broad  light,  look- 
ing far  and  wide,  seeing  with  my  own 
eyes,  hearing  with  my  own  ears,  and 
following  truth  meekly,  but  resolutely, 
however  arduous  or  solitary  be  the  path 
in  which  she  leads.  I am,  then,  no  or- 
gan of  a sect,  but  speak  from  myself 
alone  ; and  I thank  God  that  I live  at 
a time  and  under  circumstances  which 
make  it  my  duty  to  lay  open  my  whole 
mind  with  freedom  and  simplicity. 

I began  with  asking,  What  is  the 
main  design  and  glory  of  Christianity  ? 
and  I repeat  the  answer,  that  its  design 
is  to  give,  not  a spirit  of  fear,  but  of 
power  of  love,  and  of  a sonnd  mind. 
In  this  its  glory  chiefly  consists.  In 
other  words,  the  influence  which  it  is 
intended  to  exert  on  the  human  mind 
constitutes  its  supreme  honor  and  hap- 
piness. * Christ  is  a great  Saviour,  as  he 
redeems  or  sets  free  the  mind,  cleansing 
it  from  evil,  breathing  into  it  the  love  of 
virtue  calling  forth  its  noblest  faculties 
and  affections,  enduing  it  with  moral 
power,  restoring  it  to  order,  health,  and 
liberty.  Such  was  his  great  aim.  To 
illustrate  these  views  will  be  the  object 
of  the  present  discourse. 

In  reading  the  New  Testament  I 
everywhere  meet  the  end  here  ascribed 
to  Jesus  Christ.  He  came,  as  I am  there 
taught,  not  to  be  an  outward  but  inward 
deliverer  ; not  to  rear  an  outward  throne, 
but  to  establish  his  kingdom  within  us. 


He  came,  according  to  the  express  lan- 
guage and  plain  import  of  the  sacred 
writers,  “to  save  us  from  sin,”  “to 
bless  us  by  turning  us  from  our  iniqui- 
ties,” “to  redeem  us”  from  corruptions 
“handed  down  by  tradition,”  to  form  “a 
glorious  and  spotless  church  ” or  com- 
munity, to  “ create  us  anew  after  the  im- 
age of  God,”  to  make  us  by  his  “ prom- 
ises partakers  of  a divine  nature,”  and 
to  give  us  pardon  and  heaven  by  calling 
us  to  repentance  and  a growing  virtue. 
In  reading  the  New  Testament  I every- 
where learn  that  Christ  lived,  taught, 
died,  and  rose  again,  to  exert  a purify- 
ing and  ennobling  influence  on  the  hu- 
man character  ; to  make  us  victorious 
over  sin,  over  ourselves,  over  peril  and 
pain  ; to  join  us  to  God  by  filial  love, 
and,  above  all,  by  likeness  of  nature, 
by  participation  of  his  spirit.  This  is 
plainly  laid  down  in  the  New  Testament 
as  the  supreme  end  of  Christ. 

Let  me  now  ask,  Can  a nobler  end  be 
ascribed  to  Jesus  ? I affirm  that  there 
is,  and  can  be,  no  greater  work  on  earth 
than  to  purify  the  soul  from  evil,  and 
to  kindle  in  it  new  light,  life,  energy,  and 
love.  I maintain  that  the  true  measure 
of  the  glory  of  a religion  is  to  be  found 
in  the  spirit  and  power  which  it  com- 
municates to  its  disciples.  This  is  one 
of  the  plain  teachings  of  reason.  The 
chief  blessing  to  an  intelligent  being, 
that  which  makes  all  other  blessings 
poor,  is  the  improvement  of  his  own 
mind.  Man  is  glorious  and  happy,  not 
by  what  he  has,  but  by  what  he  is.  He 
can  receive  nothing  better  or  nobler 
than  the  unfolding  of  his  own  spiritual 
nature.  The  highest  existence  in  the 
universe  is  mind  ; for  God  is  mind  ; and 
the  development  of  that  principle  which 
assimilates  us  to  God  must  be  our  su- 
preme good.  The  omnipotent  Creator, 
we  have  reason  to  think,  can  bestow 
nothing  greater  than  intelligence,  love, 
rectitude,  energy  of  will  ancl  of  benevo- 
lent action  ; for  these  are  the  splendors 
of  his  own  nature.  We  adore  him  for 
these.  In  imparting  these,  he  imparts, 
as  it  were,  himself.  We  are  too  apt  to 
look  abroad  for  good.  But  the  only 
true  good  is  within.  In  this  outward 
universe,  magnificent  as  it  is,  in  the 
bright  day  and  the  starry  night,  in  the 
earth  and  the  skies,  we  can  discover 
nothing  so  vast  as  thought,  so  strong  as 
the  unconquerable  purpose  of  duty,  so 


248 


THE  GREAT  PURPOSE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


sublime  as  the  spirit  of  disinterestedness 
and  self-sacrifice.  A mind  which  with- 
stands all  the  powers  of  the  outward 
universe,  all  the  pains  which  fire  and 
sword  and  storm  can  inflict,  rather  than 
swerve  from  uprightness,  is  nobler  than 
the  universe.  Why  will  we  not  learn 
the  glory  of  the  soul  ? We  are  seeking 
(a  foreign  good.  But  we  all  possess 
within  us  what  is  of  more  worth  than  the 
external  creation.  For  this  outward  sys- 
tem is  the  product  of  mind.  All  its  har- 
mony, beauty,  and  beneficent  influences 
are  the  fruits  and  manifestations  of 
thought  and  love  ; and  is  it  not  nobler 
and  happier  to  be  enriched  with  these 
energies,  from  which  the  universe 
springs,  and  to  which  it  owes  its  mag- 
nificence, than  to  possess  the  universe 
itself  ? It  is  not  what  we  have,  but  what 
we  are,  which  constitutes  our  glory  and 
felicity.  The  only  true  and  durable 
riches  belong  to  the  mind.  A soul,  nar- 
row and  debased,  may  extend  its  pos- 
sessions to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  but  is 
poor  and  wretched  still.  It  is  through 
inward  health  that  we  enjoy  all  outward 
things.  Philosophers  teach  us  that  the 
mind  creates  the  beauty  which  it  ad- 
mires in  nature  ; and  we  all  know  that, 
when  abandoned  to  evil  passions,  it  can 
blot  out  this  beauty,  and  spread  over  the 
fairest  scenes  the  gloom  of  a dungeon. 
We  all  know  that  by  vice  it  can  turn  the 
cup  of  social  happiness  into  poison,  and 
the  most  prosperous  condition  of  life 
into  a curse.  From  these  views  we  learn 
that  the  true  friend  and  saviour  is  not 
he  who  acts  for  us  abroad,  but  who  acts 
within,  who  sets  the  soul  free,  touches 
the  springs  of  thought  and  affection, 
binds  us  to  God,  and,  by  assimilating  us 
to  the  Creator,  brings  us  into  harmony 
with  the  creation.  Thus  the  end  which 
we  have  ascribed  to  Christ  is  the  most 
glorious  and  beneficent  which  can  be  ac- 
complished by  any  power  on  earth  or  in 
heaven. 

That  the  highest  purpose  of  Chris- 
tianity is  such  as  has  now  been  affirmed, 
might  easily  be  shown  from  a survey  of 
all  its  doctrines  and  precepts.  It  might 
be  shown  that  every  office  with  which 
Jesus  Christ  is  invested  was  intended  to 
give  him  power  over  the  human  character ; 
and  that  his  great  distinction  consists  in 
the  grandeur  and  beneficence  of  his  in- 
fluence on  the  soul.  But  a discussion  of 
this  extent  cannot  be  comprehended  in 


a single  discourse.  Instead  of  a general 
survey  of  the  subject,  I shall  take  one 
feature  of  it,  — a primary  and  most  im- 
portant one,  — and  shall  attempt  to  show 
that  the  great  aim  of  this  is  to  call  forth 
the  soul  to  a higher  life,  to  a nobler  ex- 
ercise of  its  power  and  affections. 

This  leading  feature  of  Christianity  is 
the  knowledge  which  it  gives  of  the 
character  of  God.  Jesus  Christ  came  to 
reveal  the  Father.  In  the  prophesies 
concerning  him  in  the  Old  Testament, 
no  characteristic  is  so  frequently  named 
as  that  he  should  spread  the  knowledge 
of  the  true  God.  Now  I ask,  What  con- 
stitutes the  importance  of  such  a revela- 
tion ? Why  has  the  Creator  sent  his 
Son  to  make  himself  known  ? I answer, 
God  is  most  worthy  to  be  known,  be- 
cause He  is  the  most  quickening,  puri- 
fying, and  ennobling  object  for  the  mind  ; 
and  his  great  purpose  in  revealing  him- 
self is  that  He  may  exalt  and  perfect 
human  nature.  God,  as  He  is  manifested 
by  Christ,  is  another  name  for  intellec- 
tual and  moral  excellence  ; and  in  the 
knowledge  of  him  our  intellectual  and 
moral  powers  find  their  element,  nutri- 
ment, strength,  expansion,  and  happi- 
ness. To  know  God  is  to  attain  to  the 
sublimest  conception  in  the  universe. 
To  love  God  is  to  bind  ourselves  to  a 
being  who  is  fitted,  as  no  other  being  is, 
to  penetrate  and  move  our  whole  hearts  ; 
in  loving  whom  we  exalt  ourselves  ; in 
loving  whom  we  love  the  great,  the  good, 
the  beautiful,  and  the  infinite  ; and  under 
whose  influence  the  soul  unfolds  itself 
#as  a perennial  plant  under  the  cherishing 
sun.  This  constitutes  the  chief  glory  of 
religion.  It  ennobles  the  soul.  In  this 
its  unrivalled  dignity  and  happiness  con- 
sist. 

I fear  that  the  world  at  large  think 
religion  a very  different  thing  from 
what  has  now  been  set  forth.  Too 
many  think  it  a depressing  rather  than 
an  elevating  service  ; that  it  breaks 
rather  than  ennobles  the  spirit  ; that  it 
teaches  us  to  cower  before  an  almighty 
and  irrresistible  being ; and  I must 
confess  that  religion,  as  it  has  been 
generally  taught,  is  any  thing  but  an 
elevating  principle.  It  has  been  used 
to  scare  the  child  and  appal  the  adult. 
Men  have  been  virtually  taught  to  glo- 
rify God  by  flattery  rather  than  by 
becoming  excellent  and  glorious  them- 
selves, and  thus  doing  honor  to  their 


THE  GREAT  PURPOSE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


249 


Maker.  Our  dependence  on  God  has 
been  so  taught  as  to  extinguish  the 
consciousness  of  our  free  nature  and 
moral  power.  Religion,  in  one  or  an- 
other form,  has  always  been  an  engine 
for  crushing  the  human  soul.  But  such 
is  not  the  religion  of  Christ.  If  it 
were,  it  would  deserve  no  respect.  We 
are  not  — we  cannot  be  — bound  to 
prostrate  ourselves  before  a deity  who 
makes  us  abject  and  base.  That  moral 
principle  within  us  which  calls  us  to 
watch  over  and  to  perfect  our  own 
souls,  is  an  inspiration  which  no  teach- 
ing can  supersede  or  abolish.  But  I 
cannot  bear,  even  in  way  of  argument, 
to  speak  of  Christianity  as  giving  views 
of  God  depressing  and  debasing  to  the 
human  mind.  Christ  hath  revealed  to 
us  God  as  the  Father,  and  as  a Father 
in  the  noblest  sense  of  that  word.  He 
hath  revealed  him  as  the  author  and 
lover  of  all  souls,  desiring  to  redeem  all 
from  sin,  and  to  impress  his  likeness 
more  and  more  resplendently  on  all ; as 
proffering  to  all  that  best  gift  in  the 
universe,  his  “ holy  spirit ; ” as  having 
sent  his  beloved  Son  to  train  us  up,  and 
to  introduce  us  to  an  “ inheritance,  in- 
corruptible, undefiled,  and  unfading  in 
the  heavens.”  Such  is  the  God  of  Jesus 
Christ ; a being  not  to  break  the  spirit, 
but  to  breathe  trust,  courage,  constancy, 
magnanimity,  — in  a word,  all  the  senti- 
ments which  form  an  elevated  mind. 

This  sentiment,  that  the  knowledge 
of  God  as  given  by  Christ  is  important 
and  glorious,  because  quickening  and 
exalting  to  the  human  soul,  needs  to  be 
taught  plainly  and  forcibly.  The  main 
ground  of  the  obligation  of  being  re- 
ligious, I fear,  is  not  understood  among 
the  multitude  of  Christians.  Ask  them 
why  they  must  know  and  worship  God  ? 
and  I fear  that,  were  the  heart  to  speak 
the  answer  would  be,  Because  he  can 
do  with  us  what  he  will,  and  conse- 
quently our  first  concern  is  to  secure 
his  favor.  Religion  is  a calculation  of 
interest,  a means  of  safety.  God  is 
worshipped  too  often  on  the  same  prin- 
ciple on  which  flattery  and  personal 
attentions  are  lavished  on  human  supe- 
riors, and  the  worshipper  cares  not  how 
abjectly  he  bows,  if  he  may  win  to  his 
side  the  power  which  he  cannot  resist. 
I look  with  deep  sorrow  on  this  com- 
mon perversion  of  the  highest  principle 
of  the  soul.  My  friends,  God  is  not  to 


be  worshipped  because  he  has  much  to 
give,  for  on  this  principle  a despot  who 
should  be  munificent  to  his  slaves  would 
merit  homage.  He  is  not  to  be  adored 
for  mere  power ; for  power,  when  joined 
with  selfishness  and  crime,  ought  to  be 
withstood  ; and  the  greater  the  might 
of  an  evil  agent,  the  holier  and  the 
loftier  is  the  spirit  which  will  not  bend 
to  him.  True  religion  is  the  worship  of 
a perfect  being,  who  is  the  author  of 
perfection  to  those  who  adore  him.  On 
this  ground,  and  on  no  other,  religion 
rests. 

Why  is  it,  my  hearers,  that  God  has 
discovered  such  solicitude,  if  I may  use 
the  word,  to  make  himself  known  and 
obtain  our  worship  ? Think  you  that 
he  calls  us  to  adore  him  from  a love  of 
homage  or  service  ? Has  God  man’s 
passion  for  ruling,  man’s  thirst  for  ap- 
plause, man’s  desire  to  have  his  name 
shouted  by  crowds  ? Could  the  accla- 
mations of  the  universe,  though  con- 
centrated into  one  burst  of  praise,  give 
our  Creator  a new  or  brighter  conscious- 
ness of  his  own  majesty  and  goodness  ? 
Oh ! no.  He  has  manifested  himself 
to  us  because  in  the  knowledge  and 
adoration  of  his  perfections  our  own  in- 
tellectual and  moral  perfection  is  found. 
What  he  desires  is,  not  our  subjection, 
but  our  excellence.  He  has  no  love  of 
praise.  He  calls  us  as  truly  to  honor 
goodness  in  others  as  in  himself,  and 
only  claims  supreme  honor  because  he 
transcends  all  others,  and  because  he 
communicates  to  the  mind  which  re- 
ceives him  a light,  strength,  purity, 
which  no  other  being  can  confer.  God 
has  no  love  of  empire.  It  could  give 
him  no  pleasure  to  have  his  footstool 
worn  by  the  knees  of  infinite  hosts.  It 
is  to  make  us  his  children  in  the  highest 
sense  of  that  word,  to  make  us  more  and 
more  the  partakers  of  his  own  nature, 
not  to  multiply  slaves,  that  he  hath  sent 
his  Son  to  make  himself  known.  God 
indeed  is  said  to  seek  his  own  glory  ; 
but  the  glory  of  a creator  must  consist 
in  the  glory  of  his  works  ; and  we  may 
be  assured  that  he  cannot  wish  any 
recognition  of  himself  but  that  which 
will  perfect  his  noblest,  highest  work,  — 
the  immortal  mind. 

Do  not,  my  friends,  forget  the  great 
end  for  which  Christ  enjoins  on  us  the 
worship  of  God.  It  is  not  that  we  may 
ingratiate  ourselves  with  an  almighty 


250 


THE  GREAT  PURPOSE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


agent  whose  frown  is  destruction.  It 
is  that  we  may  hold  communion  with 
an  intelligence  and  goodness  infinitely 
surpassing  our  own  ; that  we  may  rise 
above  imperfect  and  finite  natures  ; that 
we  may  attach  ourselves  by  love  and 
reverence  to  the  best  Being  in  the  uni- 
verse ; and  that,  through  veneration  and 
love,  we  may  receive  into  our  own  minds 
the  excellence,  disinterestedness,  wis- 
dom, purity,  and  power  which  we  adore. 
This  reception  of  the  divine  attributes 
I desire  especially  to  hold  forth  as  the 
most  glorious  end  for  which  God  reveals 
himself.  To  praise  him  is  not  enough. 
That  homage  which  has  no  power  to 
assimilate  us  to  him  is  of  little  or  no 
worth.  The* truest  admiration  is  that 
by  which  we  receive  other  minds  into 
our  own.  True  praise  is  a sympathy 
with  excellence,  gaining  strength  by 
utterance.  Such  is  the  praise  which 
God  demands.  Then  only  is  the  pur- 
pose of  Christ’s  revelation  of  God  ac- 
complished when,  by  reception  of  the 
doctrine  of  a Paternal  Divinity,  we  are 
quickened  to  “ follow  him,  as  dear  chil- 
dren,” and  are  “filled  with  his  fulness,” 
and  become  “ his  temples,”  and  “ dwell 
in  God,  and  have  God  dwelling  in  our- 
selves.” 

I have  endeavored  to  show  the  great 
purpose  of  the  Christian  doctrine  re- 
specting God,  or  in  what  its  importance 
and  glory  consist.  Had  I time  I might 
show  that  every  other  doctrine  of  our 
religion  has  the  same  end.  I might  par- 
ticularly show  how  wonderfully  fitted  are 
the  character,  example,  life,  death,  res- 
urrection, and  all  the  offices  of  Christ, 
to  cleanse  the  mind  from  moral  evil, 
to  quicken,  soften,  elevate,  and  trans- 
form it  into  the  divine  image  ; and 
I might  show  that  these  are  the  influ- 
ences which  true  faith  derives  from  him, 
and  through  which  he  works  out  our 
salvation.  But  I cannot  enter  on  this 
fruitful  subject.  Let  me  only  say  that  I 
see  everywhere  in  Christianity  this  great 
design  of  liberating  and  raising  the  hu- 
man mind  on  which  I have  enlarged.  I 
see  in  Christianity  nothing  narrowing  or 
depressing,  nothing  of  the  littleness  of 
the  systems  which  human  fear,  and 
craft,  and  ambition  have  engendered. 
I meet  there  no  minute  legislation,  no 
descending  to  precise  details,  no  arbi- 
trary injunctions,  no  yoke  of  ceremo- 
nies, no  outward  religion.  Every  thing 


breathes  freedom,  liberality,  enlarge- 
ment. I meet  there  not  a formal,  rigid 
creed,  binding  on  the  intellect  through 
all  ages  the  mechanical,  passive  repeti- 
tion of  the  same  words  and  the  same 
ideas  ; but  I meet  a few  grand,  all-com- 
prehending truths,  which  are  given  to 
the  soul  to  be  developed  and  applied  by 
itself ; given  to  it  as  seed  to  the  sower, 
to  be  cherished  and  expanded  by  its 
own  thought,  love,  and  obedience  into 
more  and  more  glorious  fruits  of  wisdom 
and  virtue.  I see  it  everywhere  incul- 
cating an  enlarged  spirit  of  piety  and 
philanthropy,  leaving  each  of  us  to  mani- 
fest this  spirit  according  to  the  monitions 
of  his  individual  conscience.  I hear  it 
everywhere  calling  the  soul  to  freedom 
and  power,  by  calling  it  to  guard  against 
the  senses,  the  passions,  the  appetites, 
through  which  it  is  chained,  enfeebled, 
destroyed.  I see  it  everywhere  aiming 
to  give  the  mind  power  over  the  outward 
world,  to  make  it  superior  to  events,  to 
suffering,  to  material  nature,  to  persecu- 
tion, to  death.  I see  it  everywhere  aim- 
ing to  give  the  mind  power  over  itself, 
to  invest  it  with  inward  sovereignty,  to 
call  forth  within  us  a mighty  energy  for 
our  own  elevation.  I meet  in  Chris- 
tianity only  discoveries  of  a vast,  bold, 
illimitable  character,  fitted  and  designed 
to  give  energy  and  expansion*  to  the  souL 
By  its  doctrine  of  a Universal  Father, 
it  sweeps  away  all  the  barriers  of  sect, 
party,  rank,  and  nation  in  which  men 
have  labored  to  shut  up  their  love  ; 
makes  us  members  of  an  unbounded 
family ; and  establishes  sympathies  be- 
tween man  and  the  whole  intelligent 
creation.  In  the  character  of  Christ  it 
sets  before  us  moral  perfection,  that 
greatest  and  most  quickening  miracle  in 
human  history,  a purity  which  shows  no 
stain  or  touch  of  the  earth,  an  excel- 
lence unborrowed,  unconfined,  bearing 
no  impress  of  any  age  or  any  nation, 
the  very  image  of  the  Universal  Father  ; 
and  it  encourages  us,  by  assurances  of 
God’s  merciful  aid,  to  propose  this  en- 
larged, unsullied  virtue  as  the  model  and 
happiness  of  our  moral  nature.  By  the 
cross  of  Christ  it  sets  forth  the  spirit  of 
self-sacrifice  with  an  energy  never  known 
before,  and,  in  thus  crucifying  selfish- 
ness, frees  the  mind  from  its  worst 
chain.  By  Christ’s  resurrection  it  links 
this  short  life  with  eternity,  discovers  to 
us  in  the  fleeting  present  the  germ  of  an 


THE  GREAT  PURPOSE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


251 


endless  future,  reveals  to  us  the  human 
mind  ascending  to  other  worlds,  breath- 
ing a freer  air,  forming  higher  connec- 
tions, and  summons  us  to  a force  of  holy 
purpose  becoming  such  a destination. 
To  conclude,  Christianity  everywhere 
sets  before  us  God  in  the  character  of 
infinitely  free,  rich,  boundless  grace,  in 
a clemency  which  is  “ not  overcome  by 
evil,  but  overcomes  evil  with  good  ; ” 
and  a more  animating  and  ennobling 
truth  who  of  us  can  conceive  ? I have 
hardly  glanced  at  what  Christianity  con- 
tains. But  who  does  not  see  that  it  was 
sent  from  heaven,  to  call  forth  and  exalt 
human  nature,  and  that  this  is  its  great 
glory  ? 

It  has  been  my  object  in  this  discourse 
to  lay  open  a great  truth,  — a central, 
all-comprehending  truth  of  Christianity. 
Whoever  intelligently  and  cordially  em- 
braces it  obtains  a standard  by  which  to 
try  all  other  doctrines,  and  to  measure 
the  importance  of  all  other  truths.  Is  it 
so  embraced  ? I fear  not.  I apprehend 
that  it  is  dimly  discerned  by  many  who 
acknowledge  it,  whilst  on  many  more  it 
has  hardly  dawned.  I see  other  views 
prevailing,  and  prevailing  in  a greater  or 
less  degree  among  all  bodies  of  Chris- 
tians, and  they  seem  to  me  among  the 
worst  errors  of  our  times.  Some  of 
these  I would  now  briefly  notice. 

1.  There  are  those  who,  instead  of 
placing  the  glory  of  Christianity  in  the 
pure  and  powerful  action  which  it  gives 
to  the  human  mind,  seem  to  think  that 
it  is  rather  designed  to  substitute  the  ac- 
tivity of  another  for  our  own.  They  im- 
agine the  benefit  of  the  religion  to  be  that 
it  enlists  on  our  side  an  Almighty  Being 
who  does  every  thing  for  us.  To  dis- 
parage human  agency  seems  to  them  the 
essence  of  piety.  They  think  Christ’s 
glory  to  consist  not  in  quickening  free 
agents  to  act  powerfully  on  themselves, 
but  in  changing  them  by  an  irresistible 
energy.  They  place  a Christian’s  hap- 
piness not  so  much  in  powers  and  affec- 
tions unfolded  in  his  own  breast,  as  in  a 
foreign  care  extended  over  him.  in  a 
foreign  wisdom  which  takes  the  place  of 
his  own  intelligence.  Now  the  great 
purpose  of  Christianity  is  not  to  pro- 
cure or  offer  to  the  mind  a friend  on 
whom  it  may  passively  lean,  but  to  make 
the  mind  itself  wise,  strong,  and  efficient. 
Its  end  is  not  that  wisdom  and  strength, 
as  subsisting  in  another,  should  do  every 


thing  for  us,  but  that  these  attributes 
should  grow  perpetually  in  our  own  souls. 
According  to  Christianity,  we  are  not 
carried  forward  as  a weight  by  a foreign 
agency  ; but  God,  by  means  suited  to  our 
moral  nature,  quickens  and  strengthens 
us  to  walk  ourselves.  The  great  design 
of  Christianity  is  to  build  up  in  our  own 
souls  a power  to  withstand,  to  endure, 
to  triumph.  Inward  vigor  is  its  aim. 
That  we  should  do  most  for  ourselves 
and  most  for  others  ; this  is  the  glory 
it  confers,  and  in  this  its  happiness  is 
found. 

2.  I pass  to  another  illustration  of  the 
insensibility  of  men  to  the  great  doc- 
trine, that  the  happiness  and  glory  of 
Christianity  consist  in  the  healthy  and 
lofty  frame  to  which  it  raises  the  mind. 
I refer  to  the  propensity  of  multitudes 
to  make  a wide  separation  between  re- 
ligion or  Christian  virtue  and  its  rewards. 
That  the  chief  reward  lies  in  the  very 
spirit  of  religion,  they  do  not  dream. 
They  think  of  being  Christians  for  the 
sake  of  something  beyond  the  Christian 
character,  and  something  more  precious. 
They  think  that  Christ  has  a greater 
good  to  give  than  a strong  and  generous 
love  towards  God  and  mankind,  and 
would  almost  turn  from  him  in  scorn  if 
they  thought  him  only  a benefactor  to 
the  mind.  It  is  this  low  view  which 
dwarfs  the  piety  of  thousands.  Multi- 
tudes are  serving  God  for  wages  distinct 
from  the  service,  and  hence  superstition, 
slavishness,  and  formality  are  substi- 
tuted for  inward  energy  and  spiritual 
worship. 

3.  Men’s  ignorance  of  the  great  truth 
stated  in  this  discourse  is  seen  in  the 
low  ideas  attached  by  multitudes  to  the 
word  salvation.  Ask  multitudes  what  is 
the  chief  evil  from  which  Christ  came  to 
save  them,  and  they  will  tell  you,  “ From 
hell  from  penal  fires,  from  future  pun- 
ishment.” Accordingly,  they  think  that 
salvation  is  something  which  another 
may  achieve  for  them,  very  much  as  a 
neighbor  may  quench  a conflagration 
that  menaces  their  dwellings  and  lives. 
That  word  hell,  which  is  used  so  sel- 
dom in  the  sacred  pages,  which  in  a 
faithful  translation  would  not  once  occur 
in  the  writings  of  Paul,  and  Peter,  and 
John,  which  we  meet  only  in  four  or  fi  ve 
discourses  of  Jesus,  and  which  all  per- 
sons acquainted  with  Jewish  geography 
know  to  be  a metaphor,  a figure  of 


252 


THE  GREAT  PURPOSE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


speech,  and  not  a literal  expression,  — 
this  word,  by  a perverse  and  exaggerat- 
ed use,  has  done  unspeakable  injury  to 
Christianity.  It  has  possessed  and  dis- 
eased men’s  imaginations  with  outward 
tortures,  shrieks,  and  flames  ; giving 
them  the  idea  of  an  outward  ruin  as 
what  they  have  chiefly  to  dread  ; turned 
their  thoughts  to  Jesus  as  an  outward 
deliverer  ; and  thus  blinded  them  to  his 
true  glory,  which  consists  in  his  setting 
free  and  exalting  the  soul.  Men  are 
flying  from  an  outward  hell,  when  in 
truth  they  carry  within  them  the  hell 
which  they  should  chiefly  dread.  The 
salvation  which  man  chiefly  needs,  and 
that  which  brings  with  it  all  other  de- 
liverance, is  salvation  from  the  evil  of 
his  own  mind.  There  is  something  far 
worse  than  outward  punishment.  It  is 
sin  ; it  is  the  state  of  the  soul  which  has 
revolted  from  God,  and  cast  off  its  al- 
legiance to  conscience  and  the  divine 
word  ; which  renounces  its  Father,  and 
hardens  itself  against  Infinite  Love  ; 
which,  endued  with  divine  powers,  en- 
thralls itself  to  animal  lusts  ; which 
makes  gain  its  god  ; which  has  capac- 
ities of  boundless  and  ever-growing  love, 
and  shuts  itself  up  in  the  dungeon  of 
private  interests  ; which,  gifted  with 
a self-directing  power,  consents  to  be 
a slave,  and  is  passively  formed  by 
custom,  opinion,  and  changing  events  ; 
which,  living  under  God’s  eye,  dreads 
man’s  frown  or  scorn,  and  prefers  hu- 
man praise  to  its  own  calm  conscious- 
ness of  virtue  ; which  tamely  yields  to 
temptation,  shrinks  with  a coward’s 
baseness  from  the  perils  of  duty,  and 
sacrifices  its  glory  and  peace  in  parting 
with  self-control.  No  ruin  can  be  com- 
pared to  this.  This  the  impenitent  man 
carries  with  him  beyond  the  grave,  and 
there  meets  its  natural  issue  and  inevi- 
table retribution,  in  remorse,  self-torture, 
and  woes  unknown  on  earth.  This  we 
cannot  too  strongly  fear.  To  save,  in  the 
highest  sense  of  that  word,  is  to  lift  the 
fallen  spirit  from  this  depth,  to  heal 
the  diseased  mind,  to  restore  it  to  en- 
ergy and  freedom  of  thought,  conscience, 
and  love.  This  was  chiefly  the  salva- 
tion for  which  Christ  shed  his  blood. 
For  this  the  holy  spirit  is  given  ; and  to 
this  all  the  truths  of  Christianity  conspire. 

4.  Another  illustration  of  the  error 
which  I am  laboring  to  expose,  and 
which  places  the  glory  and  importance 


of  Christianity  in  something  besides  its 
quickening  influence  on  the  soul,  is  af- 
forded in  the  common  apprehensions 
formed  of  heaven,  and  of  the  methods 
by  which  it  may  be  obtained.  Not  a 
few,  I suspect,  conceive  of  heaven  as  a 
foreign  good.  It  is  a distant  country  to 
which  we  are  to  be  conveyed  by  an  out- 
ward agency.  How  slowly  do  men  learn 
that  heaven  is  the  perfection  of  the 
mind,  and  that  Christ  gives  it  now  just 
as  far  as  he  raises  the  mind  to  celestial 
truth  and  virtue.  It’  is  true  that  this 
word  is  often  used  to  express  a future 
felicity  ; but  the  blessedness  of  the  fut- 
ure world  is  only  a continuance  of  what 
is  begun  here.  There  is  but  one  true 
happiness,  — that  of  a mind  unfolding 
its  best  powers,  and  attaching  itself  to 
great  objects  ; and  Christ  gives  heaven 
only  in  proportion  as  he  gives  this  eleva- 
tion of  character.  The  disinterested- 
ness, and  moral  strength,  and  filial  piety 
of  the  Christian,  are  not  mere  means 
of  heaven,  but  heaven  itself,  and  heaven 
now. 

The  most  exalted  idea  we  can  form 
of  the  future  state  is  that  it  brings  and 
joins  us  to  God.  But  is  not  approach 
to  this  great  Being  begun  on  earth  ? 
Another  delightful  view  of  heaven  is 
that  it  unites  us  with  the  good  and  great 
of  our  own  race,  and  even  with  higher 
orders  of'  beings.  But  this  union  is  one 
of  spirit,  not  of  mere  place  ; it  is  accord- 
ance of  thought  and  feeling,  not  an 
outward  relation  ; and  does  not  this 
harmony  begin  even  now  ? and  is  not 
virtuous  friendship  on  earth  essentially 
the  pleasure  which  we  hope  hereafter  ? 
What  place  would  be  drearier  than  the 
future  mansions  of  Christ  to  one  who 
should  want  sympathy  with  their  inhab- 
itants, who  could  not  understand  their 
language,  who  would  feel  himself  a for- 
eigner there,  who  would  be  taught,  by 
the  joys  which  he  could  not  partake,  his 
own  loneliness  and  desolation  ? These 
views,  I know,  are  often  given  with 
greater  or  less  distinctness  ; but  they 
seem  to  me  not  to  have  brought  home 
to  men  the  truth,  that  the  fountain  of 
happiness  must  be  in  our  own  souls. 
Gross  ideas  of  futurity  still  prevail.  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  to  some 
among  us  the  chief  idea  of  heaven  were 
that  of  a splendor,  a radiance,  like  that 
which  Christ  wore  on  the  Mount  of 
Transfiguration.  Let  us  all  'consider  — 


THE  GEE  AT  PURPOSE  OF  CHRISTIANITY, \ 


253 


and  it  is  a great  truth  — that  heaven  has 
no  lustre  surpassing  that  of  intellectual 
and  moral  worth  ; and  that,  were  the 
effulgence  of  the  sun  and  stars  concen- 
trated in  the  Christian,  even  this  would 
be  darkness  compared  with  the  pure 
beamings  of  wisdom,  love,  and  power 
from  his  mind.  Think  not,  then,  that 
Christ  has  come  to  give  heaven  as  some- 
thing distinct  from  virtue.  Heaven  is 
the  freed  and  sanctified  mind,  enjoying 
God  through  accordance  with  his  attri- 
butes, multiplying  its  bonds  and  sym- 
pathies with  excellent  beings,  putting 
forth  noble  powers,  and  ministering,  in 
union  with  the  enlightened  and  holy, 
to  the  happiness  and  virtue  of  the  uni- 
verse. 

My  friends,  I fear  I have  been  guilty 
of  repetition.  But  I feel  the  greatness 
of  the  truth  which  I deliver,  and  I am 
anxious  to  make  it  plain.  Men  need  to 
be  taught  it  perpetually.  They  have  al- 
ways been  inclined  to  look  to  Christ  for 
something  better,  as  they  have  dreamed, 
than  the  elevation  of  their  own  souls. 
The  great  purpose  of  Christianity  to 
unfold  and  strengthen  and  lift  up  the 
mind,  has  been  perpetually  thrown  out  of 
sight.  In  truth,  this  purpose  has  been 
more  than  overlooked.  It  has  been 
reversed.  The  very  religion  given  to 
£xalt  human  nature  has  been  used  to 
make  it  abject.  The  very  religion  which 
was  given  to  create  a generous  hope 
has  been  made  an  instrument  of  servile 
and  torturing  fear.  The  very  religion 
which  came  from  God’s  goodness  to  en- 
large the  human  soul  with  a kindred 
goodness  has  been  employed  to  narrow 
it  to  a sect,  to  rear  the  Inquisition,  and 
to  kindle  fires  for  the  martyr.  The  very 
religion  given  to  make  the  understand- 
ing and  conscience  free  has,  by  a crim- 
inal perversion,  served  to  break  them 
into  subjection  to  priests,  ministers,  and 
human  creeds.  Ambition  and  craft  have 
seized  on  the  solemn  doctrines  of  an 
omnipotent  God  and  of  future  punish- 
ment, and  turned  them  into  engines 
against  the  child,  the  trembling  female, 
the  ignorant  adult,  until  the  sceptic  has 
been  emboldened  to  charge  on  religion 
the  chief  miseries  and  degradation  of 
human  nature.  It  is  from  a deep  and 
sorrowful  conviction  of  the  injuries  in- 
flicted on  Christianity  and  on  the  human 
soul  by  these  perversions  and  errors, 


that  I have  reiterated  the  great  truth  of 
this  discourse.  I would  rescue  our  holy 
faith  from  this  dishonor.  Christianity 
has  no  tendency  to  break  the  human 
spirit  or  to  make  man  a slave.  It  has 
another  aim  ; and,  as  far  as  it  is  under- 
stood, it  puts  forth  another  power.  God 
sent  it  from  heaven,  Christ  sealed  it  with 
his  blood,  that  it  might  give  force  of 
thought  and  purpose  to  the  human  mind, 
might  free  it  from  all  fear  but  the  fear 
of  wrong-doing,  might  make  it  free  of 
its  fellow-beings,  might  break  from  it 
every  outward  and  inward  chain. 

My  hearers,  I close  with  exhorting 
you  to  remember  this  great  purpose  of 
our  religion.  Receive  Christianity  as 
given  to  raise  you  in  the  scale  of  spirit- 
ual being.  Expect  from  it  no  good  any 
farther  than  it  gives  strength  and  worth 
to  your  characters.  Think  not,  as  some 
seem  to  think,  that  Christ  has  a higher 
gift  than  purity  to  bestow,  even  pardon 
to  the  sinner.  He  does  bring  pardon. 
But  once  separate  the  idea  of  pardon 
from  purity ; once  imagine  that  forgive- 
ness is  possible  to  him  who  does  not 
forsake  sin  ; once  make  it  an  exemption 
from  outward  punishment,  and  not  the 
admission  of  the  reformed  mind  to  favor 
and  communion  with  God  ; and  the  doc- 
trine of  pardon  becomes  your  peril,  and 
a system  so  teaching  it  is  fraught  with 
evil.  Expect  no  good  from  Christ  any 
farther  than  you  are  exalted  by  his  char- 
acter and  teaching.  Expect  nothing  from 
his  cross  unless  a power  comes  from  it 
strengthening  you  to  ubear  his  cross,” 
to  “ drink  his  cup,”  with  his  own  uncon- 
querable love.  This  is  its  highest  influ- 
ence. Look  not  abroad  for  the  blessings 
of  Christ.  His  reign  and  chief  blessings 
are  within  you.  The  human  soul  is  his 
kingdom.  There  he  gains  his  victories, 
there  rears  his  temples,  there  lavishes 
his  treasures.  His  noblest  monument  is 
a mind  redeemed  from  iniquity,  brought 
back  and  devoted  to  God,  forming  itself 
after  the  perfection  of  the  Saviour,  great 
through  its  power  to  suffer  for  truth, 
lovely  through  its  meek  and  gentle  virt- 
ues. No  other  monument  does  Christ 
desire  ; for  this  will  endure  and  increase 
in  splendor  when  earthly  thrones  shall 
have  fallen,  and  even  when  the  present 
order  of  the  outward  universe  shall  have 
accomplished  its  work  and  shall  have 
passed  away. 


254 


MEANS  OF  PROMOTING  CHRISTIANITY. 


MEANS  OF  PROMOTING  CHRISTIANITY. 


We  live  at  a time  when  the  obligation 
of  extending  Christianity  is  more  felt 
than  in  many  past  ages.  There  is  much 
stir,  motion,  and  zeal  around  us  in  this 
good  cause.  Even  those  who  seem  not 
to  be  burdened  by  an  excess  of  piety 
themselves  are  in  earnest  to  give  it  to 
others.  The  activity  of  multitudes  is 
taking  strongly  this  direction  ; and  as 
men  are  naturally  restless,  and  want 
room  for  action,  and  will  do  mischief 
rather  than  do  nothing,  a philanthropist 
will  rejoice  that  this  new  channel  is 
opened  for  carrying  off  the  superabun- 
dant energies  of  multitudes,  even  if  no 
other  good  should  result  from  it. 

We  hope,  however,  much  other  good. 
We  trust  that,  whilst  many  inferior  mo- 
tives and  many  fanatical  impulses  are 
giving  birth  and  action  to  large  associa- 
tions in  Christendom  ; whilst  the  love  of 
sway  in  some,  and  the  love  of  congre- 
gating in  others,  and  the  passion  for 
doing  something  great  and  at  a distance 
in  all,  are  rearing  mighty  institutions 
among  us,  — still  many  sincere  Chris- 
tians are  governed  in  these  concerns  by 
a supreme  desire  of  spreading  Christi- 
anity. They  have  found  the  gospel  an 
infinite  good,  and  would  communicate  it 
to  their  fellow-beings.  They  have  drunk 
from  the  Fountain  of  Life,  and  would 
send  forth  the  stream  to  gladden  every 
wilderness  and  solitary  place,  and  to  as- 
suage the  thirst  of  every  anxious  and 
afflicted  mind.  They  turn  with  contin- 
ual pleasure  to  the  prophetic  passages 
of  Scripture,  and,  interpreting  them  by 
their  wishes,  hope  a speedy  change  in 
the  moral  state  of  the  world,  and  are  im- 
patient to  bear  a part  in  this  stupendous 
renovation.  That  they  are  doing  good 
we  doubt  not,  though  perhaps  not  in  the 
way  which  they  imagine  or  would  prefer. 
The  immediate  and  general  success  of 
their  attempts  would  perhaps  be  ulti- 
mately injurious  to  Christianity.  They 
are  sending  out,  together  with  God’s 
word,  corrupt  interpretations  of  some 
parts  of  it.  which  considerably  neutral- 
ize its  saving  power,  and  occasionally 


make  it  a positive  injury.  They  are  per- 
haps to  do  good  not  by  success  so  much 
as  by  failure.  Almost  all  great  enter- 
prises are  accomplished  gradually,  and 
by  methods  which  have  been  learned 
from  many  unsuccessful  trials,  from  a 
slow  accumulation  of  experience.  The 
first  laborers  often  do  little  more  than 
teach  those  who  come  after  them  what 
to  avoid  and  how  to  labor  more  effect- 
ually than  themselves.  But  be  the  issue 
what  it  may,  sincere  Christians  who  em- 
bark in  this  good  work,  not  from  party- 
spirit  and  self-conceit,  as  if  they  and 
their  sect  were  depositaries  of  all  truth 
and  virtue,  but  from  unaffected  philan- 
thropy and  attachment  to  Jesus  Christ, 
will  have  their  reward.  Even  a degree 
of  extravagance  in  such  a cause  may 
be  forgiven.  Men  are  willing  that  the 
imagination  should  be  kindled  on  other 
subjects  ; that  the  judgment  should 
sometimes  slumber,  and  leave  the  af- 
fections to  feed  on  hopes  brighter 
than  reality ; that  patriotism,  and  phi- 
lanthropy, and  the  domestic  affections, 
should  sometimes  break  out  in  chival- 
rous enterprises,  and  should  seek  their 
ends  by  means  on  which  the  reason 
may  look  coldly.  Why,  then,  shall  we 
frown  on  every  deviation  from  the  strict- 
est judiciousness  in  a concern  which  ap- 
peals so  strongly  to  the  heart  as  the 
extension  of  Christianity  ? Men  may  be 
too  rational  as  well  as  too  fervent ; and 
the  man  whose  pious  wish  of  the  speedy 
conversion  of  the  world  rises  into  a 
strong  anticipation  of  the  event,  and 
who,  taking  his  measure  of  duty  from 
the  primitive  disciples,  covets  sacrifices 
in  so  good  a cause,  is  an  incomparably 
nobler  spirit  than  he  who  believing  that 
the  moral  condition  of  the  world  is  as 
invariable  as  the  laws  of  material  nature, 
and  seeking  pretexts  for  sloth  in  a heart- 
chilling  philosophy,  has  no  concern  for 
the  multitudes  who  are  sitting  in  dark- 
ness, and  does  nothing  to  spread  the  re- 
ligion which  he  believes  to  have  come 
from  heaven. 

There  is  one  danger,  however,  at  a 


MEANS  OF  PROMOTING  CHRISTIAN/ TV. 


255 


period  like  the  present,  when  we  are 
aiming  to  send  Christianity  to  a dis- 
tance, which  demands  attention.  It  is 
the  danger  of  neglecting  the  best  meth- 
ods of  propagating  Christianity,  of  over- 
looking much  plainer  obligations  than 
that  of  converting  heathens,  of  forget- 
ting the  claims  of  our  religion  at  home 
and  by  our  firesides.  It  happens  that 
on  this,  as  on  almost  every  subject,  our 
most  important  duties  are  quiet,  retired, 
noiseless,  attracting  little  notice,  and 
administering  little  powerful  excitement 
to  the  imagination.  The  surest  efforts 
for  extending  Christianity  are  those 
which  few  observe,  which  are  recorded 
in  no  magazine,  blazoned  at  no  anniver- 
saries, immortalized  by  no  eloquence. 
Such  efforts,  being  enjoined  only  by 
conscience  and  God,  and  requiring 
steady,  patient,  unwearied  toil,  w£  are 
apt  to  overlook,  and  perhaps  never  more 
so  than  when  the  times  furnish  a popu- 
lar substitute  for  them,  and  when  we 
can  discharge  our  consciences  by  labors 
which,  demanding  little  self-denial,  are 
yet  talked  of  as  the  highest  exploits  of 
Christian  charity.  Hence  it  is  that  when 
most  is  said  of  labors  to  propagate  Chris- 
tianity, the  least  may  be  really  and  effect- 
ually done.  We  hear  a torrent  roaring, 
and  imagine  that  the  fields  are  plenti- 
fully watered,  when  the  torrent  owes  its 
violence  to  a ruinous  concentration  of 
streams  which  before  moved  quietly  in 
a thousand  little  channels,  moistening 
the  hidden  roots,  and  publishing  their 
course,  not  to  the  ear  but  to  the  eye,  by 
the  refreshing  verdure  which  grew  up 
around  them.  It  is  proper,  then,  when 
new  methods  are  struck  out  for  sending 
Christianity  abroad,  to  remind  men  often 
of  the  old-fashioned  methods  of  promot- 
ing it,  to  insist  on  the  superiority  of  the 
means  which  are  in  almost  every  man’s 
reach,  which  require  no  extensive  asso- 
ciations, and  which  do  not  subject  us  to 
the  temptations  of  exaggerated  praise. 
We  do  not  mean  that  any  exertion  which 
promises  to  extend  our  religion  in  any 
tolerable  state  of  purity  is  to  be  declined. 
But  the  first  rank  is  to  be  given  to  the 
efforts  which  God  has  made  the  plain 
duties  of  men  in  all  ranks  and  condi- 
tions of  life.  Two  of  these  methods 
will  be  briefly  mentioned. 

First,  every  individual  should  feel 
that,  whilst  his  influence  over  other 
men’s  hearts  and  character  is  very 


bounded,  his  power  over  his  own  heart 
is  great  and  constant,  and  that  his  zeal 
for  extending  Christianity  is  to  appear 
chiefly  in  extending  it  through  his  own 
mind  and  life.  Let  him  remember  that 
he  as  truly  enlarges  God  s kingdom  by 
invigorating  his  own  moral  and  religious 
principles,  as  by  communicating  them 
to  others.  Our  first  concern  is  at  home, 
our  chief  work  is  in  our  own  breasts.  It  is 
idle  to  talk  of  our  anxiety  for  other  men’s 
souls  if  we  neglect  our  own.  Without 
personal  virtue  and  religion  we  cannot, 
even  if  we  would,  do  much  for  the  cause 
of  Christ.  It  is  only  by  purifying  our 
own  conceptions  of  God  and  duty  that 
we  can  give  clear  and  useful  views  to 
others.  We  must  first  feel  the  power 
of  religion,  or  we  cannot  recommend  it 
with  an  unaffected  and  prevalent  zeal. 
Would  we,  then,  promote  pure  Christi- 
anity ? Let  us  see  that  it  be  planted 
and  take  root  in  our  own  minds  and 
that  no  busy  concern  for  others  take  us 
from  the  labor  of  self-inspection  and  the 
retired  and  silent  offices  of  piety. 

The  second  method  is  intimately  con- 
nected with  the  first.  , It  is  example. 
This  is  a means  within  the  reach  of  all. 
Be  our  station  in  life  what  it  may,  it  has 
duties  in  performing  which  faithfully 
we  give  important  aid  to  the  cause  of 
morality  and  piety.  The  efficacy  of  this 
means  of  advancing  Christianity  cannot 
be  easily  calculated.  Example  has  an  in- 
sinuating power,  transforming  the  ob- 
server without  noise,  attracting  him 
without  the  appearance  of  effort.  A 
truly  Christian  life  is  better  than  large 
contributions  of  wealth  for  the  propaga- 
tion of  Christianity.  The  most  promi- 
nent instruction  of  Jesus  on  this  point 
is  that  we  must  let  men  “ see  our  good 
works,”  if  we  would  lead  them  to  “glo- 
rify our  Father  in  heaven.”  Let  men 
see  in  us  that  religion  is  something  real, 
something  more  than  high-sounding  and 
empty  words,  a restraint  from  sin,  a 
bulwark  against  temptation,  a spring  of 
upright  and  useful  action  ; let  them  see 
it  not  an  idle  form,  nor  a transient  feel- 
ing, but  our  companion  through  life,  in- 
fusing its  purity  into  our  common  pur- 
suits, following  us  to  our  homes,  setting 
a guard  round  our  integrity  in  the  re- 
sorts of  business,  sweetening  our  tem- 
pers in  seasons  of  provocation  disposing 
us  habitually  to  sympathy  with  others, 
to  patience  and  cheerfulness  under  our 


MEANS  OF  PROMOTING  CHRISTIAN/ TV. 


256 

own  afflictions,  to  candid  judgment,  and 
to  sacrifices  for  others’  good ; and  we 
may  hope  that  our  light  will  not  shine 
uselessly,  that  some  slumbering  con- 
science will  be  roused  by  this  testimony 
to  the  excellence  and  practicableness  of 
religion,  that  some  worldly  professor  of 
Christianity  will  learn  his  obligations 
and  blush  for  his  criminal  inconsistency, 
and  that  some,  in  whom  the  common 
arguments  for  our  religion  may  have 
failed  to  work  a full  belief,  will  be 
brought  to  the  knowledge  of  the  truth 
by  this  plain  practical  proof  of  the 
heavenly  nature  of  Christianity.  Every 
man  is  surrounded  with  beings  who  are 
moulded  more  or  less  by  the  principles 
of  sympathy  and  imitation ; and  this 
social  part  of  our  nature  he  is  bound  to 
press  into  the  service  of  Christianity. 

It  will  not  be  supposed  from  these  re- 
marks on  the  duty  of  aiding  Christianity 
by  our  example,  that  religion  is  to  be 
worn  ostentatiously,  and  that  the  Chris- 
tian is  studiously  to  exhibit  himself  and 
his  good  works  for  imitation.  That 
same  book  which  enjoins  us  to  be  pat- 
terns, tells  us  to  avoid  parade,  and  even 
to  prefer  entire  secrecy  in  our  charities 
and  our  prayers.  Nothing  destroys  the 
weight  of  example  so  much  as  labor  to 
make  it  striking  and  observed.  Good- 
ness, to  be  interesting,  must  be  humble, 
modest,  unassuming,  not  fond  of  show, 
not  waiting  for  great  and  conspicuous 
occasions,  but  disclosing  itself  without 
labor  and  without  design  in  pious  and 
benevolent  offices,  so  simple,  so  minute, 
so  steady,  so  habitual,  that  they  will 
carry  a conviction  of  the  singleness  and 
purity  of  the  heart  from  which  they 
proceed.  Such  goodness  is  never  lost. 
It  glorifies  itself  by  the  very  humility 
which  encircles  it,  just  as  the  lights  of 
heaven  often  break  with  peculiar  splen- 
dor through  the  cloud  which  threatened 
to  obscure  them. 

A pure  example,  which  is  found  to  be 
more  consistent  in  proportion  as  it  is 
more  known,  is  the  best  method  of 
preaching  and  extending  Christianity. 
Without  it,  zeal  for  converting  men 
brings  reproach  on  the  cause.  A bad 
man,  or  a man  of  only  ordinary  good- 
ness, who  puts  himself  forward  in  this 
work,  throws  a suspiciousness  over  the 
efforts  of  better  men,  and  thus  the  world 
come  to  set  down  all  labor  for  spreading 
Christianity  as  mere  pretence.  Let  not 


him  who  will  not  submit  to  the  toil  of 
making  himself  better,  become  a re- 
former at  home  or  abroad.  Let  not  him 
who  is  known  to  be  mean,  or  dishonest, 
or  intriguing,  or  censorious,  or  unkind 
in  his  neighborhood,  talk  of  his  concern 
for  other  men’s  souls.  His  life  is  an 
injury  to  religion,  which  his  contribu- 
tions of  zeal,  or  even  of  wealth,  cannot 
repair,  and  its  injuriousness  is  aggra- 
vated by  these  very  attempts  to  expiate 
its  guilt,  to  reconcile  him  to  himself. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  greatest 
obstruction  to  Christianity  in  heathen 
countries  is  the  palpable  and  undeniable 
depravity  of  Christian  nations.  They 
abhor  our  religion  because  we  are  such 
unhappy  specimens  of  it.  They  are  un- 
able to  read  our  books,  but  they  can 
read  our  lives  ; and  what  wonder  if  they 
reject  with  scorn  a system  under  which 
the  vices  seem  to  have  flourished  so 
luxuriantly.  The  Indian  of  both  hemi- 
spheres has  reason  to  set  down  the 
Christian  as  little  better  than  himself. 
He  associates  with  the  name  perfidy, 
fraud,  rapacity,  and  slaughter.  Can  we 
wonder  that  he  is  unwilling  to  receive  a 
religion  from  the  hand  which  has  chained 
or  robbed  him  ? Thus,  bad  example  is 
the  great  obstruction  to  Christianity 
abroad  as  well  as  at  home  ; and  perhaps 
little  good  is  to  be  done  abroad  until  we 
become  better  at  home,  until  real  Chris- 
tians understand  and  practise  their  re- 
ligion more  thoroughly,  and  by  their 
example  and  influence  spread  it  among 
their  neighbors  and  through  their  coun- 
try, so  that  the  aspect  of  Christian 
nations  shall  be  less  shocking  and  re- 
pulsive to  the  Jew,  Mahometan,  and 
Pagan.  Our  first  labor  should  be  upon 
ourselves  ; and  indeed  if  our  religion 
be  incapable  of  bearing  more  fruit 
among  ourselves,  it  hardly  seems  to 
deserve  a very  burning  zeal  for  its  prop- 
agation. The  question  is  an  important 
one,  — Would  much  be  gained  to  hea- 
then countries  were  we  to  make  them 
precisely  what  nations  called  Christians 
now  are?  That  the  change  would* be 
beneficial,  we  grant ; but  how  many  dark 
stains  would  remain  on  their  characters  ! 
They  would  continue  to  fight  and  shed 
blood  as  they  now  do,  to  resent  injuries 
hotly,  to  worship  present  gain  and  dis- 
tinction, and  to  pursue  the  common 
business  of  life  on  the  principles  of  un- 
disguised selfishness  ; and  they  would 


THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY. 


25  7 


learn  one  lesson  of  iniquity  which  they 
have  not  yet  acquired,  and  that  is,  to 
condemn  and  revile  their  brethren  who 
should  happen  to  view  the  most  per- 
plexed points  of  theology  differently 
from  themselves.  The  truth  is,  Chris- 
tian nations  want  a genuine  reformation, 
one  worthy  of  the  name.  They  need  to 
have  their  zeal  directed,  not  so  much  to 
the  spreading  of  the  gospel  abroad,  as 
to  the  application  of  its  plain  precepts 
to  their  daily  business,  to  the  education 
of  their  children,  to  the  treatment  of 
their  domestics  and  dependants,  and  to 
their  social  and  religious  intercourse. 
They  need  to  understand  that  a man’s 
piety  is  to  be  estimated,  not  so  much  by 
his  professions  or  direct  religious  exer- 
cises, as  by  a conscientious  surrender 
of  his  will,  passions,  worldly  interests, 
and  prejudices,  to  the  acknowledged 
duties  of  Christianity,  and  especially  by 
a philanthropy  resembling  in  its  great 
features  of  mildness,  activity,  and  en- 
durance, that  of  Jesus  Christ.  They 


need  to  give  up  their  severe  inquisition 
into  their  neighbors’  opinions,  and  to 
begin  in  earnest  to  seek  for  themselves, 
and  to  communicate  to  others,  a nobler 
standard  of  temper  and  practice  than 
they  have  yet  derived  from  the  Script- 
ures. In  a word,  they  need  to  learn  the 
real  value  and  design  of  Christianity  by 
the  only  thorough  and  effectual  process  ; 
that  is,  by  drinking  deeply  into  its  spirit 
of  love  to  God  and  man.  If,  in  this  age 
of  societies,  we  should  think  it  wise  to 
recommend  another  institution  for  the 
propagation  of  Christianity,  it  would  be 
one  the  members  of  which  should  be 
pledged  to  assist  and  animate  one  an- 
other in  living  according  to  the  Sermon 
on  the  Mount.  How  far  such  a meas- 
ure would  be  effectual  we  venture  not 
to  predict ; but  of  one  thing  we  are 
sure,  that,  should  it  prosper,  it  would  do 
more  for  spreading  the  gospel  than  all 
other  associations  which  are  now  re- 
ceiving the  patronage  of  the  Christian 
world. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY: 

Discourse  at  the  Dedication  of  Divinity  Hall , Cambridge , 1826. 


Luke  iv*32  : “ His  word  was  with  power.” 

We  are  assembled  to  set  apart  and 
consecrate  this  building  to  the  education 
of  teachers  of  the  Christian  religion. 
Regarding,  as  we  do,  this  religion  as 
God’s  best  gift  to  mankind,  we  look  on 
these  simple  walls,  reared  for  this  holy 
and  benevolent  work,  with  an  interest 
which  more  splendid  edifices,  dedicated 
to  inferior  purposes,  would  fail  to  in- 
spire. We  thank  God  for  the  zeal  which 
has  erected  them.  We  thank  him  for 
the  hope  that  here  will  be  trained,  and 
hence  will  go  forth,  able  ministers  of 
the  New  Testament.  God  accept  our 
offering  and  fulfil  our  trust ! May  He 
shed  on  this  spot  the  copious  dew  of  his 
grace,  and  compass  it  with  his  favor  as 
with  a shield  ! 

To  what  end  do  we  devote  this  build- 
ing ? How  may  this  end  be  accom- 


plished ? These  questions  will  guide 
our  present  reflections. 

To  what  end  is  this  edifice  dedicated  ? 
The  answer  to  this  question  may  be 
given  in  various  forms  or  expanded  into 
various  particulars.  From  this  wide 
range  of  topics  I shall  select  one  which, 
from  its  comprehensiveness  and  impor- 
tance, will  be  acknowledged  to  deserve 
peculiar  attention.  I say,  then,  that  this 
edifice  is  dedicated  to  the  training  of 
ministers,  whose  word,  like  their  Mas- 
ter’s, shall  be  “ with  power  T Power, 
energy,  efficiency,  that  is  the  endow- 
ment to  be  communicated  most  assidu- 
ously by  a theological  institution.  Such 
is  the  truth  which  I would  now  develop* 
My  meaning  may  easily  be  explained. 
By  the  power  of  which  I have  spoken 
I mean  that  strong  action  of  the  un- 
derstanding, conscience,  and  heart,  on 


258 


THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY. 


moral  and  religious  truth,  through  which 
the  preacher  is  quickened  and  qualified 
to  awaken  the  same  strong  action  in 
others.  I mean  energy  of  thought  and 
feeling  in  the  minister,  creating  for  itself 
an  appropriate  expression,  and  propa- 
gating itself  to  the  hearer.  What  this 
power  is  all  men  understand  by  experi- 
ence. All  know  how  the  same  truth 
differs  when  dispensed  by  different  lips  ; 
how  doctrines,  inert  and  uninteresting  as 
expounded  by  one  teacher,  come  fraught 
with  life  from  another,  — arrest  atten- 
tion, rouse  emotion,  and  give  a new 
spring  to  the  soul.  In  declaring  this 
power  to  be  the  great  object  of  a theo- 
logical institution,  I announce  no  dis- 
covery. I say  nothing  new.  But  this 
truth,  like  many  others,  is  too'  often  ac- 
knowledged only  to  be  slighted.  It 
needs  to  be  brought  out,  to  be  made 
prominent,  to  become  the  living,  guid- 
ing principle  of  education  for  the  minis- 
try. Power,  then,  I repeat  it,  is  the 
great  good  to  be  communicated  by  theo- 
logical institutions.  To  impart  knowl- 
edge is  indeed  their  indispensable  duty, 
but  not  their  whole,  nor  most  arduous, 
nor  highest  work.  Knowledge  is  the 
means,  power  the  end.  The  former, 
when  accumulated,  as  it  often  is,  with 
no  strong  action  of  the  intellect,  no  viv- 
idness of  conception,  no  depth  of  con- 
viction, no  force  of  feeling,  is  of  little 
or  no  worth  to  the  preacher.  It  comes 
from  him  as  a faint  echo,  with  nothing 
of  that  mysterious  energy  which  strong 
conviction  throws  into  style  and  utter- 
ance. His  breath,  which  should  kindle, 
chills  his  hearers,  and  the  nobler  the 
truth  with  which  he  is  charged  the  less 
he  succeeds  in  carrying  it  far  into  men’s 
souls.  We  want  more  than  knowledge. 
We  want  force  of  thought,  feeling,  and 
purpose.  What  profits  it  to  arm  the 
pupil  with  weapons  of  heavenly  temper, 
unless  his  hands  be  nerved  to  wield 
them  with  vigor  and  success  ? The 
word  of  God  is  indeed  “ quick  and  pow- 
erful, and  sharper  than  any  two-edged 
sword ; ” but  when  committed  to  him 
who  has  no  kindred  energy,  it  does  not 
and  cannot  penetrate  the  mind.  Power 
is  the  attribute  which  crowns  all  a min- 
ister’s accomplishments.  It  is  the  cen- 
tre and  grand  “result  in  which  all  his 
studies,  meditations,  and  prayers  should 
meet,  and  without  which  his  office  be- 
comes a form  and  a show.  And  yet  how 


seldom  is  it  distinctly  and  earnestly  pro- 
posed as  the  chief  qualification  for  the 
sacred  office  ! How  seldom  do  we  meet 
it ! How  often  does  preaching  remind 
us  of  a child’s  arrows  shot  against  a 
fortress  of  adamant  ! How  often  does 
it  seem  a mock  fight ! We  do  not  see 
the  earnestness  of  real  warfare  ; of  men 
bent  on  the  accomplishment  of  a great 
good.  We  want  powerful  ministers,  not 
graceful  declaimers,  not  elegant  essay- 
ists, but  men  fitted  to  act  on  men,  to 
make  themselves  felt  in  society. 

I have  said  that  the  communication  of 
power  is  the  great  end  of  a theological 
institution.  Let  not  this  word  give 
alarm.  I mean  by  it,  as  you  must  have 
seen,  a very  different  power  from  that 
which  ministers  once  possessed,  and 
which  some  still  covet.  There  have 
been  times  when  the  clergy  were  rivals 
in  dominion  with  kings ; when  the 
mitre  even  towered  above  the  diadem  ; 
when  the  priest,  shutting  God’s  word 
on  the  people,  and  converting  its  threat- 
enings  and  promises  into  instruments 
of  usurpation,  was  able  to  persuade  men 
that  the  soul’s  everlasting  doom  hung 
on  his  ministry,  and  even  succeeded  in 
establishing  a sway  over  fiery  and  fero- 
cious spirits  which  revolted  against  all 
other  control.  This  power,  suited  to 
barbarous  times,  and,  as  some  imagine, 
a salutary  element  of  society  in  rude, 
lawless  ages,  has  been  shaken  almost 
everywhere  by  the  progress  of  intel- 
lect ; and  in  Protestant  countries  it  is 
openly  reprobated  and  renounced.  It  is 
not  to  re-establish  this  that  these  walls 
have  been  reared.  We  trust  that  they 
are  to  be  bulwarks  against  its  encroach- 
ments, and  that  they  are  to  send  forth 
influences  more  and  more  hostile  to 
every  form  of  spiritual  usurpation. 

Am  I told  that  this  kind  of  power  is 
now  so  fallen  and  so  contemned  that  to 
disclaim  or  to  oppose  it  seems  a waste 
of  words  ? I should  rejoice  to  yield 
myself  to  this  belief.  But  unhappily 
the  same  enslaving  and  degrading  power 
may  grow  up  under  Protestant  as  under 
Catholic  institutions.  In  all  ages  and 
all  churches  terror  confers  a temendous 
influence  on  him  who  can  spread  it ; 
and  through  this  instrument  the  Prot- 
estant minister,  while  disclaiming  Papal 
pretensions,  is  able,  if  so  minded,  to 
build  up  a spiritual  despotism.  That 
this  means  of  subjugating  the  mind 


THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY, 


259 


should  be  too  freely  used  and  dread- 
fully perverted,  we  cannot  wonder,  when 
we  consider  that  no  talent  is  required  to 
spread  a panic,  and  that  coarse  minds 
and  hard  hearts  are  signally  gifted  for 
this  work  of  torture.  The  progress  of 
intelligence  is  undoubtedly  narrowing 
the  power  which  the  minister  gains  by 
excessive  appeals  to  men’s  fears,  but 
has  by  no  means  destroyed  it ; for  as 
yet  the  intellect,  even  in  Protestant 
countries,  has  exerted  itself  compara- 
tively little  on  religion;  and  ignorance 
begetting  a passive,  servile  state  of 
mind,  the  preacher,  if  so  disposed, 
finds  little  difficulty  in  breaking  some, 
if  not  many,  spirits  by  terror.  The 
effects  of  this  ill-gotten  power  are 
mournful  on  the  teacher  and  the  taught. 
The  panic-smitten  hearer,  instructed 
that  safety  is  to  be  found  in  bowing  to 
an  unintelligible  creed,  and  too  agitated 
for  deliberate  and  vigorous  thought,  re- 
signs himself  a passive  subject  to  his 
spiritual  guides,  and  receives  a faith  by 
which  he  is  debased.  Nor  does  the 
teacher  escape  unhurt ; for  all  usurpa- 
tion on  men’s  understandings  begets  in 
him  who  exercises  it  a dread  and  resist- 
ance of  the  truth  which  threatens  its 
subversion.  Hence  ministers  have  so 
often  fallen  behind  their  age,  and  been 
the  chief  foes  of  the  master-spirits  who 
have  improved  the  world.  They  have 
felt  their  power  totter  at  the  tread  of 
an  independent  thinker.  By  a kind  of 
instinct,  they  have  fought  against  the 
light  before  which  the  shades  of  su- 
perstition were  vanishing,  and  have 
received  their  punishment  in  the  dark- 
ness and  degradation  of  their  own  minds. 
To  such  power  as  we  have  described 
we  do  not  dedicate  these  walls.  We 
would  not  train  here,  if  we  could,  agents 
of  terror  to  shake  weak  nerves,  to  dis- 
ease the  imagination,  to  lay  a spell  on 
men’s  faculties,  to  guard  a creed  by 
fires  more  consuming  than  those  which 
burned  on  Sinai.  Believing  that  this 
method  of  dominion  is  among  the  chief 
obstructions  to  an  enlightened  faith, 
and  abhorring  tyranny  in  the  pulpit  as 
truly  as  on  the  throne,  we  would  con- 
secrate this  edifice  to  the  subversion, 
not  the  participation,  of  this  unhallowed 
power. 

Is  it,  then,  asked  what  I mean  by  the 
power  which  this  institution  should  aim 
to  communicate  ? I mean  power  to  act 


on  intelligent  and  free  beings,  by  means 
proportioned  to  their  nature.  I mean 
power  to  call  into  healthy  exertion  the 
intellect,  conscience,  affections,  and 
moral  will  of  the  hearer.  I mean  force 
of  conception,  and  earnestness  of  style 
and  elocution.  I mean  that  truth  should 
be  a vital  principle  in  the  soul  of  the 
teacher,  and  should  come  from  him  as 
a reality.  I mean  that  his  whole  moral 
and  intellectual  faculties  should  be  sum- 
moned to  his  work  ; that  a tone  of  force 
and  resolution  should  pervade  his  ef- 
forts ; that,  throwing  his  soul  into  his 
cause,  he  should  plead  it  with  urgency, 
and  should  concentrate  on  his  hearers 
all  the  influences  which  consist  with 
their  moral  freedom. 

Every  view  which  we  can  take  of  the 
ministry  will  teach  us  that  nothing  less 
than  the  whole  amount  of  power  in  the 
individual  can  satisfy  its  demands.  This 
we  learn,  if  we  consider,  first,  the  weight 
and  grandeur  of  the  subjects  which  the 
minister  is  to  illustrate  and  enforce. 
He  is  to  speak  of  God,  the  King  and 
Father  Eternal,  whose  praise  no  tongue 
of  men  or  angels  can  worthily  set  forth. 
He  is  to  speak  of  the  soul,  that  ray  of 
the  Divinity,  the  partaker  of  God’s  own 
immortality,  to  which  the  outward  uni- 
verse was  made  to  minister,  and  which, 
if  true  to  itself,  will  one  day  be  clad  with 
a beauty  and  grandeur  such  as  nature’s 
loveliest  and  sublimest  scenery  never 
wears.  He  is  to  speak  not  of  this  world 
only,  but  of  invisible  and  more  advanced 
states  of  being ; of  a world  too  spir- 
itual for  the  fleshly  eye  to  see,  but  of 
which  a presage  and  earnest  may  be 
found  in  the  enlightened  and  purified 
mind.  He  has  to  speak  of  virtue,  of 
human  perfection,  of  the  love  which  is 
due  to  the  Universal  Father  and  to 
fellow-beings,  of  the  intercourse  of  the 
soul  with  its  Creator,  and  of  all  the 
duties  of  life  as  hallowed  and  elevated 
by  a reference  to  God  and  to  the  future 
world.  He  has  to  speak  of  sin,  that 
essential  evil,  that  only  evil,  which,  by 
its  unutterable  fearfulness,  makes  all 
other  calamities  unworthy  of  the  name. 
He  is  to  treat  not  of  ordinary  life,  nor 
of  the  most  distinguished  agents  in 
ordinary  history,  but  of  God’s  super- 
natural interpositions ; of  his  most  sen- 
sible and  immediate  providence  ; of 
men  inspired  and  empowered  to  work 
the  most  important  revolutions  in  soci- 


26o 


THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY, 


ety  ; and  especially  of  Jesus  Christ,  the 
Son  of  God,  the  theme  of  prophecy,  the 
revealer  of  grace  and  truth,  the  Saviour 
from  sin,  the  conqueror  of  death,  who 
hath  left  us  an  example  of  immaculate  vir- 
tue, whose  love  passeth  knowledge,  and 
whose  history  — combining  the  strange 
and  touching  contrasts  of  the  cross,  the 
resurrection,  and  a heavenly  throne  — 
surpasses  all  other  records  in  interest 
and  grandeur.  He  has  to  speak  not  of 
transitory  concerns,  but  of  happiness 
and  misery  transcending  in  duration  and 
degree  the  most  joyful  and  suffering 
condition  of  the  present  state.  He  has 
to  speak  of  the  faintly  shadowed  but 
solemn  consummation  of  this  world’s 
eventful  history ; of  the  coming  of  the 
Son  of  Man,  the  resurrection,  the  judg- 
ment, the  retributions  of  the  last  day. 
Here  are  subjects  of  intense  interest. 
They  claim  and  should  call  forth  the 
mind’s  whole  power,  and  are  infinitely 
wronged  when  uttered  with  cold  lips 
and  from  an  unmoved  heart. 

If  we  next  consider  the  effects  which, 
through  these  truths,  the  minister  is  to 
produce,  we  shall  see  that  his  function 
demands  and  should  be  characterized  by 
power.  The  first  purpose  of  a minister’s 
function,  which  is  to  enlighten  the  un- 
derstanding on  the  subject  of  religion, 
is  no  easy  task;  for  all  religious  truth 
is  not  obvious,  plain,  shining  with  an 
irresistible  evidence,  so  that  a glance  of 
thought  will  give  the  hearer  possession 
of  the  teacher’s  mind.  We  sometimes 
talk,  indeed,  of  the  simplicity  of  religion, 
as  if  it  were  as  easy  as  a child’s  book,  as 
if  it  might  be  taught  with  as  little  labor 
as  the  alphabet.  But  all  analogy  for- 
bids us  to  believe  that  the  sublimest 
truths  can  be  imparted  or  gained  with 
little  thought  or  effort,  and  the  prevalent 
ignorance  confirms  this  presumption. 
Obstacles  neither  few  nor  small  to  a 
clear  apprehension  of  religion  are  found 
in  the  invisibleness  of  its  objects  ; in 
the  disproportion  between  the  Infinite 
Creator  and  the  finite  mind ; in  the 
proneness  of  human  beings  to  judge  of 
superior  natures  by  their  own,  and  to 
transfer  to  the  spiritual  world  the  prop- 
erties of  matter  and  the  affections  of 
sense  ; in  the  perpetual  pressure  of  out- 
ward things  upon  the  attention  ; in  the 
darkness  which  sin  spreads  over  the  in- 
tellect ; in  the  ignorance  which  yet  pre- 
vails in  regard  to  the  human  mind  ; and, 


though  last  not  least,  in  the  errors  and 
superstitions  which  have  come  down  to 
us  from  past  ages,  and  which  exert  an 
unsuspected  power  on  our  whole  modes 
of  religious  thinking.  These  obstacles 
are  strengthened  by  the  general  indis- 
position to  investigate  religion  freely 
and  thoroughly.  The  tone  of  authority 
with  which  it  has  been  taught,  the  terror 
and  obscure  phraseology  in  which  it  has 
been  shrouded,  and  the  unlovely  aspect 
which  it  has  been  made  to  wear,  have 
concurred  to  repel  from  it  deliberate  and 
earnest  attention,  and  to  reconcile  men 
to  a superficial  mode  of  thinking  which 
they  would  scorn  on  every  other  subject. 
Add  to  this,  that  the  early  inculcation 
and  frequent  repetition  of  religion,  by 
making  it  familiar,  expose  it  to  neglect. 
The  result  of  all  these  unfavorable  in- 
fluences is,  that  religious  truth  is  more 
indistinctly  apprehended,  is  more  shad- 
owy and  unreal  to  the  multitude,  than 
any  other  truth ; and,  unhappily,  this 
remark  applies  with  almost  equal  truth 
to  all  ranks  of  society  and  all  orders 
of  intellect.  The  loose  conceptions  of 
Christianity  which  prevail  among  the 
high  as  well  as  the  low,  do  not  deserve 
the  name  of  knowledge.  The  loftiest 
minds  among  us  seldom  put  forth  their 
strength  on  the  very  subject  for  which 
intelligence  was  especially  given.  A 
great  revolution  is  needed  here.  The 
human  intellect  is  to  be  brought  to  act 
on  religion  with  new  power.  It  ought 
to  prosecute  this  inquiry  with  an  intense- 
ness with  which  no  other  subject  is  in- 
vestigated. And  does  it  require  no  en- 
ergy in  the  teacher  to  awaken  this  power 
and  earnestness  of  thought  in  others,  to 
bring  religion  before  the  intellect  as  its 
worthiest  object,  to  raise  men’s  tradi- 
tional, lifeless,  superficial  faith  into  de- 
liberate, profound  conviction  ? 

That  the  ministry  should  be  charac- 
terized by  power  and  energy  will  be 
made  more  apparent,  if  we  consider  that 
it  is  instituted  to  quicken  not  only  the 
intellect  but  the  conscience  ; to  enforce 
the  obligations  as  well  as  illustrate  the 
truth  of  religion.  It  is  an  important 
branch  of  the  minister’s  duty  to  bring 
home  the  general  principles  of  duty  to 
the  individual  mind ; to  turn  it  upon 
itself ; to  rouse  it  to  a resolute,  impar- 
tial survey  of  its  whole  responsibili- 
ties and  ill  deserts.  And  is  not  energy 
needed  to  break  through  the  barriers 


THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY. 


of  pride  and  self-love,  and  to  place  the 
individual  before  a tribunal  in  his  own 
breast  as  solemn  and  searching  as  that 
which  awaits  him  at  the  last  day  ? It  is 
not,  indeed,  so  difficult  to  rouse  in  the 
timid  and  susceptible  a morbid  suscep- 
tibility of  conscience,  to  terrify  weak 
people  into  the  idea  that  they  are  to 
answer  for  sins  inherited  from  the  first 
fallen  pair,  and  entailed  upon  them  by  a 
stern  necessity.  But  this  feverish  action 
of  the  conscience  is  its  weakness,  not  its 
strength  ; and  the  teacher  who  would 
rouse  the  moral  sense  to  discriminating 
judgment  and  healthful  feeling,  has  need 
of  a vastly  higher  kind  of  power  than  is 
required  to  darken  and  disease  it. 

Another  proof  that  the  ministry  should 
be  characterized  by  power,  is  given  to  us 
by  the  consideration  that  it  is  intended 
to  act  on  the  affections  ; to  exhibit  re- 
ligion in  its  loveliness  and  venerableness, 
as  well  as  in  its  truth  and  obligation  ; to 
concentrate  upon  it  all  the  strength  of 
moral  feeling.  The  Christian  teacher 
has  a great  work  to  do  in  the  human 
heart.  His  function  has  for  its  highest 
aim  to  call  forth  towards  God  the  pro- 
foundest  awe,  attachment,  trust,  and  joy, 
of  which  human  nature  is  capable.  Re- 
ligion demands  that  He  who  is  supreme 
in  the  universe  should  be  supreme  in 
the  human  soul.  God,  to  whom  belongs 
the  mysterious  and  incommunicable  at- 
tribute of  infinity ; who  is  the  fulness 
and  source  of  life  and  thought,  of  beauty 
and  power,  of  love  and  happiness  ; on 
whom  we  depend  more  intimately  than 
the  stream  on  the  fountain,  or  the  plant 
on  the  earth  in  which  it  is  rooted,  — this 
Great  Being  ought  to  call  forth  peculiar 
emotibns,  and  to  move  and  sway  the 
soul,  as  He  pervades  creation,  with  un- 
rivalled energy.  It  is  his  distinction, 
that  He  unites  in  his  nature  infinite 
majesty  and  infinite  benignity,  the  most 
awful  with  the  most  endearing  attri- 
butes, the  tenderest  relations  to  the  in- 
dividual with  the  grandeur  of  the  uni- 
versal sovereign  ; and,  through  this 
nature,  He  is  fitted  to  act  on  the  mind 
as  no  other  being  can,  — to  awaken  a 
love  more  intense,  a veneration  more 
profound,  a sensibility  of  which  the  soul 
knows  not  its  capacity  until  it  is  pene- 
trated and  touched  by  God.  To  bring 
the  created  mind  into  living  union  with 
the  Infinite  Mind,  so  that  it  shall  re- 
spond to  him  through  its  whole  being, 


261 

is  the  noblest  function  which  this  har- 
monious and  beneficent  universe  per- 
forms. For  this  revelation  was  given. 
For  this  the  ministry  was  instituted. 
The  Christian  teacher  is  to  make  more 
audible,  and  to  interpret,  the  voice  in 
which  the  beauty  and  awfulness  of  nat- 
ure, the  heavens,  the  earth,  fruitful  sea- 
sons, storms  and  thunders,  recall  men 
to  their  Creator.  Still  more,  he  is  to 
turn  them  to  the  clearer,  milder,  more 
attractive  splendors  in  which  the  Divin- 
ity is  revealed  by  Jesus  Christ.  His 
great  purpose,  I repeat  it,  is  to  give 
vitality  to  the  thought  of  God  in  the 
human  mind ; to  make  his  presence 
felt ; to  make  him  a reality,  and  the 
most  powerful  reality  to  the  soul.  And 
is  not  this  a work  requiring  energy  of 
thought  and  utterance  ? Is  it  easy,  in 
a world  of  matter  and  sense,  amidst 
crowds  of  impressions  rushing  in  from 
abroad,  amidst  the  constant  and  visible 
agency  of  second  causes,  amidst  the 
anxieties,  toils,  pleasures,  dissipations, 
and  competitions  of  life,  in  the  stir  and 
bustle  of  society,  and  in  an  age  when 
luxury  wars  with  spirituality,  and  the 
development  of  nature’s  resources  is 
turning  men’s  trust  from  the  Creator,  — 
is  it  easy,  amidst  these  gross  interests 
and  distracting  influences,  to  raise  men’s 
minds  to  the  invisible  Divinity,  to  fix  im- 
pressions of  God  deeper  and  more  en- 
during than  those  which  are  received 
from  all  other  beings,  to  make  him  the 
supreme  object,  spring,  and  motive  of 
the  soul  ? 

We  have  seen  how  deep  and  strong 
are  the  affections  which  the  minister  is 
to  awaken  towards  God.  But  strength 
of  religious  impression  is  not  his  whole 
work.  From  the  imperfections  of  our 
nature  this  very  strength  has  its  dan- 
gers. Religion,  in  becoming  fervent, 
often  becomes  morbid.  It  is  the  min- 
ister’s duty  to  inculcate  a piety  char- 
acterized by  wisdom  as  much  as  by 
warmth  ; to  mediate,  if  I may  so  speak, 
between  the  reason  and  the  affections, 
so  that,  with  joint  energy  and  in  blessed 
harmony,  they  may  rise  together  and 
offer  up  the  undivided  soul  to  God. 
Whoever  understands  the  strength  of 
emotion  in  man’s  nature,  and  how  hardly 
the  balance  of  the  soul  is  preserved, 
need  not  be  told  of  the  arduousness  of 
this  work.  Devout  people,  through  love 
of  excitement,  and  through  wrong  views 


262 


THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY. 


of  the  love  of  God,  are  apt  to  cherish 
the  devotional  feelings,  at  the  expense, 
if  not  to  the  exclusion,  of  other  parts 
of  our  nature.  They  seem  to  imagine 
that  piety,  like  the  Upas  tree,  makes  a 
desert  where  it  grows,  — that  the  mind, 
if  not  the  body,  needs  a cloister.  The 
natural  movements  of  the  soul  are  re- 
pressed ; the  social  affections  damped  ; 
the  grace,  and  ornament,  and  innocent 
exhilarations  of  life  frowned  upon  ; and 
a gloomy,  repulsive  religion  is  culti- 
vated, which,  by  way  of  compensation 
for  its  privations,  claims  a monopoly  of 
God’s  favor,  abandoning  all  to  his  wrath 
who  will  not  assume  its  own  sad  liv- 
ery and  echo  its  own  sepulchral  tones. 
Through  such  exhibitions  religion  has 
lost  its  honor ; and  though  the  most 
ennobling  of  all  sentiments,  dilating  the 
soul  with  vast  thoughts  and  an  un- 
bounded hope,  has  been  thought  to 
contract  and  degrade  it.  The  minister 
is  to  teach  an  earnest  but  enlightened 
religion,  — a piety  wnich,  far  from  wast- 
ing or  eradicating,  will  protect,  nourish, 
freshen  the  mind’s  various  affections 
and  powers  ; which  will  add  force  to 
reason,  as  well  as  ardor  to  the  heart ; 
which  will  at  once  bind  us  to  God,  and 
cement  and  multiply  our  ties  to  our 
families,  our  country,  and  mankind ; 
which  will  heighten  the  relish  of  life’s 
pleasures,  whilst  it  kindles  an  unquench- 
able thirst  for  a purer  happiness  in  the 
life  to  come.  Religion  does  not  muti- 
late our  nature.  It  does  not  lay  waste 
our  human  interests  and  affections,  that 
it  may  erect  for  God  a throne  amidst 
cheerless  and  solitary  ruins,  but  widens 
the  range  of  thought,  feeling,  and  en- 
joyment. Such  is  religion  ; and  the 
Christian  ministry,  — having  for  its  end 
the  communication  of  this  healthful, 
well-proportioned,  and  all-comprehend- 
ing piety,  — demands  every  energy  of 
thought,  feeling,  and  utterance  which 
the  individual  can  bring  to  the  work. 

The  time  would  fail  me  to  speak  of 
the  other  affections  and  sentiments 
which  the  ministry  is  instituted  to  ex- 
cite and  cherish,  and  I hasten  to  another 
object  of  the  Christian  teacher,  which, 
to  those  who  know  themselves,  will 
peculiarly  illustrate  the  power  which 
his  office  demands.  It  is  his  duty  to 
rouse  men  to  self-conflict,  to  warfare 
with  the  evil  in  their  own  hearts.  This 
is,  in  truth,  the  supreme  evil.  The  sorest 


calamities  of  life  — sickness,  poverty, 
scorn,  dungeons,  and  death  — form  a less 
amount  of  desolation  and  suffering  than 
is  included  in  that  one  word,  sin, — in 
revolt  from  God,  in  disloyalty  to  con- 
science, in  the  tyranny  of  the  passions, 
in  the  thraldom  of  the  soul's  noblest 
powers.  To  redeem  men  from  sin  was 
Christ’s  great  end.  To  pierce  them  with 
a new  consciousness  of  sin,  so  that  they 
shall  groan  under  it,  and  strive  against 
it,  and,  through  prayer  and  watching, 
master  it,  is  an  essential  part  of  the 
minister’s  work.  Let  him  not  satisfy 
himself  with  awakening  by  his  elo- 
quence occasional  emotions  of  grati- 
tude or  sympathy.  He  must  rouse  the 
soul  to  solemn,  stern  resolve  against 
its  own  deep  and  cherished  corruptions, 
or  he  only  makes  a show  of  assault, 
and  leaves  the  foe  intrenched  and  un- 
broken within.  We  see.  then,  the  ardu- 
ousness of  the  minister’s  work.  He 
is  called  to  war  with  the  might  of  the 
human  passions,  with  the  whole  power 
of  moral  evil.  He  is  to  enlist  men, 
not  for  a crusade,  nor  for  extermination 
of  heretics,  but  to  fight  a harder  battle 
within,  to  expel  sin  in  all  its  forms,  and 
especially  their  besetting  sins,  from  the 
strongholds  of  the  heart.  I know  no 
task  so  arduous,  none  which  demands 
equal  power. 

I shall  take  but  one  more  view  of  the 
objects  for  which  the  Christian  min- 
istry was  instituted,  and  from  which  we 
infer  that  it  should  be  fraught  with 
energy.  It  is  the  duty  of  the  Christian 
teacher  to  call  forth  in  the  soul  a con- 
viction of  its  immortality,  a thirst  for 
a higher  existence,  and  a grandeur  and 
elevation  of  sentiment  becoming  a being 
who  is  to  live,  enjoy,  and  advance  for 
ever.  His  business  is  with  men,  not  as 
inhabitants  of  this  world,  but  as  related 
to  invisible  beings  and  to  purer  and 
happier  worlds.  The  minister  should 
look  with  reverence  on  the  human  soul 
as  having  within  itself  the  germ  of 
heaven.  He  should  recognize,  in  the 
ignorant  and  unimproved,  vast  spiritual 
faculties  given  for  perpetual  enlarge- 
ment, just  as  the  artist  of  genius  sees 
in  the  unhewn’  marble  the  capacity  of 
being  transformed  into  a majesty  and 
grace  which  will  command  the  admira- 
tion of  ages.  In  correspondence  with 
these  views,  let  him  strive  to  quicken 
men  to  a consciousness  of  their  inward 


THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY 


nature  and  of  its  affinity  with  God,  and 
to  raise  their  steadfast  aim  and  hope  to 
its  interminable  progress  and  felicity. 
Such  is  his  function.  Perhaps  I may 
r be  told  that  men  are  incapable  of  ris- 
ing, under  the  best  instruction,  to  this 
height  of  thought  and  feeling.  But  let 
us  never  despair  of  our  race.  There 
is,  I am  sure,  in  the  human  soul  a deep 
consciousness,  which  responds  to  him 
who  sincerely,  and  with  the  language  of 
reality,  speaks  to  it  of  the  great  and 
everlasting  purposes  for  which  it  was 
created.  There  are  sublime  instincts 
in  man.  There  is  in  human  nature  a 
want  which  the  world  cannot  supply  ; 
a thirst  for  objects  on  which  to  pour 
forth  more  fervent  admiration  and  love 
than  visible  things  awaken  ; a thirst 
for  the  unseen,  the  infinite,  and  the 
everlasting.  Most  of  you  who  hear 
have  probably  had  moments  when  a 
new  light  has  seemed  to  dawn,  a new 
life  to  stir  within  you  ; when  you  have 
aspired  after  an  unknown  good  ; when 
you  have  been  touched  by  moral  great- 
ness and  disinterested  love  ; when  you 
have  longed  to  break  every  chain  of 
selfishness  and  sensuality,  and  enjoy  a 
purer  being.  It  is  on  this  part  of  our 
nature  that  religion  is  founded.  To 
this  Christianity  is  addressed.  The 
power  to  speak  to  this  is  the  noblest 
which  God  has  imparted  to  man  or 
angel,  and  should  be  coveted  above  all 
things  by  the  Christian  teacher. 

The  need  of  power  in  the  ministry  has 
been  made  apparent,  from  the  greatness 
of  the  truths  to  be  dispensed  and  the 
effects  to  be  wrought  by  the  Christian 
teacher.  The  question  then  comes, 
How  may  the  student  of  theology  be 
aided  in  gaining  or  cherishing  this 
power?  Under  what  influences  should 
he  be  placed  ? What  are  the  springs 
or  foundations  of  the  energy  which  he 
needs  ? How  may  he  be  quickened  and 
trained  to  act  most  efficiently  on  the 
minds  of  men  ? In  answering  these 
questions,  we  of  course  determine  the 
character  which  belongs  to  a theological 
institution,  the  spirit  which  it  should 
cherish,  the  discipline,  the  mode  of 
teaching,  the  excitements,  which  it 
should  employ.  From  this  wide  range 
I shall  select  a few  topics  which  are 
recommended  at  once  by  their  own  im- 
portance and  by  the  circumstances  in 
which  we  are  now  placed. 


263 

1.  To  train  the  student  to  power  of 
thought  and  utterance,  let  him  be  left, 
and,  still  more,  encouraged,  to  free  in- 
vestigation. Without  this  a theological 
institution  becomes  a prison  to  the  in- 
tellect and  a nuisance  to  the  church. 
The  mind  grows  by  free  action.  Con- 
fine it  to  beaten  paths,  prescribe  to  it 
the  results  in  which  all  study  must  end, 
and  you  rob  it  of  elasticity  and  life.  It 
will  never  spread  to  its  full  dimensions. 
Teach  the  young  man  that  the  instruc- 
tions of  others  are  designed  to  quicken, 
not  supersede  his  own  activity  ; that  he 
has  a divine  intellect  for  which  he  is  to 
answer  to  God,  and  that  to  surrender  it 
to  another  is  to  cast  the  crown  from  his 
head,  and  to  yield  up  his  noblest  birth- 
right. Encourage  him  in  all  great  ques- 
tions to  hear  both  sides,  and  to  meet 
fairly  the  point  of  every  hostile  argu- 
ment. Guard  him  against  tampering 
with  his  own  mind,  against  silencing  its 
whispers  and  objections,  that  he  may 
enjoy  a favorite  opinion  undisturbed. 
Do  not  give  him  the  shadow  for  the 
substance  of  freedom,  by  telling  him  to 
inquire,  but  prescribing  to  him  the  con- 
victions at  which  he  must  stop.  Better 
show  him  honestly  his  chains  than  mock 
the  slave  with  the  show  of  liberty. 

I know  the  objection  to  this  course. 
It  puts  to  hazard,  we  are  told,  the  relig- 
ious principles  of  the  young.  The  ob- 
jection is  not  without  foundation.  The 
danger  is  not  unreal.  But  I know  no 
method  of  forming  a manly  intellect  or 
a manly  character  without  danger.  Peril 
is  the  element  in  which  power  is  devel- 
oped. Remove  the  youth  from  every 
hazard,  keep  him  in  leading-strings  lest 
he  should  stray  into  forbidden  paths, 
surround  him  with  down  lest  he  should 
be  injured  by  a fall,  shield  him  from 
wind  and  storms,  and  you  doom  him  to 
perpetual  infancy.  All  liberty  is  peril- 
ous. as  the  despot  truly  affirms  ; but  who 
would  therefore  seek  shelter  under  a 
despot’s  throne  ? Freedom  of  will  is 
almost  a tremendous  gift ; but  still  a 
free  agent,  with  all  his  capacity  of 
crime,  is  infinitely  more  interesting  and 
noble  than  the  most  harmonious  and 
beautiful  machine.  Freedom  is  the 
nurse  of  intellectual  and  moral  vigor. 
Better  expose  the  mind  to  error  than 
rob  it  of  hardihood  and  individuality. 
Keep  not  the  destined  teacher  of  man- 
kind from  the  perilous  field  where  the 


THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY. 


264 

battle  between  truth  and  falsehood  is 
fought.  Let  him  grapple  with  difficulty, 
sophistry,  and  error.  Truth  is  a con- 
quest, and  no  man  holds  her  so  fast  as 
he  who  has  won  her  by  conflict. 

That  cases  of  infidelity  may  occur  in 
institutions  conducted  on  free  princi- 
ples is  very  possible,  though  our  own 
experience  gives  no  ground  for  fear. 
But  the  student  who,  with  all  the  aids 
to  Christian  belief  which  are  furnished 
in  a theological  seminary,  still  falls  a 
prey  to  scepticism,  is  not  the  man  to  be 
trusted  with  the  cause  of  Christ.  He  is 
radically  deficient.  He  wants  that  con- 
geniality with  spiritual  and  lofty  truths 
without  which  the  evidences  of  religion 
work  no  deep  conviction,  and  without 
which  the  faith  that  might  be  instilled 
by  a slavish  institution  would  be  of  little 
avail.  An  upright  mind  may  indeed  be 
disturbed  and  shaken  for  a*  time  by  the 
arguments  of  scepticism  ; but  these  will 
be  ultimately  repelled,  and,  like  con- 
quered foes,  will  strengthen  the  princi- 
ple by  which  they  have  been  subdued. 

Nothing,  I am  sure,  can  give  power 
like  a free  action  of  the  mind.  Accumu- 
late teachers  and  books,  for  these  are 
indispensable.  But  the  best  teacher  is 
he  who  awakens  in  his  pupils  the  power 
of  thought,  and  aids  them  to  go  alone. 
It  is  possible  to  weaken  and  encumber 
the  mind  by  too  much  help.  The  very 
splendor  of  a teachers  talents  may  injure 
the  pupil ; and  a superior  man,  who  is 
more  anxious  to  spread  his  own  creed 
and  his  own  praise  than  to  nourish  a 
strong  intellect  in  others,  will  only  waste 
his  life  in  multiplying  poor  copies,  and 
in  sending  forth  into  the  churches  tame 
mimics  of  himself. 

To  free  inquiry,  then,  we  dedicate 
these  walls.  We  invite  into  them  the 
ingenuous  young  man,  who  prizes  liberty 
of  mind  more  than  aught  within  the  gift 
of  sects  or  of  the  world.  Let  heaven’s 
free  air  circulate,  and  heaven’s  unob- 
structed light  shine  here,  and  let  those 
who  shall  be  sent  hence  go  forth,  not  to 
echo  with  servility  a creed  imposed  on 
their  weakness,  but  to  utter,  in  their 
own  manly  tones,  what  their  own  free 
investigation  and  deep  conviction  urge 
them  to  preach  as  the  truth  of  God. 

2.  In  the  second  place,  to  give  power 
to  the  teacher,  he  should  be  imbued,  by 
all  possible  inculcation  and  excitement, 
with  a supreme  and  invincible  love  of 


truth.  This  is  at  once  the  best  defence 
against  the  perils  of  free  inquiry,  and 
the  inspirer  of  energy  both  in  thought 
and  utterance.  The  first  duty  of  a 
rational  being  is  to  his  own  intellect ; 
for  it  is  through  soundness  and  honesty 
of  intellect  that  he  is  to  learn  all  other 
duties.  I know  no  virtue  more  impor- 
tant and  appropriate  to  a teacher,  and 
especially  a religious  teacher,  than  fair- 
ness and  rectitude  of  understanding,  — 
than  a love  of  truth  stronger  than  the 
love  of  gain,  honor,  life  ; and  yet,  so  far 
from  being  cherished,  this  virtue  has 
been  warred  against,  hunted  down,  driven 
to  exile,  or  doomed  to  the  stake,  in  almost 
every  Christian  country,  by  ministers, 
churches,  religious  seminaries,  ora  mad- 
dened populace.  In  the  glorious  com- 
pany of  heroes  and  martyrs,  a high  rank 
belongs  to  him  who,  superior  to  the 
frowns  or  the  sneers,  the  pity  or  the 
wrath,  which  change  of  views  would 
bring  upon  him,  and  in  opposition  to  the 
warping  influences  of  patronage,  of  pri- 
vate friendship,  or  ambition,  keeps  his 
mind  chaste,  inviolate,  a sacred  temple 
for  truth,  ever  open  to  new  light  from 
heaven ; and  who,  faithful  to  his  delib- 
erate convictions,  speaks  simply  and 
firmly  what  his  uncorrupted  mind  be- 
lieves. This  love  of  truth  gives  power, 
for  it  secures  a growing  knowledge  of 
truth  ; and  truth  is  the  mighty  weapon 
by  which  the  victories  of  religion  are  to 
be  wrought  out.  This  endures,  whilst 
error  carries  with  it  the  seeds  of  decay. 
Truth  is  an  emanation  from  God,  a beam 
of  his  wisdom,  and  immutable  as  its 
source  ; and  although  its  first  influences 
may  seem  to  be  exceeded  by  those  of 
error,  it  grows  stronger,  and  strikes 
deeper  root,  amidst  the  fluctuations  and 
ruins  of  false  opinions.  Besides,  this 
loyalty  to  truth  not  only  leads  to  its 
acquisition,  but,  still  more,  begets  a 
vital  acquaintance  with  it,  a peculiar  con- 
viction, which  gives  directness,  energy, 
and  authority  to  teaching.  A minister 
who  has  been  religiously  just  to  his  own 
understanding  speaks  with  a tone  of 
reality,  of  calm  confidence,  of  conscious 
uprightness,  which  cannot  be  caught  by 
the  servile  repeater  of  other  men's  no- 
tions, or  by  the  passionate  champion  of 
an  unexamined  creed.  A look,  an  accent, 
a word,  from  a single-hearted  inquirer 
after  truth,  expressing  his  deliberate 
convictions,  has  a peculiar  power  in  for- 


THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY. 


tifying  the  convictions  of  others.  To 
the  love  of  truth,  then,  be  these  walls 
consecrated,  and  here  may  every  influ- 
ence be  combined  to  build  it  up  in  the 
youthful  heart ! 

3.  To  train  powerful  ministers,  let  an 
institution  avail  itself  of  the  means  of 
forming  a devotional  spirit,  and  imbuing 
the  knowledge  of  the  student  with  re- 
ligious sensibility.  Every  man  knows 
that  a cultivated  mind,  under  strong  and 
generous  emotion,  acquires  new  com- 
mand of  its  resources,  new  energy  and 
fulness  of  thought  and  expression ; whilst 
in  individuals  of  a native  vigor  of  intel- 
lect feeling  almost  supplies  the  place  of 
culture,  inspiring  the  unlettered  teacher 
with  a fervid,  resistless  eloquence,  which 
no  apparatus  of  books,  teachers,  criti- 
cism, ancient  languages,  and  general 
literature  can  impart.  This  power  of 
sensibility  to  fertilize  and  vivify  the  in- 
tellect is  not  difficult  of  explanation.  A 
strong  and  pure  affection  concentrates 
the  attention  on  its  objects,  fastens  on 
them  the  whole  soul,  and  thus  gives 
vividness  of  conception.  It  associates 
intimately  all  the  ideas  which  are  con- 
genial with  itself,  and  thus  causes  a rush 
of  thought  into  the  mind  in  moments  of 
excitement.  Indeed,  a strong  emotion 
seems  to  stir  up  the  soul  from  its  foun- 
dations, and  to  attract  to  itself,  and  to 
impregnate  with  its  own  fire,  whatever 
elements,  conceptions,  illustrations,  can 
be  pressed  into  its  own  service.  Hence 
it  is  that  even  ordinary  men,  strongly 
moved,  abound  in  arguments,  analogies, 
and  fervent  appeals,  which  nothing  but 
sensibility  could  have  taught.  Every 
minister  can  probably  recollect  periods 
when  devotional  feeling  has  seemed  to 
open  a new  fountain  of  thought  in  the 
soul.  Religious  affection  instinctively 
seeks  and  seizes  the  religious  aspect  of 
things.  It  discerns  the  marks  of  God, 
and  proofs  and  illustrations  of  divine 
truth,  in  all  nature  and  providence  ; and 
seems  to  surround  the  mind  with  an 
atmosphere  which  spreads  its  own  warm 
hues  on  every  object  which  enters  it. 
This  attraction,  or  affinity,  if  I may  so 
say,  which  an  emotion  establishes  among 
the  thoughts  which  accord  with  itself, 
is  one  of  the  very  important  laws  of  the 
mind,  and  is  chiefly  manifested  in  poetry, 
eloquence,  and  all  the  higher  efforts  of 
intellect  by  which  man  sways  his  fellow- 
beings.  Religious  feeling,  then,  is  indis- 


265 

pensable  to  a powerful  minister.  Without 
it  learning  and  fancy  may  please,  but 
cannot  move  men  profoundly  and  per- 
manently. It  is  this  which  not  only 
suggests  ideas,  but  gives  felicity  and 
energy  of  expression.  It  prompts  “the 
words  that  burn  ” — those  mysterious 
combinations  of  speech,  which  send  the 
speaker’s  soul  like  lightning  through  his 
hearers,  which  breathe  new  life  into  old 
and  faded  truths,  and  cause  an  instan- 
taneous gush  of  thought  and  feeling  in 
susceptible  minds. 

We  dedicate  this  institution,  then,  to 
religious  feeling.  Here  let  the  heart 
muse  till  the  fire  burns.  Here  let  pray- 
er, joined  with  meditation  on  nature 
and  Scripture,  and  on  the  fervid  writ- 
ings of  devout  men,  awaken  the  whole 
strength  of  the  affections.  But  on  no 
point  is  caution  more  needed  than  on 
this.  Let  it  never  be  forgotten  that  we 
want  genuine  feeling ; not  its  tones, 
looks,  and  gestures,  not  a forced  ardor 
and  factitious  zeal.  Woe  to  that  insti- 
tution where  the  young  man  is  expected 
to  repeat  the  language  of  emotion 
whether  he  feel  it  or  not ; where  per- 
petual pains  are  taken  to  chafe  the 
mind  to  a warmth  which  it  cannot  sus- 
tain ! The  affections  are  delicate,  and 
must  not  be  tampered  with.  They  can- 
not be  compelled.  Hardly  any  thing  is 
more  blighting  to  genuine  sensibility 
than  to  assume  its  tones  and  badge 
where  it  does  not  exist.  Exhort  the 
student  to  cherish  devout  feeling  by 
intercourse  with  God,  and  with  those 
whom  God  has  touched.  But  exhort 
him  as  strenuously  to  abstain  from  every 
sign  of  emotion  which  the  heart  does 
not  prompt.  Teach  him  that  nothing 
grieves  more  the  Holy  Spirit,  or  sooner 
closes  the  mind  against  heavenly  influ- 
ences, than  insincerity.  Teach  him  to 
be  simple,  ingenuous,  true  to  his  own 
soul.  Better  be  cold  than  affect  to  feel. 
In  truth,  nothing  is  so  cold  as  an  as- 
sumed, noisy  enthusiasm.  Its  best  em- 
blem is  the  northern  blast  of  winter, 
which  freezes  as  it  roars.  Be  this  spot 
sacred  to  Christian  ingenuousness  and 
sincerity  ! Let  it  never  be  polluted  by 
pretence,  by  affected  fervor,  by  cant 
and  theatric  show  ! 

4.  Another  source  of  power  in  the 
ministry  is  faith  ; by  which  we  mean, 
not  a general  belief  in  the  truths  of 
Christianity,  but  a confidence  in  the 


266 


THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY. 


great  results  which  this  religion  and  the 
ministry  are  intended  to  promote.  It 
has  often  been  observed,  that  a strong 
faith  tends  to  realize  its  objects  ; that  all 
things  become  possible  to  him  who 
thinks  them  so.  Trust  and  hope  breathe 
animation  and  force.  He  who  despairs 
of  great  effects  never  accomplishes 
them.  All  great  works  have  been  the 
results  of  a strong  confidence  inspiring 
and  sustaining  strong  exertion.  The 
young  man  who  cannot  conceive  of 
higher  effects  of  the  ministry  than  he 
now  beholds,  who  thinks  that  Chris- 
tianity has  spent  all  its  energies  in  pro- 
ducing the  mediocrity  of  virtue  which 
characterizes  Christendom,  and  to  whom 
the  human  soul  seems  to  have  put  forth 
its  whole  power  and  to  have  reached 
its  full  growth  in  religion,  has  no  call 
to  the  ministry.  Let  not  such  a man 
put  forth  his  nerveless  hands  in  de- 
fence of  the  Christian  cause.  A voice 
of  confidence  has  been  known  to  rally  a 
retreating  army  and  to  lead  it  back  to 
victory  ; and  this  spirit-stirring  tone  be- 
longs to  the  leaders  of  the  Christian 
host.  The  minister,  indeed,  ought  to 
see  and  feel,  more  painfully  than  other 
men,  the  extent  and  power  of  moral 
evil  in  individuals,  in  the  church,  and  in 
the  world.  Let  him  weep  over  the  rav- 
ages of  sin.  But  let  him  feel,  too,  that 
the  mightiest  power  of  the  universe  is 
on  the  side  of  truth  and  virtue  ; and 
with  sorrow  and  fear  let  him  join  an 
unfaltering  trust  in  the  cause  of  human 
nature.  Let  him  look  on  men  as  on 
mysterious  beings  endued  with  a spir- 
itual life,  with  a deep  central  principle 
of  holy  and  disinterested  love,  with  an 
intellectual  and  moral  nature  which  was 
made  to  be  receptive  of  God.  To  nour- 
ish this  hopeful  spirit,  this  strengthen- 
ing confidence,  it  is  important  that  the 
minister  should  understand  and  feel 
that  he  is  not  acting  alone  in  his  efforts 
for  religion,  but  in  union  with  God  and 
Christ,  and  good  beings  on  earth  and  in 
heaven.  Let  him  regard  the  spiritual 
renovation  of  mankind  as  God's  chief 
purpose,  for  which  nature  and  prov- 
idence are  leagued  in  holy  co-operation. 
Let  him  feel  himself  joined  in  counsel 
and  labor  with  that  great  body  of  which 
Christ  is  the  head,  with  the  noble  broth- 
erhood of  apostles  and  martyrs,  of  the 
just  made  perfect,  and,  I will  add,  of 
angels  ; and  speaking  with  a faith  be- 


coming this  sublime  association,  he  will 
not  speak  in  vain.  To  this  faith,  to 
prophetic  hope,  to  a devout  trust  in  the 
glorious  issues  of  Christianity,  we  ded- 
icate these  walls  ; and  may  God  here 
train  up  teachers  worthy  to  mingle  and 
bear  a part  with  the  holy  of  both  worlds 
in  the  cause  of  man’s  redemption  ! 

5.  Again,  that  the  ministry  may  be 
imbued  with  new  power,  it  needs  a spirit 
of  enterprise  and  reform.  They  who 
enter  it  should  feel  that  it  may  be  im- 
proved. We  live  in  a stirring,  advanc- 
ing age ; and  shall  not  the  noblest 
function  on  earth  partake  of  the  general 
progress  ? Why  is  the  future  ministry 
to  be  a servile  continuation  of  the  past  ? 
Have  all  the  methods  of  operating  on 
human  beings  been  tried  and  exhausted  ? 
Are  there  no  unessayed  passages  to  the 
human  heart  ? If  we  live  in  a new  era, 
must  not  religion  be  exhibited  under 
new  aspects,  or  in  new  relations  ? Is 
not  scepticism  taking  a new  form  ? Has 
not  Christianity  new  foes  to  contend 
with  ? And  are  there  no  new  weapons 
and  modes  of  warfare  by  which  its  tri- 
umphs are  to  be  insured  ? If  human 
nature  is  manifesting  itself  in  new  lights, 
and  passing  through  a new  and  most 
interesting  stage  of  its  progress,  shall  it 
be  described  by  the  commonplaces,  and 
appealed  to  exclusively  by  the  motives, 
which  belonged  to  earlier  periods  of 
society  ? May  not  the  mind  have  be- 
come susceptible  of  nobler  incitements 
than  those  which  suited  ruder  times  ? 
Shall  the  minister  linger  behind  his  age, 
and  be  dragged  along,  as  he  often  has 
been,  in  the  last  ranks  of  improvement  ? 
Let  those  who  are  to  assume  the  minis- 
try be  taught  that  they  have  something 
more  to  do  than  to  handle  old  topics  in 
old  ways,  and  to  walk  in  beaten  and 
long-worn  paths.  Let  them  inquire  if 
new  powers  and  agents  may  not  be 
brought  to  bear  on  the  human  charac- 
ter. Is  it  incredible  that  the  progress 
of  intellect  and  knowledge  should  de- 
velop new  resources  for  the  teacher  of 
religion  as  well  as  for  the  statesman,  the 
artist,  the  philosopher?  Are  there  no 
new  combinations  and  new  uses  of  the 
elements  of  thought  as  well  as  of  the 
elements  of  nature  ? Is  it  impossible 
that  in  the  vast  compass  of  Scripture,  of 
nature,  of  Providence,  and  of  the  soul, 
there  should  be  undisclosed  or  dimly- 
defined  truths  which  may  give  a new 


THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY. 


impulse  to  the  human  mind  ? We  ded- 
icate this  place  not  only  to  the  contin- 
uance but  to  the  improvement  of  the 
ministry ; and  let  this  improvement  be- 
gin, at  once,  in  those  particulars  where 
the  public,  if  not  the  clergy,  feel  it  to  be 
wanted.  Let  those  who  are  to  be  edu- 
cated here  be  admonished  against  the 
frigid  eloquence,  the  school  boy  tone, 
the  inanimate  diction  too  common  in  the 
pulpit,  and  which  would  be  endured 
nowhere  else.  Let  them  speak  in  tones 
of  truth  and  nature,  and  adopt  the  style 
and  elocution  of  men  who  have  an  urgent 
work  in  hand,  and  who  are  thirsting  for 
the  regeneration  of  individuals  and  so- 
ciety. 

6.  Another  source  of  power,  too  ob- 
vious to  need  elucidation,  yet  too  im- 
portant to  be  omitted,  is  an  indepen- 
dent spirit.  By  which  I mean  not  an 
unfeeling  defiance  of  the  opinions  and 
usages  of  society,  but  that  moral  cour- 
age which,  through  good  report  and  evil 
report,  reverently  hears  and  fearlessly 
obeys  the  voice  of  conscience  and  God. 
He  who  would  instruct  men  must  not 
fear  them.  He  who  is  to  reform  society 
must  not  be  anxious  to  keep  its  level. 
Dread  of  opinion  effeminates  preaching 
and  takes  from  truth  its  pungency.  The 
minister  so  subdued  may  flourish  his 
weapons  in  the  air  to  the  admiration  of 
spectators,  but  will  never  pierce  the  con- 
science. The  minister,  like  the  good 
knight,  should  be  without  fear.  Let  him 
cultivate  that  boldness  of  speech  for 
which  Paul  prayed.  Let  him  not  flatter 
great  or  small.  Let  him  not  wrap  up  re- 
proof in  a decorated  verbiage.  Let  him 
make  no  compromise  with  evil  because 
followed  by  a multitude,  but  for  this 
very  cause  lift  up  against  it  a more 
earnest  voice.  Let  him  beware  of  the 
shackles  which  society  insensibly  fastens 
on  the  mind  and  the  tongue.  Moral 
courage  is  not  the  virtue  of  our  times. 
The  love  of  popularity  is  the  all-taint- 
ing vice  of  a republic.  Besides  the  in- 
creasing connection  between  a minister 
and  the  community,  whilst  it  liberalizes 
the  mind  and  counteracts  professional 
prejudices,  has  a tendency  to  enslave 
him  to  opinion,  to  wear  away  the  energy 
of  virtuous  resolution,  and  to  change 
him  from  an  intrepid  guardian  of  virtue 
and  foe  of  sin  into  a merely  elegant  and 
amiable  companion.  Against  this  dis- 
honorable cowardice,  which  smoothes 


267 

the  thoughts  and  style  of  the  teacher, 
until  they  glide  through  the  ear  and  the 
mind  without  giving  a shock  to  the  most 
delicate  nerves,  let  the  young  man  be 
guarded.  We  dedicate  this  institution 
to  Christian  independence.  May  it  send 
forth  brave  spirits  to  the  vindication  of 
truth  and  religion  ! 

7.  I shall  now  close  with  naming  the 
chief  source  of  power  to  the  minister,  — 
one,  indeed,  which  has  been  in  a meas- 
ure anticipated,  and  all  along  implied, 
but  which  ought  not  to  be  dismissed 
without  a more  distinct  annunciation.  I 
refer  to  that  spirit,  or  frame,  or  senti- 
ment, in  which  the  love  of  God,  the  love 
of  men,  the  love  of  duty,  meet  as  their 
highest  result,  and  in  which  they  are 
perfected  and  most  gloriously  displayed ; 
I mean  the  spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  — the 
spirit  of  martyrdom.  This  was  the  per- 
fection of  Christ,  and  it  is  the  noblest 
inspiration  which  his  followers  derive 
from  him.  Say  not  that  this  is  a height 
to  which  the  generality  of  ministers  must 
not  be  expected  to  rise.  This  spirit  is 
of  more  universal  obligation  than  many 
imagine.  It  enters  into  all  the  virtues 
which  deeply  interest  us.  In  truth,  there 
is  no  thorough  virtue  without  it.  Who 
is  the  upright  man  ? He  who  would 
rather  die  than  defraud.  Who  the  good 
parent  ? He  to  whom  his  children  are 
dearer  than  life.  Who  the  good  patriot  ? 
He  who  counts  not  life  dear  in  his  coun- 
try’s cause.  Who  the  philanthropist  ? 
He  who  forgets  himself  in  an  absorbing 
zeal  for  the  mitigation  of  human  suffer- 
ing,— for  the  freedom,  virtue,  and  illu- 
mination of  men.  It  is  not  Christianity 
alone  which  has  taught  self-sacrifice. 
Conscience  and  the  divinity  within  us 
have  in  all  ages  borne  testimony  to  its 
loveliness  and  grandeur,  and  history  bor- 
rows from  it  her  chief  splendors.  But 
Christ  on  his  cross  has  taught  it  with  a 
perfection  unknown  before,  and  his  glory 
consists  in  the  power  with  which  he 
breathes  it.  Into  this  spirit  Christ’s  mean- 
est disciple  is  expected  to  drink.  How 
much  more  the  teachers  and  guides  of 
his  church  ! He  who  is  not  moved  with 
this  sublime  feature  of  our  religion,  who 
cannot  rise  above  himself,  who  cannot, 
by  his  own  consciousness,  comprehend 
the  kindling  energy  and  solemn  joy 
which  pain  or  peril  in  a noble  cause  has 
often  inspired,  — he  to  whom  this  lan- 
guage is  a mystery  wants  one  great 


268 


THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY. 


mark  of  his  vocation  to  the  sacred  office. 
Let  him  enlist  under  any  standard  rather 
than  the  cross.  To  preach  with  power, 
a man  must  feel  Christianity  to  be  worthy 
of  the  blood  which  it  has  cost ; and,  es- 
pousing it  as  the  chief  hope  of  the  human 
race,  must  contemn  life’s  ordinary  inter- 
ests, compared  with  the  glory  and  hap- 
piness of  advancing  it.  This  spirit  of 
self-exposure  and  self-surrender  throws 
into  preachers  an  energy  which  no  other 
principle  can  give.  In  truth,  such  power 
resides  in  disinterestedness,  that  no 
man  can  understand  his  full  capacity  of 
thought  and  feeling  — his  strength  to  do 
and  suffer  — until  he  gives  himself,  with 
a single  heart,  to  a great  and  holy  cause. 
New  faculties  seem  to  be  created,  and 
more  than  human  might  sometimes  im- 
parted, by  a pure,  fervent  love.  Most 
of  us  are  probably  strangers  to  the  re- 
sources of  power  in  our  own  breasts, 
through  the  weight  and  pressure  of  the 
chains  of  selfishness.  We  consecrate 
this  institution,  then,  to  that  spirit  of 
martyrdom,  of  disinterested  attachment 
to  the  Christian  cause,  through  which  it 
first  triumphed,  and  for  want  of  which 
its  triumphs  are  now  slow.  In  an  age 
of  luxury  and  self-indulgence,  we  would 
devote  these  walls  to  the  training  of 
warm,  manly,  generous  spirits.  May 
they  never  shelter  the  self-seeking 
slaves  of  ease  and  comfort,  — pupils  of 
Epicurus  rather  than  of  Christ ! God 
send  from  this  place  devoted  and  effi- 
cient friends  of  Christianity  and  the  hu- 
man race  ! 

My  friends,  I have  insisted  on  the 
need,  and  illustrated  the  sources,  of 
power  in  the  ministry.  To  this  end  may 
the  institution  in  whose  behalf  we  are 
now  met  together  be  steadily  and  sacredly 
devoted.  I would  say  to  its  guardians 
and  teachers,  Let  this  be  your  chief 
aim.  I would  say  to  the  students,  Keep 
this  in  sight  in  all  your  studies.  Never 
forget  your  great  vocation,  — that  you  are 
to  prepare  yourselves  for  a strong,  deep, 
and  beneficent  agency  on  the  minds  of 
your  fellow-beings.  Everywhere  I see 
a demand  for  the  power  on  which  I 
have  now  insisted.  The  cry  comes  to 
me  from  society  and  from  the  church. 
The  condition  of  society  needs  a more 
efficient  administration  of  Christianity. 
Great  and  radical  changes  are  needed  in 
the  community  to  make  it  Christian. 
There  are  those,  indeed,  who,  mistaking 


the  courtesies  and  refinements  of  civil- 
ized life  for  virtue,  see  no  necessity  of 
a great  revolution  in  the  world.  But 
civilization,  in  hiding  the  grossness,  does 
not  break  the  power  of  evil  propensities. 
Let  us  not  deceive  ourselves.  Multi- 
tudes are  living  with  few  thoughts  of 
God,  and  of  the  true  purpose  and  glory 
of  their  being.  Among  the  nominal  be- 
lievers in  a Deity  and  in  a judgment  to 
come,  sensuality  and  ambition,  and  the 
love  of  the  world,  sit  on  their  thrones 
and  laugh  to  scorn  the  impotence  of 
preaching.  Christianity  has  yet  a hard 
war  to  wage  and  many  battles  to  win ; 
and  it  needs  intrepid,  powerful  ministers, 
who  will  find  courage  and  excitement, 
not  dismay,  in  the  strength  and  number 
of  their  foes. 

Christians,  you  have  seen  in  this  dis- 
course the  purposes  and  claims  of  this 
theological  institution.  Offer  your  fer- 
vent prayers  for  its  prosperity.  Be- 
siege the  throne  of  mercy  in  its  behalf. 
Cherish  it  as  the  dearest  hope  of  our 
churches.  Enlarge  its  means  of  useful- 
ness, and  let  your  voice  penetrate  its 
walls,  calling  aloud  and  importunately 
for  enlightened  and  powerful  teachers. 
Thus  joining  in  effort  with  the  directors 
and  instructors  of  this  seminary,  doubt 
not  that  God  will  here  train  up  ministers 
worthy  to  bear  his  truth  to  present  and 
future  generations.  If,  on  the  contrary, 
you  and  they  slumber,  you  will  have 
erected  these  walls,  not  to  nourish  en- 
ergy, but  to  be  its  tomb,  not  to  bear 
witness  to  your  zeal,  but  to  be  a melan- 
choly monument  of  fainting  effort  and 
betrayed  truth. 

But  let  me  not  cast  a cloud  over  the 
prospects  of  this  day.  In  hope  I began, 
— with  hope  I will  end.  This  institu- 
tion has  noble  distinctions,  and  has 
afforded  animating  pledges.  It  is  emi- 
nently a free  institution,  — an  asylum 
from  the  spiritual  despotism  which,  in 
one  shape  or  another,  overspreads  the 
greatest  part  of  Christendom.  It  has 
already  given  to  the  churches  a body  of 
teachers  who,  in  theological  acquisitions 
and.  ministerial  gifts,  need  not  shrink 
from  comparison  with  their  predeces- 
sors or  contemporaries.  I see  in  it 
means  and  provisions,  nowhere  sur- 
passed, for  training  up  enlightened,  free, 
magnanimous,  self-sacrificing  friends  of 
truth.  In  this  hope  let  us  then  proceed 
to  the  work  which  has  brought  us  to- 


DEMANDS  OF  THE  AGE  ON  THE  MINISTRY. \ 269 


gether.  With  trust  in  God,  with  love 
to  mankind,  with  unaffected  attachment 
to  Christian  truth,  with  earnest  wishes 
for  its  propagation  through  all  lands  and 
its  transmission  to  remotest  ages,  let  us 


now,  with  one  heart  and  one  voice,  ded- 
icate this  edifice  to  the  One  living  and 
true  God,  to  Christ  and  his  Church,  to 
the  instruction  and  regeneration  of  the 
human  soul. 


THE  DEMANDS  OF  THE  AGE  ON  THE 
MINISTRY: 

Discourse  at  the  Ordination  of  the  Rev.  E.  S.  Gannett , Boston,  1824. 


Matthew  x.  16 : “ Behold  I send  you  forth  as 
sheep  in  the  midst  of  wolves  : be  ye  therefore  wise  as 
serpents  and  harmless  as  doves.’ r 

The  communication  of  moral  and  re- 
ligious truth  is  the  most  important  office 
committed  to  men.  The  Son  of  God 
came  into  the  world  not  to  legislate  for 
nations,  not  to  command  armies,  not  to 
sit  on  the  throne  of  universal  monarchy  ; 
but  to  teach  religion,  to  establish  truth 
and  holiness.  The  highest  end  of  hu- 
man nature  is  duty,  virtue,  piety,  excel- 
lence, moral  greatness,  spiritual  glory ; 
and  he  who  effectually  labors  for  these 
is  taking  part  with  God,  in  God’s  noblest 
work.  The  Christian  ministry,  then, 
which  has  for  its  purpose  men’s  spirit- 
ual improvement  and  salvation,  and 
which  is  intrusted  for  this  end  with 
weapons  of  heavenly  temper  and  power, 
deserves  to  be  ranked  amongst  God’s 
most  beneficent  institutions  and  men’s 
most  honorable  labors.  The  occasion 
requires  that  this  institution  should  be 
our  principal  topic. 

How  happy  a change  has  taken  place 
since  the  words  of  Christ  in  the  text 
were  spoken  ! Ministers  are  no  longer 
sent  forth  into  the  midst  of  wolves. 
Through  the  labors,  sufferings,  and  tri- 
umphs of  apostles,  martyrs,  and  good 
and  great  men  in  successive  ages,  Chris- 
tianity has  become  the  professed  and 
honored  religion  of  the  most  civilized 
nations,  and  its  preachers  are  exposed 
to  very  different  temptations  from  those 
of  savage  persecution.  Still  our  text 
has  an  application  to  the  present  time. 
We  see  our  Saviour  commanding  his 
Apostles  to  regard  in  their  ministry  the 
circumstances  of  the  age  in  which  they 


lived.  Surrounded  with  foes,  they  were 
to  exercise  the  wisdom  or  prudence  of 
which  the  serpent  was  in  ancient  times 
the  emblem,  and  to  join  with  it  the  in- 
nocence and  mildness  of  the  dove.  And, 
in  like  manner,  the  Christian  minister  is 
at  all  periods  to  regard  the  signs,  the 
distinctive  marks  and  character  of  the 
age  to  which  he  belongs,  and  must  ac- 
commodate his  ministry  to  its  wants  and 
demands.  Accordingly,  I propose  to 
consider  some  of  the  leading  traits  of 
the  present  age,  and  the  influence  which 
they  should  have  on  a Christian  teacher. 

I.  The  state  of  the  world,  compared 
with  the  past,  may  be  called  enlight- 
ened, and  requires  an  enlightened  min- 
istry. It  hardly  seems  necessary  to 
prove  that  religion  should  be  dispensed 
by  men  who  at  least  keep  pace  with  the 
intellect  of  the  age  in  which  they  live. 
Some  passages  of  Scripture,  however, 
have  been  wrested  to  prove  that  an 
unlearned  ministry  is  that  which  God 
particularly  honors.  He  always  chooses, 
we  are  told,  “ the  foolish  things  of  the 
world  to  confound  the  wise.”  But  texts 
of  this  description  are  misunderstood 
through  the  very  ignorance  which  they 
are  adduced  to  support.  The  wise,  who 
are  spoken  of  contemptuously  in  the 
New  Testament,  were  not  really  enlight- 
ened men,  but  pretenders  to  wisdom, 
who  substituted  dreams  of  imagination 
and  wild  hypotheses  for  sober  inquiry 
into  God’s  works,  and  who  knew  com- 
paratively nothing  of  nature  or  the 
human  mind.  The  present  age  has  a 
quite  different  illumination  from  that  in 
which  ancient  philosophy  prided  itself. 
It  is  marked  by  great  and  obvious  im- 


2/0 


DEMANDS  OF  THE  AGE  ON  THE  MINISTRY. 


provement's  in  the  methods  of  reason- 
ing and  inquiry,  and  by  the  consequent 
discovery  and  diffusion  of  a great  mass 
of  physical  and  moral  truth  wholly  un- 
known in  the  time  of  Christ.  Now  we 
affirm  that  such  an  age  demands  an 
enlightened  ministry.  We  want  teach- 
ers who  will  be  able  to  discern  and 
unfold  the  consistency  of  revealed  re- 
ligion with  the  new  lights  which  are 
breaking  in  from  nature  ; and  who  will 
be  able  to  draw,  from  all  men’s  discov- 
eries in  the  outward  world  and  in  their 
own  souls,  illustrations,  analogies,  and 
arguments  for  Christianity.  We  have 
reason  to  believe  that  God,  the  Author 
of  nature  and  revelation,  has  established 
a harmony  between  them,  and  that  their 
beams  are  intended  to  mingle  and  shed 
a joint  radiance ; and,  consequently, 
other  things  being  equal,  that  teacher  is 
best  fitted  to  dispense  Christianity  whose 
compass  of  mind  enables  him  to  com- 
pare what  God  is  teaching  in  his  works 
and  in  his  word,  and  to  present  the 
truths  of  religion  with  those  modifica- 
tions and  restraints  which  other  ac- 
knowledged truths  require.  Christianity 
now  needs  dispensers  who  will  make 
history,  nature,  and  the  improvements 
of  society  tributary  to  its  elucidation 
and  support  ; who  will  show  its  adap- 
tation to  man  as  an  ever-progressive 
being ; who  will  be  able  to  meet  the 
objections  to  its  truth  which  will  natu- 
rally be  started  in  an  active,  stirring, 
inquiring  age ; and,  though  last  not 
least,  who  will  have  enough  of  mental 
and  moral  courage  to  detect  and  re- 
nounce the  errors  in  the  church  on 
which  such  objections  are  generally 
built.  In  such  an  age,  a ministry  is 
wanted  which  will  furnish  discussions 
of  religious  topics,  not  inferior  at  least 
in  intelligence  to  those  which  people 
are  accustomed  to  read  and  hear  on 
other  subjects.  Christianity  will  suffer 
if,  at  a time  when  vigor  and  acuteness 
of  thinking  are  carried  into  all  other 
departments,  the  pulpit  should  send 
forth  nothing  but  wild  declamation  pos- 
itive assertion,  or  dull  commonplaces, 
with  which  even  childhood  is  satiated. 
Religion  must  be  seen  to  be  the  friend 
and  quickener  of  intellect.  It  must  be 
exhibited  with  clearness  of  reasoning 
and  variety  of  illustration  ; nor  ought  it 
to  be  deprived  of  the  benefits  of  a pure 
and  felicitous  diction  and  of  rich  and 


glowing  imagery,  where  these  gifts  fall 
to  the  lot  of  the  teacher.  It  is  not  meant 
that  every  minister  must  be  a man  of 
genius,  — for  genius  is  one  of  God’s 
rarest  inspirations ; and  of  all  the  breath- 
ings of  genius,  perhaps  the  rarest  is 
eloquence.  I mean  only  to  say  that  the 
age  demands  of  those  who  devote  them- 
selves to  the  administration  of  Chris- 
tianity, that  they  should  feel  themselves 
called  upon  for  the  highest  cultivation 
and  fullest  development  of  the  intellect- 
ual nature.  Instead  of  thinking  that  the 
ministry  is  a refuge  for  dulness,  and 
that  whoever  can  escape  from  the  plough 
is  fit  for  God’s  spiritual  husbandry,  we 
ought  to  feel  that  no  profession  demands 
more  enlarged  thinking  and  more  vari- 
ous acquisitions  of  truth. 

In  proportion  as  society  becomes  en- 
lightened, talent  acquires  influence.  In 
rude  ages  bodily  strength  is  the  most 
honorable  distinction,  and  in  subsequent 
times  military  prowess  and  skill  confer 
mastery  and  eminence.  But  as  society 
advances,  mind,  thought,  becomes  the 
sovereign  of  the  world  ; and  accordingly, 
at  the  present  moment,  profound  and 
glowing  thought,  though  breathing  only 
from  the  silent  page,  exerts  a kind  of 
omnipotent  and  omnipresent  energy.  It 
crosses  oceans  and  spreads  through 
nations  ; and,  at  one  and  the  same  mo- 
ment, the  conceptions  of  a single  mind 
are  electrifying  and  kindling  multitudes 
through  wider  regions  than  the  Roman 
eagle  overshadowed.  This  agency  of 
mind  on  mind,  I repeat  it,  is  the  true 
sovereignty  of  the  world,  and  kings  and 
heroes  are  becoming  impotent  by  the 
side  of  men  of  deep  and  fervent  thought. 
In  such  a state  of  things,  religion  would 
wage  a very  unequal  war  if  divorced 
from  talent  and  cultivated  intellect,  if 
committed  to  weak  and  untaught  minds. 
God  plainly  intends  that  it  should  be 
advanced  by  human  agency ; and  does 
He  not  then  intend  to  summon  to  its 
aid  the  mightiest  and  noblest  power  with 
which  man  is  gifted  ? 

Let  it  not  be  said  that  Christianity  has 
an  intrinsic  glory,  a native  beauty,  which 
no  art  or  talent  of  man  can  heighten ; 
that  Christianity  is  one  and  the  same 
by  whatever  lips  it  is  communicated, 
and  that  it  needs  nothing  but  the  most 
naked  exposition  of  its  truths  to  accom- 
plish its  saving  purposes.  Who  does 
not  know  that  all  truth  takes  a hue  and 


DEMANDS  OF  THE  AGE  ON  THE  MINISTRY,  27 1 


form  from  the  soul  through  which  it 
passes,  that  in  every  mind  it  is  invested 
with  peculiar  associations,  and  that,  con- 
sequently, the  same  truth  is  quite  a 
different  thing  when  exhibited  by  men 
of  different  habits  of  thought  and  feel- 
ing ? Who  does  not  know  that  the  sub- 
limest  doctrines  lose  in  some  hands  all 
their  grandeur,  and  the  loveliest  all  their 
attractiveness  ? Who  does  not  know 
how  much  the  diffusion  and  power  of 
any  system,  whether  physical,  moral,  or 
political,  depend  on  the  order  according 
to  which  it  is  arranged,  on  the  broad  and 
consistent  views  which  are  given  of  it, 
on  the  connections  which  it  is  shown  to 
hold  with  other  truths,  on  the  analogies 
by  which  it  is  illustrated,  adorned,  and 
enforced,  and,  though  last  not  least,  on 
the  clearness  and  energy  of  the  style  in 
which  it  is  conveyed  ? “ Nothing  is 

needed  in  religion,”  some  say,  “but  the 
naked  truth.”  But  I apprehend  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  naked  truth,  at 
least  as  far  as  moral  subjects  are  con- 
cerned. Truth  which  relates  to  God, 
and  duty,  and  happiness,  and  a future 
state,  is  always  humanized,  if  I may  so 
use  the  word,  by  passing  through  a 
human  mind;  and  when  communicated 
powerfully,  it  always  comes  to  us  in 
drapery  thrown  round  it  by  the  imag- 
ination, reason,  and  moral  feelings  of 
the  teacher.  It  comes  to  us  warm  and 
living  with  the  impressions  and  affec- 
tions which  it  has  produced  in  the  soul 
from  which  it  issues  : and  it  ought  so  to 
come  ; for  the  highest  evidence  of  moral 
truth  is  found  in  the  moral  principles  and 
feelings  of  our  nature,  and  therefore  it 
fails  of  its  best  support  unless  it  is  seen  to 
accord  with  and  to  act  upon  these.  The 
evidence  of  Christianity  which  operates 
most  universally  is  not  history  nor  mir- 
acles, but  its  correspondence  to  the 
noblest  capacities,  deepest  wants,  and 
purest  aspirations  of  our  nature,  to  the 
cravings  of  an  immortal  spirit ; and 
when  it  comes  to  us  from  a mind  in 
which  it  has  discovered  nothing  of  this 
adaptation,  and  has  touched  none  of  these 
springs,  it  wants  one  of  its  chief  signa- 
tures of  divinity.  Christianity  is  not, 
then,  to  be  exhibited  nakedly.  It  owes 
much  of  its  power  to  the  mind  which 
communicates  it ; and  the  greater  the 
enlargement  and  development  of  the 
mind  of  which  it  has  possessed  itself, 
and  from  which  it  flows,  the  wider  and  1 


deeper  will  be  its  action  on  other 
souls. 

It  maybe  said  without  censoriousness, 
that  the  ordinary  mode  in  which  Chris- 
tianity has  been  exhibited  in  past  times 
does  not  suit  the  illumination  of  the 
present.  That  mode  has  been  too  nar- 
row, technical,  pedantic.  Religion  has 
been  made  a separate  business,  — and 
a dull,  unsocial,  melancholy  business, 
too,  — instead  of  being  manifested  as  a 
truth  which  bears  on  and  touches  every 
thing  human,  as  a universal  spirit  which 
ought  to  breathe  through  and  modify 
all  our  desires  and  pursuits,  all  our 
trains  of  thought  and  emotion.  And 
this  narrow,  forbidden  mode  of  exhibit- 
ing Christianity  is  easily  explained  by 
its  early  history.  Monks  shut  up  in 
cells  ; a priesthood  cut  off  by  celibacy 
from  the  sympathies  and  most  interest- 
ing relations  of  life  ; and  universities 
enslaved  to  a scholastic  logic,  and  taught 
to  place  wisdom  in  verbal  subtilties  and 
unintelligible  definitions ; these  took 
Christianity  into  their  keeping,  and  at 
their  chilling  touch  this  generous  relig- 
ion, so  full  of  life  and  affection,  became 
a dry,  frigid,  abstract  system.  Chris- 
tianity, as  it  came  from  their  hands,  and 
has  been  transmitted  by  a majority  of 
Protestant  divines,  reminds  us  of  the 
human  form  compressed  by  swathing- 
bands,  until  every  joint  is  rigid,  every 
movement  constrained,  and  almost  all 
the  beauty  and  grace  of  nature  obliter- 
ated. Instead  of  regarding  it  as  a heav- 
enly institution,  designed  to  perfect  our 
whole  nature,  to  offer  awakening  and 
purifying  objects  to  the  intellect,  imag- 
ination, and  heart,  to  develop  every 
capacity  of  devout  and  social  feeling,  to 
form  a rich,  various,  generous  virtue, 
divines  have  cramped  and  tortured  the 
gospel  into  various  systems,  composed 
in  the  main  of  theological  riddles  and 
contradictions  ; and  this  religion  of  love 
has  been  made  to  inculcate  a monkish 
and  dark-visaged  piety,  very  hostile  to 
the  free  expansion  and  full  enjoyment 
of  all  our  faculties  and  social  affections. 
Great  improvements  indeed  in  this  par- 
ticular are  taking  place  among  Chris- 
tians of  almost  every  denomination. 
Religion  has  been  brought  from  the  cell 
of  the  monk  and  the  school  of  the  ver- 
bal disputant  into  life  and  society  ; and 
its  connections  with  all  our  pursuits  and 
feelings  have  been  made  manifest.  Still, 


272 


DEMANDS  OF  THE  AGE  ON  THE  MINISTRY. 


Christianity,  I apprehend,  is  not  viewed 
in  sufficiently  broad  lights  to  meet  the 
spirit  of  an  age  which  is  tracing  con- 
nections between  all  objects  of  thought 
and  branches  of  knowledge,  and  which 
cannot  but  distrust  an  alleged  revelation, 
in  as  far  as  it  is  seen  to  want  harmonies 
and  affinities  with  other  parts  of  God’s 
system,  and  especially  with  human  nature 
and  human  life. 

II.  The  age  in  which  we  live  demands 
not  only  an  enlightened  but  an  earnest 
ministry,  for  it  is  an  age  of  earnestness 
and  excitement.  Men  feel  and  think  at 
present  with  more  energy  than  formerly. 
There  is  more  of  interest  and  fervor. 
We  learn  now  from  experience  what 
might  have  been  inferred  from  the  pur- 
poses of  our  Creator,  that  civilization 
and  refinement  are  not,  as  has  been 
sometimes  thought,  inconsistent  with 
sensibility  ; that  the  intellect  may  grow 
without  exhausting  or  overshadowing 
the  heart.  The  human  mind  was  never 
more  in  earnest  than  at  the  present 
moment.  The  political  revolutions  which 
form  such  broad  features  and  distinc- 
tions of  our  age  have  sprung  from  a new 
and  deep  working  in  the  human  soul. 
Men  have  caught  glimpses,  however 
indistinct,  of  the  worth,  dignity,  rights, 
and  great  interests  of  their  nature  ; and 
a thirst  for  untried  good  and  impatience 
of  long  endured  wrongs  have  broken 
out  wildly,  like  the  fires  of  Etna,  and 
shaken  and  convulsed  the  earth.  It  is 
impossible  not  to  discern  this  increased 
fervor  of  mind  in  every  department  of 
life.  A new  spirit  of  improvement  is 
abroad.  The  imagination  can  no  longer 
be  confined  to  the  acquisitions  of  past 
ages,  but  is  kindling  the  passions  by 
vague  but  noble  ideas  of  blessings  never 
yet  attained.  Multitudes,  unwilling  to 
wait  the  slow  pace  of  that  great  inno- 
vator, Time,  are  taking  the  work  of  re- 
form into  their  own  hands.  Accordingly, 
the  reverence  for  antiquity  and  for  age- 
hallowed  establishments,  and  the  pas- 
sion for  change  and  amelioration,  are 
now  arrayed  against  each  other  in  open 
hostility,  and  all  great  questions  affect- 
ing human  happiness  are  debated  with 
the  eagerness  of  party.  The  character 
of  the  age  is  stamped  very  strongly  on 
its  literary  productions.  Who  that  can 
compare  the  present  with  the  past  is  not 
struck  with  the  bold  and  earnest  spirit 
of  the  literature  of  our  times  ? It  re- 


fuses to  waste  itself  on  trifles  or  to  min- 
ister to  mere  gratification.  Almost  all 
that  is  written  has  now  some  bearing  on 
great  interests  of  human  nature.  Fic- 
tion is  no  longer  a mere  amusement ; 
but  transcendent  genius,  accommodating 
itself  to  the  character  of  the  age,  has 
seized  upon  this  province  of  literature 
and  turned  fiction  from  a toy  into  a 
mighty  engine  ; and  under  the  light  tale 
is  breathing  through  the  community 
either  its  reverence  for  the  old  or  its 
thirst  for  the  new, — communicates  the 
spirit  and  lessons  of  history,  unfolds 
the  operations  of  religious  and  civil 
institutions,  and  defends  or  assails  new 
theories  of  education  or  morals  by  ex- 
hibiting them  in  life  and  action.  The 
poetry  of  the  age  is  equally  character- 
istic. It  has  a deeper  and  more  impres- 
sive tone  than  comes  to  us  from  what 
has  been  called  the  Augustan  age  of 
English  literature.  The  regular,  elab- 
orate, harmonious  strains,  which  de- 
lighted a former  generation,  are  now 
accused,  I say  not  how  justly,  of  playing 
too  much  on  the  surface  of  nature  and 
of  the  heart.  Men  want  and  demand 
a more  thrilling  note,  a poetry  which 
pierces  beneath  the  exterior  of  life  to 
the  depths  of  the  soul,  and  which  lays 
open  its  mysterious  workings,  borrowing 
from  the  whole  outward  creation  fresh 
images  and  correspondences  with  which 
to  illuminate  the  secrets  of  the  world 
within  us.  So  keen  is  this  appetite,  that 
extravagances  of  imagination,  and  gross 
violations  both  of  taste  and  moral  sen- 
timent are  forgiven,  when  conjoined  with 
what  awakens  strong  emotion  ; and  un- 
happily the  most  stirring  is  the  most 
popular  poetry,  even  though  it  issue 
from  the  desolate  soul  of  a misanthrope 
and  a libertine,  and  exhale  poison  and 
death. 

Now,  religion  ought  to  be  dispensed 
in  accommodation  to  this  spirit  and  char- 
acter of  our  age.  Men  desire  excite- 
ment, and  religion  must  be  communi- 
cated in  a more  exciting  form.  It  must 
be  seen  not  only  to  correspond  and  to 
be  adapted  to  the  intellect,  but  to  fur- 
nish nutriment  and  appeals  to  the  highest 
and  profoundest  sentiments  of  our  nat- 
ure. It  must  not  be  exhibited  in  the 
dry,  pedantic  divisions  of  a scholastic 
theology ; nor  must  it  be  set  forth  and 
tricked  out  in  the  light  drapery  of  an 
artificial  rhetoric,  in  prettinesses  of  style, 


DEMANDS  OF  THE  AGE  ON  THE  MINISTRY. 


273 


in  measured  sentences  with  an  insipid 
floridness,  and  in  the  form  of  elegantly 
feeble  essays.  No  ; it  must  come  from 
the  soul  in  the  language  of  earnest  con- 
viction and  strong  feeling.  Men  will 
not  now  be  trifled  with.  They  listen 
impatiently  to  great  subjects  treated 
with  apathy.  They  want  a religion 
which  will  take  a strong  hold  upon  them  ; 
and  no  system,  I am  sure,  can  now  main- 
tain its  ground  which  wants  the  power  of 
awakening  real  and  deep  interest  in  the 
soul.  It  is  objected  to  Unitarian  Chris- 
tianity that  it  does  not  possess  this  heart- 
stirring energy ; and  if  so,  it  will,  and 
still  more,  it  ought,  to  fall ; for  it  does 
not  suit  the  spirit  of  our  times,  nor  the 
essential  and  abiding  spirit  of  human 
nature.  Men  will  prefer  even  a fanat- 
icism which  is  in  earnest,  to  a pretended 
rationality  which  leaves  untouched  all 
the  great  springs  of  the  soul,  which 
never  lays  a quickening  hand  on  our  love 
and  veneration,  our  awe  and  fear,  our 
hope  and  joy. 

It  is  obvious,  I think,  that  the  spirit 
of  the  age,  which  demands  a more  excit- 
ing administration  of  Christianity,  begins 
to  be  understood,  and  is  responded  to  by 
preachers.  Those  of  us  whose  memory 
extends  back  but  a little  way,  can  see  a 
revolution  taking  place  in  this  country. 
“ The  repose  of  the  pulpit  ” has  been 
disturbed.  In  England,  the  Established 
Church  gives  broad  symptoms  of  awak- 
ing ; and  the  slumbering  incumbents  of 
a state  religion,  either  roused  by  sym- 
pathy, or  aware  of  the  necessity  of  self- 
defence,  are  beginning  to  exhibit  the 
energy  of  the  freer  and  more  zealous 
sects  around  them. 

In  such  an  age,  earnestness  should 
characterize  the  ministry ; and  by  this 
I mean  not  a louder  voice  or  a more 
vehement  gesture ; I mean  no  tricks  of 
oratory;  but  a solemn  conviction  that 
religion  is  a great  concern,  and  a solemn 
purpose  that  its  claims  shall  be  felt  by 
others.  To  suit  such  an  age,  a minister 
must  communicate  religion  — not  only 
as  a result  of  reasoning  but  as  a matter 
of  experience  — with  that  inexpressible 
character  of  reality,  that  life  and  power 
which  accompany  truths  drawn  from  a 
man’s  own  soul.  We  ought  to  speak  of 
religion  as  something  which  we  ourselves 
know.  Its  influences,  struggles,  joys, 
sorrows,  triumphs,  should  be  delineated 
from  our  own  history.  The  life  and  sen- 


sibility which  we  would  spread  should 
be  strong  in  our  own  breasts.  This  is 
the  only  genuine,  unfailing  spring  of  an 
earnest  ministry.  Men  may  work  them- 
selves for  a time  into  a fervor  by  artifi- 
cial means  ; but  the  flame  is  unsteady, 
“ a crackling  of  thorns  ” on  a cold  hearth  ; 
and,  after  all,  it  is  hard  for  the  most  suc- 
cessful art  to  give,  even  for  a time,  that 
soul-subduing  tone  to  the  voice,  that  air 
of  native  feeling  to  the  countenance,  and 
that  raciness  and  freshness  to  the  concep- 
tions, which  come  from  an  experimental 
conviction  of  religious  truth  ; and,  ac- 
cordingly, I would  suggest  that  the  most 
important  part  of  theological  education, 
even  in  this  enlightened  age,  is  not  the 
communication  of  knowledge,  essential 
as  that  is,  but  the  conversion  and  exalta- 
tion of  religious  knowledge  into  a living, 
practical,  and  soul-kindling  conviction. 
Much  as  the  age  requires  intellectual 
culture  in  a minister,  it  requires  still 
more  that  his  acquisitions  of  truth  should 
be  instinct  with  life  and  feeling  ; that  he 
should  deliver  his  message,  not  mechan- 
ically and  “ in  the  line  of  his  profession,” 
but  with  the  sincerity  and  earnestness 
of  a man  bent  on  great  effects ; that  he 
should  speak  of  God,  of  Christ,  of  the 
dignity  and  loveliness  of  Christian  vir- 
tue, of  heaven  and  redemption,  not  as 
of  traditions  and  historical  records  about 
which  he  has  only  read,  but  as  of  reali- 
ties which  he  understands  and  feels  in 
the  very  depths  of  his  soul. 

III.  The  present  is  an  age  of  free  and 
earnest  inquiry  on  the  subject  of  relig- 
ion, and,  consequently,  an  age  in  which 
the  extremes  of  scepticism  and  bigotry, 
and  a multiplicity  of  sects,  and  a diver- 
sity of  interpretations  of  the  Sacred 
Volume,  must  be  expected ; and  these 
circumstances  of  the  times  influence  and 
modify  the  duties  of  the  ministry.  Free 
inquiry  cannot  exist  without  generating 
a degree  of  scepticism  ; and  against  this 
influence,  more  disastrous  than  any  error 
of  any  sect,  a minister  is  bound  to  erect 
every  barrier.  The  human  mind,  by  a 
natural  reaction,  is  undoubtedly  tending, 
after  its  long  vassalage,  to  licentious 
speculation.  Men  have  begun  to  send 
keen,  searching  glances  into  old  insti- 
tutions, whether  of  religion,  literature, 
or  policy;  and  have  detected  so  many 
abuses,  that  a suspicion  of  what  is  old 
has  in  many  cases  taken  place  of  the 
veneration  for  antiquity.  In  such  an 


274 


DEMANDS  OF  THE  A GE  ON  THE  MINISTRY, 


age  Christianity  must  be  subjected  to  a 
rigid  scrutiny.  Church  establishments 
and  state  patronage  cannot  screen  it 
from  investigation ; and  its  ministers, 
far  from  being  called  to  remove  it  from 
the  bar  of  reason,  where  God  has  chosen 
that  it  should  appear,  are  only  bound 
to  see  that  its  claims  be  fairly  and  fully 
made  known  ; and  to  this  they  are  sol- 
emnly bound;  and,  consequently,  it  is 
one  of  their  first  duties  to  search  deeply 
and  understand  thoroughly  the  true 
foundations  and  evidences  on  which 
the  religion  stands.  Now  it  seems  to 
me,  that  just  in  proportion  as  the  human 
mind  makes  progress,  the  inward  evi- 
dences of  Christianity,  the  marks  of 
divinity  which  it  wears  on  its  own  brow, 
are  becoming  more  and  more  important. 
I refer  to  the  evidences  which  are  drawn 
from  its  excellence,  purity,  and  happy 
influences ; from  its  adaptation  to  the 
spiritual  wants,  to  the  weakness  and 
the  greatness  of  human  nature  ; from  the 
original  and  unborrowed  character,  the 
greatness  of  soul,  and  the  celestial  love- 
liness of  its  Founder ; from  its  unbound- 
ed benevolence,  corresponding  with  the 
spirit  of  the  universe ; and  from  its 
views  of  God’s  parental  character  and 
purposes,  of  human  duty  and  perfection, 
and  of  a future  state,  — views  manifestly 
tending  to  the  exaltation  and  perpet- 
ual improvement  of  our  nature,  yet 
wholly  opposed  to  the  character  of  the 
age  in  which  they  were  unfolded.  The 
historical  and  miraculous  proofs  of 
Christianity  are  indeed  essential  and 
impregnable ; but,  without  superseding 
these,  the  inward  proofs  of  which  I 
speak  are  becoming  more  and  more 
necessary,  and  exert  a greater  power, 
in  proportion  as  the  moral  discernment 
and  sensibilities  of  men  are  strength- 
ened and  enlarged.  And,  if  this  be 
true,  then  Christianity  is  endangered, 
and  scepticism  fortified  by  nothing  so 
much  as  by  representations  of  the  re- 
ligion which  sully  its  native  lustre  and 
darken  its  inward  signatures  of  a heav- 
enly origin ; and,  accordingly,  the  first 
and  most  solemn  duty  of  its  ministers 
is  to  rescue  it  from  such  perversions  ; 
to  see  that  it  be  not  condemned  for  doc- 
trines for  which  it  is  in  no  respect  re- 
sponsible ; and  to  vindicate  its  character 
as  eminently  a rational  religion,  that  is, 
a religion  consistent  with  itself,  with  the 
great  principles  of  human  nature,  with 


God's  acknowledged  attributes,  and  with 
those  indestructible  convictions  which 
spring  almost  instinctively  from  our 
moral  constitution,  and  which  grow 
stronger  and  stronger  as  the  human 
mind  is  developed.  A professed  rev- 
elation, carrying  contradiction  on  its 
front,  and  wounding  those  sentiments 
of  justice  and  goodness  which  are  the 
highest  tests  of  moral  truth,  cannot 
stand ; and  those  who  thus  exhibit 
Christianity,  however  pure  their  aim, 
are  shaking  its  foundations  more  deeply 
than  its  open  and  inveterate  foes. 

But  free  inquiry  not  only  generates 
occasional  scepticism,  but  much  more 
a diversity  of  opinion  among  the  be- 
lievers of  Christianity ; and  to  this  the 
ministry  must  have  a special  adaptation. 
In  such  an  age  the  ministry  must  in  a 
measure  be  controversial.  In  particu- 
lar, a minister  who,  after  serious  inves- 
tigation, attaches  himself  to  that  class 
of  Christians  to  which  we  of  this  re- 
ligious society  are  known  to  belong, 
cannot  but  feel  that  the  painful  office  of 
conflict  with  other  denominations  is  laid 
upon  him ; for,  whilst  wre  deny  the 
Christian  name  to  none  who  acknowl- 
edge Jesus  as  their  Saviour  and  Lord, 
we  do  deliberately  believe  that,  by 
many  who  confess  him.  his  religion  is 
mournfully  disfigured.  We  believe  that 
piety  at  present  is  robbed  in  no  small 
degree  of  its  singleness,  energy,  and 
happiness,  by  the  multiplication  in  the 
church  of  objects  of  supreme  worship  ; 
by  the  division  of  the  One  God  into 
three  persons,  who  sustain  different  re- 
lations to  mankind ; and  above  all,  by 
the  dishonorable  views  formed  of  the 
moral  character  and  administration  of 
the  Deity.  Errors  relating  to  God  seem 
to  us  among  the  most  pernicious  that 
can  grow  up  among  Christians  ; for 
they  darken,  and,  in  the  strong  language 
of  Scripture,  “turn  into  blood”  the 
Sun  of  the  Spiritual  Universe.  Around 
just  views  of  the  Divine  character  all 
truths  and  all  virtues  naturally  gather  ; 
and  although  some  minds  of  native 
irrepressible  vigor  may  rise  to  great- 
ness in  spite  of  dishonorable  concep- 
tions of  God,  yet,  as  a general  rule, 
human  nature  cannot  spread  to  its  just 
and  full  proportions  under  their  appall- 
ing, enslaving,  heart-withering  control. 
We  discover  very  plainly,  as  we  think, 
in  the  frequent  torpor  of  the  conscience 


DEMANDS  OF  THE  AGE  ON  THE  MINISTRY. 


275 


and  heart  in  regard  to  religious  obliga- 
tion, the  melancholy  influences  of  that 
system,  so  prevalent  among  us,  which 
robs  our  heavenly  Father  of  his  pa- 
rental attributes.  Indeed  it  seems  im- 
possible for  the  conscience,  under  such 
injurious  representations  of  the  divine 
character,  to  discharge  intelligently  its 
solemn  office  of  enforcing  love  to  God 
as  man’s  highest  duty ; and,  accord- 
ingly, when  religious  excitements  take 
place  under  this  gloomy  system,  they 
bear  the  marks  of  a morbid  action 
much  more  than  of  a healthy  restora- 
tive process  of  the  moral  nature. 

These  errors  a minister  of  liberal 
views  of  Christianity  will  feel  himself 
bound  to  withstand.  But  let  me  not  be 
understood  as  if  I would  have  the  min- 
istry given  chiefly  to  controversy,  and 
would  turn  the  pulpit  into  a battery  for 
the  perpetual  assault  of  adverse  sects. 
Oh,  no.  Other  strains  than  those  of 
warfare  should  predominate  in  this  sa- 
cred place.  A minister  may  be  faithful 
to  truth  without  brandishing  perpetually 
the  weapons  of  controversy.  Occa- 
sional discussions  of  disputed  doctrines 
are  indeed  demanded  by  the  zeal  with 
which  error  is  maintained.  But  it  be- 
comes the  preacher  to  remember  that 
there  is  a silent,  indirect  influence  more 
sure  and  powerful  than  direct  assault 
on  false  opinions.  The  most  effectual 
method  of  expelling  error  is  not  to 
meet  it  sword  in  hand,  but  gradually  to 
instil  great  truths  with  which  it  cannot 
easily  coexist,  and  by  which  the  mind 
outgrows  it.  Men  who  have  been  re- 
covered from  false  systems  will  gener- 
ally tell  you  that  the  first  step  of  their 
deliverance  was  the  admission  of  some 
principle  which  seemed  not  to  menace 
their  past  opinions,  but  which  prepared 
the  mind  for  the  entrance  of  another 
and  another  truth,  until  they  were 
brought,  almost  without  suspecting  it, 
to  look  on  almost  every  doctrine  of 
religion  with  other  eyes,  and  in  an- 
other and  more  generous  light.  The 
old  superstitions  about  ghosts  and 
dreams  were  not  expelled  by  argument, 
for  hardly  a book  was. written  against 
them  ; but  men  gradually  outgrew  them  ; 
and  the  spectres  which  had  haunted  the 
terror-stricken  soul  for  ages,  fled  before 
an  improved  philosophy,  just  as  they 
were  supposed  to  vanish  before  the 
rising  sun.  And  in  the  same  manner 


the  errors  which  disfigure  Christianity, 
and  from  which  no  creed  is  free,  are  to 
yield  to  the  growth  of  the  human  mind. 
Instead  of  spending  his  strength  in  track- 
ing and  refuting  error,  let  the  minister 
who  would  serve  the  cause  of  truth  labor 
to  gain  and  diffuse  more  and  more  en- 
larged and  lofty  views  of  our  religion, 
of  its  nature,  spirit,  and  end.  Let  him 
labor  to  separate  what  is  of  universal 
and  everlasting  application  from  the 
local  and  the  temporary ; to  penetrate 
beneath  the  letter  to  the  spirit ; to  de- 
tach the  primary,  essential,  and  all- 
comprehending  principles  of  Christi- 
anity from  the  incrustations,  accidental 
associations,  and  subordinate  append- 
ages by  which  they  are  often  obscured ; 
and  to  fix  and  establish  these  in  men’s 
minds  as  the  standard  by  which  more 
partial  views  are  to  be  tried.  Let  him 
especially  set  forth  the  great  moral  pur- 
pose of  Christianity,  always  teaching 
that  Christ  came  to  deliver  from  the 
power  still  more  than  from  the  punish- 
ment of  sin  ; that  his  most  important 
operation  is  within  us ; and  that  the 
highest  end  of  his  mission  is  the  erec- 
tion of  God’s  throne  in  the  soul,  the 
inspiration  of  a fervent  filial  piety, — a 
piety  founded  in  confiding  views  of 
God’s  parental  character,  and  manifest- 
ed in  a charity  corresponding  to  God’s 
unbounded  and  ever-active  love.  In 
addition  to  these  efforts,  let  him  strive 
to  communicate  the  just  principles  of 
interpreting  the  Scriptures,  that  men, 
reading  them  more  intelligently,  may 
read  them  with  new  interest,  and  he 
will  have  discharged  his  chief  duty  in 
relation  to  controversy. 

It  is  an  interesting  thought  that, 
through  the  influences  now  described, 
a sensible  progress  is  taking  place  in 
men’s  conceptions  of  Christianity.  It 
is  a plain  matter-of-fact  that  the  hard 
features  of  that  religious  system  which 
has  been  “ received  by  tradition  from 
our  fathers  ” are  greatly  softened  ; and 
that  a necessity  is  felt  by  those  who 
hold  it,  of  accommodating  their  repre- 
sentations of  it  more  and  more  to  the  im- 
proved philosophy  of  the  human  mind, 
and  to  the  undeniable  principles  of  nat- 
ural and  revealed  religion.  Uncondi- 
tional election  is  seldom  heard  of  among 
us.  The  imputation  of  Adam’s  sin  to 
his  posterity  is  hastening  to  join  the 
exploded  doctrine  of  transubstantiation. 


DEMANDS  OF  THE  AGE  ON  THE  MINISTRY. 

0 


276 

The  more  revolting  representations  of 
man’s  state  by  nature  are  judiciously 
kept  out  of  sight ; and,  what  is  of  still 
greater  importance,  preaching  is  incom- 
parably more  practical  than  formerly. 
And  all  these  changes  are  owing  not. to 
theological  controversy  so  much  as  to 
the  general  progress  of  the  human  mind. 
This  progress  is  especially  discernible 
in  the  diminished  importance  now  as- 
cribed to  the  outward  parts  of  Christi- 
anity. Christians,  having  grown  up  to 
understand  that  their  religion  is  a spirit 
and  not  a form,  are  beginning  to  feel  the 
puerility  as  well  as  guilt  of  breaking 
Christ’s  followers  into  factions,  on  such 
questions  as  these,  How  much  a bishop 
differs  from  a presbyter  ? and,  How 
great  a quantity  of  water  should  be 
used  in  baptism  ? And,  whilst  they 
desire  to  ascertain  the  truth  in  these 
particulars,  they  look  back  on  the  un- 
charitable heat  with  which  these  and 
similar  topics  were  once  discussed  with 
something  of  the  wonder  which  they 
feel  on  recollecting  the  violence  of  the 
Papists  during  the  memorable  debate, 
Whether  the  Virgin  Mary  were  born 
with  original  sin  ? It  is  a consoling  and 
delightful  thought  that  God,  who  uses 
Christianity  to  advance  civilization  and 
knowledge,  makes  use  of  this  very  ad- 
vancement to  bring  back  Christianity  to 
a purer  state,  thus  binding  together  and 
carrying  forward  by  mutual  action  the 
cau*se  .of  knowledge  and  the  cause  of 
religion,  and  strengthening  perpetually 
their  blended  and  blessed  influences  on 
human  nature. 

IV.  The  age  is  in  many  respects  a 
corrupt  one,  and  needs  and  demands  in 
the  ministry  a spirit  of  reform.  The 
age,  I say,  is  corrupt ; not  because  I 
consider  it  as  falling  below  the  purity 
of  past  times,  but  because  it  is  obviously 
and  grossly  defective  when  measured  by 
the  Christian  standard  and  by  the  lights 
and  advantages  which  it  enjoys.  I know 
nothing  to  justify  the  cry  of  modern  de- 
generacy, but  rather  incline  to  the  belief 
that  here  at  least  the  sense  of  religion 
was  never  stronger  than  at  present.  In 
comparing  different  periods  as  to  virtue 
and  piety,  regard  must  be  had  to  differ- 
ence of  circumstances.  It  would  argue 
little  wisdom  or  candor  to  expect  the  same 
freedom  from  luxury  and  dissipation  in 
this  opulent  and  flourishing  community  as 
marked  the  first  settlement  of  our  coun- 


try, when  the  inhabitants,  scarcely  shel- 
tered from  the  elements,  and  almost 
wholly  cut  off  from  intercourse  with  the 
civilized  world,  could  command  little 
more  than  the  necessaries  of  life  ; and 
yet  it  is  through  superficial  comparisons 
in  such  particulars  that  the  past  is  often 
magnified  at  the  expense  of  the  present. 

I mean  not  to  strike  a balance  between 
this  age  and  former  ones.  I look  on 
this  age  in  the  light  of  Christianity,  as  a 
minister  ought  to  look  upon  it ; and 
whilst  I see  much  to  cheer  and  encour- 
age, I see  much  to  make  a good  man 
mourn,  and  to  stir  up  Christ’s  servants 
to  prayer  and  toil.  That  our  increased 
comforts,  improved  arts,  and  overflowing 
prosperity  are  often  abused  to  licentious- 
ness ; that  Christianity  is  with  multi- 
tudes a mere  name  and  form  ; that  a 
practical  atheism,  which  ascribes  to  nat- 
ure and  fortune  the  gifts  and  operations 
of  God,  and  a practical  infidelity,  which 
lives  and  cares  and  provides  only  for 
the  present  state,  abound  on  every  side 
of  us  ;•  that  much  which  is  called  moral- 
ity springs  from  a prudent  balancing  of 
the  passions  and  a discreet  regard  to 
worldly  interests  ; that  there  is  an  insen- 
sibility to  God  which,  if  our  own  hearts 
were  not  infected  by  it,  would  shock  and 
amaze  us ; that  education,  instead  of 
guarding  and  rearing  the  moral  and  re- 
ligious nature  as  its  supreme  care,  often 
betrays  and  sacrifices  it  to  accomplish- 
ments and  acquisitions  which  relate  only 
to  the  present  life  ; that  there  is  a mourn- 
ful prevalence  of  dissoluteness  among 
the  young,  and  of  intemperance  among 
the  poor  ; that  the  very  religion  of  peace 
is  made  a torch  of  discord  ; and  that  the 
fires  of  uncharitableness  and  bigotry, 
fires  kindled  from  hell,  often  burn  on 
altars  consecrated  to  the  true  God ; — 
that  such  evils  exist,  who  does  not 
know  ? What  Christian  can  look  round 
him  and  say  that  the  state  of  society 
corresponds  to  what  men  may  and  should 
be  under  the  light  of  the  gospel,  and  in 
an  age  of  advanced  intelligence  ? As 
for  that  man  who,  on  surveying  the 
world,  thinks  its  condition  almost  as 
healthy  as  can  be  desired  or  hoped ; 
who  sees  but  a few  superficial  blots  on 
the  general  aspect  of  society  ; who  thinks 
the  ministry  established  for  no  higher 
end  than  to  perpetuate  the  present  state 
of  morals  and  religion  ; whose  heart  is 
never  burdened  and  sorrow-smitten  by 


DEMANDS  OF  THE  AGE  ON  THE  MINISTRY. 


277 


the  fearful  doom  to  which  multitudes 
around  him  are  thoughtlessly  hasten- 
ing ; — Oh  ! let  not  that  man  take  on 
him  the  care  of  souls.  The  physician, 
who  should  enter  a hospital  to  congrat- 
ulate his  dying  patients  on  their  pleas- 
ant sensations  and  rapid  convalescence, 
would  be  as  faithful  to  his  trust  as  the 
minister  who  sees  no  deep  moral  mala- 
dies around  him.  No  man  is  fitted  to 
withstand  great  evils  with  energy  unless 
he  be  impressed  by  their  greatness.  No 
man  is  fitted  to  enter  upon  that  warfare 
with  moral  evil  to  which  the  ministry  is 
set  apart  who  is  not  pained  and  pierced 
by  its  extent  and  woes,  — who  does  not 
burn  to  witness  and  advance  a great 
moral  revolution  in  the  world. 

Am  I told  that  “romantic  expecta- 
tions of  great  changes  in  society  will  do 
more  harm  than  good  ; that  the  world 
will  move  along  in  its  present  course, 
let  the  ministry  do  what  it  may  ; that 
we  must  take  the  present  state  as  God 
has  made  it,  and  not  waste  our  strength 
in  useless  lamentation  for  incurable 
evils  ” ? I hold  this  language,  though 
it  takes  the  name  of  philosophy,  to  be 
wholly  unwarranted  by  experience  and 
revelation.  If  there  be  one  striking 
feature  in  human  nature,  it  is  its  sus- 
ceptibleness of  improvement ; and  who 
is  authorized  to  say  that  the  limit  of 
Christian  improvement  is  reached  ? that, 
whilst  science  and  art,  intellect  and  im- 
agination, are  extending  their  domains, 
the  conscience  and  affections,  the  moral 
and  religious  principles  of  our  nature, 
are  incapable  of  increased  power  and 
elevation  ? Have  we  not  pledges  in 
man’s  admiration  of  disinterested,  heroic 
love  ; in  his  power  of  conceiving  and 
thirsting  for  unattained  heights  of  excel- 
lence ; and  in  the  splendor  and  sub- 
limity of  virtue  already  manifested  in 
not  a few  who  “ shine  as  lights  ” in  the 
darkness  of  past  ages,  that  man  was 
created  for  perpetual  moral  and  religious 
progress  ? True,  the  minister  should  not 
yield  himself  to  romantic  anticipations  ; 
for  disappointment  may  deject  him.  Let 
him  not  expect  to  break  in  a moment 
chains  of  habit  which  years  have  riv- 
eted, or  to  bring  back  to  immediate 
intimacy  with  God  souls  which  have 
wandered  long  and  far  from  him.  This 
is  romance  ; but  there  is  something  to 
be  dreaded  by  the  minister  more  than 
this,  — I mean  that  frigid  tameness  of 


mind,  too  common  in  Christian  teach- 
ers, which  confounds  the  actual  and 
the  possible  ; which  cannot  burst  the 
shackles  of  custom ; which  never  kin- 
dles at  the  thought  of  great  improve- 
ments of  human  nature ; which  is 
satisfied  if  religion  receive  an  outward 
respect,  and  never  dreams  of  enthroning 
it  in  men’s  souls  ; which  looks  on  the 
strongholds  of  sin  with  despair  ; which 
utters  by  rote  the  solemn  and  magnifi- 
cent language  of  the  gospel,  without 
expecting  it  to  “ work  mightily  ; ” which 
sees  in  the  ministry  a part  of  the  mech- 
anism of  society,  a useful  guardian  of 
public  order,  but  never  suspects  the 
powers  with  which  it  is  armed  by  Chris- 
tianity. 

The  ministry  is  indeed  armed  with 
great  powers  for  great  effects.  The 
doctrines  which  Christianity  commits  to 
its  teachers  are  mighty  engines.  The 
perfect  character  of  God ; the  tender 
and  solemn  attributes  which  belong  to 
him  as  our  Father  and  Judge  ; his  pur- 
poses of  infinite  and  everlasting  mercy 
towards  the  human  race ; the  character 
and  history  of  Christ ; his  entire,  self- 
immolating  devotion  to  the  cause  of 
mankind ; his  intimate  union  with  his 
followers  ; his  sufferings  and  cross,  his 
resurrection,  ascension,  and  interces- 
sion ; the  promised  aids  of  the  Holy 
Spirit ; the  immortality  of  man ; the 
retributions  which  await  the  unrepent- 
ing, and  the  felicities  and  glories  of 
heaven,  — here  are  truths  able  to  move 
the  whole  soul  and  to  war  victoriously 
with  its  host  of  passions.  The  teacher 
to  whom  are  committed  the  infinite 
realities  of  the  spiritual  world,  the  sanc- 
tions of  eternity,  “ the  powers  of  the  life 
to  come,”  has  instruments  to  work  with 
which  turn  to  feebleness  all  other  means 
of  influence.  There  is  not  heard  on 
earth  a voice  so  powerful,  so  penetrat- 
ing, as  that  of  an  enlightened  minister, 
who,  under  the  absorbing  influence  of 
these  mighty  truths,  devotes  himself  a 
living  sacrifice,  a whole  burnt-offering, 
to  the  cause  of  enlightening  and  saving 
his  fellow-creatures. 

No  ; there  is  no  romance  in  a minis- 
ter’s proposing  and  hoping  to  forward  a 
great  moral  revolution  on  the  earth  ; for 
the  religion  which  he  is  appointed  to 
preach  was  intended  and  is  adapted  to 
work  deeply  and  widely,  and  to  change 
the  face  of  society.  Christianity  was 


DEMANDS  OF  THE  AGE  ON  THE  MINISTRY. 


278 

not  ushered  into  the  world  with  such  a 
stupendous  preparation ; it  was  not  fore- 
shown through  so  many  ages  by  enrapt- 
ured prophets  ; it  was  not  proclaimed 
so  joyfully  by  the  songs  of  angels  ; it 
was  not  preached  by  such  holy  lips,  and 
sealed  by  such  precious  blood,  to  be 
only  a pageant,  a form,  a sound,  a show. 
Oh,  no.  It  has  come  from  heaven, 
with  heaven’s  life  and  power,  — come  to 
“make  all  things  new,”  to  make  “the 
wilderness  glad  and  the  desert  blos- 
som as  the  rose,”  to  break  the  stony 
heart,  to  set  free  the  guilt-burdened  and 
earth-bound  spirit,  and  to  “present  it 
faultless  before  God’s  glory  with  exceed- 
ing  joy.”  With  courage  and  hope  be- 
coming such  a religion,  let  the  minister 
bring  to  his  work  the  concentrated  pow- 
ers of  intellect  and  affection,  and  God, 
in  whose  cause  he  labors,  will  accom- 
pany and  crown  the  labor  with  an 
almighty  blessing. 

My  brother,  you  are  now  to  be  set 
apart  to  the  Christian  ministry.  I bid 
you  welcome  to  its  duties,  and  implore 
for  you  strength  to  discharge  them,  a 
long  and  prosperous  course,  increasing 
success,  and  everlasting  rewards.  I also 
welcome  you  to  the  connection  which  is 
this  day  formed  between  you  and  myself. 
I thank  God  for  an  associate  in  whose 
virtues  and  endowments  I have  the 
promise  of  personal  comfort  and  relief, 
and  still  more,  the  pledges  of  usefulness 
to  this  people.  I have  lived  too  long  to 
expect  unmingled  good  in  this  or  in  any 
relation  of  life  ; nor  am  I ignorant  of  the 
difficulties  and  trials  which  are  thought 
to  attend  the  union  of  different  minds 
and  different  hands  in  the  care  of  the 
same  church.  God  grant  us  that  single- 
ness of  purpose,  that  sincere  concern 
for  the  salvation  of  our  hearers,  which 
will  make  the  success  of  each  the  hap- 
piness of  both  ! I know,  for  I have 
borne,  the  anxieties  and  sufferings  which 
belong  to  the  first  years  of  the  Christian 
ministry,  and  I beg  you  to  avail  yourself 
of  whatever  aid  my  experience  can  give 
you.  But  no  human  aid  can  lift  every 
burden  from  your  mind ; nor  would  the 
truest  kindness  desire  for  you  exemption 
from  the  universal  lot.  May  the  disci- 
pline which  awaits  you  give  purity  and 
loftiness  to  your  motives  ; give  energy 


and  tenderness  to  your  character,  and 
prepare  you  to  minister  to  the  wants  of 
a tempted  and  afflicted  world,  with  that 
sympathy  and  wisdom  which  fellowship 
in  suffering  can  alone  bestow ! May 
you  grow  in  grace  and  in  the  spirit  of 
the  ministry  as  you  grow  in  years  ; and 
when  the  voice  which  now  speaks  to  you 
shall  cease  to  be  heard  within  these 
walls,  may  you,  my  brother,  be  left  to 
enjoy  and  reward  the  confidence,  to 
point  out  the  path  and  the  perils,  to  for- 
tify the  virtues,  to  animate  the  piety,  to 
comfort  the  sorrows,  to  save  the  souls 
bf  this  much-loved  people  ! 

Brethren  of  this  Christian  society  ! I 
rejoice  in  the  proof  which  this  day 
affords  of  your  desire  to  secure  the  ad- 
ministration of  Christ’s  word  and  ordi- 
nances to  yourselves  and  your  children ; 
and  I congratulate  you  on  the  prospects 
which  it  opens  before  you.  The  recol- 
lections which  rush  upon  my  mind  of 
your  sympathy  and  uninterrupted  kind- 
ness through  the  vicissitudes  of  my 
health  and  the  frequent  suspensions  of 
my  labors,  encourage  me  to  anticipate  for 
my  young  brother  that  kindness  and 
candor  on  which  the  happiness  of  a min- 
ister so  much  depends.  I cannot  ask 
for  him  sincerer  attachment  than  it  has 
been  my  lot  to  enjoy.  I remember, 
however,  that  the  reciprocation  of  kind 
feelings  is  not  the  highest  end  of  the 
ministry ; and,  accordingly,  my  most 
earnest  desire  and  prayer  to  God  is,  that 
with  a new  pastor  He  may  send  you  new 
influences  of  his  Spirit,  and  that,  through 
our  joint  labors,  Christianity,  being  root- 
ed in  your  understandings  and  hearts, 
may  spring  up  into  a rich  harvest  of  uni- 
versal goodness.  May  a more  earnest 
concern  for  salvation,  and  a thirst  for 
more  generous  improvement,  be  excited 
in  your  breasts  ! May  a new  life  breathe 
through  the  worship  of  this  house,  and 
a new  love  join  the  hearts  of  the  wor- 
shippers ! May  our  ministry  produce 
everlasting  fruits  ; and  on  that  great 
day  which  will  summon  the  teacher  and 
the  taught  before  the  judgment  seat  of 
Christ,  may  you.  my  much-loved  and  re- 
spected people,  be  “ our  joy  and  crown ; ” 
and  may  we,  when  all  hearts  shall  be  re- 
vealed, be  seen  to  have  sought  your  good 
with  unfeigned  and  disinterested  love  ! 


THEOLOGICAL  EDUCATION. 


279 


THEOLOGICAL  EDUCATION: 

Being  Extracts  from  Observations  on  the  Proposition  for  Increasing 
the  Means  of  such  Education  at  the  University  in  Cambridge. 

1816. 


As  a proposition  is  now  before  the 
public  for  increasing  the  means  of  theo- 
logical education  at  Harvard  University, 
it  is  thought  that  a few  observations  on 
the  subject  may  be  acceptable  to  those 
who  have  not  been  able  to  give  to  it 
much  attention,  and  whose  aid  and  pat- 
ronage may  be  solicited. 

It  may  perhaps  be  asked  by  some, 
though  I hope  the  question  will  be  con- 
fined to  a few,  Why  ought  we  to  be  so 
solicitous  for  the  education  of  ministers  ? 
The  answer  is  obvious.  The  object  of 
the  ministry  is  peculiarly  important.  To 
the  Christian  minister  are  intrusted  in  a 
measure  the  dearest  and  most  valuable 
interests  of  the  human  race.  He  is 
called  to  watch  over  the  morals  of  soci- 
ety, and  to  awaken  and  cultivate  the 
principles  of  piety  and  virtue  in  the 
hearts  of  individuals.  He  is  set  apart 
to  dispense  that  religion  which,  as  we 
believe,  came  from  God,  which  was  given 
to  reform,  exalt,  and  console  us,  and  on 
the  reception  of  which  the  happiness  of 
the  future  life  depends.  Ought  we  not 
to  be  solicitous  for  the  wise  and  effect- 
ual training  of  those  by  whom  this  relig- 
ion is  to  be  unfolded  and  enforced,  and 
to  whose  influence  our  own  minds  and 
those  of  our  children  are  to  be  so  often 
exposed  ? 

Our  interest  in  a minister  is  very  pe- 
culiar. He  is  to  us  what  no  other  pro- 
fessional man  can  be.  We  want  him,  not 
to  transact  our  business  and  to  receive 
a compensation,  but  to  be  our  friend,  our 
guide,  an  inmate  in  our  families;  to  en- 
ter our  houses  in  affliction ; and  to  be 
able  to  give  us  light,  admonition,  and 
consolation,  in  suffering,  sickness,  and 
the  last  hours  of  life. 

Our  connection  with  men  of  other 
professions  is  transient,  accidental,  rare. 
With  a minister  it  is  habitual.  Once  in 
the  week,  at  least,  we  are  to  meet  him 


and  sit  under  his  instructions.  We  are 
to  give  up  our  minds  in  a measure  to  his 
influence,  and  to  receive  from  him  im- 
pressions on  a subject  which,  more  than 
all  others,  concerns  us,  and  with  which 
our  improvement  and  tranquillity  through 
life  and  our  future  peace  are  intimately 
connected. 

We  want  the  minister  of  religion  to 
address  our  understandings  with  clear- 
ness ; to  extend  and  brighten  our  moral 
and  religious  conceptions ; to  throw 
light  over  the  obscurities  of  the  Sacred 
Volume  ; to  assist  us  in  repelling  those 
doubts  which  sometimes  shake  our  con- 
victions of  Christian  truth  ; and  to  es- 
tablish us  in  a firm  and  rational  belief. 

We  want  him  not  only  to  address  the 
understanding  with  clearness,  but,  still 
more,  to  speak  to  the  conscience  and 
heart  with  power ; to  force,  as  it  were, 
our  thoughts  from  the  world  ; to  rouse 
us  from  the  slumbers  of  an  unreflecting 
life  ; to  exhibit  religion  in  an  interesting 
form,  and  to  engage  our  affections  on 
the  side  of  duty.  Such  are  the  offices 
and  aids  which  we  need  from  the  Chris- 
tian minister.  Who  does  not  see  in  a 
moment  that  much  preparation  of  the 
intellect  and  heart  is  required  to  render 
him  successful  in  these  high  and  gen- 
erous labors  ? 

These  reasons  for  being  interested  in 
the  education  of  ministers  grow  out  of 
the  nature  and  importance  of  religion. 
Another  important  remark  is,  that  the 
state  of  our  country  demands  that  greater 
care  than  ever  should  be  given  to  this 
object.  It  will  not  be  denied,  I presume, 
that  this  country  is,  on  the  whole,  ad- 
vancing in  intelligence.  The  means  of 
improvement  are  more  liberally  and  more 
generally  afforded  to  the  young  than  in 
former  times.  A closer  connection  sub- 
sists with  the  cultivated  minds  in  other 
countries.  A variety  of  institutions  are 


28  o 


THEOLOGICAL  EDUCATION. 


awakening  our  powers,  and  communicat- 
ing a degree  of  general  knowledge  which 
was  not  formerly  diffused  among  us. 
Taste  is  more  extensively  cultivated, 
and  the  finest  productions  of  polite  lit- 
erature find  their  way  into  many  of  our 
families.  Now,  in  this  state  of  things, 
in  this  increasing  activity  of  intellect, 
there  is  peculiar  need  of  an  enlightened 
ministry.  Religion  should  not  be  left  to 
feeble  and  ignorant  advocates,  to  men 
of  narrow  and  unfurnished  minds.  Its 
ministers  should  be  practical  proofs  that 
it  may  be  connected  with  the  noblest 
improvements  of  the  understanding  ; and 
they  should  be  able  to  convert  into 
weapons  for  its  defence  the  discoveries 
of  jphilosophy  and  the  speculations  of 
genius.  Religion  must  be  adapted,  in 
its  mode  of  exhibition,  to  the  state  of 
society.  The  form  in  which  we  present 
it  to  the  infant  will  not  satisfy  and  in- 
terest the  advanced  understanding.  In 
the  same  manner,  if  in  a cultivated  age 
religious  instruction  does  not  partake  the 
general  elevation,  it  will  be  slighted  by 
the  very  minds  whose  influence  it  is 
most  desirable  to  engage  on  the  side  of 
virtue  and  piety. 

I have  observed  that  an  enlightened 
age  requires  an  enlightened  ministry. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  may  be  observed, 
that  an  enlightened  ministry  is  a power- 
ful agent  in  continuing  and  accelerating 
the  progress  of  light,  of  refinement,  and 
of  all  social  improvements.  The  limits 
of  this  essay  will  not  admit  the  full 
development  of  this  sentiment.  • I will 
only  observe,  that  perhaps  the  most 
reflecting  men  are  not  aware  how  far  a 
society  is  indebted  for  activity  of  in- 
tellect, delicacy  of  manners,  and  the 
strength  of  all  its  institutions,  to  the 
silent,  subtile  influence  of  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  which  are  kept  alive  in  the 
breasts  of  multitudes  by  religious  in- 
struction. 

There  is  another  most  important  con- 
sideration for  promoting  an  enlightened 
ministry.  Religious  teachers  there  cer- 
tainly will  be,  of  one  description  or 
another ; and  if  men  of  well-furnished 
minds  cannot  be  found  for  this  office, 
we  shall  be  overwhelmed  by  the  ignorant 
and  fanatical.  The  human  heart  is  dis- 
posed, by  its  very  nature,  to  religious 
impressions,  and  it  wants  guidance, 
wants  direction,  wants  the  light  and 
fervor  of  other  minds,  in  this  most  inter- 


esting concern.  Conscious  of  weakness, 
and  delighting  in  excitement,  it  will  fol- 
low the  blindest  guide  who  speaks  with 
confidence  of  his  communications  with 
God,  rather  than  advance  alone  in  the 
religious  life.  An  enlightened  ministry 
is  the  only  barrier  against  fanaticism. 
Remove  this,  and  popular  enthusiasts 
would  sweep  away  the  multitude  as  with 
a torrent,  would  operate  with  an  unre- 
sisted power  on  the  ardent  imagination 
of  youth,  and  on  the  devotional  sus- 
ceptibility of  woman,  and  would  even 
prostrate  cultivated  minds  in  which  feel- 
ing is  the  most  prominent  trait.  Few 
of  us  consider  the  proneness  of  the 
human  heart  to  extravagance  and  fanat- 
icism, or  how  much  we  are  all  indebted 
for  our  safety  to  the  good  sense  and 
intellectual  and  religious  improvement 
of  ministers  of  religion. 

Ignorant  ministers  are  driven  almost 
by  necessity  to  fanaticism.  Unable  to 
interest  their  hearers  by  appeals  to  the 
understanding,  and  by  clear,  judicious, 
and  affecting  delineations  of  religion, 
they  can  only  acquire  and  maintain  the 
ascendency  which  is  so  dear  to  them  by 
inflaming  the  passions,  by  exciting  a 
distempered  and  ungoverned  sensibility, 
and  by  perpetuating  ignorance  and  error. 
Every  man  of  observation  must  have 
seen  melancholy  illustrations  of  this 
truth  ; and  what  an  argument  does  it 
afford  in  favor  of  an  enlightened  min- 
istry ! 

Nothing  more  is  needed  to  show  the 
great  interest  which  the  community 
ought  to  feel  in  the  education  of  young 
men  for  the  ministry.  But  it  will  be 
asked,  Are  not  our  present  means  suffi- 
cient ? Are  not  our  pulpits  filled  with 
well- furnished  and  enlightened  teachers  ? 
Why  seek  to  obtain  additional  aids  for 
this  important  end  ? I answer,  first, 
that  a sufficient  number  of  enlightened 
ministers  is  not  trained  for  our  pulpits. 
There  is  a demand  beyond  the  supply, 
even  if  we  look  no  farther  than  this 
Commonwealth  ; and  if  we  look  through 
the  whole  country,  we  shall  see  an  im- 
mense tract  of  the  spiritual  vineyard 
uncultivated,  and  uncultivated  for  want 
of  laborers.  I answer,  in  the  second 
place,  that  whilst  in  our  pulpits  we  have 
ministers  whose  gifts  and  endowments 
entitle  them  to  respect,  we  yet  need  and 
ought  to  possess  a more  enlightened 
ministry.  Many  of  our  religious  teach- 


THEOLOGICAL  EDUCATION.  * 28 1 


ers  will  lament  to  us  the  deficiencies  of 
their  education,  will  lament  that  the  nar- 
rowness of  'their  circumstances  com- 
pelled them  to  too  early  an  entrance  on 
their  work,  will  lament  that  they  were 
deprived,  by  the  imperfection  of  our 
institutions,  of  many  aids  which  the 
preparation  for  the  ministry  requires. 
We  have  indeed  many  good  ministers. 
But  we  ought  to  have  better.  We  may 
have  better.  But  unless  we  will  sow 
more  liberally,  we  cannot  expect  a richer 
harvest.  The  education  of  ministers 
decides  very  much  their  future  charac- 
ter, and  where  this  is  incomplete,  we 
must  not  expect  to  be  blessed  with  pow- 
erful and  impressive  instruction.  The 
sum  is,  we  need  an  increase  of  the 
means  of  theological  education. 

But  it  will  be  asked,  Why  shall  we 
advance  funds  for  the  education  of  min- 
isters rather  than  of  physicians  or  law- 
yers ? Why  are  such  peculiar  aid  and 
encouragements  needed  for  this  profes- 
sion ? Wjll  not  the  demand  for  ministers 
obtain  a supply,  just  as  the  demand  for 
every  other  species  of  talent  ? This 
reasoning  is  founded  on  a principle  gen- 
erally true,  that  demand  creates  a supply ; 
but  every  general  rule  has  its  exceptions, 
and  it  is  one  of  the  highest  offices  of 
practical  wisdom  to  discern  the  cases 
where  the  rule  fails  in  its  applica- 
tion. 

All  reasoning  should  give  place  to 
fact.  Now  it  is  an  undeniable  fact,  that 
whilst  the  other  learned  professions  in 
our  country  are  crowded  and  overstocked, 
whilst  the  supply  vastly  surpasses  the 
demand,  the  profession  of  the  ministry 
is  comparatively  deserted,  and  candi- 
dates of  respectable  standing,  instead 
of  obtruding  themselves  in  crowds,  are 
often  to  be  sought  with  a degree  of  care 
and  difficulty. 

The  reason  of  this  is  to  be  found  in 
the  difference  between  the  ministry  and 
other  professions.  Other  professions 
hold  out  the  strong  lures  of  profit  and 
distinction.  They  appeal  to  the  ambi- 
tion, the  love  of  gain,  the  desire  of  rising 
in  the  world,  which  are  so  operative  on 
youthful  minds.  These  lures  are  not, 
and  ought  not  to  be,  exhibited  by  the 
ministry.  This  profession  makes  its 
chief  appeal  to  the  moral  and  religious 
feelings  of  the  young  ; and  we  all  know 
how  much  fainter  these  are  than  those 
which  I have  previously  mentioned.  Can 


we  wonder,  then,  that  the  ministry  is  less 
crowded  ? 

I proceed  to  another  remark.  The 
professions  of  law  and  medicine  do  not 
imperiously  demand  any  high  moral 
qualifications  in  those  who  embrace 
them.  A young  man,  whose  habits  are 
not  altogether  pure,  or  whose  character 
is  marked  by  levity,  may  enter  on  the 
study  of  these  professions  without  in- 
curring the  reproach  of  impropriety  or 
inconsistency  of  conduct.  The  ministry, 
on  the  other  hand,  demands  not  merely 
unexceptionable  morals,  but  a serious- 
ness of  mind,  and  a propensity  to  con- 
templative and  devout  habits,  which  are 
not  the  ordinary  characteristics  of  that 
age  when  a choice  must  be  made  of  the 
business  of  life.  On  this  account,  the 
number  of  the  young  who  are  inclined 
by  their  own  feelings,  and  advised  by 
others,  to  enter  the  ministry,  is  com- 
paratively small. 

I am  now  led  to  another  reflection, 
growing  out  of  the  last.  The  profes- 
sion of  the  ministry  has  an  aspect  not 
inviting  to  the  young.  Youth  is  the 
period  of  animation  and  gayety.  But, 
to  the  hasty  observation  of  youth,  there 
is  a gloominess,  a solemnity,  a painful 
self-restraint  belonging  to  the  life  of  a 
minister.  Even  young  men  of  pure 
morals  and  of  devotional  susceptibility 
shrink  from  an  employment  which  they 
think  will  separate  them  from  the  world, 
and  impose  a rigorous  discipline  and 
painful  circumspection.  That  path, 
which  they  would  probably  find  most 
tranquil  and  most  flowery,  seems  to 
them  beset  wdth  thorns.  Do  we  not 
see  many  obstructions  to  a sufficient 
supply  of  students  of  theology  ? 

1 now  proceed  to  another  most  im- 
portant consideration.  We  have  seen 
that  a large  number  of  young  men, 
qualified  by  their  habits  and  feelings 
for  the  ministry,  is  not  to  be  expected. 
It  is  also  a fact,  and  a very  decisive 
fact,  that  young  men  thus  qualified  gen- 
erally belong  to  families  whose  circum- 
stances are  confined,  and  whose  means 
of  educating  their  children  are  exceed- 
ingly narrow.  From  this  class  of  soci- 
ety the  ministerial  profession,  as  is  well 
known,  receives  its  largest  supplies. 
Do  we  not  at  once  discover  from  this 
statement,  that  this  profession  demands 
from  the  community  peculiar  encourage- 
ment ? Let  me  briefly  repeat  what  I 


282 


THEOLOGICAL  EDUCATION, \ 


have  said.  From  the  nature  of  the 
ministry,  but  a small  proportion  of  the 
young  are  disposed  or  fitted  to  enter  it, 
and  of  this  number  a considerable  part 
are  unable  to  defray  the  expenses  of 
their  education  ; and  yet  the  community 
has  the  highest  possible  interest  in  giv- 
ing them  the  best  education  which  the 
improvements  of  the  age  and  the  opu- 
lence of  the  country  will  admit.  Is  it 
not  clear  that  there  ought  to  be  pro- 
vided liberal  funds  for  this  most  valu- 
able object  ? 

Will  it  here  be  asked,  why  the  candi- 
date for  the  ministry  cannot  borrow 
money  to  defray  the  charges  of  his 
education  ? I answer,  it  is  not  always 
easy  for  him  to  borrow.  Besides,  a 
,debt  is  a most  distressing  incumbrance 
to  a man  who  has  a prospect  of  a salary 
so  small  that,  without  exertions  foreign 
to  his  profession,  it  will  hardly  support 
him.  Can  we  wonder  that  the  profes- 
sion is  declined,  in  preference  to  such  a 
burden  ? 

Where  this  burden,  however,  is  chos- 
en, the  effect  is  unhappy,  and  the  cause 
of  religion  is  often  a sufferer.  The 
candidate,  unwilling  to  contract  a larger 
debt  than  is  indispensable  to  his  object, 
hurries  through  his  studies,  and  enters 
unfurnished  and  unprepared  on  the  min- 
istry. His  first  care  is,  as  it  should  be, 
to  free  himself  from  his  pecuniary  obli- 
gations ; and  for  this  end  he  endeavors 
to  unite  some  secular  employment  with 
his  sacred  calling.  In  this  way  the 
spirit  of  study  and  of  his  profession  is 
damped.  He  forms  negligent  habits 
in  his  preparation  for  the  pulpit,  which 
he  soon  thinks  are  justified  by  the 
wants  of  a growing  family.  His  im- 
perfect education,  therefore,  is  never 
completed.  His  mind  remains  station- 
ary. A meagre  library,  which  he  is  un- 
able to  enlarge,  furnishes  the  weekly 
food  for  his  flock,  who  are  forced  to 


subsist  on  an  uninteresting  repetition  of 
the  same  dull  thoughts. 

This  is  the  melancholy  history  of  too 
many  who  enter  the  ministry.  Few 
young  men  among  us  are  in  fact  suffi- 
ciently prepared,  and  the  consequence 
is  that  religious  instruction  is  not  what 
it  should  be.  The  community  at  large 
cannot  perhaps  understand  how  exten- 
sive a preparation  the  ministry  requires. 
There  is  one  idea,  however,  which  should 
teach  them  that  it  ought  to  be  more 
extensive  than  that  which  is  demanded 
for  any  other  profession.  A lawyer  and 
physician  begin  their  employment  with 
a small  number  of  clients  or  patients, 
and  their  practice  is  confined  to  the 
least  important  cases  within  their  re- 
spective departments.  They  have  there- 
fore much  leisure  for  preparation  after 
entering  on  their  pursuits,  and  gradu- 
ally rise  into  public  notice.  Not  so  the 
minister.  He  enters  at  once  on  the 
stage.  All  the  duties  of  a parish  im- 
mediately devolve  upon  him.  , His  con- 
nection at  the  first  moment  extends  to 
as  large  a number  as  he  will  ever  be 
called  to  serve.  His  station  is  at  first 
conspicuous.  He  is  literally  burdened 
and  pressed  with  duties.  The  mere 
labor  of  composing  as  many  sermons  as 
are  demanded  of  him  is  enough  to  ex- 
haust his  time  and  strength.  If,  then, 
his  education  has  been  deficient,  how  is 
it  to  be  repaired  ? Amidst  these  dis- 
advantages, can  we  wonder  that  the 
mind  loses  its  spring,  and  soon  be- 
comes satisfied  with  very  humble  pro- 
ductions ? How  important  is  it  that  a 
good  foundation  should  be  laid,  that  the 
theological  student  should  have  time  to 
accumulate  some  intellectual  treasures, 
and  that  he  should  be  trained  under 
circumstances  more  suited  to  give  him 
an  unconquerable  love  of  his  profes- 
sion, of  study,  and  of  the  cause  to  which 
he  is  devoted ! 


CHARGE  AT  THE  ORDINATION  OF  REV.  J.  S.  DWIGHT.  283 


CHARGE  AT  THE  ORDINATION  OF  THE  REV. 
JOHN  SULLIVAN  DWIGHT, 
t 

As  Pastor  of  the  Second  Congregational  Church  in  Northampton , 
Massachusetts , May  20,  1840. 


My  young  Friend,  — The  Ecclesias- 
tical Council,  assembled  here  to  intro- 
duce you  to  the  office  of  a Christian 
minister,  according  to  the  simple  and 
affecting  rites  of  the  Congregational 
churches,  have  appointed  me  to  deliver 
the  Charge  ; or,  in  other  words,  to  ex- 
pound to  you  and  to  enforce  the  duties 
of  the  sacred  office.  In  doing  this,  I 
claim  no  right  to  dictate  to  your  faith,  I 
ask  no  passive  obedience  or  assent ; and 
yet  there  is  an  authority  of  divine  truth, 
and  in  proportion  as  a man  is  possessed 
by  it,  he  cannot  but  speak  with  the  en- 
ergy of  a divine  messenger,  and  with  the 
consciousness  of  a right  to  respectful 
attention. 

I shall  confine  myself  to  your  duties 
as  a public  teacher  of  religion  ; not  that 
the  more  private  labors  of  your  office 
want  importance  ; but  because  it  will  be 
more  useful  to  enter  with  some  thor- 
oughness into  a part,  than  to  give  su- 
perficial notices  of  the  whole,  of  your 
functions. 

It  is  well  to  start  with  some  compre- 
hensive view  of  our  work,  be  it  what  it 
may  ; and  I therefore  begin  with  observ- 
ing that  the  great  idea  which  ought  to 
shine  out  in  all  preaching  is  that  of 
moral  perfection.  This  is  the  very  es- 
sence of  God ; our  highest  conception 
of  the  divinity  being  that  of  absolute, 
unbounded,  eternal,  omnipotent  recti- 
tude and  love.  Of  this  perfection,  Christ 
is  the  bright,  unsullied  image.  To  bring 
men  to  this  was  the  grand  purpose  of 
his  coming,  teaching,  miracles,  and  cross. 
In  this  we  -have  the  explanation  of  our 
present  being,  the  end  of  all  its  duties, 
temptations,  conflicts,  and  pains.  This 
is,  in  truth,  the  everlasting  life,  the 
heaven,  which  he  came  to  unfold  and 
promise  to  mankind.  Your  fitness  for 
your  office  is  to  be  measured  by  your 


comprehension  of  this  perfection,  by 
your  faith  in  it,  by  your  aspirations 
after  it,  by  the  power  with  which  this 
supreme  beauty  smites  and  stirs  your 
soul,  and  by  your  power  of  awakening 
the  thought  and  desire  of  it  in  the  souls 
of  others.  Your  work,  then,  is  to  preach 
the  perfect.  Preach  the  perfection  of 
God,  that  He  may  be  loved,  not  with 
passion  or  selfish  regards,  but  with  en- 
lightened, disinterested,  ever-growing 
love.  Preach  the  perfection  of  Christ. 
Strive  to  seize  the  true  idea  of  his  char- 
acter, to  penetrate  the  mists  with  which 
the  errors  of  ages  have  shrouded  him, 
to  see  him  in  his  simple  majesty,  to 
trace  in  his  history  the  working  of  his 
soul,  the  peculiarity  of  his  love,  the 
grandeur  of  his  purpose.  Be  not  anx- 
ious to  settle  his  rank  in  the  universe, 
but  to  comprehend  the  divinity  of  his 
spirit,  that  you  may  awaken  towards 
him  generous,  purifying  affections. 
Preach  the  perfection  to  which  man 
is  called  by  Christianity.  Preach  the 
nobleness  and  beauty  of  human  virtue. 
Believe  in  man  as  destined  to  make  prog- 
ress without  end.  Help  him  to  under- 
stand his  high  calling  as  a Christian, 
and  to  see  God  working  within  and 
around  him  for  his  perfection.  These 
views  might  easily  be  extended,  but 
these  are  sufficient  to  show  you  the 
grandeur  of  thought  which  belongs  to 
your  profession.  Moral  perfection  is 
its  beginning  and  end.  How  sublime 
and  awakening  the  theme  of  the  min- 
istry ! And  yet  religion,  in  consequence 
of  its  being  so  familiar,  and  of  its  having 
been  cramped  so  long  in  human  creeds, 
shrinks  in  most  minds  into  a small  com- 
pass, and  wears  any  form  but  that  of 
grandeur.  You  have  seen  in  schools  the 
solar  system,  with  its  majestic  worlds, 
represented  by  circles  of  wire  and  balls 


CHARGE  AT  THE  ORDINATION 


284 

of  pith.  In  like  manner,  religion  is 
dwarfed  and  degraded.  Strive  to  think 
of  it  nobly,  justly,  vividly,  and  hold  it 
forth  as  the  sublimest  reality. 

You  are  to  preach  the  perfect ; and 
for  what  end  ? Not  simply  that  men 
may  discern  and  admire  it.  This  is  but 
the  beginning  of  your  work.  The  great 
aim  must  be  to  stir  up  men  to  the  sol- 
emn, stern,  invincible  purpose  of  doing, 
of  becoming,  what  they  acknowledge 
and  admire,  of  realizing  their  conceptions 
of  the  right,  the  perfect,  the  divine. 
The  highest  office  of  the  ministry  is  to 
breathe  this  energy,  this  indomitable 
force  of  will.  It  is  not  enough  to  awaken 
enthusiasm  by  touching  manifestations 
of  moral  beauty,  of  Christian  greatness 
of  soul.  Sensibility  without  moral  res- 
olution avails  nothing.  All  duties,  and 
especially  the  highest,  are  resisted  in  the 
breasts  of  our  hearers,  by  strong  temp- 
tations, by  the  senses,  the  passions,  by 
selfish  hopes  and  fears,  by  bad  habits 
and  sins  ; and  unless  you  can  awaken 
energy  to  put  down  this  resistance,  you 
preach  in  vain.  It  is  the  existence  of 
this  mighty  antagonist  force  to  virtue  in 
human  nature  which  makes  Christianity 
necessary,  which  makes  the  ministry 
necessary.  The  grand  purpose  of  all 
the  doctrines,  teachings,  promises,  in- 
stitutions, and  spiritual  aids  of  our  re- 
ligion, is  to  infuse  an  all-conquering  will 
in  opposition  to  temptation,  to  bind  the 
soul  to  the  choice  and  pursuit  of  perfec- 
tion in  the  face  of  pleasure,  pain,  honor, 
interest,  loss,  and  death.  Propose  dis- 
tinctly to  yourself,  as  your  grand  work, 
the  excitement  of  this  energy  of  the 
will ; and  this  single  thought  will  do 
much  to  give  a living  power  to  your 
preaching. 

Having  spoken  of  the  end  of  the 
Christian  teacher,  I proceed  to  consider 
the  means  by  which  it  is  to* be  accom- 
plished. His  great  instrument  is  the 
truth  revealed  by  God  through  Jesus 
Christ,  and  through  his  own  soul.  To 
gain  this  must,  of  course,  be  the  labor 
of  his  life  ; and  he  is  to  gain  it  chiefly 
by  study  and  by  inward  experience.  A 
minister  must  be  a student,  — a patient, 
laborious  student.  There  are  those,  in- 
deed, who  seem  to  think  that  religious 
truth  comes  by  inspiration  ; and  it  is 
certain  that  light  often  flashes  on  the 
mind  as  from  heaven.  But  inspiration 
does  not  visit  the  idle,  passive  mind. 


We  receive  it  in  the  use  and  faithful  use 
of  our  powers.  You  must  study,  you 
must  work.  Your  parish  must  contain 
no  harder  laborer  than  yourself.  To 
study  is  not  to  read,  that  we  may  know 
what  others  have  thought ; but  to  put 
forth  the  utmost  strength  of  our  facul- 
ties for  the  acquisition  of  just,  strong, 
living  convictions  of  truth.  It  is  to  con- 
centrate the  mind ; to  pierce  beneath 
the  apparent  and  particular,  to  the  real 
and  permanent  and  universal ; to  grap- 
ple with  difficulties  ; to  separate  false 
associations  and  accidental  adjuncts 
from  the  truth.  Study  human  nature 
and  the  divine.  Study*  human  life,  that 
you  may  penetrate  through  its  mysteries 
and  endless  mutations  to  its  one  all-com- 
prehending design.  Study  God’s  works, 
that  amidst  their  infinite  agencies  you 
may  discern  the  one  power  and  spirit 
from  which  all  spring.  Study,  espe- 
cially, the  Holy  Scriptures,  the  records 
of  God’s  successive  revelations  to  the 
human  race.  Strive  to  gain  profound, 
generous,  and  fruitful  conceptions  of 
Christianity ; to  penetrate  into  the  im- 
port of  its  records  ; to  seize  its  distinc- 
tive character,  and  to  rise  above  what 
was  local,  temporary,  partial  in  Christ’s 
teaching,  to  his  universal,  all-compre- 
hending truth.  To  gain  this  knowledge 
of  Christianity,  your  first  and  chief  re- 
sort will  be,  of  course,  to  the  New 
Testament ; but  remember,  that  there 
are  difficulties  in  the  way  of  a just  inter- 
pretation of  this  venerable  record.  Other 
books  are  left  to  act  on  our  minds  freely 
and  without  control,  to  exert  on  us  their 
native,  genuine  influence  ; but  such  a 
host  of  interpreters  thrust  themselves 
between  the  sacred  volume  and  the 
reader,  so  many  false  associations  of 
ideas  with  its  phraseology  are  formed 
from  the  cradle,  and  long  familiarity  has 
so  hardened  us  to  its  most  quickening 
passages,  that  it  is  more  difficult  to  bring 
ourselves  into  near  communication  with 
a sacred  writer  than  with  any  other. 
The  student  in  theology  must  labor 
earnestly  to  escape  the  power  of  habit, 
and  to  receive  immediate  impressions 
from  the  Scriptures  ; and  when  by  his 
efforts  he  is  able  to  catch  the  spirit 
which  had  before  lain  hid  beneath  the 
letter ; to  feel  a new  power  in  words 
which  had  often  fallen  lifelessly  on  his 
ear  ; to  place  himself  in  the  midst  of  the 
past,  and  thus  to  pierce  into  the  heart  of 


OF  REV.  J.  S.  DWIGHT. 


passages  which  he  had  been  accustomed 
to  interpret  according  to  modern  modes 
of  thought ; he  ought  to  rejoice  as  in 
the  acquisition  of  untold  treasure,  and 
to  feel  that  he  is  arming  himself  with  the 
most  effectual  weapons  for  his  spiritual 
warfare. 

You  will,  of  course,  read  other  books 
besides  the  Bible  ; but  beware  lest  these 
diminish  your  power.  Perhaps  in  no 
department  of  literature  are  works  of 
vigorous  and  original  thought  rarer 
than  in  theology.  No  profession  is  so 
overwhelmed  with  commonplace,  weak, 
worthless  books  as  ours.  No  text  has 
been  so  obscured  and  oppressed  by  un- 
discerning commentators  as  the  Bible. 
In  theology,  as  in  all  branches  of  knowl- 
edge, confine  yourself  very  much  to  the 
works  of  men  who  have  written  not 
from  tradition  or  imitation,  but  from 
consciousness,  experience,  reflection, 
and  research ; and  study  these,  that 
your  own  faculties  may  be  roused  to  a 
kindred  energy.  Especially  beware  of 
giving  yourself  up  to  the  popular  liter- 
ature of  the  day ; which,  however  inno- 
cent or  useful  as  an  amusement,  is  the 
last  nutriment  to  form  a powerful  mind, 
and  which,  I fear,  is  more  pernicious 
to  men  of  our  profession  than  of  any 
other. 

Study  laboriously,  for  much  is  to  be 
learned.  Do  not  destroy  your  intellect- 
ual life  by  imagining  that  all  truth  is 
discovered,  and  that  you  have  nothing 
to  do  but  to  repeat  what  others  have 
taught.  I know  not  a more  fatal  mistake 
to  a teacher.  It  were  better  for  you  to 
burn  your  books,  and  to  devote  yourself 
to  solitary,  painful  researches  after  truth, 
than  to  sleep  on  others’  acquisitions,  than 
to  make  the  activity  of  others’  minds  a 
substitute  for  your  own.  It  is  intended 
by  our  Creator  that  truth  should  be  our 
own  discovery,  and  therefore  He  has  sur- 
rounded us  with  fallible  beings,  whom  we 
are  impelled  to  distrust.  Paradoxical  as 
it  may  seem,  we  ought  to  discover  the 
truths  which  we  have  been  taught  by 
others ; for  the  light  which  our  own 
earnest  free  thought  will  throw  on  these 
will  make  them  so  different  from  what 
they  were  when  first  passively  received, 
that  they  will  be  virtually  rediscovered 
by  ourselves. 

Study  laboriously,  for  much  is  to  be 
learned.  Do  not  feel  as  if  Christianity 
had  spoken  its  last  word,  and  had  noth- 


285 

ing  more  to  say.  It  is  the  characteristic 
of  divine  truth  that  it  is  inexhaustible, 
infinitely  fruitful.  It  does  not  stand 
alone  in  the  mind,  but  combines  with, 
explains,  irradiates  our  other  knowledge. 
It  is  the  office  of  a great  moral  truth  to 
touch  the  deep  springs  of  thought  within 
us,  to  awaken  the  soul  to  new  activity, 
to  start  a throng  of  suggestions  to  be 
followed  out  by  patient  contemplation. 
An  arid,  barren  religion,  which  reveals  a 
precise,  rigid  doctrine,  admitting  no  ex- 
pansion, and  kindling  no  new  life  in  the 
intellect,  cannot  be  from  God.  It  wants 
an  essential  mark  of  having  come  from 
the  Creator  of  the  human  soul,  for  the 
great  distinction  of  soul  is  its  desire  to 
burst  its  limits  and  grow  for  ever. 

But  I need  not  in  this  town  urge  the 
importance  of  study.  Can  a minister 
breathe  the  atmosphere  in  which  Ed- 
wards lived,  and  content  himself  with 
taking  passively  what  others  teach  ? I 
exhort  you  to  visit  the  spot  where  Ed- 
wards brought  forth  his  profound  works  ; 
and  let  the  spiritual  presence  of  that  in- 
tensest  thinker  of  the  New  World  and 
of  the  age  in  which  he  lived  stir  you  up 
to  energy  of  thought.  His  name  has 
shed  a consecration  over  this  place.  In 
many  things,  indeed,  you  differ  from 
him  ; but  you  will  not  therefore  rever- 
ence the  less  his  single-hearted  and  un- 
wearied devotion  of  his  great  powers  to 
the  investigation  of  truth  ; and  in  the 
wide  and  continued  influence  of  his 
writings  you  will  learn  that  secret  study, 
silent  thought,  is,  after  all,  the  mightiest 
agent  in  human  affairs. 

I have  enlarged  beyond  my  purpose 
on  study ; I proceed  to  observe  that 
something  more  than  the  action  of  intel- 
lect is  needed  to  secure  to  you  a living 
knowledge  of  Christian  truth.  On  moral 
subjects  no  study  can  avail  us  without 
inward  experience.  To  comprehend  re- 
ligion, you  must  be  religious  A new 
revelation  of  truth  is  gained  by  bringing 
the  truth  to  bear  on  our  own  hearts  and 
lives.  Study  the  best  books  ; but  re- 
member that  no  “ tongue  of  men  or  an- 
gels,” no  language  of  heaven  or  earth, 
can  give  you  that  intimate  perception  of 
God,  that  faith  in  the  invisible,  which 
comes  from  inward  purity,  from  likeness 
to  the  Divinity.  There  is  a light  to  which 
others  are  strangers,  that  visits  the  in- 
ward eye  of  the  man  who  contends  with 
evil  in  himself,  and  is  true  to  his  convic- 


286 


CHARGE  AT  THE  ORDINATION 


tions  of  duty.  This  is  the  highest  in- 
spiration, surpassing  that  of  prophets  ; 
for  the  ancient  prophet  comprehended 
but  imperfectly  the  revelation  with  which 
he  was  charged,  and  sometimes  shrank 
from  communicating  it  to  the  world. 
Christian  truth  will  never  become  your 
own  until  something  congenial  with  it  is 
unfolded  in  your  own  soul.  We  learn 
the  Divinity  through  a divine  principle 
within  ourselves.  We  learn  the  majesty 
and  happiness  of  virtue  by  conscious- 
ness, by  experience,  by  giving  up  all  to 
virtue,  and  in  no  other  way.  Disinter- 
ested, impartial  love  is  the  perfection  of 
the  intellect  as  well  as  of  the  heart. 
Without  it,  thought  is  barren  and  super- 
ficial, clinging  to  things  narrow,  selfish, 
and  earthly.  This  love  gave  being, 
unity,  harmony  to  the  universe,  and  is 
the  only  light  in  which  the  universe  can 
be  read.  Preach  from  this  highest  in- 
spiration, and  you  will  preach  with 
power.  Without  this  inward  experi- 
ence, intellect,  imagination,  passion, 
rhetoric,  genius,  may  dazzle,  and  be 
rapturously  praised  and  admired,  but 
they  cannot  reach  the  depths  of  the 
human  soul.  Watch,  then,  over  your 
own  spiritual  life  ; be  what  you  preach  ; 
know  by  consciousness  what  you  incul- 
cate. Remember  that  the  best  prepara- 
tion for  enforcing  any  Christian  virtue 
is  to  bring  it  into  vigorous  action  in  your 
own  breast.  Let  the  thirst  for  perfec- 
tion grow  up  in  you  into  a holy  enthusi- 
asm, and  you  will  have  taken  the  most 
effectual  step  towards  perfecting  them 
that  hear  you. 

I have  now  spoken  of  the  two  princi- 
pal means  of  obtaining  Christian  truth  ; 
they  are  study  and  inward  experience. 
Having  thus  sought  the  truth,  how  shall 
it  be  communicated?  A few  sugges- 
tions only  can  be  made.  I exhort  you, 
first,  to  communicate  it  with  all  possible 
plainness  and  simplicity.  Put  confi- 
dence in  the  power  of  pure,  unsophisti- 
cated truth.  Do  not  disguise  or  distort 
it,  or  overlay  it  with  ornaments  or  false 
colors,  to  make  it  more  effectual.  Bring 
it  out  in  its  native  shape  and  hues, 
and,  if  possible,  in  noonday  brightness. 
Beware  of  ambiguous  words,  of  cant, 
of  vague  abstractions,  of  new-fangled 
phrases,  of  ingenious  subtilties.  Es- 
pecially exaggerate  nothing  for  effect,  — 
that  most  common  sin  of  the  pulpit.  Be 
willing  to  disappoint  your  hearers,  to  be 


unimpressive,  to  seem  cold,  rather  than 
to  “o’erstepthe  modesty”  of  truth.  In 
the  long  run,  nothing  is  so  strong  as 
simplicity.  Do  not,  to  be  striking,  dress 
up  truth  in  paradoxes.  Do  not  make  it 
virtually  falsehood,  by  throwing  it  out 
without  just  modification  and  restraint. 
Do  not  destroy  its  fair  proportions  by 
extravagance.  Undoubtedly  strong  emo- 
tion often  breaks  out  in  hyperboles.  It 
cannot  stop  to  weigh  its  words  ; and  this 
free,  bold  language  of  nature  I do  not 
mean  to  condemn  ; for  this,  even  when 
most  daring,  is  simple  and  intelligible. 

I would  caution  you,  not  against  nature, 
but  against  artificial  processes,  against 
distrust  of  simple  truth,  against  strain- 
ing for  effect,  against  efforts  to  startle 
or  dazzle  the  hearer,  against  the  quack- 
ery which  would  pass  off  old  thoughts 
for  new,  or  common  thoughts  for  more 
than  their  worth,  by  means  of  involved 
or  ambitious  phraseology.  Prefer  the 
true  to  the  dazzling,  the  steady  sunlight 
to  the  meteor.  Truth  is  the  power  which 
is  to  conquer  the  world  ; and  you  cannot 
toil  too  much  to  give  clear  perceptions 
of  it.  I may  seem  to  waste  words  on  so 
plain  a point ; but  I apprehend  that  few 
ministers  understand  the  importance  of 
helping  men  to  see  religious  truth  dis- 
tinctly. No  truth,  I fear,  is  so  faintly 
apprehended.  On  the  subject  of  relig- 
ion, most  men  walk  in  a mist.  The 
words  of  the  Bible  and  of  the  preacher 
convey  to  multitudes  no  definite  import. 
Theology,  being  generally  taught  with- 
out method,  and  as  a matter  of  authority, 
and  before  the  mind  can  comprehend  it, 
is  too  often  the  darkest  and  most  con- 
fused of  all  the  subjects  of  thought. 
How  little  distinct  comprehension  is 
carried  away  by  multitudes  from  our 
most  important  discourses  ! My  brother, 
help  men  to  see.  Christianity  was  called 
light,  and  you  will  be  its  worthy  teacher 
only  by  being,  like  its  first  ministers,  a 
“light  of  the  world.”  It  is  a common 
error  that,  to  avoid  dulness, — the  most 
unpardonable  sin  of  the  pulpit,  — the 
preacher  can  find  more  effectual  means 
than  the  clear  expression  of  simple 
truth.  Accordingly,  some  have  recourse 
to  crude  novelties  ; some  to  mysticism, 
as  if  truth,  to  be  imposing,  must  be  en- 
throned in  clouds  ; some  to  vehemence  ; 
some  to  strong  utterance  of  feeling.  Of 
course,  I would  say  nothing  in  dispar- 
agement of  feeling  ; but  I am  satisfied 


OF  REV.  J.  S.  DWIGHT. 


that  there  is  no  more  effectual  security 
against  dulness  than  the  unfolding  of 
truth  distinctly  and  vividly,  so  that  the 
hearer  can  lay  a strong  hold  on  great 
principles,  can  take  in  a larger  extent  of 
thought,  and  can  feel  that  he  has  a rock 
for  faith  and  opinion  to  rest  on.  In  the 
natural  world  it  is  light  that  wakes  us  in 
the  morning,  and  keeps  us  awake  through 
the  day  ; and  I believe  that  to  bring  light 
into  God’s  house  is  one  of  the  surest 
ways  of  driving  slumber  out  of  its  walls. 
Let  me  add,  that  to  give  at  once  clear- 
ness and  interest  to  preaching,  nothing 
is  more  necessary  than  that  comprehen- 
sive wisdom  which  discerns  what  is 
prominent  and  commanding  in  a sub- 
ject, which  seizes  on  its  great  points,  its 
main  features,  and  throws  lesser  matters 
into  the  background,  thus  securing  unity 
and,  of  consequence,  distinctness  of  im- 
pression. Nothing  is  so  dull  as  a dead 
level,  as  monotony,  as  want  of  relief  and 
perspective,  want  of  light  and  shade ; 
and  this  is  among  the  most  common 
causes  of  the  dulness  of  the  pulpit. 

The  remarks  made  under  the  present 
head,  are  liable  to  a misapprehension, 
which  may  be  usefully  guarded  against. 
I have  condemned  affected  and  obscure 
phraseology.  Do  not  imagine  that  I 
would  recommend  to  you  a hackneyed 
style.  The  minister,  to  give  distinct, 
vivid  impression,  must  especially  beware 
of  running  the  round  of  commonplace 
expressions.  He  must  break  away  from 
the  worn-out  phraseology  of  the  pulpit. 
He  must  not  confine  himself  to  terms 
and  modes  of  speech  which  familiarity 
has  deadened.  So  mighty  is  the  influ- 
ence of  time  and  habit  in  emptying 
words  of  life  and  significance,  that  truth 
in  every  age  needs  new  forms,  fresh 
manifestations.  Happy  the  teacher  who 
is  able  to  give  out  truth  in  language 
original  and  bold,  yet  simple  and  un- 
forced, and  such  as  causes  no  offence  to 
cultivated  taste  or  religious  feeling. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  objected  to  the 
advice  now  given,  that  1 have  recom- 
mended a plainness  and  distinctness  not 
to  be  attained  by  the  preacher.  It  may 
be  said  that  religion  relates  to  the  Infi- 
nite ; that  its  great  object  is  the  Incom- 
prehensible God  ; that  human  life  is 
surrounded  with  abysses  of  mystery  and 
darkness ; that  the  themes  on  which  the 
minister  is  to  speak  stretch  out  beyond 
the  power  of  imagination,  and  of  course 


287 

do  not  admit  of  mathematical  precise- 
ness of  statement ; that  he  has  aspira- 
tions and  feelings  too  high,  and  deep, 
and  vast,  to  be  accurately  defined  ; that 
at  times  he  only  catches  glimpses  of 
truth,  and  cannot  set  it  forth  in  ail  its 
proportions.  All  this  is  true.  But  it  is 
also  true  that  a minister  speaks  to  be 
understood  ; and  if  he  cannot  make  him- 
self intelligible  he  should  hold  his  peace. 
Language  has  but  one  function,  and  that 
is  to  help  another  to  understand  what 
passes  in  the  speaker’s  breast.  What 
though  he  is  surrounded  with  the  in- 
comprehensible ? Is  he,  therefore,  au- 
thorized to  speak  in  an  unknown  tongue  ? 
Amid  the  vague  and  the  obscure,  are 
there  not  facts,  principles,  realities,  of 
unutterable  moment,  on  which  he  and 
others  may  lay  hold  ? Even  when  he 
catches  broken  glimpses,  he  can  report 
these  simply  and  faithfully,  so  as  to  be 
apprehended  by  a prepared  mind.  The 
more  difficult  the  subject,  the  more  anx- 
iously the  art  of  clear  expression  should 
be  cultivated ; and  the  pulpit,  which 
gathers  together  the  multitude,  and  ad- 
dresses its  rapid  instruction  to  the  ear, 
demands  such  culture  above  all  other 
spheres.  This  is  the  last  place  for  dark 
sayings  ; and  yet  he  who  carefully  studies 
expression  will  find  the  pulpit  a place  for 
communicating  a great  amount  of  pro- 
found and  soul-stirring  thought  to  the 
world. 

I have  said,  you  must  preach  plainly. 
I now  add,  preach  with  zeal,  fervor, 
earnestness.  To  rouse,  to  quicken,  is 
the  end  of  all  preaching,  and  plainness 
which  does  not  minister  to  this  is  of 
little  worth.  This  topic  is  too  familiar 
to  need  expansion ; and  I introduce  it 
simply  to  guard  you  against  construing 
it  too  narrowly.  The  minister  is  often 
exhorted  to  be  earnest  in  the  pulpit. 
You  will  be  told  that  fervor  in  delivering 
your  discourse  is  the  great  means  of 
impression.  I would  rather  exhort  you 
to  be  fervent  in  preparing  it.  Write 
with  earnestness,  and  you  will  find  little 
difficulty  in  preaching  earnestly  ; and  if 
you  have  not  poured  out  your  soul  in 
writing,  vehemence  of  delivery  will  be 
of  little  avail.  To  enunciate  with  voice 
of  thunder  and  vehement  gestures  a cold 
discourse,  is  to  make  it  colder  still.  The 
fire  which  is  to  burn  in  the  pulpit  must 
be  kindled  in  the  study.  Preach  with 
zeal.  But  let  it  be  a kindly  zeal.  Al- 


288 


CHARGE  AT  THE  ORDINATION 


ways  speak  in  love.  Let  not  earnestness 
be  a cover  for  anger,  or  for  a spirit  of 
menace  and  dictation.  Always  speak 
as  a brother.  With  the  boldest,  stern- 
est, most  scornful,  most  indignant  re- 
proofs of  baseness  and  crime,  let  the 
spirit  of  humanity,  of  sorrowful  concern 
be  blended.  In  too  much  of  the  zeal  of 
the  pulpit  there  is  a hardness,  unfeel- 
ingness, inhumanity,  more  intolerable 
to  a good  mind  than  sleepy  dulness  or 
icy  indifference. 

I have  said,  preach  plainly  and  preach 
earnestly  ; I now  say,  preach  with  moral 
courage.  Fear  no  man,  high  or  low, 
rich  or  poor,  taught  or  untaught.  Honor 
all  men  ; love  all  men  ; but  fear  none. 
Speak  what  you  account  great  truths 
frankly,  strongly,  boldly.  Do  not  spoil 
them  of  life  to  avoid  offence.  Do  not 
seek  to  propitiate  passion  and  prejudice 
by  compromise  and  concession.  Beware 
of  the  sophistry  which  reconciles  the 
conscience  to  the  suppression,  or  vague, 
lifeless  utterance  of  unpopular  truth. 
Do  not  wink  at  wrong  deeds  or  unholy 
prejudices,  because  sheltered  by  custom 
or  respected  names.  Let  your  words 
breathe  a heroic  valor.  You  are  bound 
indeed  to  listen  candidly  and  respect- 
fully to  whatever  objections  may  be 
urged  against  your  views  of  truth  and 
doty.  You  must  also  take  heed  lest 
you  baptize  your  rash,  crude  notions, 
your  hereditary  or  sectarian  opinions, 
with  the  name  of  Christian  doctrine. 
But  having  deliberately,  conscientiously 
sought  the  truth,  abide  by  your  con- 
viction at  all  hazards.  Never  shrink 
from  speaking  your  mind  through  dread 
of  reproach.  Wait  not  to  be  backed  by 
numbers.  Wait  not  till  you  are  sure  of 
an  echo  from  a crowd.  The  fewer  the 
voices  on  the  side  of  truth,  the  more 
distinct  and  strong  must  be  your  own. 
Put  faith  in  truth  as  mightier  than  error, 
prejudice,  or  passion,  and  be  ready  to 
take  a place  among  its  martyrs.  Feel 
that  truth  is  not  a local,  temporary  in- 
fluence, but  immutable,  everlasting,  the 
same  in  all  worlds,  one  with  God,  and 
armed  with  his  omnipotence.  Courage 
even  on  the  side  of  error  is  power. 
How  must  it  prove  on  the  side  of  truth ! 
A minister  speaking  not  from  selfish 
calculation,  but  giving  out  his  mind  in 
godly  sincerity,  uttering  his  convictions 
in  natural  tones,  and  always  faithful  to 
the  light  which  he  has  received,  however 


he  may  give  occasional  offence,  will  not 
speak  in  vain ; he  will  have  an  ally  in 
the  moral  sense,  the  principle  of  justice, 
the  reverence  for  virtue,  which  is  never 
wholly  extinguished  in  the  human  soul. 

You  are  peculiarly  called  to  cherish 
moral  courage,  because  it  is  not  the 
virtue  of  our  times  and  country,  and 
because  ministers  are  especially  tempted 
to  moral  weakness.  The  Protestant 
minister,  mixing  freely  with  society, 
sustaining  all  its  relations,  and  depend- 
ing on  opinion  for  bread,  has  strong 
inducements  to  make  a compromise  with 
the  world.  Is  there  not  reason  to  fear 
that,  under  these  influences,  religion  and 
the  world  often  shake  hands  ? Is  there 
not  a secret  understanding  that  the  min- 
istry, while  it  condemns  sin  in  the  mass, 
must  touch  gently  the  prejudices,  wrongs, 
and  abuses  which  the  community  has 
taken  under  its  wing  ? Is  not  preaching 
often  disarmed  by  this  silent,  almost 
unconscious,  concession  to  the  world  ? 
Whether  a ministry  sustained  as  it  now 
is  can  be  morally  free,  is  a problem  yet 
to  be  solved.  If  not,  the  minister  must 
now,  as  of  old,  leave  all  for  Christ,  look- 
ing solely  for  aid  to  those,  however  few 
or  poor,  who  share  his  own  deep  interest 
in  the  Christian  cause.  Better  earn 
your  bread  with  the  sweat  of  your  brow, 
than  part  with  moral  freedom. 

It  is  natural  that  you  should  desire  to 
win  the  affection  of  your  people  ; but 
beware  lest  this  interfere  with  moral 
courage.  There  is  always  danger  to 
dignity  and  force  of  character  in  aiming 
to  win  the  hearts  of  others.  Dear  as 
affection  is,  wre  must  be  able  to  renounce 
it,  to  live  without  sympathy,  to  forfeit 
this  man’s  confidence  and  that  man’s 
friendship  by  speaking  truth.  I exhort 
you  to  prize  respect  more  than  affection. 
Respect,  gradually  wron  by  faithfulness 
to  principle,  is  more  unwavering  than 
personal  attachment,  and  secures  more 
intelligent  attention  to  preaching.  We 
are  indeed  told  that  truth  is  never  so 
effectual  as  from  the  lips  of  him  whom 
we  love.  But  it  is  to  be  desired  that 
truth  should  be  received  for  its  own 
sake,  that  it  should  have  its  root  in  the 
hearer’s  reason  and  conscience,  and  not 
in  the  partiality  of  friendship.  I wish 
for  you  the  love  of  this  congregation ; 
but  still  more  that  they  may  reverence 
you  as  ever  ready  to  sacrifice  human 
love  and  honor  to  principle  and  truth. 


OF  REV,  J.  S.  DWIGHT, 


Hitherto  I have  guarded  you  against 
selfish  fear.  There  is  a more  refined 
fear,  to  which  ingenuous  minds  are  liable. 
I refer  to  the  apprehension  which  springs 
from  a consciousness  of  inferiority  and 
inability.  This  often  disheartens  the 
minister,  subdues  his  voice,  tames  his 
countenance,  dims  the  eye,  throws  an 
air  of  constraint  over  his  form  and  mo- 
tions, locks  up  his  soul,  suffering  no 
sensibility  to  gush  out,  no  quickening 
communication  to  be  established  be- 
tween his  own  and  other  souls.  To 
defend  yourself  from  this  fear,  impress 
yourself  deeply  with  the  divine  original 
and  the  infinite  dignity  of  the  religion 
you  are  to  preach.  You  will,  indeed, 
often  stand  before  your  superiors  in  age 
and  acquisitions.  But  do  not  fear.  Re- 
member that  you  are  preaching  a religion, 
in  the  presence  of  which  all  human  wis- 
dom ought  to  be  humble,  and  that  you 
are  teaching  a virtue  which  ought  to 
strike  a conviction  of  deep  deficiency 
into  the  most  improved,  and  by  which 
the  most  gifted  and  powerful  are  soon 
to  be  judged.  In  the  contemplation  of 
the  majesty  of  Christian  truth,  of  the 
work  which  it  is  appointed  to  accom- 
plish, and  of  the  omnipotence  by  which 
it  is  sustained,  you  should  forget  your- 
self ; you  should  forget  the  world’s 
ephemeral  dignities,  and  speak  with  the 
nati\e,  unaffected  authority  of  a witness 
to  immortal  verities,  of  a messenger  of 
the  Most  High. 

I am  aware  that  what  has  been  said 
to  encourage  a spirit  of  fearlessness  and 
independence  is  liable  to  abuse.  There 
are  those  who  confound  moral  courage 
with  defiance  of  established  opinion,  and 
Christian  independence  with  an  over- 
weening fondness  for  their  own  conceits. 
I trust  to  your  humility  and  soundness 
of  mind  for  a sober  construction  of  my 
counsels.  I trust  you  will  feel  such  a 
respect  for  past  times,  and  for  the  max- 
ims and  institutions  of  the  society  to 
which  you  belong,  as  will  induce  you  to 
weigh  cautiously  and  with  self-distrust 
whatever  peculiar  views  spring  up  in 
your  mind.  You  are  too  wise  to  bolt 
from  the  beaten  path,  in  order  to  prove 
that  you  do  not  tamely  follow  others’ 
steps ; too  wise  to  be  lawless,  that  you 
may  escape  the  reproach  of  servility. 
The  authority  of  usage  is  a wholesome 
restraint  on  the  freaks,  follies,  and  rash 
experiments  of  youth  and  inexperience. 


289 

But  usage  must  not  restrain  the  intellect 
and  heart.  Whilst  deferring  to  the  rules 
which  society  has  settled,  you  must  still 
act  from  your  own  convictions.  You 
must  stand  out  as  an  individual,  and  not 
be  melted  in  the  common  mass.  Whilst 
you  honor  antiquity,  you  must  remem- 
ber that  the  past  has  not  done  and  could 
not  do  the  work  of  the  present ; that  in 
religion,  as  in  all  things,  progress  is  the 
law  and  happiness  of  the  race  ; that  our 
own  time  has  its  task,  and  has  wants 
which  the  provisions  of  earlier  times 
cannot  satisfy.  Remember,  too,  that 
each  man  has  his  own  way  of  working, 
and  can  work  powerfully  in  no  other, 
and  do  not  anxiously  and  timidly  model 
yourself  after  those  whom  you  admire. 
To  escape  the  sin  of  presumption,  do 
not  be  mechanical.  To  escape  eccen- 
tricity, do  not  shut  your  eyes  on  what 
is  peculiar  in  your  lot,  and  fear  to  meet 
it  by  peculiar  efforts.  The  minister  too 
often  speaks  feebly,  because  his  voice 
is  only  the  echo  of  echoes,  because  he 
dares  not  trust  to  the  inspirations  of  his 
own  soul.  To  conclude  this  head,  — be 
humble,  be  modest,  but  be  not  weak. 
Fear  God  and  not  man.  Respect  your 
deliberately  consulted  conscience.  This 
energy  of  spirit  will  give  a greater  power 
to  your  ministry  than  all  the  calculations 
of  selfish  prudence  or  all  the  compro- 
mises of  selfish  fear. 

My  brother,  one  exhortation  more. 
Feel  the  greatness  of  your  office.  Let 
not  its  humble  exterior,  or  the  opinion 
of  the  world,  or  its  frequent  inefficacy, 
hide  from  you  its  unspeakable  dignity. 
Regard  it  as  the  highest  human  voca- 
tion, as  greater  than  thrones,  or  any 
other  distinctions  which  relate  merely 
to  the  present  life.  The  noblest  work 
on  earth,  or  in  heaven,  is  to  act  on  the 
soul  ; to  inspire  it  with  wisdom  and 
magnanimity,  with  reverence  for  God, 
and  love  towards  man.  This  is  the 
highest  function  of  sages  and  inspired 
poets,  and  also  of  statesmen  worthy  of 
the  name,  who  comprehend  that  a na- 
tion’s greatness  is  to  be  laid  in  its  soul. 
Glory  in  your  office.  Feel  that  it  asso- 
ciates you  with  the  elect  of  past  ages, 
with  Jesus  Christ,  and  apostles,  and 
confessors,  and  martyrs,  and  reformers  ; 
with  all  who  have  toiled  and  suffered 
to  raise  men  to  intelligence  and  moral 
greatness ; and  let  the  consciousness 
of  this  spiritual  brotherhood  fortify  you 


290  CHARGE  AT  THE  ORDINATION  OF  REV.  J.  S.  DWIGHT 


for  like  suffering  and  toil.  Glory  in 
your  office.  You  delight  in  poetry  and 
the  fine  arts  ; but  remember  that  the 
divinest  art  is  that  which  studies  and 
creates  the  beauty,  not  of  outward  form, 
but  of  immortal  virtue  ; which  creates 
not  statues  and  pictures,  but  holy  and 
disinterested  men;  which  awakens  the 
godlike  in  the  breast  of  our  brother. 
No  poem  is  so  glorious  as  a Christian 
life  ; and  he  who  incites  a fellow-creat- 
ure to  this  produces  a work  which  will 
outlast  all  other  works  of  the  mind. 
Glory  in  your  office,  especially,  as  in- 
stituted to  carry  forward  the  human 
soul  to  wider  and  higher  action  than  it 
has  yet  attained.  Other  men  are  labor- 
ing with  instruments,  the  power  of 
which  can  be  measured  ; but  who  can 
measure  the  energy  which  resides  in 
Christian  truth,  or  the  spiritual  life  and 
elevation  which  this  truth,  rightly  ad- 
ministered, may  communicate  ? Regard 
your  office  as  meant  not  to  perpetuate 
what  exists,  but  to  introduce  a higher 
condition  of  the  church  and  the  world. 
Christ  was  eminently  the  Reformer ; 
and  reform  is  the  spirit  of  the  ministry. 
Without  this  spirit,  our  churches  are 
painted  sepulchres,  and  the  preaching 
in  them  but  sounding  brass,  or  a tink- 
ling cymbal.  Comprehend  the  great- 
ness of  your  spiritual  function.  You 
are  intrusted  with  a truth  that  is  to 
create  a new  heaven  and  a new  earth, 
to  prostrate  the  abuses  and  corruptions 
of  ages,  to  unite  men  by  new  ties  to 
God  and  to  one  another,  to  revive  the 
Divine  Image  in  the  human  soul.  Keep 
your  mind  in  harmony  with  this  great 
end.  Let  not  pleasures,  cares,  honors, 
common  example,  or  opinion,  or  any 
worldly  interest,  sever  you  from  it. 
Cherish  a living  faith  in  a higher  opera- 
tion of  Christianity  than  is  yet  seen  in 
any  community  or  any  church.  This 
faith  is  far  from  being  universal,  and 
for  want  of  it  the  ministry  is  weak. 
But  is  there  no  ground  for  it  ? Is  it  an 
illusion  ? I know  not  a weightier  ques- 
tion for  a minister  to  answer.  Other 
points  of  controversy  will  solicit  your 
attention.  But  the  greatest  question 
which  you  have  to  determine  is,  Whether 
Christianity  has  done  its  work  and  spent 
its  force,  or  whether  a more  regenerat- 
ing manifestation  of  truth  is  not  to  be 
hoped  ? whether  a new  application  of 
the  Christian  law  to  private  and  public 
life  is  not  to  be  longed  for,  and  prayed 


for,  and  confidently  expected  ? whether 
Christendom  is  not  to  wear  another 
aspect  ? whether  the  idea  of  perfection, 
of  disinterested  virtue,  which  shone 
forth  in  the  character  of  Jesus,  is  not 
to  possess  more  livingly  the  human 
soul,  and  to  be  more  and  more  realized 
in  human  life  ? Your  answer  to  this 
question  will  decide  very  much  whether 
your  ministry  shall  be  a mechanical 
round,  a name,  a sleep,  or  be  fraught 
with  life  and  power.  In  answering  it, 
do  not  consult  with  flesh  and  blood  ; 
but  listen  to  the  prophetic  words  of 
Jesus  Christ ; listen  to  the  aspirations 
of  your  own  soul ; listen  to  that  deep 
discontent  with  the  present  forms  of 
Christianity  which  is  spreading  in  the 
community,  which  breaks  out  in  mur- 
murs, now  of  scorn,  now  of  grief,  and 
which  hungers  and  thirsts  for  a new 
coming  of  the  kingdom  of  God. 

My  brother,  much  might  be  added, 
but  I hasten  to  the  close  of  this  unusu- 
ally protracted  service.  We  wish  you 
prosperity.  May  you  establish  your- 
self in  the  hearts  of  this  people  ! May 
you  find  a lasting  home  in  this  beauti- 
ful part  of  our  land  ! Here  may  you 
live  in  peace,  here  grow  old  in  honor, 
here  close  your  eyes  amid  the  tears  of 
a grateful  people  ! This  we  hope  ; and 
we  have  ground  of  hope  in  the  spirit  of 
the  congregation  to  which  you  are  to 
minister.  But  we  cannot  speak  of  your 
prospects  as  sure.  You  live  in  a trying 
day.  The  spirit  of  change  which  char- 
acterizes our  times  has  penetrated  the 
church,  and  shaken  the  old  stability  of 
the  ministry.  In  no  profession  are  men 
exposed  to  greater  changes  than  in 
ours.  Prepare  yourself  for  the  worst, 
while  you  hope  for  the  best.  Cherish, 
as  among  the  first  virtues  of  your 
office,  a firm,  manly,  self-denying  spirit. 
Let  not  the  comforts  of  life  grow  into 
your  soul.  Be  simple  in  your  habits,  in 
food,  raiment,  pleasures.  Be  frugal, 
that  you  may  be  just,  may  “have  to 
give  to  him  that  needeth,”  and  may  be 
fitted  to  sustain  privations  with  dignity. 
Build  up  in  yourself  an  energy  of  pur- 
pose, an  iron  strength  of  principle,  a 
loftiness  of  sentiment,  which  will  dis- 
arm outward  changes,  and  give  power 
to  your  ministry,  whether  in  a prosper- 
ous or  adverse  lot.  “ Be  strong  in  the 
Lord,  and  in  the  power  of  his  might.” 
“ Be  thou  faithful  unto  death,  and  he 
shall  give  thee  a crown  of  life.” 


LIKENESS  TO  GOD . 


291 


LIKENESS  TO  GOD: 

Discourse  at  the  Ordination  of  the  Rev.  F.  A.  Farley , Providence,  R. 

1828. 


Ephesians  v.  1 : “Be  ye  therefore  followers  of 
God,  as  dear  children.” 

To  promote  true  religion  is  the  pur- 
pose of  the  Christian  ministry.  For 
this  it  was  ordained.  On  the  present 
occasion,  therefore,  when  a new  teacher 
is  to  be  given  to  the  church,  a discourse 
on  the  character  of  true  religion  will  not 
be  inappropriate.  I do  not  mean  that  I 
shall  attempt,  in  the  limits  to  which  I 
am  now  confined,  to  set  before  you  all 
its  properties,  signs,  and  operations  ; 
for  in  so  doing  I should  burden  your 
memories  with  divisions  and  vague  gen- 
eralities as  uninteresting  as  they  would 
be  unprofitable.  My  purpose  is  to 
select  one  view  of  the  subject  which 
seems  to  me  of  primary  dignity  and  im- 
portance ; and  I select  this  because  it 
is  greatly  neglected,  and  because  I at- 
tribute to  this  neglect  much  of  the  ineffi- 
cacy and  many  of  the  corruptions  of 
religion. 

The  text  calls  us  to  follow  or  imitate 
God,  to  seek  accordance  with  or  like- 
ness to  him  ; and  to  do  this  not  fear- 
fully and  faintly,  but  with  the  spirit  and 
hope  of  beloved  children.  The  doctrine 
which  I propose  to  illustrate  is  derived 
immediately  from  these  words,  and  is 
incorporated  with  the  whole  New  Tes- 
tament). I affirm,  and  would  maintain, 
that  true  religion  consists  in  proposing, 
as  our  great  end,  a growing  likeness  to 
the  Supreme  Being.  Its  noblest  influ- 
ence consists  in  making  us  more  and 
more  partakers  of  the  Divinity.  For 
this  it  is  to  be  preached.  Religious 
instruction  should  aim  chiefly  to  turn 
men's  aspirations  and  efforts  to  that 
| perfection  of  the  soul  which  constitutes 
it  a bright  image  of  God.  Such  is  the 
topic  now  to  be  discussed  ; and  I im- 
plore Him  whose  glory.  I seek  to  aid  me 
in  unfolding  and  enforcing  it  with  sim- 
plicity and  clearness,  with  a calm  and 
pure  zeal,  and  with  unfeigned  charity. 


I begin  with  observing,  what  all  in- 
deed will  understand,  that  the  likeness 
to  God,  of  which  I propose  to  speak, 
belongs  to  man’s  higher  or  spiritual  nat- 
ure. It  has  its  foundation  in  the  orig- 
inal and  essential  capacities  of  the  mind. 
In  proportion  as  these  are  unfolded  by 
right  and  vigorous  exertion,  it  is  ex- 
tended and  brightened.  In  proportion 
as  these  lie  dormant,  it  is  obscured.  In 
proportion  as  they  are  perverted  and 
overpowered  by  the  appetites  and  pas- 
sions, it  is  blotted  out.  In  truth,  moral 
evil,  if  unresisted  and  habitual,  may  so 
blight  and  lay  waste  these  capacities, 
that  the  image  of  God  in  man  may  seem 
to  be  wholly  destroyed. 

The  importance  of  this  assimilation 
to  our  Creator  is  a topic  which  needs  no 
labored  discussion.  All  men,  of  what- 
ever name,  or  sect,  or  opinion,  will  meet 
me  on  this  ground.  All,  I presume,  will 
allow  that  no  good  in  the  compass  of 
the  universe,  or  within  the  gift  of  om- 
nipotence, can  be  compared  to  a resem- 
blance of  God,  or  to  a participation  of 
his  attributes.  I fear  no  contradic- 
tion here.  Likeness  to  God  is  the  su- 
preme gift.  He  can  communicate  noth- 
ing so  precious,  glorious,  blessed  as 
himself.  To  hold  intellectual  and  moral 
affinity  with  the  Supreme  Being,  to  par- 
take his  spirit,  to  be  his  children  by 
derivations  of  kindred  excellence,  to  bear 
a growing  conformity  to  the  perfection 
which  we  adore, — this  is  a felicity 
which  obscures  and  annihilates  all  other 
good. 

It  is  only  in  proportion  to  this  like- 
ness that  we  can  enjoy  either  God  or 
the  universe.  That  God  can  be  known 
and  enjoyed  only  through  sympathy  or 
kindred  attributes,  is  a doctrine  which 
even  Gentile  philosophy  discerned.  That 
the  pure  in  heart  can  alone  see  and 
commune  with  the  pure  Divinity,  was 
the  sublime  instruction  of  ancient  sages 


292 


LIKENESS  TO  GOD . 


as  well  as  of  inspired  prophets.  It  is 
indeed  the  lesson  of  daily  experience. 
To  understand  a great  and  good  being, 
we  must  have  the  seeds  of  the  same 
excellence.  How  quickly,  by  what  an 
instinct,  do  accordant  minds  recognize 
one  another  ! No  attraction  is  so  power- 
ful as  that  which  subsists  between  the 
truly  wise  and  good ; whilst  the  brightest 
excellence  is  lost  on  those  who  have 
nothing  congenial  in  their  own  breasts. 
God  becomes  a real  being  to  us  in  pro- 
portion as  his  own  nature  is  unfolded 
within  us.  To  a man  who  is  growing  in 
the  likeness  of  God,  faith  begins  even 
here  to  change  into  vision.  He  carries 
within  himself  a proof  of  a Deity,  which 
can  only  be  understood  by  experience. 
He  more  than  believes,  he  feels  the 
Divine  presence  ; and  gradually  rises  to 
an  intercourse  with  his  Maker,  to  which 
it  is  not  irreverent  to  apply  the  name  of 
friendship  and  intimacy.  The  Apostle 
John  intended  to  express  this  truth,  when 
he  tells  us  that  he  in  whom  a principle 
of  divine  charity  or  benevolence  has  be- 
come a habit  and  life  “dwells  in  God 
and  God  in  him.” 

It  is  plain,  too,  that  likeness  to  God  is 
the  true  and  only  preparation  for  the 
enjoyment  of  the  universe.  In  propor- 
tion as  we  approach  and  resemble  the 
mind  of  God,  we  are  brought  into  har- 
mony with  the  creation  ; for  in  that  pro- 
portion we  possess  the  principles  from 
which  the  universe  sprung ; we  carry 
within  ourselves  the  perfections  of  which 
its  beauty,  magnificence,  order,  benev- 
olent adaptations,  and  boundless  pur- 
poses are  the  results  and  manifestations. 
God  unfolds  himself  in  his  works  to  a 
kindred  mind.  It  is  possible  that  the 
brevity  of  these  hints  may  expose  to  the 
charge  of  mysticism  what  seems  to  me 
the  calmest  and  clearest  truth.  I think, 
however,  that  every  reflecting  man  will 
feel  that  likeness  to  God  must  be  a prin- 
ciple of  sympathy  or  accordance  with  his 
creation  ; for  the  creation  is  a birth  and 
shining  forth  of  the  Divine  Mind,  a work 
through  which  his  spirit  breathes.  In 
proportion  as  we  receive  this  spirit  we 
possess  within  ourselves  the  explanation 
of  what  we  see.  We  discern  more  and 
more  of  God  in  every  thing,  from  the 
frail  flower  to  the  everlasting  stars. 
Even  in  evil,  that  dark  cloud  which  hangs 
over  the  creation,  we  discern  rays  of 
light  and  hope,  and  gradually  come  to 


see,  in  suffering  and  temptation,  proofs 
and  instruments  of  the  sublimest  pur- 
poses of  wisdom  and  love. 

I have  offered  these  very  imperfect 
views  that  I may  show  the  great  im- 
portance of  the  doctrine  which  I am 
solicitous  to  enforce.  I would  teach 
that  likeness  to  God  is  a good  so  unut- 
terably surpassing  all  other  good,  that 
whoever  admits  it  as  attainable  must  ac- 
knowledge it  to  be  the  chief  aim  of  life. 
I would  show  that  the  highest  and  hap- 
piest office  of  religion  is  to  bring  the 
mind  into  growing  accordance  with  God  ; 
and  that  by  the  tendency  of  religious 
systems  to  this  end  their  truth  and  worth 
are  to  be  chiefly  tried. 

I am  aware  that  it  may  be  said  that 
the  Scriptures,  in  speaking  of  man  as 
made  in  the  image  of  God,  and  in  call- 
ing us  to  imitate  him,  use  bold  and  fig- 
urative language.  It  may  be  said  that 
there  is  danger  from  too  literal  an  inter- 
pretation ; that  God  is  an  unapproach- 
able being;  that  I am  not  warranted  in 
ascribing  to  man  a like  nature  to  the 
divine  ; that  we  and  all  things  illustrate 
the  Creator  by  contrast,  not  by  resem- 
blance ; that  religion  manifests  itself 
chiefly  in  convictions  and  acknowledg- 
ments of  utter  worthlessness  ; and  that 
to  talk  of  the  greatness  and  divinity  of 
the  human  soul  is  to  inflate  that  pride 
through  which  Satan  fell,  and  through 
which  man  involves  himself  in  that 
fallen  spirit’s  ruin. 

I answer  that,  to  me,  Scripture  and 
reason  hold  a different  language.  In 
Christianity,  particularly,  I meet  perpet- 
ual testimonies  to  the  divinity  of  human 
nature.  This  whole  religion  expresses 
an  infinite  concern  of  God  for  the  hu- 
man soul,  and  teaches  that  He  deems 
no  methods  too  expensive  for  its  recov- 
ery and  exaltation.  Christianity,  with 
one  voice,  calls  me  to  turn  my  regards 
and  care  to  the  spirit  within  me,  as  of 
more  worth  than  the  whole  outward 
world.  It  calls  us  to  “ be  perfect  as  our 
Father  in  heaven  is  perfect ; ” and  every- 
where, in  the  sublimity  of  its  precepts, 
it  implies  and  recognizes  the  sublime 
capacities  of  the  being  to  whom  they 
are  addressed.  It  assures  us  that  hu- 
man virtue  is  “in  the  sight  of  God  of 
great  price,”  and -speaks  of  the  return  of 
a human  being  to  virtue  as  an  event 
which  increases  the  joy  of  heaven.  In 
the  New  Testament,  Jesus  Christ,  the 


LIKENESS  TO  GOD . 


293 


Son  of  God,  the  brightness  of  his  glory, 
the  express  and  unsullied  image  of  the 
Divinity,  is  seen  mingling  with  men  as  a 
friend  and  brother,  offering  himself  as 
their  example,  and  promising  to  his 
true  followers  a share  in  all  his  splen- 
dors and  joys.  In  the  New  Testament 
God  is  said  to  communicate  his  own 
spirit  and  all  his  fulness  to  the  human 
soul.  In  the  New  Testament  man  is 
exhorted  to  aspire  after  “ honor,  glory, 
and  immortality ; ” and  heaven,  a word 
expressing  the  nearest  approach  to  God 
and  a divine  happiness,  is  everywhere 
proposed  as  the  end  of  his  being.  In 
truth,  the  very  essence  of  Christian  faith 
is  that  we  trust  in  God’s  mercy  as  re- 
vealed in  Jesus  Christ,  for  a state  of 
celestial  purity  in  which  we  shall  grow 
for  ever  in  the  likeness  and  knowledge 
and  enjoyment  of  the  Infinite  Father. 
Lofty  views  of  the  nature  of  man  are 
bound  up  and  interwoven  with  the  whole 
Christian  system.  Say  not  that  these  are 
at  war  with  humility  ; for  who  was  ever 
humbler  than  Jesus,  and  yet  who  ever 
possessed  such  a consciousness  of  great- 
ness and  divinity  ? Say  not  that  man’s 
business  is  to  think  of  his  sin  and  not 
of  his  dignity ; for  great  sin  implies  a 
great  capacity  ; it  is  the  abuse  of  a noble 
nature  ; and  no  man  can  be  deeply  and 
rationally  contrite  but  he  who  feels  that 
in  wrong-doing  he  has  resisted  a divine 
voice,  and  warred  against  a divine  prin- 
ciple in  his  own  soul.  I need  not,  I 
trust,  pursue  the  argument  from  revela- 
tion. There  is  an  argument  from  nature 
and  reason  which  seems  to  me  so  con- 
vincing, and  is  at  the  same  time  so  fitted 
to  explain  what  I mean  by  man’s  pos- 
session of  a like  nature  to  God,  that  I 
shall  pass  at  once  to  its  exposition. 

That  man  has  a kindred  nature  with 
God,  and  may  bear  most  important  and 
ennobling  relations  to  him,  seems  to  me 
to  be  established  by  a striking  proof. 
This  proof  you  will  understand  by  con- 
sidering, for  a moment,  how  we  obtain 
our  ideas  of  God.  Whence  come  the 
conceptions  which  we  include  under 
that  august  name  ? Whence  do  we  de- 
rive our  knowledge  of  the  attributes 
and  perfections  which  constitute  the 
Supreme  Being?  I answer,  we  derive 
them  from  our  own  souls.  The  divine 
attributes  are  first  developed  in  our- 
selves, and  thence  transferred  to  our 
Creator.  The  idea  of  God,  sublime  and 


awful  as  it  is,  is  the  idea  of  our  own 
spiritual  nature,  purified  and  enlarged  to 
infinity.  In  ourselves  are  the  elements 
of  the  Divinity.  God,  then,  does  not 
sustain  a figurative  resemblance  to  man. 
It  is  the  resemblance  of  a parent  to  a 
child,  the  likeness  of  a kindred  nature. 

We  call  God  a Mind.  He  has  re- 
vealed himself  as  a Spirit.  But  what 
do  we  know  of  mind  but  through  the 
unfolding  of  this  principle  in  our  own 
breasts  ? That  unbounded  spiritual 
energy  which  we  call  God  is  conceived 
by  us  only  through  consciousness, 
through  the  knowledge  of  ourselves. 
We  ascribe  thought  or  intelligence  to 
the  Deity,  as  one  of  his  most  glorious 
attributes.  And  what  means  this  lan- 
guage ? These  terms  we  have  framed 
to  express  operations  or  faculties  of  our 
own  souls.  The  Infinite  Light  would  be 
for  ever  hidden  from  us  did  not  kindred 
rays  dawn  and  brighten  within  us.  God 
is  another  name  for  human  intelligence 
raised  above  all  error  and  imperfection, 
and  extended  to  all  possible  truth. 

The  same  is  true  of  God’s  goodness. 
How  do  we  understand  this  but  by  the 
principle  of  love  implanted  in  the  hu- 
man breast  ? Whence  is  it  that  this 
divine  attribute  is  so  faintly  compre- 
hended, but  from  the  feeble  development 
of  it  in  the  multitude  of  men  ? Who 
can  understand  the  strength,  purity,  ful- 
ness, and  extent  of  divine  philanthropy, 
but  he  in  whom  selfishness  has  been 
swallowed  up  in  love  ? 

The  same  is  true  of  all  the  moral  per- 
fections of  the  Deity.  These  are  com- 
prehended by  us  only  through  our  own 
moral  nature.  It  is  conscience  within 
us  which,  by  its  approving  and  condemn- 
ing voice,  interprets  to  us  God’s  love  of 
virtue  and  hatred  of  sin  ; and  without 
conscience,  these  glorious  conceptions 
would  never  have  opened  on  the  mind. 
It  is  the  law-giver  in  our  own  breasts 
which  gives  us  the  idea  of  divine  author- 
ity, and  binds  us  to  obey  it.  The  soul, 
by  its  sense  of  right,  or  its  perception 
of  moral  distinctions,  is  clothed  with 
sovereignty  over  itself,  and  through  this 
alone  it  understands  and  recognizes  the 
Sovereign  of  the  universe.  Men,  as  by 
a natural  inspiration,  have  agreed  to 
speak  of  conscience  as  the  voice  of  God, 
as  the  Divinity  within  us.  This  princi- 
ple. reverently  obeyed,  makes  us  more 
and  more  partakers  of  the  moral  perfec- 


294 


LIKENESS  TO  GOD . 


tion  of  the  Supreme  Being,  of  that  very 
excellence  which  constitutes  the  right- 
fulness of  his  sceptre,  and  enthrones 
him  over  the  universe.  Without  this 
inward  law  we  should  be  as  incapable  of 
receiving  a law  from  heaven  as  the 
brute.  Without  this,  the  thunders  of 
Sinai  might  startle  the  outward  ear,  but 
would  have  no  meaning,  no  authority  to 
the  mind.  I have  expressed  here  a 
great  truth.  Nothing  teaches  so  en- 
couragingly our  relation  and  resem- 
blance to  God  ; for  the  glory  of  the 
Supreme  Being  is  eminently  moral. 
We  blind  ourselves  to  his  chief  splen- 
dor if  we  think  only  or  mainly  of  his 
power,  and  overlook  those  attributes  of 
rectitude  and  goodness  to  which  He 
subjects  his  omnipotence,  and  which 
are  the  foundations  and  very  substance 
of  his  universal  and  immutable  law. 
And  are  these  attributes  revealed  to  us 
through  the  principles  and  convictions 
of  our  own  souls  ? Do  we  understand 
through  sympathy  God’s  perception  of 
the  right,  the  good,  the  holy,  the  just  ? 
Then  with  what  propriety  is  it  said  that 
in  his  own  image  He  made  man  ! 

I am  aware  that  it  may  be  objected  to 
these  views,  that  we  receive  our  idea  of 
God  from  the  universe,  from  his  works, 
and  not  so  exclusively  from  our  own 
souls.  The  universe,  I know,  is  full 
of  God.  The  heavens  and  earth  de- 
clare his  glory.  In  other  words,  the 
effects  and  signs  of  power,  wisdom, 
and  goodness,  are  apparent  through  the 
whole  creation.  But  apparent  to  what  ? 
Not  to  the  outward  eye ; not  to  the 
acutest  organs  of  sense ; but  to  a kin- 
dred mind,  which  interprets  the  universe 
by  itself.  It  is  only  through  that  energy 
of  thought  by  which  we  adapt  various 
and  complicated  means  to  distant  ends, 
and  give  harmony  and  a common  bear- 
ing to  multiplied  exertions,  that  we  un- 
derstand the  creative  intelligence  which 
has  established  the  order,  dependencies, 
and  harmony  of  nature.  We  see  God 
around  us  because  He  dwells  within  us. 
It  is  by  a kindred  wisdom  that  we  dis- 
cern his  wisdom  in  his  works.  The 
brute,  with  an  eye  as  piercing  as  ours, 
looks  on  the  universe ; and  the  page, 
which  to  us  is  radiant  with  characters 
of  greatness  and  goodness,  is  to  him  a 
blank.  In  truth,  the  beauty  and  glory 
of  God’s  works  are  revealed  to  the  mind 
by  a light  beaming  from  itself.  We  dis- 


cern the  impress  of  God’s  attributes  in 
the  universe  by  accordance  of  nature, 
and  enjoy  them  through  sympathy.  I 
hardly  need  observe  that  these  remarks 
in  relation  to  the  universe  apply  with 
equal  if  not  greater  force  to  revelation. 

I shall  now  be  met  by  another  objec- 
tion, which  to  many  may  seem  strong. 
It  will  be  said  that  these  various  attri- 
butes of  which  I have  spoken  exist  in 
God  in  infinite  perfection,  and  that  this 
destroys  all  affinity  between  the  human 
and  the  divine  mind.  To  this  I have 
two  replies.  In  the  first  place,  an  attri- 
bute by  becoming  perfect  does  not  part 
with  its  essence.  Love,  wisdom,  power, 
and  purity  do  not  change  their  nature 
by  enlargement.  If  they  did,  we  should 
lose  the  Supreme  Being  through  his 
very  infinity.  Our  ideas  of  him  would 
fade  away  into  mere  sounds.  For  ex- 
ample, if  wisdom  in  God,  because  un- 
bounded, have  no  affinity  with  that  at- 
tribute in  man,  why  apply  to  him  that 
term?  It  must  signify  nothing.  Let 
me  ask  what  we  mean  when  we  say  that 
we  discern  the  marks  of  intelligence  in 
the  universe  ? We  mean  that  we  meet 
there  the  proofs  of  a mind  like  our  own. 
We  certainly  discern  proofs  of  no  other ; 
so  that  to  deny  this  doctrine  would  be  to 
deny  the  evidences  of  a God,  and  utterly 
to  subvert  the  foundations  of  religious 
belief.  What  man  can  examine  the 
structure  of  a plant  or  an  animal,  and 
see  the  adaptation  of  its  parts  to  each 
other  and  to  common  ends,  and  not  feel 
that  it  is  the  work  of  an  intelligence 
akin  to  his  own,  and  that  he  traces  these 
marks  of  design  by  the  same  spiritual 
energy  in  which  they  had  their  origin  ? 

But  I would  offer  another  answer  to 
this  objection,  that  God’s  infinity  places 
him  beyond  the  resemblance  and  ap- 
proach of  man.  I affirm,  and  trust  that 
I do  not  speak  too  strongly,  that  there 
are  traces  of  infinity  in  the  human  mind ; 
and  that,  in  this  very  respect,  it  bears  a 
likeness  to  God.  The  very  conception 
of  infinity  is  the  mark  of  a nature  to 
which  no  limit  can  be  prescribed.  This 
thought,  indeed,  comes  to  us  not  so 
much  from  abroad  as  from  our  own 
souls.  We  ascribe  this  attribute  to  God, 
because  we  possess  capacities  and  wants 
which  only  an  unbounded  being  can  fill, 
and  because  we  are  conscious  of  a ten- 
dency in  spiritual  faculties  to  unlimited 
expansion.  We  believe  in  the  divine 


LIKENESS  TO  GOD. 


295 


infinity  through  something  congenial 
with  it  in  our  own  breasts.  I hope  I 
speak  clearly,  arid  if  not,  I would  ask 
those  to  whom  I am  obscure  to  pause 
before  they  condemn.  To  me  it  seems 
that  the  soul,  in  all  its  higher  actions,  in 
original  thought,  in  the  creations  of 
genius,  in  the  soarings  of  imagination, 
in  its  love  of  beauty  and  grandeur,  in  its 
aspirations  after  a pure  and  unknown 
joy,  and  especially  in  disinterestedness, 
in  the  spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  and  in  en- 
lightened devotion,  has  a character  of 
infinity.  There  is  often  a depth  in  hu- 
man love  which  may  be  strictly  called 
unfathomable.  There  is  sometimes  a 
lofty  strength  in  moral  principle  which 
all  the  power  of  the  outward  universe 
cannot  overcome.  There  seems  a might 
within  which  can  more  than  balance  all 
might  without.  There  is,  too,  a piety 
which  swells  into  a transport  too  vast 
for  utterance,  and  into  an  immeasurable 
joy.  I am  speaking,  indeed,  of  what  is 
uncommon,  but  still  of  realities.  We 
see,  however,  the  tendency  of  the  soul 
to  the  infinite  in  more  familiar  and  or- 
dinary forms.  Take,  for  example,  the 
delight  which  we  find  in  the  vast  scenes 
of  nature,  in  prospects  which  spread 
around  us  without  limits,  in  the  immen- 
sity of  the  heavens  and  the  ocean, 
and  especially  in  the  rush  and  roar  of 
mighty  winds,  waves,  and  torrents;  when, 
amidst  our  deep  awe,  a power  within 
seems  to  respond  to  the  omnipotence 
around  us.  The  same  principle  is  seen 
N in  the  delight  ministered  to  us  by  works 
of  fiction  or  of  imaginative  art,  in  which 
our  own  nature  is  set  before  us  in  more 
than  human  beauty  and  power.  In  truth, 
the  soul  is  always  bursting  its  limits.  It 
thirsts  continually  for  wider  knowledge. 
It  rushes  forward  to  untried  happiness. 
It  has  deep  wants,  which  nothing  limited 
can  appease.  Its  true  element  and  end 
is  an  unbounded  good.  Thus,  God’s 
infinity  has  its  image  in  the  soul ; and 
through  the  soul,  much  more  than  through 
the  universe,  we  arrive  at  this  concep- 
tion of  the  Deity. 

In  these  remarks  I have  spoken  strong- 
ly. But  I have  no  fear  of  expressing  too 
strongly  the  connection  between  the  di- 
vine and  the  human  mind.  My  only  fear 
is  that  I shall  dishonor  the  great  subject. 
The  danger  to  which  we  are  most  ex- 
posed is  that  of  severing  the  Creator 
from  his  creatures.  The  propensity  of 


human  sovereigns  to  cut  off  communica- 
tion between  themselves  and  their  sub- 
jects, and  to  disclaim  a common  nature 
with  their  inferiors,  has  led  the  multi- 
tude of  men,  who  think  of  God  chiefly 
under  the  character  of  a king,  to  con- 
ceive of  him  as  a being  who  places 
his  glory  in  multiplying  distinctions  be- 
tween himself  and  all  other  beings.  The 
truth  is,  that  the  union  between  the 
Creator  and  the  creature  surpasses  all 
other  bonds  in  strength  and  intimacy. 
He  penetrates  all  things,  and  delights  to 
irradiate  all  with  his  glory.  Nature,  in 
all  its  lowest  and  inanimate  forms,  is 
pervaded  by  his  power  ; and  when  quick- 
ened by  the  mysterious  property  of  life, 
how  wonderfully  does  it  show  forth  the 
perfections  of  its  Author  ! How  much 
of  God  may  be  seen  in  the  structure  of 
a single  leaf,  which,  though  so  frail  as 
to  tremble  in  every  wind,  yet  holds  con- 
nections and  living  communications  with 
the  earth,  the  air,  the  clouds,  and  the  dis- 
tant sun,  and,  through  these  sympathies 
with  the  universe,  is  itself  a revelation 
of  an  omnipotent  mind  ! God  delights 
to  diffuse  himself  everywhere.  Through 
his  energy  unconscious  matter  clothes 
itself  with  proportions,  powers,  and 
beauties,  which  reflect  his  wisdom  and 
love.  How  much  more  must  He  delight 
to  frame  conscious  and  happy  recipients 
of  his  perfections,  in  whom  his  wisdom 
and  love  may  substantially  dwell,  with 
whom  He  may  form  spiritual  ties,  and 
to  whom  He  may  be  an  everlasting 
spring  of  moral  energy  and  happiness  ! 
How  far  the  Supreme  Being  may  com- 
municate his  attributes  to  his  intelligent 
offspring,  I stop  not  to  inquire.  But 
that  his  almighty  goodness  will  impart 
to  them  powers  and  glories  of  which  the 
material  universe  is  but  a faint  emblem, 
I cannot  doubt.  That  the  soul,  if  true 
to  itself  and  its  Maker,  will  be  filled  with 
God,  and  will  manifest  him  more  than 
the  sun,  I cannot  doubt.  Who  can 
doubt  it,  that  believes  and  understands 
the  doctrine  of  human  immortality  ? 

The  views  which  I have  given  in  this 
discourse  respecting  man’s  participation 
of  the  Divine  nature,  seem  to  me  to  re- 
ceive strong  confirmation  from  the  title 
or  relation  most  frequently  applied  to 
God  in  the  New  Testament ; and  I 
have  reserved  this  as  the  last  corrobo- 
ration of  this  doctrine,  because,  to  my 
own  mind,  it  is  singularly  affecting. 


LIKENESS  TO  GOD. 


296 

In  the  New  Testament  God  is  made 
known  to  us  as  a Father ; and  a brighter 
feature  of  that  book  cannot  be  named. 
Our  worship  is  to  be  directed  to  him  as 
our  Father.  Our  whole  religion  is  to 
take  its  character  from  this  view  of  the 
Divinity.  In  this  He  is  to  rise  always 
to  our  minds.  And  what  is  it  to  be  a 
father  ? It  is  to  communicate  one’s 
own  nature,  to  give  life  to  kindred  be- 
ings ; and  the  highest  function  of  a 
father  is  to  educate  the  mind  of  the 
child,  and  to  impart  to  it  what  is  noblest 
and  happiest  in  his  own  mind.  God  is 
our  Father,  not  merely  because  He 
created  us,  or  because  He  gives  us  en- 
joyment ; for  He  created  the  flower  and 
the  insect,  yet  we  call  him  not  their 
Father.  This  bond  is  a spiritual  one. 
This  name  belongs  to  God,  because  He 
frames  spirits  like  himself,  and  delights 
to  give  them  what  is  most  glorious  and 
blessed  in  his  own  nature.  Accord- 
ingly, Christianity  is  said  with  special 
propriety  to  reveal  God  as  the  Father, 
because  it  reveals  him  as  sending  his 
Son  to  cleanse  the  mind  from  every 
stain,  and  to  replenish  it  for  ever  with 
the  spirit  and  moral  attributes  of  its 
Author.  Separate  from  God  this  idea 
of  his  creating  and  training  up  beings 
after  his  own  likeness,  and  you  rob  him 
of  the  paternal  character.  This  rela- 
tion vanishes,  and  with  it  vanishes  the 
glory  of  the  gospel,  and  the  dearest 
hopes  of  the  human  soul. 

The  greatest  use  which  I would  make 
of  the  principles  laid  down  in  this  dis- 
course, is  to  derive  from  them  just  and 
clear  views  of  the  nature  of  religion. 
What,  then,  is  religion  ? I answer,  it 
is  not  the  adoration  of  a God  with  whom 
we  have  no  common  properties  ; of  a 
distinct,  foreign,  separate  being  ; but  of 
an  all-communicating  Parent.  It  recog- 
nizes and  adores  God  as  a being  whom 
we  know  through  our  own  souls  ; who 
has  made  man  in  his  own  image  ; who 
is  the  perfection  of  our  own  spiritual 
nature  ; who  has  sympathies  with  us  as 
kindred  beings  ; who  is  near  us,  not  in 
place  only  like  this  all-surrounding  at- 
mosphere, but  by  spiritual  influence  and 
love  ; who  looks  on  us  with  parental 
interest,  and  whose  great  design  it  is  to 
communicate  to  us  for  ever,  and  in 
freer  and  fuller  streams,  his  own  power, 
goodness,  and  joy.  The  conviction  of 
this  near  and  ennobling  relation  of  God 


to  the  soul,  and  of  his  great  purposes 
towards  it,  belongs  to  the  very  essence 
of  true  religion  ; and  true  religion  mani- 
fests itself  chiefly  and  most  conspicu- 
ously in  desires,  hopes,  and  efforts, 
corresponding  to  this  truth.  It  desires 
and  seeks  supremely  the  assimilation  of 
the  mind  to  God,  or  the  perpetual  un- 
folding and  enlargement  of  those  powers 
and  virtues  by  which  it  is  constituted 
his  glorious  image.  The  mind,  in  pro- 
portion as  it  is  enlightened  and  pene- 
trated  by  true  religion,  thirsts  and 
labors  for  a godlike  elevation.  What 
else,  indeed,  can  it  seek  if  this  good  be 
placed  within  its  reach  ? If  I am  capa- 
ble of  receiving  and  reflecting  the  intel- 
lectual and  moral  glory  of  my  Creator, 
what  else  in  comparison  shall  I desire  ? 
Shall  I deem  a property  in  the  outward 
universe  as  the  highest  good,  when  I 
may  become  partaker  of  the  very  mind 
from  which  it  springs,  of  the  prompting 
love,  the  disposing  wisdom,  the  quick- 
ening power,  through  which  its  order, 
beauty,  and  beneficent  influences  sub- 
sist ? True  religion  is  known  by  these 
high  aspirations,  hopes,  and  efforts. 
And  this  is  the  religion  which  most 
truly  honors  God.  To  honor  him  is 
not  to  tremble  before  him  as  an  unap- 
proachable sovereign,  not  to  utter  bar- 
ren praise  which  leaves  us  as  it  found 
us.  It  is  to  become  what  we  praise. 
It  is  to  approach  God  as  an  inexhausti- 
ble fountain  of  light,  power,  and  purity. 
It  is  to  feel  the  quickening  and  trans- 
forming energy  of  his  perfections.  It 
is  to  thirst  for  the  growth  and  invigora- 
tion  of  the  divine  principle  within  us. 
It  is  to  seek  the  very  spirit  of  God.  It 
is  to  trust  in,  to  bless,  to  thank  him  for 
that  rich  grace,  mercy,  love,  which  was 
revealed  and  proffered  by  Jesus  Christ, 
and  which  proposes  as  its  great  end  the 
perfection  of  the  human  soul. 

I regard  this  view  of  religion  as  in- 
finitely important.  It  does  more  than 
all  things  to  make  our  connection  with 
our  Creator  ennobling  and  happy  ; and, 
in  proportion  as  we  want  it,  there  tS 
danger  that  the  thought  of  God  may 
itself  become  the  instrument  of  our 
degradation.  That  religion  has  been 
so  dispensed  as  to  depress  the  human 
mind,  I need  not  tell  you;  and  it  is  a 
truth  which  ought  to  be  known,  that 
the  greatness  oi  the  Deity,  when  sepa- 
rated in  our  thoughts  from  his  parental 


LIKENESS  TO  GOD . 


297 


character,  especially  tends  to  crush  hu- 
man energy  and  hope.  To  a frail,  de- 
pendent creature,  an  omnipotent  Creator 
easily  becomes  a terror,  and  his  wor- 
ship easily  degenerates  into  servility, 
flattery,  self-contempt,  and  selfish  cal- 
culation. Religion  only  ennobles  us,  in 
as  far  as  it  reveals  to  us  the  tender  and 
intimate  connection  of  God  with  his 
creatures,  and  teaches  us  to  see  in  the 
very  greatness  which  might  give  alarm 
the  source  of  great  and  glorious  com- 
munications to  the  human  soul.  You 
cannot,  my  hearers,  think  too  highly  of 
the  majesty  of  God.  But  let  not  this 
majesty  sever  him  from  you.  Remem- 
ber that  his  greatness  is  the  infinity 
of  attributes  which  yourselves  possess. 
Adore  his  infinite  wisdom  ; but  remem- 
ber that  this  wisdom  rejoices  to  diffuse 
itself,  and  let  an  exhilarating  hope  spring 
up  at  the  thought  of  the  immeasurable 
intelligence  which  such  a Father  must 
communicate  to  his  children.  In  like 
manner  adore  his  power.  Let  the  bound- 
less creation  fill  you  with  awe  and  ad- 
miration of  the  energy  which  sustains 
it.  But  remember  that  God  has  a no- 
bler work  than  the  outward  creation, 
even  the  spirit  within  yourselves  ; and 
that  it  is  his  purpose  to  replenish  this 
with  his  own  energy,  and  to  crown  it 
with  growing  power  and  triumphs  over 
the  material  universe.  Above  all,  adore 
his  unutterable  goodness.  But  remem- 
ber that  this  attribute  is  particularly 
proposed  to  you  as  your  model ; that 
God  calls  you,  both  by  nature  and  reve- 
lation, to  a fellowship  in  his  philanthro- 
py ; that  he  has  placed  you  in  social 
relations  for  the  very  end  of  rendering 
you  ministers  and  representatives  of 
his  benevolence ; that  he  even  summons 
you  to  espouse  and  to  advance  the  sub- 
limest  purpose  of  his  goodness,  the 
redemption  of  the  human  race,  by  ex- 
tending the  knowledge  and  power  of 
Christian  truth.  It  is  through  such 
views  that  religion  raises  up  the  soul, 
and  binds  man  by  ennobling  bonds  to 
his  Maker. 

To  complete  my  views  of  this  topic, 

I beg  to  add  an  important  caution.  I 
have  said  that  the  great  work  of  relig- 
ion is  to  conform  ourselves  to  God,  or 
to  unfold  the  divine  likeness  within  us. 
Let  none  infer  from  this  language  that 
I place  religion  in  unnatural  effort,  in 
straining  after  excitements  which  do 


not  belong  to  the  present  state,  or  in 
any  thing  separate  from  the  clear  and 
simple  duties  of  life.  I exhort  you  to 
no  extravagance.  I reverence  human 
nature  too  much  to  do  it  violence.  I 
see  too  much  divinity  in  its  ordinary 
operations  to  urge  on  it  a forced  and 
vehement  virtue.  To  grow  in  the  like- 
ness of  God  we  need  not  cease  to  be 
men.  This  likeness  does  not  consist  in 
extraordinary  or  miraculous  gifts,  in 
supernatural  additions  to  the  soul,  or 
in  any  thing  foreign  to  our  original  con- 
stitution ; but  in  our  essential  faculties, 
unfolded  by  vigorous  and  conscientious 
exertion  in  the  ordinary  circumstances 
assigned  by  God.  To  resemble  our 
Creator  we  need  not  fly  from  society, 
and  entrance  ourselves  in  lonely  con- 
templation and  prayer.  Such  processes 
might  give  a feverish  strength  to  one 
class  of  emotions,  but  would  result  in 
disproportion,  distortion,  and  sickliness 
of  mind.  Our  proper  work  is  to  ap- 
proach God  by  the  free  and  natural 
unfolding  of  our  highest  powers,  — of 
understanding,  conscience,  love,  and  the 
moral  will. 

Shall  I be  told  that,  by  such  lan- 
guage, I ascribe  to  nature  the  effects 
which  can  only  be  wrought  in  the  soul 
by  the  Holy  Spirit  ? I anticipate  this 
objection,  and  wish  to  meet  it  by  a sim- 
ple exposition  of  my  views.  I would 
on  no  account  disparage  the  gracious 
aids  and  influences  which  God  imparts 
to  the  human  soul.  The  promise  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  is  among  the  most  precious 
in  the  Sacred  Volume.  Worlds  could 
not  tempt  me  to  part  with  the  doctrine 
of  God's  intimate  connection  with  the 
mind,  and  of  his  free  and  full  com- 
munications to  it.  But  these  views  are 
in  no  respect  at  variance  with  what  I 
have  taught,  of  the  method  by  which 
we  are  to  grow  in  the  likeness  of  God. 
Scripture  and  experience  concur  in 
teaching  that,  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  we 
are  to  understand  a divine  assistance 
adapted  to  our  moral  freedom,  and  ac- 
cordant with  the  fundamental  truth  that 
virtue  is  the  mind’s  own  work.  By  the 
Holy  Spirit,  I understand  an  aid  which 
must  be  gained  and  made  effectual 
by  our  own  activity ; an  aid  which 
no  more  interferes  with  our  faculties 
than  the  assistance  which  we  receive 
from  our  fellow-beings  ; an  aid  which 
silently  mingles  and  conspires  with  all 


LIKENESS  TO  GOD . 


298 

other  helps  and  means  of  goodness  ; an 
aid  by  which  we  unfold  our  natural 
powers  in  a natural  order,  and  by  which 
we  are  strengthened  to  understand  and 
apply  the  resources  derived  from  our 
munificent  Creator.  This  aid  we  can- 
not prize  too  much,  or  pray  for  too  ear- 
nestly. But  wherein,  let  me  ask,  does 
it  war  with  the  doctrine  that  God  is  to 
be  approached  by  the  exercise  and  un- 
folding of  our  highest  powers  and  affec- 
tions, in  the  ordinary  circumstances  of 
human  life  ? 

I repeat  it,  to  resemble  our  Maker 
we  need  not  quarrel  with  our  nature  or 
our  lot.  Our  present  state,  made  up 
as  it  is  of  aids  and  trials,  is  worthy  of 
God,  and  maybe  used  throughout  to  as- 
similate us  to  him.  For  example,  our 
domestic  ties,  the  relations  of  neighbor- 
hood and  country,  the  daily  interchanges 
of  thoughts  and  feelings,  the  daily  oc- 
casions of  kindness,  the  daily  claims 
of  want  and  suffering.  — these  and  the 
other  circumstances  of  our  social  state 
form  the  best  sphere  and  school  for 
that  benevolence  which  is  God’s  bright- 
est attribute  ; and  we  should  make  a 
sad  exchange,  by  substituting  for  these 
natural  aids  any  self-invented  artificial 
means  of  sanctity.  Christianity,  our 
great  guide  to  God,  never  leads  us  away 
from  the  path  of  nature,  and  never 
wars  with  the  unsophisticated  dictates 
of  conscience.  We  approach  our  Cre- 
ator by  every  right  exertion  of  the 
powers  He  gives  us.  Whenever  we  in- 
vigorate the  understanding  by  honestly 
and  resolutely  seeking  truth,  and  by 
withstanding  whatever  might  warp  the 
judgment  ; whenever  we  invigorate  the 
conscience  by  following  it  in  opposition 
to  the  passions  : whenever  we  receive 
a blessing  gratefully,  bear  a trial  pa- 
tiently, or  encounter  peril  or  scorn  with 
moral  courage  ; whenever  we  perform 
a disinterested  deed ; whenever  we  lift 
up  the  heart  in  true  adoration  to  God ; 
whenever  we  war  against  a habit  or 
desire  which  is  strengthening  itself 
against  our  higher  principles ; when- 
ever we  think,  speak,  or  act,  with  moral 
energy  and  resolute  devotion  to  duty, 
be  the  occasion  ever  so  humble,  ob- 
scure, familiar;  — then  the  divinity  is 
growing  within  us,  and  we  are  ascend- 
ing towards  our  Author.  True  religion 
thus  blends  itself  with  common  life. 
We  are  thus  to  draw  nigh  to  God  with- 


out forsaking  men.  We  are  thus,  with- 
out parting  with  our  human  nature,  to 
clothe  ourselves  with  the  divine. 

My  views  on  the  great  subject  of- 
this  discourse  have  now  been  given.  I 
shall  close  with  a brief  consideration 
of  a few  objections,  in  the  course  of 
which  I shall  offer  some  views  of  the 
Christian  ministry,  which  this  occasion 
and  the  state  of  the  world  seem  to  me 
to  demand.  I anticipate  from  some  an 
objection  to  this  discourse,  drawn  as 
they  will  say  from  experience.  I may 
be  told  that  I have  talked  of  the  god- 
like capacities  of  human  nature,  and 
have  spoken  of  man  as  a divinity  ; and 
where,  it  will  be  asked,  are  the  warrants 
of  this  high  estimate  of  our  race  ? I 
may  be  told  that  I dream,  and  that  I 
have  peopled  the  world  with  the  creat- 
ures of  my  lonely  imagination.  What ! 
Is  it  only  in  dreams  that  beauty  and 
loveliness  have  beamed  on  me  from  the 
human  countenance,  that  I have  heard 
tones  of  kindness  which  have  thrilled 
through  my  heart,  that  I have  found 
sympathy  in  suffering,  and  a sacred  joy 
in  friendship  ? Are  all  the  great  and 
good  men  of  past  ages  only  dreams  ? 
Are  such  names  as  Moses,  Socrates, 
Paul,  Alfred,  Milton,  only  the  fictions 
of  my  disturbed  slumbers  ? Are  the 
great  deeds  of  history,  the  discoveries 
of  philosophy,  the  creations  of  genius, 
only  visions  ? Oh,  no.  I do  not  dream 
when  I speak  of  the  divine  capacities 
of  human  nature.  It  is  a real  page  in 
which  I read  of  patriots  and  martyrs, 
of  Fenelon  and  Howard,  of  Hampden 
and  Washington.  And  tell  me  not 
that  these  were  prodigies,  miracles,  im- 
measurably separated  from  their  race ; 
for  the  very  reverence  which  has  treas- 
ured up  and  hallowed  their  memories, 
the  very  sentiments  of  admiration  and 
love  with  which  their  names  are  now 
heard,  show  that  the  principles  of  their 
greatness  are  diffused  through  all  your 
breasts.  The  germs  of  sublime  virtue 
are  scattered  liberally  on  our  earth. 
How  often  have  I seen  in  the  obscurity 
of  domestic  life  a strength  of  love,  of 
endurance,  of  pious  trust,  of  virtuous 
resolution,  which  in  a public  sphere 
would  have  attracted  public  homage  ! 
I cannot  but  pity  the  man  who  recog- 
nizes nothing  godlike  in  his  own  nature. 
I see  the  marks  of  God  in  the  heavens 
and  the  earth,  but  how  much  more  in  a 


LIKENESS  TO  GOD . 


299 


liberal  intellect,  in  magnanimity,  in  un- 
conquerable rectitude,  in  a philanthropy 
which  forgives  every  wrong,  and  which 
never  despairs  of  the  cause  of  Christ 
and  human  virtue  ! I do  and  I must 
reverence  human  nature.  Neither  the 
sneers  of  a worldly  scepticism  nor  the 
groans  of  a gloomy  theology  disturb  my 
faith  in  its  godlike  powers  and  ten- 
dencies. I know  how  it  is  despised, 
how  it  has  been  oppressed,  how  civil 
and  religious  establishments  have  for 
ages  conspired  to  crush  it.  I know  its 
history.  I shut  my  eyes  on  none  of  its 
weaknesses  and  crimes.  I understand 
the  proofs  by  which  despotism  demon- 
strates that  man  is  a wild  beast,  in  want 
of  a master,  and  only  safe  in  chains. 
But  injured,  trampled  on,  and  scorned 
as  our  nature  is,  I still  turn  to  it  with 
intense  sympathy  and  strong  hope.  The 
signatures  of  its  origin  and  its  end  are 
impressed  too  deeply  to  be  ever  wholly 
effaced.  I bless  it  for  its  kind  affec- 
tions, for  its  strong  and  tender  love.  I 
honor  it  for  its  struggles  against  op- 
pression, for  its  growth  and  progress 
under  the  weight  of  so  many  chains 
and  prejudices,  for  its  achievements  in 
science  and  art,  and  still  more  for  its 
examples  of  heroic  and  saintly  virtue. 
These  are  marks  of  a divine  origin  and 
the  pledges  of  a celestial  inheritance  ; 
and  I thank  God  that  my  own  lot  is 
bound  up  with  that  of  the  human  race. 

But  another  objection  starts  up.  It 
may  be  said,  “ Allow  these  views  to  be 
true ; are  they  fitted  for  the  pulpit  ? 
fitted  to  act  on  common  minds  ? They 
may  be  prized  by  men  of  cultivated  in- 
tellect and  taste  ; but  can  the  multitude 
understand  them  ? Will  the  multitude 
feel  them  ? On  whom  has  a minister  to 
act  ? On  men  immersed  in  business, 
and  buried  in  the  flesh  ; on  men  whose 
whole  power  of  thought  has  been  spent 
on  pleasure  or  gain  ; on  men  chained 
by  habit  and  wedded  to  sin.  Sooner 
may  adamant  be  riven  by  a child’s  touch 
than  the  human  heart  be  pierced  by  re- 
fined and  elevated  sentiment.  Gross 
instruments  will  alone  act  on  gross 
minds.  Men  sleep,  and  nothing  but 
thunder,  nothing  but  flashes  from  the 
everlasting  fire  of  hell,  will  thoroughly 
wake  them.” 

I have  all  along  felt  that  such  objec- 
tions would  be  made  to  the  views  I have 
urged.  But  they  do  not  move  me.  I 


answer,  that  I think  these  views  singu- 
larly adapted  to  the  pulpit,  and  I think 
them  full  of  power.  The  objection  is 
that  they  are  refined.  But  I see  God 
accomplishing  his  noblest  purposes  by 
what  may  be  called  refined  means.  All 
the  great  agents  of  nature  — attraction, 
heat,  and  the  principle  of  life  — are  re- 
fined, spiritual,  invisible,  acting  gently, 
silently,  imperceptibly  ; and  yet  brute 
matter  feels  their  power,  and  is  trans- 
formed by  them  into  surpassing  beauty. 
The  electric  fluid,  unseen,  unfelt,  and 
everywhere  diffused,  is  infinitely  more 
efficient,  and  ministers  to  infinitely  no- 
bler productions,  than  when  it  breaks 
forth  in  thunder.  Much  less  can  I be- 
lieve that  in  the  moral  world  noise, 
menace,  and  violent  appeals  to  gross 
passions,  to  fear  and  selfishness,  are 
God’s  chosen  means  of  calling  forth 
spiritual  life,  beauty,  and  greatness.  It 
is  seldom  that  human  nature  throws  off 
all  susceptibility  of  grateful  and  gen- 
erous impressions,  all  sympathy  with 
superior  virtue  ; and  here  are  springs 
and  principles  to  which  a generous 
teaching,  if  simple,  sincere,  and  fresh 
from  the  soul,  may  confidently  appeal. 

It  is  said  men  cannot  understand  the 
views  which  seem  to  me  so  precious. 
This  objection  I am  anxious  to  repel, 
for  the  common  intellect  has  been  griev- 
ously kept  down  and  wronged  through 
the  belief  of  its  incapacity.  The  pulpit 
would  do  more  good  were  not  the  mass 
of  men  looked  upon  and  treated  as  chil- 
dren. Happily  for  the  race,  the  time  is 
passing  away  in  which  intellect  was 
thought  the  monopoly  of  a few,  and  the 
majority  were  given  over  to  hopeless 
ignorance.  Science  is  leaving  her  sol- 
itudes to  enlighten  the  multitude.  How 
much  more  may  religious  teachers  take 
courage  to  speak  to  men  on  subjects 
which  are  nearer  to  them  than  the  prop- 
erties and  laws  of  matter,  — I mean  their 
own  souls.  The  multitude,  you  say, 
want  capacity  to  receive  great  truths 
relating  to  their  spiritual  nature.  But 
what,  let  me  ask  you,  is  the  Christian 
religion  ? A spiritual  system,  intended 
to  turn  men’s  minds  upon  themselves,  to 
frame  them  to  watchfulness  over  thought, 
imagination,  and  passion,  to  establish 
them  in  an  intimacy  with  their  own 
souls.  What  are  all  the  Christian  virt- 
ues which  men  are  exhorted  to  love  and 
seek  ? I answer,  pure  and  high  motions 


300 


LIKENESS  TO  GOD . 


or  determinations  of  the  mind.  That 
refinement  of  thought  which,  I am  told, 
transcends  the  common  intellect,  belongs 
to  the  very  essence  of  Christianity.  In 
confirmation  of  these  views,  the  human 
mind  seems  to  me  to  be  turning  itself 
more  and  more  inward,  and  to  be  grow- 
ing more  alive  to  its  own  worth  and  its 
capacities  of  progress.  The  spirit  of 
education  shows  this,  and  so  does  the 
spirit  of  freedom.  There  is  a spreading 
conviction  that  man  was  made  for  a 
higher  purpose  than  to  be  a beast  of 
burden,  or  a creature  of  sense.  The 
divinity  is  stirring  within  the  human 
breast,  and  demanding  a culture  and  a 
liberty  worthy  of  the  child  of  God.  Let 
religious  teaching  correspond  to  this 
advancement  of  the  mind.  Let  it  rise 
above  the  technical,  obscure,  and  frigid 
theology  which  has  come  down  to  us 
from  times  of  ignorance,  superstition, 
and  slavery.  Let  it  penetrate  the  human 
soul,  and  reveal  it  to  itself.  No  preach- 
ing, I believe,  is  so  intelligible  as  that 
which  is  true  to  human  nature,  and  helps 
men  to  read  their  own  spirits. 

But  the  objection  which  I have  stated 
not  only  represents  men  as  incapable  of 
understanding,  but  still  more  of  being 
moved,  quickened,  sanctified,  and  saved, 
by  such  views  as  I have  given.  If  by 
this  objection  nothing  more  is  meant 
than  that  these  views  are  not  alone  or  of 
themselves  sufficient,  I shall  not  dispute 
it ; for,  true  and  glorious  as  they  are, 
they  do  not  constitute  the  whole  truth, 
and  I do  not  expect  great  moral  effects 
from  narrow  and  partial  views  of  our 
nature.  I have  spoken  of  the  godlike 
capacities  of  the  soul.  But  other  and 
very  different  elements  enter  into  the 
human  being.  Man  has  animal  propen- 
sities as  well  as  intellectual  and  moral 
powers.  He  has  a body  as  well  as  mind. 
He  has  passions  to  war  with  reason,  and 
self-love  with  conscience.  He  is  a free 
being,  and  a tempted  being,  and  thus 
constituted  he  may  and  does  sin,  and 
often  sins  grievously.  To  such  a being 
religion,  or  virtue,  is  a conflict,  requiring 
great  spiritual  effort,  put  forth  in  ha- 
bitual watchfulness  and  prayer  ; and  all 
the  motives  are  needed  by  which  force 
and  constancy  may  be  communicated  to 
the  will.  I exhort  not  the  preacher  to 
talk  perpetually  of  man  as  “ made  but  a 
little  lower  than  the  angels.”  I would 
not  narrow  him  to  any  class  of  topics. 


Let  him  adapt  himself  to  our  whole  and 
various  nature.  Let  him  summon  to  his 
aid  all  the  powers  of  this  world  and  the 
world  to  come.  Let  him  bring  to  bear 
on  the  conscience  and  the  heart  God's 
milder  and  more  awful  attributes,  the 
promises  and  threatenings  of  the  divine 
word,  the  lessons  of  history,  the  warn- 
ings of  experience.  Let  the  wages  of 
sin  here  and  hereafter  be  taught  clearly 
and  earnestly.  But  amidst  the  various 
motives  to  spiritual  effort  which  belong 
to  the  minister,  none  are  more  quick- 
ening than  those  drawn  from  the  soul 
itself,  and  from  God’s  desire  and  pur- 
pose to  exalt  it  by  every  aid  consistent 
with  its  freedom.  These  views  I con- 
ceive are  to  mix  with  all  others,  and 
without  them  all  others  fail  to  promote 
a generous  virtue.  Is  it  said  that  the 
minister's  proper  work  is  to  preach 
Christ,  and  not  the  dignity  of  human 
nature  ? I answer,  that  Christ’s  great- 
ness is  manifested  in  the  greatness  of 
the  nature  which  he  was  sent  to  redeem ; 
and  that  his  chief  glory  consists  in  this, 
that  he  came  to  restore  God’s  image 
where  it  was  obscured  or  effaced,  and 
to  give  an  everlasting  impulse  and  life 
to  what  is  divine  within  us.  Is  it  said 
that  the  malignity  of  sin  is  to  be  the 
minister’s  great  theme  ? I answer,  that 
this  malignity  can  only  be  understood 
and  felt  when  sin  is  viewed  as  the  ruin 
of  God’s  noblest  work,  as  darkening  a 
light  brighter  than  the  sun,  as  carrying 
discord,  bondage,  disease,  and  death  into 
a mind  framed  for  perpetual  progress 
towards  its  Author.  Is  it  said  that  ter- 
ror is  the  chief  instrument  of  saving  the 
soul  ? I answer,  that  if  by  terror  be 
meant  a rational  and  moral  fear,  a con- 
viction and  dread  of  the  unutterable  evil 
incurred  by  a mind  which  wrongs,  be- 
trays, and  destroys  itself,  then  I am 
the  last  to  deny  it§  importance.  But  a 
fear  like  this,  which  regards  the  debase- 
ment of  the  soul  as  the  greatest  of  evils, 
is  plainly  founded  upon  and  proportioned 
to  our  conceptions  of  the  greatness  of 
our  nature.  The  more  common  terror 
excited  by  vivid  images  of  torture  and 
bodily  pain  is  a very  questionable  means 
of  virtue.  When  strongly  awakened,  it 
generally  injures  the  character,  breaks 
men  into  cowards  and  slaves,  brings  the 
intellect  to  cringe  before  human  author- 
ity, makes  man  abject  before  his  Maker, 
and,  by  a natural  reaction  of  the  mind, 


LIKENESS  TO  GOD . 


often  terminates  in  a presumptuous  con- 
fidence altogether  distinct  from  virtuous 
self-respect,  and  singularly  hostile  to  the 
unassuming,  charitable  spirit  of  Chris- 
tianity. The  preacher  should  rather 
strive  to  fortify  the  soul  against  phys- 
ical pains  than  to  bow  it  to  their  mas- 
tery, teaching  it  to  dread  nothing  in 
comparison  with  sin,  and  to  dread  sin  as 
the  ruin  of  a noble  nature. 

Men,  I repeat  it,  are  to  be  quickened 
and  raised  by  appeals  to  their  highest 
principles.  Even  the  convicts  of  a 
prison  may  be  touched  by  kindness, 
generosity,  and  especially  by  a tone, 
look,  and  address,  expressing  hope  and 
respect  for  their  nature.  I know  that 
the  doctrine  of  ages  has  been  that  ter- 
ror, restraint,  and  bondage  are  the  chief 
safeguards  of  human  virtue  and  peace. 
But  we  have  begun  to  learn  that  affec- 
tion, confidence,  respect,  and  freedom 
are  mightier  as  well  as  nobler  agents. 
Men  can  be  wrought  upon  by  generous 
influences.  I would  that  this  truth  were 
better  understood  by  religious  teachers. 
From  the  pulpit  generous  influences  too 
seldom  proceed.  In  the  church  men  too 
seldom  hear  a voice  to  quicken  and 
exalt  them.  Religion,  speaking  through 
her  public  organs,  seems  often  to  for- 
get her  natural  tone  of  elevation.  The 
character  of  God,  the  principles  of  his 
government,  his  relations  to  the  human 
family,  the  purposes  for  which  He 
brought  us  into  being,  the  nature  which 
He  has  given  us,  and  the  condition  in 
which  He  has  placed  us,  — these  and  the 
like  topics,  though  the  sublimest  which 
can  enter  the  mind,  are  not  unfrequently 
so  set  forth  as  to  narrow  and  degrade 
the  hearers,  disheartening  and  oppress- 
ing with  glpom  the  timid  and  sensitive, 
and  infecting  coarser  minds  with  the 
unhallowed  spirit  of  intolerance,  pre- 
sumption, and  exclusive  pretension  to 
the  favor  of  God.  I know,  and  rejoice 
to  know,  that  preaching  in  its  worst 
forms  does  good;  for  so  bright  and 
piercing  is  the  light  of  Christianity  that 
it  penetrates  in  a measure  the  thickest 
clouds  in  which  men  contrive  to  involve 
it.  But  that  evil  mixes  with  the  good, 
I also  know  ; and  I should  be  unfaithful 
to  my  deep  convictions  did  I not  say 
that  human  nature  requires  for  its  ele- 
vation more  generous  treatment  from 
the  teachers  of  religion. 

I conclude  with  saying,  let  the  min- 


ister cherish  a reverence  for  his  ow 
nature.  Let  him  never  despise  it  eve' 
in  its  most  forbidding  forms.  Let  hi 
delight  in  its  beautiful  and  lofty  mani- 
festations. Let  him  hold  fast,  as  one  o 
the  great  qualifications  for  his  office,  a 
faith  in  the  greatness  of  the  human  soul, 
— that  faith  which  looks  beneath  th 
perishing  body,  beneath  the  sweat  o 
the  laborer,  beneath  the  rags  and  igno 
ranee  of  the  poor,  beneath  the  vices  o 
the  sensual  and  selfish,  and  discerns  i 
the  depths  of  the  soul  a divine  principle 
a ray  of  the  Infinite  Light,  which  ma_ 
yet  break  forth  and  “shine  as  the  sun’ 
in  the  kingdom  of  God.  Let  him  striv 
to  awaken  in  men  a consciousness  o 
the  heavenly  treasure  within  them,  a 
consciousness  of  possessing  what  is  of 
more  worth  than  the  outward  universe. 
Let  hope  give  life  to  all  his  labors.  Let 
him  speak  to  men  as  to  beings  liberally 
gifted  and  made  for  God.  Let  him  al- 
ways look  round  on  a congregation  with 
the  encouraging  trust  that  he  has  hear- 
ers prepared  to  respond  to  the  simple, 
unaffected  utterance  of  great  truths,  and 
to  the  noblest  workings  of  his  own  mind. 
Let  him  feel  deeply  for  those  in  whom 
the  divine  nature  is  overwhelmed  by  the 
passions.  Let  him  sympathize  tenderly 
with  those  in  whom  it  begins  to  struggle, 
to  mourn  for  sin,  to  thirst  for  a new  life. 
Let  him  guide  and  animate  to  higher  and 
diviner  virtue  those  in  whom  it  has  gained 
strength.  Let  him  strive  to  infuse  cour- 
age, enterprise,  devout  trust,  and  an  in- 
flexible will  into  men’s  labors  for  their 
own  perfection.  In  one  word,  let  him 
cherish  an  unfaltering  and  growing  faith 
in  God  as  the  Father  and  quickener  of 
the  human  mind,  and  in  Christ  as  its 
triumphant  and  immortal  friend.  That 
by  such  preaching  he  is  to  work  mir- 
acles, I do  not  say.  That  he  will  rival 
in  sudden  and  outward  effects  what  is 
wrought  by  the  preachers  of  a low  and 
terrifying  theology,  I do  not  expect  or 
desire.  That  all  will  be  made  better,  I 
am  far  from  believing.  His  office  is  to 
act  on  free  beings,  who,  after  all,  must 
determine  themselves  ; who  have  power 
to  withstand  all  foreign  agency ; who 
are  to  be  saved,  not  by  mere  preaching, 
but  by  their  own  prayers  and  toil.  Still 
I believe  that  such  a minister  will  be  a 
benefactor  beyond  all  praise  to  the  hu- 
man soul.  I believe,  and  know,  that  on 
those  who  will  admit  his  influence  he 


02 


CHARACTER  OF  CHRIST 


vill  work  deeply,  powerfully,  gloriously, 
is  function  is  the  sublimest  under 
eaven  ; and  his  reward  will  be  a grow- 


ing power  of  spreading  truth,  virtue, 
moral  strength,  love,  and  happiness, 
without  limit  and  without  end. 


CHARACTER  OF  CHRIST. 


1 

e< 

O1 


atthew  xvii.  5 : “ This  is  my  beloved  Son,  in  whom 
I am  well  pleased.’’ 

The  character  of  Christ  maybe  stud- 
ed  for  various  purposes.  It  is  singularly 
~tted  to  call  forth  the  heart,  to  awaken 
ove,  admiration,  and  moral  delight.  As 
an  example,  it  has  no  rival.  As  an  evi- 
dence of  his  religion,  perhaps  it  yields 
to  no  other  proof  ; perhaps  no  other  has 
so  often  conquered  unbelief.  It  is  chiefly 
to  this  last  view  of  it  that  I now  ask 
your  attention.  The  character  of  Christ 
is  a strong  confirmation  of  the  truth  of  his 
religion.  As  such,  I would  now  place  it 
before  you.  I shall  not,  however,  think 
only  of  confirming  your  faith  ; the  very 
illustrations  which  I shall  adduce  for 
this  purpose  will  show  the  claims  of 
Jesus  to  our  reverence,  obedience,  im- 
itation, and  fervent  love. 

The  more  we  contemplate  Christ’s 
character,  as  exhibited  in  the  gospel, 
the  more  we  shall  be  impressed  with  its 
genuineness  and  reality.  It  was  plainly 
drawn  from  the  life.  The  narratives  of 
the  Evangelists  bear  the  marks  of  truth 
perhaps  beyond  all  other  histories.  They 
set  before  us  the  most  extraordinary 
being  who  ever  appeared  on  earth,  and 
yet  they  are  as  artless  as  the  stories  of 
childhood.  The  authors  do  not  think  of 
themselves.  They  have  plainly  but  one 
aim,  to  show  us  their  Master ; and  they 
manifest  the  deep  veneration  which  he 
inspired  by  leaving  him  to  reveal  him- 
self, by  giving  us  his  actions  and  say- 
ings without  comment,  explanation,  or 
eulogy.  You  see  in  these  narratives  no 
varnishing,  no  high  coloring,  no  attempts 
to  make  his  actions  striking,  or  to  bring 
out  the  beauties  of  his  character.  We 
are  never  pointed  to  any  circumstance 
as  illustrative  of  his  greatness.  The 
Evangelists  write  with  a calm  , trust  in 
his  character,  with  a feeling  that  it 
needed  no  aid  from  their  hands,  and 
with  a deep  veneration,  as  if  comment 
or  praise  of  their  own  were  not  worthy 


to  mingle  with  the  recital  of  such  a 
life. 

It  is  the  effect  of  our  familiarity  with 
the  history  of  Jesus  that  we  are  not 
struck  by  it  as  we  ought  to  be.  We 
read  it  before  we  are  capable  of  under- 
standing its  excellence.  His  stupendous 
works  become  as  familiar  to  us  as  the 
events  of  ordinary  life,  and  his  high 
offices  seem  as  much  matters  of  course 
as  the  common  relations  which  men  bear 
to  each  other.  On  this  account,  it  is  fit 
for  the  ministers  of  religion  to  do  what 
the  Evangelists  did  not  attempt,  to  offer 
comments  on  Christ’s  character,  to  bring 
out  its  features,  to  point  men  to  its 
higher  beauties,  to  awaken  their  awe  by 
unfolding  its  wonderful  majesty.  In- 
deed, one  of  our  most  important  func- 
tions, as  teachers,  is  to  give  freshness 
and  vividness  to  truths  which  have  be- 
come worn,  I had  almost  said  tarnished, 
by  long  and  familiar  handling.  We 
have  to  fight  with  the  power  of  habit. 
Through  habit  men  look  on  this  glorious 
creation  with  insensibility,  and  are  less 
moved  by  the  all-enlightening  sun  than 
by  a show  of  fire-works.  It  is  the  duty 
of  a moral  and  religious  teacher  almost 
to  create  a new  sense  in  men,  that  they 
may  learn  in  what  a world  of  beauty  and 
magnificence  they  live.  And  so  in  re- 
gard to  Christ’s  character  ; men  become 
used  to  it,  until  they  imagine  that  there 
is  something  more  admirable  in  a great 
man  of  their  own  day  — a statesman  or 
a conqueror  — than  in  him  the  latchet 
of  whose  shoes  statesmen  and  con- 
querors are  not  worthy  to  unloose. 

In  this  discourse  I wish  to  show  that 
the  character  of  Christ,  taken  as  a whole, 
is  one  which  could  not  have  entered  the 
thoughts  of  man,  could  not  have  been 
imagined  or  feigned  ; that  it  bears  every 
mark  of  genuineness  and  truth  ; that  it 
ought,  therefore,  to  be  acknowledged  as 
real  and  of  divine  original. 

It  is  all-important,  my  friends,  if  we 


CHARACTER  OF  CHRIST. 


303 


would  feel  the  force  of  this  argument, 
to  transport  ourselves  to  the  times  when 
Jjesus  lived.  We  are  very  apt  to  think 
that  he  was  moving  about  in  such  a city 
as  this,  or  among  a people  agreeing  with 
ourselves  in  modes  of  thinking  and  hab- 
its of  life.  But  the  truth  is,  he  lived  in 
a state  of  society  singularly  remote  from 
our  own.  Of  all  nations,  the  Jewish 
was  the  most  strongly  marked.  The 
Jew  hardly  felt  himself  to  belong  to  the 
human  family.  He  was  accustomed  to 
speak  of  himself  as  chosen  by  God,  holy, 
clean  ; whilst  the  Gentiles  were  sinners, 
dogs,  polluted,  unclean.  His  common 
dress,  the  phylactery  on  his  brow  or 
arm,  the  hem  of  his  garment,  his  food, 
the  ordinary  circumstances  of  his  life,  as 
well  as  his  temple,  his  sacrifices,  his  ab- 
lutions, all  held  him  up  to  himself  as  a 
peculiar  favorite  of  God,  and  all  sepa- 
rated him  from  the  rest  of  the  world. 
With  other  nations  he  could  not  eat  or 
marry.  They  were  umyorthy  of  his 
communion.  Still,  with  all  these  no- 
tions of  superiority,  he  saw  himself  con- 
quered by  those  whom  he  despised.  He 
was  obliged  to  wear  the  shackles  of 
Rome,  to  see  Roman  legions  in  his  ter- 
ritory, a Roman  guard  near  his  temple, 
and  a Roman  tax-gatherer  extorting,  for 
the  support  of  an  idolatrous  government 
and  an  idolatrous  worship,  what  he  re- 
garded as  due  only  to  God.  The  hatred 
which  burned  in  the  breast  of  the  Jew 
towards  his  foreign  oppressor  perhaps 
never  glowed  with  equal  intenseness  in 
any  other  conquered  state.  He  had, 
however,  his  secret  consolation.  The 
time  was  near,  the  prophetic  age  was  at 
hand,  when  Judea  was  to  break  her 
chains  and  rise  from  the  dust.  Her 
long-promised  king  and  deliverer  was 
near,  and  was  coming  to  wear  the  crown 
of  universal  empire.  From  Jerusalem 
was  to  go  forth  his  law,  and  aM  nations 
were  to  serve  the  chosen  people  of  God. 
To  this  conqueror  the  Jews  indeed  as-  1 
cribed  the  office  of  promoting  religion  ; 
but  the  religion  of  Moses,  corrupted 
into  an  outward  service,  was  to  them 
the  perfection  of  human  nature.  They 
clung  to  its  forms  with  the  whole  en- 
ergy of  their  souls.  To  the  Mosaic  in- 
stitution they  ascribed  their  distinction 
from  all  other  nations.  It  lay  at  the 
foundation  of  their  hopes  of  dominion. 

I believe  no  strength  of  prejudice  ever 
equalled  the  intense  attachment  of  the 


Jew  to  his  peculiar  national  religion. 
You  may  judge  of  its  power  by  the  fact 
of  its  having  been  transmitted  through 
so  many  ages,  amidst  persecution  and 
sufferings  which  would  have  subdued 
any  spirit  but  that  of  a Jew.  You  must 
bring  these  things  to  your  mind.  You 
must  place  yourselves  in  the  midst  of 
this  singular  people. 

Among  this  singular  people,  burning 
with  impatient  expectation,  appeared 
Jesus  of  Nazareth.  His  first  words  were, 
44  Repent,  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven 
is  at  hand.”  These  words  we  hear 
with  little  emotion  ; but  to  the  Jews, 
who  had  been  watching  for  this  king- 
dom for  ages,  and  who  were  looking  for 
its  immediate  manifestation,  they  must 
have  been  awakening  as  an  earthquake. 
Accordingly,  we  find  Jesus  thronged 
by  multitudes  which  no  building  could 
contain.  He  repairs  to  a mountain,  as 
affording  him  advantages  for  addressing 
the  crowd.  I see  them  surrounding 
him  with  eager  looks,  and  ready  to 
drink  in  every  word  from  his  lips.  And 
what  do  I hear  ? * Not  one  word  of 
Judea,  of  Rome,  of  freedom,  of  con- 
quest, of  the  glories  of  God’s  chosen 
people,  and  of  the  thronging  of  all  na- 
tions to  the  temple  on  Mount  Zion.  Al- 
most every  word  was  a death-blow  to 
the  hopes  and  feelings  which  glowed 
through  the  whole  people,  and  were 
consecrated  under  the  name  of  religion. 
He  speaks  of  the  long-expected  kingdom 
of  heaven  ; but  speaks  of  it  as  a felicity 
promised  to,  and  only  to  be  partaken 
by,  the  humble  and  pure  in  heart.  The 
righteousness  of  the  Pharisees,  that 
which  was  deemed  the  perfection  of  re- 
ligion, and  which  the  new  deliverer  wa§/ 
expected  to  spread  far  and  wide,  he  pro- 
nounces worthless,  and  declares  tjhjjg 
kingdom  of  heaven,  or  of  the  Messiah, 
to  be  shut  against  all  who  do  not  culti- 
vate a new,  spiritual,  and  disinterested 
virtue.  Instead  of  war  and  victory,  he 
commands  his  impatient  hearers  to  love, 
to  forgive,  to  bless  their  enemies  ; and 
holds  forth  this  spirit  of  benignity, 
mercy,  peace,  as  the  special  badge  of 
the  people  of  the  true  Messiah.  In- 
stead of  national  interests  and  glories, 
he  commands  them  to  seek  first  a spirit 
of  impartial  charity  and  love,  unconfined 
by  the  bounds  of  tribe  or  nation,  and 
proclaims  this  to  be  the  happiness  and 
honor  of  the  reign  for  which  they  hoped. 


304 


CHARACTER  OF  CHRIST. 


Instead  of  this  world’s  riches,  which 
they  expected  to  flow  from  all  lands  into 
their  own,  he  commands  them  to  lay  up 
treasures  in  heaven,  and  directs  them  to 
an  incorruptible,  immortal  life,  as  the 
true  end  of  their  being.  Nor  is  this  all. 
He  does  not  merely  offer  himself  as  a 
spiritual  deliverer,  as  the  founder  of  a 
new  empire  of  inward  piety  and  univer- 
sal charity ; he  closes  with  language 
announcing  a more  mysterious  office. 
“ Many  will  say  unto  me  in  that  day, 
Lord,  Lord,  have  we  not  prophesied  in 
thy  name  ? and  in  thy  name  done  many 
wonderful  works  ? And  then  will  I pro- 
fess unto  them,  I never  knew  you,  de- 
part from  me,  ye  that  work  iniquity.” 
Here  I meet  the  annunciation  of  a char- 
acter as  august  as  it  must  have  been 
startling.  I hear  him  foretelling  a do- 
minion to  be  exercised  in  the  future 
world.  He  begins  to  announce,  what 
entered  largely  into  his  future  teaching, 
that  his  power  was  not  bounded  to  this 
earth.  These  words  I better  under- 
stand when  I hear  him  subsequently 
declaring  that,  after  a painful  death,  he 
was  to  rise  again  and  ascend  to  heaven, 
and  there,  in  a state  of  pre-eminent 
power  and  glory,  was  to  be  the  advo- 
cate and  judge  of  the  human  race. 

Such  are  some  of  the  views  given  by 
Jesus  of  his  character  and  reign  in  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount.  Immediately 
afterwards  I hear  another  lesson  from 
him,  bringing  out  some  of  these  truths 
still  more  strongly.  A Roman  centurion 
makes  application  to  him  for  the  cure  of 
a servant  whom  he  particularly  valued  ; 
and  on  expressing,  in  a strong  manner, 
his  conviction  of  the  power  of  Jesus  to 
eal  at  a distance,  Jesus,  according  to  the 
istorian,  “ marvelled,  and  said  to  those 

SiNat  followed,  Verily  I say  unto  you,  I 
aye  not  found  so  great  faith  in  Israel ; 
I say  unto  you,  that  many  shall 
from  the  east  and  the  west,  and 
shall\sit  down  with  Abraham,  and  Isaac, 
and  hacob  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven ; 
but  tlae  children  of  the  kingdom  ” (that 
is,  the  Jews)  “shall  be  cast  out.”  Here 
all  the  hopes  which  the  Jews  had  cher- 
ished of  an  exclusive  or  peculiar  posses- 
sion of  the  Messiah’s  kingdom  were 
crushed;  arid  the  reception  of  the  de- 
spised Gentile  world  to  all  his  blessings, 
or,  in  other  words,  the  extension  of  his 
pure  religion  to  the  ends  of  the  earth, 
began  to  be  proclaimed. 


Here  I pause  for  the  present,  and  I 
ask  you  whether  the  character  of  Jesus 
be  not  the  most  extraordinary  in  history, 
and  wholly  inexplicable  on  human  prin- 
ciples. Review  the  ground  over  which 
we  have  gone.  Recollect  that  he  was 
born  and  grew  up  a Jew,  in  the  midst  of 
Jews,  a people  burning  with  one  passion, 
and  throwing  their  whole  souls  into  the 
expectation  of  a national  and  earthly 
deliverer.  He  grew  up  among  them  in 
poverty,  seclusion,  and  labors  fitted  to 
contract  his  thoughts,  purposes,  and 
hopes  ; and  yet  we  find  him  escaping 
every  influence  of  education  and  society. 
We  find  him  as  untouched  by  the  feel- 
ings which  prevailed  universally  around 
him,  which  religion  and  patriotism  con- 
curred to  consecrate,  which  the  mother 
breathed  into  the  ear  of  the  child,  and 
which  the  teacher  of  the  synagogue 
strengthened  in  the  adult,  as  if  he  had 
been  brought  up  in  another  world.  We 
find  him  conceiving  a sublime  purpose, 
such  as  had  never  dawned  on  sage  or 
hero,  and  see  him  possessed  with  a con- 
sciousness of  sustaining  a relation  to 
God  and  mankind,  and  of  being  invested 
writh  powers  in  this  world  and  the  world 
to  come  such  as  had  never  entered  the 
human  mind.  Whence  now,  I ask,  came 
the  conception  of  this  character  ? 

Will  any  say  it  had  its  origin  in  im- 
posture,— that  it  was  a fabrication  of 
a deceiver  ? I answer,  the  character 
claimed  by  Christ  excludes  this  suppo- 
sition by  its  very  nature.  It  was  so 
remote  from  all  the  ideas  and  anticipa- 
tions of  the  times,  so  unfit  to  awaken 
sympathy,  so  unattractive  to  the  heathen, 
so  exasperating  to  the  Jew,  that  it  was 
the  last  to  enter  the  mind  of  an  impostor. 
A deceiver  of  the  dullest  vision  must 
have  foreseen  that  it  would  expose  him 
to  bitter  scorn,  abhorrence,  and  persecu- 
tion, and*  that  he  would  be  left  to  carry 
on  his  work  alone,  just  as  Jesus  always 
stood  alone,  and  could  find  not  an  indi- 
vidual to  enter  into  his  spirit  and  design. 
What  allurements  an  unprincipled,  self- 
seeking  man  could  find  to  such  an 
enterprise,  no  common  ingenuity  can 
discover. 

I affirm  next,  that  the  sublimity  of  the 
character  claimed  by  Christ  forbids  us 
to  trace  it  to  imposture.  That  a selfish, 
designing,  depraved  mind  could  have 
formed  the  idea  and  purpose  of  a work 
unparalleled  in  beneficence,  in  vastness, 


CHARACTER  OF  CHRIST. 


305 


and  in  moral  grandeur,  would  certainly 
be  a strange  departure  from  the  laws  of 
the  human  mind.  I add,  that  if  an  im- 
postor could  have  lighted  on  the  con- 
ception of  so  sublime  and  wonderful  a 
work  as  that  claimed  by  Jesus,  he  could 
not  — I say,  he  could  not  — have  thrown 
into  his  personation  of  it  the  air  of  truth 
and  reality.  The  part  would  have  been 
too  high  for  him.  He  would  have  over- 
acted it  or  fallen  short  of  it  perpetually. 
His  true  character  would  have  rebelled 
against  his  assumed  one.  We  should 
have  seen  something  strained,  forced, 
artificial,  awkward,  showing  that  he  was 
not  in  his  true  sphere.  To  act  up  to  a 
character  so  singular  and  grand,  and  one 
for  which  no  precedent  could  be  found, 
seems  to  me  utterly  impossible  for  a man 
who  had  not’the  true  spirit  of  it,  or  who 
was  only  wearing  it  as  a mask. 

Now,  how  stands  the  case  with  Jesus  ? 
Bred  a Jewish  peasant  or  carpenter,  he 
issues  from  obscurity  and  claims  for 
himself  a divine  office,  a superhuman 
dignity,  such  as  had  not  been  imagined ; 
and  in  no  instance  does  he  fall  below 
the  character.  The  peasant,  and  still 
"more  the  Jew,  wholly  disappears.  We 
feel  that  a new  being,  of  a new  order  of 
mind,  is  taking  a part  in  human  affairs. 
There  is  a native  tone  of  grandeur  and 
authority  in  his  teaching.  He  speaks  as 
a being  related  to  the  whole  human  race. 
His  mind  never  shrinks  within  the  ordi- 
nary limits  of  human  agency.  A nar- 
rower sphere  than  the  world  never  enters 
his  thoughts.  He  speaks  in  a natural, 
spontaneous  style  of  accomplishing  the 
most  arduous  and  important  change  in 
human  affairs.  This  unlabored  manner 
of  expressing  great  thoughts  is  particu- 
larly worthy  of  attention.  You  never 
hear  from  Jesus  that  swelling,  pom- 
pous, ostentatious  language  which  almost 
necessarily  springs  from  an  attempt  to 
sustain  a character  above  our  powers. 
He  talks  of  his  glories  as  one  to  whom 
they  were  familiar,  and  of  his  intimacy 
and  oneness  with  God,  as  simply  as  a 
child  speaks  of  his  connection  with  his 
parents.  He  speaks  of  saving  and 
judging  the  world,  of  drawing  all  men 
to  himself,  and  of  giving  everlasting 
life,  as  we  speak  of  the  ordinary  powers 
which  we  exert.  He  makes  no  set 
harangues  about  the  grandeur  of  his 
office  and  character.  His  conscious- 
ness of  it  gives  a hue  to  his  whole 


language,  breaks  out  in  indirect,  unde- 
signed expressions,  showing  that  it  was 
the  deepest  and  most  familiar  of  his 
convictions.  This  argument  is  only  to 
be  understood  by  reading  the  Gospels 
with  a wakeful  mind  and  heart.  It  does 
not  lie  on  their  surface,  and  it  is  the 
stronger  for  lying  beneath  it.  When  I 
read  these  books  with  care,  when  I 
trace  the  unaffected  majesty  which  runs 
through  the  life  of  Jesus,  and  see  him 
never  falling  below  his  sublime  claims 
amidst  poverty  and  scorn,  and  in  his 
last  agony,  I have  a feeling  of  the 
reality  of  his  character  which  I cannot 
express.  I feel  that  the  Jewish  carpen- 
ter could  no  more  have  conceived  and 
sustained  this  character  under  motives 
of  imposture  than  an  infant’s  arm  could 
repeat  the  deeds  of  Hercules,  or  his 
unawakened  intellect  comprehend  and 
rival  the  matchless  works  of  genius. 

Am  I told  that  the  claims  of  Jesus 
had  their  origin  not  in  imposture  but  in 
enthusiasm  ; that  the  imagination,  kin- 
dled by  strong  feeling,  overpowered 
the  judgment  so  far  as  to  give  him 
the  notion  of  being  destined  to  some 
strange  and  unparalleled  work  ? I know 
that  enthusiasm,  or  a kindled  imagi- 
nation, has  great  power ; and  we  are 
never  to  lose  sight  of  it,  in  judging 
of  the  claims  of  religious  teachers. 
But  I say  first,  that,  except  in  cases 
where  it  amounts  to  insanity,  enthu- 
siasm works,  in  a greater  or  less  degree, 
according  to  a man’s  previous  concep- 
tions and  modes  of  thought.  In  Judea, 
where  the  minds  of  men  were  burning 
with  feverish  expectation  of  a Messiah, 

I can  easily  conceive  of  a Jew  imag- 
ining that  in  himself  this  ardent  con-/ 
ception,  this  ideal  of  glory,  was  to  be^ 
realized.  I can  conceive  of  his  seatiiyg 
himself  in  fancy  on  the  throne  of  Davi/d, 
and  secretly  pondering  the  means  /of 
his  appointed  triumphs.  But  thai  a 
Jew  should  fancy  himself  the  Messiah, 
and  at  the  same  time  should  strip/  that 
character  of  all  the  attributes  %vhich 
had  fired  his  youthful  imaginati/on  and 
heart,  — that  he  should  start  aside  from 
all  the  feelings  and  hopes  of  his  age. 
and  should  acquire  a consciousness  of 
being  destined  to  a wholly  new  career, 
and  one  as  unbounded  as  it  was  new,  — 
this  is  exceedingly  improbable ; and 
one  thing  is  certain,  that  an  imagination 
so  erratic,  so  ungoverned,  and  able  to 


20 


30  6 


CHARACTER  OF  CHRIST. 


generate  the  conviction  of  being  des- 
tined to  a work  so  immeasurably  dis- 
proportioned  to  the  power  of  the  indi- 
vidual. must  have  partaken  of  insanity. 
Now,  is  it  conceivable  that  an  individ- 
ual, mastered  by  so  wild  and  fervid  an 
imagination,  should  have  sustained  the 
dignity  claimed  by  Christ,  should  have 
acted  worthily  the  highest  part  ever 
assumed  on  earth  ? Would  not  his 
enthusiasm  have  broken  out  amidst  the 
peculiar  excitements  of  the  life  of  Jesus, 
and  have  left  a touch  of  madness  on 
his  teaching  and  conduct  ? Is  it  to  such 
a man  that  we  should  look  for  the  in- 
culcation of  a new  and  perfect  form  of 
virtue,  and  for  the  exemplification  of 
humanity  in  its  fairest  form  ? 

The  charge  of  an  extravagant,  self- 
deluding  enthusiasm  is  the  last  to  be 
fastened  on  Jesus.  Where  can  we  find 
the  traces  of  it  in  his  history  ? Do  we 
detect  them  in  the  calm  authority  of  his 
precepts  ; in  the  mild,  practical,  and 
beneficent  spirit  of  his  religion  ; in  the 
unlabored  simplicity  of  the  language 
with  which  he  unfolds  his  high  powers, 
and  the  sublime  truths  of  religion ; or  in 
the  good  sense,  the  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  which  he  always  discovers  in 
his  estimate  and  treatment  of  the  differ- 
ent classes  of  men  with  whom  he  acted  ? 
Do  we  discover  this  enthusiasm  in  the 
singular  fact  that,  whilst  he  claimed 
power  in  the  future  world,  and  always 
turned  men's  minds  to  heaven,  he  never 
indulged  his  own  imagination,  or  stimu- 
lated that  of  his  disciples,  by  giving  vivid 
pictures  or  any  minute  description  of 
that  unseen  state  ? The  truth  is  that, 
remarkable  as  was  the  character  of  Jesus, 
it  was  distinguished  by  nothing  more 
than  by  calmness  and  self-possession. 
TVhis  trait  pervades  his  other  excellen- 
cies. How  calm  was  his  piety  ! Point 
met,  if  you  can,  to  one  vehement,  passion- 
ate\expression  of  his  religious  feelings. 
Doe\s  the  Lord's  Prayer  breathe  a fever- 
ish enthusiasm  ? The  habitual  style  of 
Jesus' on  the  subject  of  religion,  if  intro- 
duced f\nto  many  churches  of  his  follow- 
ers at  the  present  day,  would  be  charged 
with  coldness.  The  calm  and  the  rational 
character  of  his  piety  is  particularly 
seen  in  the  doctrine  which  he  so  ear- 
nestly inculcates,  that  disinterested  love 
and  self-denying  service  to  our  fellow- 
creatures  are  the  most  acceptable  wor- 
ship we  can  offer  to  our  Creator. 


His  benevolence,  too,  though  singularly 
earnest  and  deep,  was  composed  and 
serene.  He  never  lost  the  possession 
of  himself  in  his  sympathy  with  others  ; 
was  never  hurried  into  "the  impatient 
and  rash  enterprises  of  an  enthusiastic 
philanthropy ; but  did  good  with  the 
tranquillity  and  constancy  which  mark 
the  providence  of  God.  The  depth  of 
his  calmness  may  best  be  understood  by 
considering  the  opposition  made  to  his 
claims.  His  labors  were  everywhere 
insidiously  watched  and  industriously 
thwarted  by  vindictive  foes,  who  had 
even  conspired  to  compass  through  his 
death  the  ruin  of  his  cause.  Now,  a 
feverish  enthusiasm,  which  fancies  itself 
to  be  intrusted  with  a great  work  of  God, 
is  singularly  liable  to  impatient  indigna- 
tion under  furious  and  malignant  opposi- 
tion. Obstacles  increase  its  vehemence  ; 
it  becomes  more  eager  and  hurried  in 
the  accomplishment  of  its  purposes  in 
proportion  as  they  are  withstood.  Be 
it  therefore  remembered  that  the  malig- 
nity of  Christ's  foes,  though  never  sur- 
passed, and  for  the  time  triumphant, 
never  robbed  him  of  self-possession, 
roused  no  passion,  and  threw  no  vehe- 
mence or  precipitation  into  his  exertions. 
He  did  not  disguise  from  himself  or  his 
followers  the  impression  made  on  the  mul- 
titude by  his  adversaries.  He  distinctly 
foresaw  the  violent  death  towards  which 
he  was  fast  approaching.  Yet,  confiding 
in  God,  and  in  the  silent  progress  of  his 
truth,  he  possessed  his  soul  in  peace. 
Not  only  was  he  calm,  but  his  calm- 
ness rises  into  sublimity  when  we  con- 
sider the  storms  which  raged  around 
him,  and  the  vastness  of  the  prospects 
in  which  his  spirit  found  repose.  I say, 
then,  that  serenity  and  self-possession 
were  peculiarly  the  attributes  of  Jesus. 
I affirm  that  the  singular  and  sublime 
character  claimed  by  Jesus  can  be  traced 
neither  to  imposture  nor  to  an  ungov- 
erned, insane  imagination.  It  can  only 
be  accounted  for  by  its  truth,  its  reality. 

I began  with  observing  how  our  long 
familiarity  with  Jesus  blunts  our  minds 
to  his  singular  excellence.  We  probably 
have  often  read  of  the  character  which 
he  claimed,  without  a thought  of  its  ex- 
traordinary nature.  But  I know  nothing 
so  sublime.  The  plans  and  labors  of 
statesmen  sink  into  the  sports  of  chil- 
dren when  compared  with  the  work  which 
Jesus  announced,  and  to  which  he  de- 


CHARACTER  OF  CHRIST. 


307 


voted  himself  in  life  and  death,  with  a 
thorough  consciousness  of  its  reality. 
The  idea  of  changing  the  moral  aspect 
of  the  whole  earth,  of  recovering  all  na- 
tions to  the  pure  and  inward  worship  of 
one  God,  and  to  a spirit  of  divine  and 
fraternal  love,  was  one  of  which  we  meet 
not  a trace  in  philosopher  or  legislator 
before  him.  The  human  mind  had  given 
no  promise  of  this  extent  of  view.  The 
conception  of  this  enterprise,  and  the 
calm,  unshaken  expectation  of  success, 
in  one  who  had  no  station  and  no  wealth, 
who  cast  from  him  the  sword  with  ab- 
horrence, and  who  forbade  his  dis- 
ciples to  use  any  weapons  but  those 
of  love,  discover  a wonderful  trust  in 
the  power  of  God  and  the  power  of 
love ; and  when  to  this  we  add  that 
Jesus  looked  not  only  to  the  triumph 
of  his  pure  faith  in  the  present  world, 
but  to  a mighty  and  beneficent  power 
in  heaven,  we  witness  a vastness  of  pur- 
pose, a grandeur  of  thought  and  feeling, 
so  original,  so  superior  to  the  workings 
of  all  other  minds,  that  nothing  but  our 
familiarity  can  prevent,  our  contempla- 
tion of  it  with  wonder  and  profound  awe. 
I confess,  when  I can  escape  the  dead- 
ening power  of  habit,  and  can  receive 
the  full  import  of  such  passages  as  the 
following,  — “ Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that 
labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I will 
give  you  rest,”  — “I  am  come  to  seek 
and  to  save  that  which  was  lost,”  — “ He 
that  confesseth  me  before  men,  him  will 
I confess  before  my  Father  in  heaven,” 

— “ Whosoever  shall  be  ashamed  of  me 
before  men,  of  him  shall  the  Son  of  Man 
be  ashamed  when  he  cometh  in  the  glory 
of  the  Father  with  the  holy  angels,”  — 
“In  my  Father's  house  are  many  man- 
sions ; I go  to  prepare  a place  for  you  ;” 

— I say,  when  I can  succeed  in  realiz- 
ing the  import  of  such  passages,  I feel 
myself  listening  to  a being  such  as  never 
before  and  never  since  spoke  in  human 
language.  I am  awed  by  the  conscious- 
ness of  greatness  which  these  simple 
words  express  ; and  when  I connect  this 
greatness  with  the  proofs  of  Christ’s 
miracles  which  I gave  you  in  a former 
discourse,  I am  compelled  to  exclaim 
with  the  centurion,  “ Truly,  this  was  the 
Son  of  God.” 

I have  thus,  my  friends,  set  before  you 
one  view  of  Jesus  Christ  which  shows 
him  to  have  been  the  most  extraordinary 
being  who  ever  lived.  I invite  your  at- 


tention to  another ; and  I am  not  sure 
but  that  it  is  still  more  striking.  You 
have  seen  the  consciousness  of  greatness 
that  Jesus  possessed  ; I now  ask  you  to 
consider  how,  with  this  consciousness, 
he  lived  among  men.  To  convey  my 
meaning  more  distinctly,  let  me  avail 
myself  of  an  imaginary  case.  Suppose 
you  had  never  heard  the  particulars  of 
Christ’s  history,  but  were  told  in  general 
that,  ages  ago,  an  extraordinary  man  ap- 
peared in  the  world,  whose  mind  was 
wholly  possessed  with  the  idea  of  hav- 
ing come  from  God,  who  regarded  him- 
self as  clothed  with  divine  power  and 
charged  with  the  sublimest  work  in  the 
universe,  who  had  the  consciousness 
of  sustaining  a relation  of  unexampled 
authority  and  beneficence,  not  to  one 
nation  or  age  but  to  all  nations  and  all 
times,  — and  who  anticipated  a spiritual 
kingdom  and  everlasting  power  beyond 
the  grave.  Suppose  you  should  be  told 
that,  on  entering  the  world,  he  found 
not  one  mind  able  to  comprehend  his 
views,  and  felt  himself  immeasurably 
exalted  in  thought  and  purpose  above 
all  around  him  ; and  suppose  you  should 
then  be  asked  what  appearance,  what 
mode  of  life,  what  tone,  what  air,  what 
deportment,  what  intercourse  with  the 
multitude  seemed  to  you  to  suit  such  a 
character,  and  were  probably  adopted 
by  him ; how  would  you  represent  him 
to  your  minds  ? Would  you  not  suppose 
that,  with  this  peculiar  character,  he 
adopted  some  peculiar  mode  of  life,  ex- 
pressive of  his  superiority  to  and  sep- 
aration from  all  other  men  ? Would 
you  not  expect  something  distinctive  in 
his  appearance  ? Would  you  not  ex- 
pect him  to  assume  some  badge,  and  to 
exact  some  homage  ? Would  you  not 
expect  that,  with  a mind  revolving  such 
vast  thoughts,  and  raised  above  the 
earth,  he  would  look  coldly  on  the  ordi- 
nary gratifications  of  men  ? that,  with  a 
mind  spreading  itself  over  the  world, 
and  meditating  its  subjection  to  his 
truth,  he  would  take  little  interest  in 
ordinary  individuals  ? and  that  possess- 
ing, in  his  own  doctrine  and  character, 
a standard  of  sublime  virtue,  he  would 
attach  little  importance  to  the  low  attain- 
ments of  the  ignorant  and  superst  tious 
around  him  ? Would  you  not  make  him 
a public  character,  and  expect  to  see 
him  laboring  to  establish  his  ascendancy 
among  public  men  ? Would  you  not 


CHARACTER  OF  CHRIST. 


308 

expect  to  see  his  natural  affections  ab- 
sorbed in  his  universal  philanthropy  ; and 
would  not  private  attachments  seem  to 
you  quite  inconsistent  with  his  vast  su- 
periority, and  the  immensity  of  his  pur- 
poses ? Would  you  not  expect  him  to 
avail  himself  of  the  best  accommoda- 
tions the  world  could  afford  ? Would 
you  not  expect  the  great  Teacher  to  se- 
lect the  most  sacred  spots  for  his  teach- 
ing, and  the  Lord  of  all  to  erect  some 
conspicuous  seat  from  which  should  go 
forth  the  laws  which  were  to  reach  the 
ends  of  the  earth  ? Would  you  not,  in 
a word,  expect  this  extraordinary  person- 
age to  surround  himself  with  extraor- 
dinary circumstances,  and  to  maintain  a 
separation  from  the  degraded  multitude 
around  him  ? 

Such,  I believe,  would  be  the  expec- 
tation of  us  all ; and  what  was  the  case 
with  Jesus  ? Read  his  history.  He 
comes  with  the  consciousness  of  more 
than  human  greatness  to  accomplish  an 
infinite  work  ; and  where  do  you  find 
him  ? What  is  his  look  ? what  his  man- 
ner ? How  does  he  converse,  how  live 
with  men  ? His  appearance,  mode  of 
life,  and  intercourse  are  directly  the  re- 
verse of  what  we  should  have  supposed. 
He  comes  in  the  ordinary  dress  of  the 
class  of  society  in  which  he  had  grown 
up.  He  retreats  to  no  solitude,  like 
John,  to  strike  awe,  nor  seeks  any  spot 
which  had  been  consecrated  in  Jewish 
history.  Would  you  find  him?  Goto 
the  house  of  Peter,  the  fisherman.  Go 
to  the  well  of  Samaria,  where  he  rests 
after  the  fatigues  of  his  journey.  Would 
you  hear  him  teach  ? You  may  find  him, 
indeed,  sometimes  in  the  temple,  for 
that  was  a place  of  general  resort ; but 
commonly  you  may  find  him  instructing 
in  the  open  air,  now  from  a boat  on  the 
Galilean  lake,  now  on  a mount,  and  now 
in  the  streets  of  the  crowded  city.  He 
has  no  place  wherein  to  lay  his  head, 
nor  will  he  have  one.  A rich  ruler 
comes  and  falls  at  his  feet.  He  says, 
“ Go,  sell  what  thou  hast,  and  give  to 
the  poor,  and  then  come  and  follow  me.” 
Nor  was  this  all.  Something  more 
striking  remains  to  be  told.  He  did  not 
merely  live  in  the  streets,  and  in  the 
houses  of  fishermen.  In  these  places, 
had  he  pleased,  he  might  have  cleared  a 
space  around  him,  and  raised  a barrier 
between  himself  and  others.  But  in 
these  places,  and  everywhere,  he  lived 


with  men  as  a man,  a brother,  a friend, 
sometimes  a servant ; and  entered,  with 
a deep,  unexampled  sympathy,  into  the 
feelings,  interests,  wants,  sorrows  of  in- 
dividuals, of,  ordinary  men,  and  even  of 
the  most  depressed,  despised,  and  for- 
saken of  the  race.  Here  is  the  most 
striking  view  of  Jesus.  This  combina- 
tion of  the  spirit  of  humanity  in  its 
lowliest,  tenderest  form,  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  unrivalled  and  divine  glo- 
ries, is  the  most  wonderful  distinction 
of  this  wonderful  character.  Here  we 
learn  the  chief  reason  why  he  chose 
poverty,  and  refused  every  peculiarity  of 
manner  and  appearance.  He  did  this 
because  he  desired  to  come  near  to  the 
multitude  of  men,  to  make  himself  ac- 
cessible to  all,  to  pour  out  the  fulness 
of  his  sympathy  upon  all,  to  know  and 
weep  over  their  sorrows  and  sins  and  to 
manifest  his  interest  in  their  affections 
and  joys. 

I can  offer  but  a few  instances  of  this 
sympathy  of  Christ  with  human  nature 
in  all  its  varieties  of  character  and  con- 
dition. But  how  beautiful  are  they  ! At 
the  very  opening  of  his  ministry  we  find 
him  present  at  a marriage  to  which 
he  and  his  disciples  had  been  called. 
Among  the  Jews  this  was  an  occasion  of 
peculiar  exhilaration  and  festivity;  but 
Jesus  did  not  therefore  decline  it.  He 
knew  what  affections,  joys,  sorrows,  and 
moral  influences  are  bound  up  in  this 
institution,  and  he  went  to  the  celebra- 
tion, not  as  an  ascetic,  to  frown  on  its 
bright  hopes  and  warm  congratulations, 
but  to  sanction  it  by  his  presence  and  to 
heighten  its  enjoyments.  How  little 
does  this  comport  with  the  solitary  dig- 
nity which  we  should  have  pronounced 
most  accordant  with  his  character,  and 
what  a spirit  of  humanity  does  it  breathe  ! 
But  this  event  stands  almost  alone  in  his 
history.  His  chief  sympathy  was  not 
with  them  that  rejoice,  but  with  the 
ignorant,  sinful,  sorrowful ; and  with 
these  we  find  him  cultivating  an  habit- 
ual intimacy.  Though  so  exalted  in 
thought  and  purpose,  he  chose  unedu- 
cated men  to  be  his  chief  disciples  ; and 
he  lived  with  them,  not  as  a superior 
giving  occasional  and  formal  instruction, 
but  became  their  companion,  travelled 
with  them  on  foot,  slept  in  their  dwell- 
ings, sat  at  their  tables,  partook  their 
plain  fare,  communicated  to  them  his 
truth  in  the  simplest  form  ; and  though 


CHARACTER  OF  CHRIST. 


309 


they  constantly  misunderstood  him,  and 
never  received  his  full  meaning,  he  was 
never  wearied  with  teaching  them.  So 
familiar  was  his  intercourse,  that  we 
find  Peter  reproving  him  with  an  affec- 
tionate zeal  for  announcing  his  approach- 
ing death,  and  we  find  John  leaning  on 
his  bosom.  Of  his  last  discourse  to 
these  disciples  I need  not  speak.  It 
stands  alone  among  all  writings  for  the 
union  of  tenderness  and  majesty.  His 
own  sorrows  are  forgotten  in  his  solici- 
tude to  speak  peace  and  comfort  to  his 
humble  followers. 

The  depth  of  his  human  sympathies 
was  beautifully  manifested  when  chil- 
dren were  brought  to  him.  His  dis- 
ciples, judging  as  all  men  would  judge, 
thought  that  he  who  was  sent  to  wear 
the  crown  of  universal  empire  had  too 
great  a work  before  him  to  give  his  time 
and  attention  to  children,  and  reproved 
the  parents  who  brought  them ; but 
Jesus,  rebuking  his  disciples,  called  to 
him  the  children.  Never,  I believe,  did 
childhood  awaken  such  deep  love  as  at 
that  moment.  He  took  them  in  his 
arms  and  blessed  them,  and  not  only 
said  that  “ of  such  was  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,”  but  added,  “ He  that  receiveth 
a little  child  in  my  name  receiveth  me  ; ” 
so  entirely  did  he  identify  himself  with 
this  primitive,  innocent,  beautiful  form 
of  human  nature. 

There  was  no  class  of  human  beings 
so  low  as  to  be  beneath  his  sympathy. 
He  not  merely  taught  the  publican  and 
sinner,  but,  with  all  his  consciousness 
of  purity,  sat  down  and  dined  with  them, 
and,  when  reproved  by  the  malignant 
Pharisee  for  such  companionship,  an- 
swered by  the  touching  parables  of  the 
Lost  Sheep  and  the  Prodigal  Son,  and 
said,  “ I am  come  to  seek  and  to  save 
that  which  was  lost.” 

No  personal  suffering  dried  up  this 
fountain  of  love  in  his  breast.  On  his 
way  to  the  cross  he  heard  some  women 
of  Jerusalem  bewailing  him,  and  at  the 
sound,  forgetting  his  own  grief,  he 
turned  to  them  and  said,  “Women  of 
Jerusalem,  weep  not  for  me,  but  weep 
for  yourselves  and  your  children.”  On 
the  cross,  whilst  his  mind  was  divided 
between  intense  suffering  and  the  con- 
templation of  the  infinite  blessings  in 
which  his  sufferings  were  to  issue,  his 
eye  lighted  on  his  mother  and  John,  and 
the  sensibilities  of  a son  and  a friend 


mingled  with  the  sublime  consciousness 
of  the  universal  Lord  and  Saviour. 
Never  before  did  natural  affection  find 
so  tender  and  beautiful  an  utterance. 
To  his  mother  he  said,  directing  her  to 
John,  “ Behold  thy  son ; I leave  my  be- 
loved disciple  to  take  my  place,  to  per- 
form my  filial  offices,  and  to  enjoy  a 
share  of  that  affection  with  which  you 
have  followed  me  through  life  ; ” and  to 
John  he  said,  “ Behold  thy  mother ; I 
bequeath  to  you  the  happiness  of  min- 
istering to  my  dearest  earthly  friend.” 
Nor  is  this  all.  The  spirit  of  humanity 
had  one  higher  triumph.  Whilst  his  ene- 
mies surrounded  him  with  a malignity 
unsoftened  by  his  last  agonies,  and,  to 
give  the  keenest  edge  to  insult,  reminded 
him  scoffingly  of  the  high  character  and 
office  which  he  had  claimed,  his  only 
notice  of  them  was  the  prayer,  “ Father, 
forgive  them,  they  know  not  what  they 
do.” 

Thus  Jesus  lived  with  men  ; with  the 
consciousness  of  unutterable  majesty  he 
joined  a lowliness,  gentleness,  humanity, 
and  sympathy,  which  have  no  example 
in  human  history.  I ask  you  to  con- 
template this  wonderful  union.  In  pro- 
portion to  the  superiority  of  Jesus  to 
all  around  him  was  the  intimacy,  the 
brotherly  love,  with  which  he  bound 
himself  to  them.  I maintain  that  this 
is  a character  wholly  remote  from  hu- 
man conception.  To  imagine  it  to  be 
the  production  of  imposture  or  enthu- 
siasm shows  a strange  unsoundness  of 
mind.  I contemplate  it  with  a venera- 
tion second  only  to  the  profound  awe 
with  which  I look  up  to  God.  It  bears 
no  mark  of  human  invention.  It  was 
real.  It  belonged  to  and  it  manifested 
the  beloved  Son  of  God. 

But  I have  not  done.  May  I ask  your 
attention  a few  moments  more  ? We 
have  not  yet  reached  the  depth  of 
Christ’s  character.  We  have  not  touched 
the  great  principle  on  which  his  won- 
derful sympathy  was  founded,  and  which 
endeared  to  him  his  office  of  universal 
Saviour.  Do  you  ask  what  this  deep 
principle  was  ? I answer,  it  was  his 
conviction  of  the  greatness  of  the  hu- 
man soul.  He  saw  in  man  the  impress 
and  image  of  the  Divinity,  and  therefore 
thirsted  for  his  redemption,  and  took  the 
tenderest  interest  in  him,  whatever  might 
be  the  rank,  character,  or  condition  in 
which  he  was  found.  This  spiritual  view 


3IQ 


I MIT  A BLENESS  OF  CHRIST'S  CHARACTER . 


of  man  pervades  and  distinguishes  the 
teaching  of  Christ.  Jesus  looked  on 
men  with  an  eye  which  pierced  beneath 
the  material  frame.  The  body  vanished 
before  him.  The  trappings  of  the  rich, 
the  rags  of  the  poor,  were  nothing  to 
him.  He  looked  through  them,  as 
though  they  did  not  exist,  to  the  soul ; 
and  there,  amidst  clouds  of  ignorance 
and  plague-spots  of  sin,  he  recognized  a 
spiritual  and  immortal  nature,  and  the 
germs  of  power  and  perfection  which 
might  be  unfolded  for  ever.  In  the, 
most  fallen  and  depraved  man  he  saw 
a being  who  might  become  an  angel  of 
light.  Still  more,  he  felt  that  there  was 
nothing  in  himself  to  which  men  might 
not  ascend.  His  own  lofty  conscious- 
ness did  not  sever  him  from  the  multi- 
tude : for  he  saw  in  his  own  greatness 
the  model  of  what  men  might  become. 
So  deeply  was  he  thus  impressed,  that 
again  and  again,  in  speaking  of  his  fut- 
ure glories,  he  announced  that  in  these 
his  true  followers  were  to  share.  They 
were  to  sit  on  his  throne  and  partake  of 
his  beneficent  power. 

Here  I pause,  and  indeed  I know  not 
what  can  be  added  to  heighten  the 
wonder,  reverence,  and  love,  which  are 
due  to  Jesus.  When  I consider  him,  not 
only  as  possessed  with  the  conscious- 
ness of  an  unexampled  and  unbounded 
majesty,  but  as  recognizing  a kindred 
nature  in  human  beings,  and  living  and 
dying  to  raise  them  to  a participation  of 
his  divine  glories  ; and  when  I see  him 
under  these  views  allying  himself  to 


men  by  the  tenderest  ties,  embracing 
them  with  a spirit  of  humanity  which  no 
insult,  injury,  or  pain  could  for  a moment 
repel  or  overpower,  I am  filled  with 
wonder  as  well  as  reverence  and  love. 
I feel  that  this  character  is  not  of  hu- 
man invention,  that  it  was  not  assumed 
through  fraud  or  struck  out  by  enthu- 
siasm ; for  it  is  infinitely  above  their 
reach.  When  I add  this  character  of 
Jesus  to  the  other  evidences  of  his  re- 
ligion, it  gives  to  what  before  seemed 
so  strong  a new  and  a vast  accession  of 
strength  ; I feel  as  if  I could  not  be  de- 
ceived. The  Gospels  must  be  true ; 
they  were  drawn  from  a living  original ; 
they  were  founded  on  reality.  The 
character  of  Jesus  is  not  a fiction  ; he 
was  what  he  claimed  to  be,  and  what 
his  followers  attested.  Nor  is  this  all. 
Jesus  not  only  was,  he  is  still  the  Son 
of  God,  the  Saviour  of  the  world.  He 
exists  now  ; he  has  entered  that  heaven 
to  which  he  always  looked  forward  on 
earth.  There  he  lives  and  reigns.  With 
a clear,  calm  faith,  I see  him  in  that 
state  of  glory  ; and  I confidently  expect, 
at  no  distant  period,  to  see  him  face  to 
face.  We  have  indeed  no  absent  friend 
whom  we  shall  so  surely  meet.  Let  us 
then,  my  hearers,  by  imitation  of  his 
virtues  and  obedience  to  his  word,  pre- 
pare ourselves  to  join  him  in  those  pure 
mansions  where  he  is  surrounding  him- 
self with  the  good  and  pure  of  our  race, 
and  will  communicate  to  them  for  ever 
his  own  spirit,  power,  and  joy. 


THE  IMITABLENESS  OF  CHRIST’S  CHAR- 
ACTER. 


i Peter  ii.  21 : “ Christ  also  suffered  for  us,  leaving 

us  an  example,  that  ye  should  follow  his  steps.” 

The  example  of  Jesus  is  our  topic. 
To  incite  you  to  follow  it  is  the  aim  of 
this  discourse.  Christ  came  to  give  us 
a religion, — but  this  is  not  all.  By  a 
wise  and  beautiful  ordination  of  Provi- 
dence he  was  sent  to  show  forth  his  re- 
ligion in  himself.  He  did  not  come  to 
sit  in  a hall  of  legislation,  and  from  some 


commanding  eminence  to  pronounce  laws 
and  promises.  He  is  not  a mere  channel 
through  which  certain  communications 
are  made  from  God  ; not  a mere  mes- 
senger appointed  to  utter  the  words 
which  he  had  heard,  and  then  to  dis- 
appear, and  to  sustain  no  further  con- 
nection with  his  message.  He  came  not 
only  to  teach  with  his  lips  but  to  be  a 
living  manifestation  of  his  religion,  — to 


IMITA BLENESS  OF  CHRISTS  CHARACTER. 


be,  in  an  important  sense,  the  religion 
itself. 

This  is  a peculiarity  worthy  of  atten- 
tion. Christianity  is  not  a mere  code  of 
laws,  not  an  abstract  system  such  as 
theologians  frame.  It  is  a living,  em- 
bodied religion.  It  comes  to  us  in  a 
human  form  ; it  offers  itself  to  our  eyes 
as  well  as  ears  ; it  breathes,  it  moves  in 
our  sight.  It  is  more  than  precept ; it 
is  example  and  action. 

The  importance  of  example,  who 
does  not  understand  ? How  much  do 
most  of  us  suffer  from  the  presence, 
conversation,  spirit  of  men  of  low  minds 
by  whom  we  are  surrounded ! The 
temptation  is  strong  to  take  as  our 
standard  the  average  character  of  the 
society  in  which  we  live,  and  to  satisfy 
ourselves  with  decencies  and  attain- 
ments which  secure  to  us  among  the 
multitude  the  name  of  respectable  men. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  is  a power 
(have  you  not  felt  it  ?)  in  the  presence, 
conversation,  and  example  of  a man  of 
strong  principle  and  magnanimity,  to 
lift  us,  at  least  for  the  moment,  from 
our  vulgar  and  tame  habits  of  thought, 
and  to  kindle  some  generous  aspirations 
after  the  excellence  which  we  were 
made  to  attain.  I hardly  need  say  to 
you  that  it  is  impossible  to*place  our- 
selves under  any  influence  of  this  nat- 
ure so  quickening  as  the  example  of 
Jesus.  This  introduces  us  to  the  high- 
est order  of  virtues.  This  is  fitted  to 
awaken  the  whole  mind.  Nothing  has 
equal  power  to  neutralize  the  coarse, 
selfish,  and  sensual  influences  amidst 
which  we  are  plunged,  to  refine  our  con- 
ception of  duty,  and  to  reveal  to  us  the 
perfection  on  which  our  hopes  and 
most  strenuous  desires  should  habitually 
fasten. 

There  is  one  cause  which  has  done 
much  to  defeat  this  good  influence  of 
Christ’s  character  and  example,  and 
which  ought  to  be  exposed.  It  is  this. 
Multitudes  — I am  afraid  great  multi- 
tudes — think  of  Jesus  as  a being  to  be 
admired  rather  than  approached.  They 
have  some  vague  conceptions  of  a glory 
in  his  nature  and  character  which  makes 
it  presumption  to  think  of  proposing 
him  as  their  standard.  He  is  thrown 
so  far  from  them  that  he  does  them 
little  good.  Many  feel  that  a close  re- 
semblance of  Jesus  Christ  is  not  to  be 
expected ; that  this,  like  many  other 


311 

topics,  may  serve  for  declamation  in  the 
pulpit,  but  is  utterly  incapable  of  being 
reduced  to  practice.  I think  I am 
touching  here  an  error  which  exerts  a 
blighting  influence  on  not  a few  minds. 
Until  men  think  of  the  religion  and 
character  of  Christ  as  truly  applicable 
to  them,  as  intended  to  be  brought  into 
continual  operation,  as  what  they  must 
incorporate  with  their  whole  spiritual 
nature,  they  will  derive  little  good  from 
Christ.  Men  think,  indeed,  to  honor 
Jesus  when  they  place  him  so  high  as 
to  discourage  all  effort  to  approach 
him.  They  really  degrade  him.  They 
do  not  understand  his  character  ; they 
throw  a glare  over  it  which  hides  its 
true  features.  This  vague  admiration 
is  the  poorest  tribute  which  they  can 
pay  him. 

The  manner  in  which  Jesus  Christ  is 
conceived  and  spoken  of  by  many  re- 
minds me  of  what  is  often  seen  in 
Catholic  countries,  where  a supersti- 
tious priesthood  and  people  imagine  that 
they  honor  the  Virgin  Mary  by  loading 
her  image  with  sparkling  jewels  and  the 
gaudiest  attire.  A Protestant  of  an  un- 
corrupted taste  is  at  first  shocked,  as 
if  there  was  something  like  profanation 
in  thus  decking  out,  as  for  a theatre, 
the  meek,  modest,  gentle,  pure,  and 
tender  mother  of  Jesus.  It  seems  to 
me  that  something  of  the  same  super- 
stition is  seen  in  the  indefinite  epithets 
of  admiration  heaped  upon  Jesus  ; and 
the  effect  is  that  the  mild  and  simple 
beauty  of  his  character  is  not  seen. 
Its  sublimity,  which  had  nothing  gaudy 
or  dazzling,  which  was  plain  and  un- 
affected, is  not  felt ; and  its  suitable- 
ness as  an  example  to  mankind  is  dis- 
credited or  denied. 

I wish,  in  this  discourse,  to  prevent 
the  discouraging  influence  of  the  great- 
ness of  Jesus  Christ ; to  show  that, 
however  exalted,  he  is  not  placed  be- 
yond the  reach  of  our  sympathy  and 
imitation. 

I begin  with  the  general  observation 
that  real  greatness  of  character,  great- 
ness of  the  highest  order,  far  from 
being  repulsive  and  discouraging,  is 
singularly  accessible  and  imitable,  and, 
instead  of  severing  a being  from  others, 
fits  him  to  be  their  friend  and  model. 
A man  who  stands  apart  from  his  race, 
who  has  few  points  of  contact  with 
other  men,  who  has  a style  and  manner 


312 


IM I TA BLENESS  OF  CHRISTS  CHARACTER . 


which  strike  awe  and  keep  others  far 
from  him,  whatever  rank  he  may  hold 
in  his  own  and  others’  eyes,  wants, 
after  all,  true  grandeur  of  mind  ; and 
the  spirit  of  this  remark  I think  may 
be  extended  beyond  men  to  higher 
orders  of  beings,  to  angels  and  to  Jesus 
Christ.  A great  soul  is  known  by  its 
enlarged,  strong,  and  tender  sympathies. 
True  elevation  of  mind  does  not  take  a 
being  out  of  the  circle  of  those  who 
are  below  him,  but  binds  him  faster  to 
them,  and  gives  them  advantages  for 
a closer  attachment  and  conformity  to 
him. 

Greatness  of  character  is  a com- 
municable attribute,  — I should  say, 
singularly  communicable.  It  has  noth- 
ing exclusive  in  its  nature.  It  cannot 
be  the  monopoly  of  an  individual,  for 
it  is  the  enlarged  and  generous  action 
of  faculties  and  affections  which  enter 
into  and  constitute  all  minds,  — I mean 
reason,  conscience,  and  love,  — so  that 
its  elements  exist  in  all.  It  is  not  a 
peculiar  or  exclusive  knowledge,  which 
can  be  shut  up  in  one  or  a few  under- 
standings, but  the  comprehension  of 
great  and  universal  truths,  which  are 
the  proper  objects  of  every  rational 
being.  It  is  not  a devotion  to  peculiar, 
exclusive  objects,  but  the  adoption  of 
public  interests,  the  consecration  of  the 
mind  to  the  cause  of  virtue  and  happi- 
ness in  the  creation,  that  is,  to  the  very 
cause  which  all  intelligent  beings  are 
bound  to  espouse.  Greatness  is  not  a 
secret,  solitary  principle,  working  by 
itself  and  refusing  participation,  but 
frank  and  open-hearted,  — so  large  in 
its  views,  so  liberal  in  its  feelings,  so 
expansive  in  its  purposes,  so  beneficent 
in  its  labors,  as  naturally  and  neces- 
sarily to  attract  sympathy  and  co-oper- 
ation. It  is  selfishness  that  repels  men  ; 
and  true  greatness  has  not  a stronger 
characteristic  than  its  freedom  from 
every  selfish  taint.  So  far  from  being 
imprisoned  in  private  interests,  it  covets 
nothing  which  it  may  not  impart.  So 
far  from  being  absorbed  in  its  own  dis- 
tinctions, it  discerns  nothing  so  quickly 
and  joyfully  as  the  capacities  and  pledges 
of  greatness  in  others,  and  counts  no 
labor  so  noble  as  to  call  forth  noble  sen- 
timents, and  the  consciousness  of  a di- 
vine power,  in  less  improved  minds. 

I know  that  those  who  call  themselves 
great  on  earth  are  apt  to  estrange  them- 


selves from  their  inferiors  ; and  the  mul- 
titude, cast  down  by  their  high  bearing, 
never  think  of  proposing  them  as  ex- 
amples. But  this  springs  wholly  from 
the  low  conceptions  of  those  whom  we 
call  the  great,  and  shows  a mixture  of 
vulgarity  of  mind  with  their  superior  en- 
dowments. Genuine  greatness  is  marked 
by  simplicity,  unostentatiousness,  self- 
forgetfulness,  a hearty  interest  in  others, 
a feeling  of  brotherhood  with  the  human 
family,  and  a respect  for  every  intellec- 
tual and  immortal  being  as  capable  of 
progress  towards  its  own  elevation.  A 
superior  mind,  enlightened  and  kindled 
by  just  views  of  God  and  of  the  creation, 
regards  its  gifts  and  powers  as  so  many 
bonds  of  union  with  other  beings,  as 
given  it  not  to  nourish  self-elation,  but 
to  be  employed  for  others,  and  still  more 
to  be  communicated  to  others.  Such 
greatness  has  no  reserve,  and  especially 
no  affected  dignity  of  deportment.  It  is 
too  conscious  of  its  own  power  to  need, 
and  too  benevolent  to  desire,  to  entrench 
itself  behind  forms  and  ceremonies  ; and 
when  circumstances  permit  such  a char- 
acter to  manifest  itself  to  inferior  beings, 
it  is  beyond  all  others  the  most  winning, 
and  most  fitted  to  impart  itself,  or  to  call 
forth  a kindred  elevation  of  feeling.  I 
know  not  *in  history  an  individual  so 
easily  comprehended  as  Jesus  Christ, 
for  nothing  is  so  intelligible  as  sincere, 
disinterested  love.  I know  not  any  be- 
ing who  is  so  fitted  to  take  hold  on  all 
orders  of  minds  ; and  accordingly  he 
drew  after  him  the  unenlightened,  the 
publican,  and  the  sinner.  It  is  a sad 
mistake,  then,  that  Jesus  Christ  is  too 
great  to  allow  us  to  think  of  intimacy 
with  him,  and  to  think  of  making  him 
our  standard. 

Let  me  confirm  this  truth  by  another 
order  of  reflections.  You  tell  me,  my 
hearers,  that  Jesus  Christ  is  so  high  that 
he  cannot  be  your  model;  I grant  the 
exaltation  of  his  character.  I believe 
him  to  be  a more  than  human  being. 
In  truth,  all  Christians  so  believe  him. 
Those  who  suppose  him  not  to  have  ex- 
isted before  his  birth  do  not  regard  him 
as  a mere  man,  though  so  reproached. 
They  always  separate  him  by  broad  dis- 
tinctions from  other  men.  They  con- 
sider him  as  enjoying  a communion  with 
God,  and  as  having  received  gifts,  en- 
dowments, aid,  lights  from  him.  granted 
to  no  other,  and  as  having  exhibited  a 


I MIT  A BLENESS  OF  CHRISTS  CHARACTER. 


313 


spotless  purity,  which  is  the  highest  dis- 
tinction of  heaven.  All  admit,  and  joy- 
fully admit,  that  Jesus  Christ,  by  his 
greatness  and  goodness,  throws  all  other 
human  attainments  into  obscurity.  But 
on  this  account  he  is  not  less  a standard, 
nor  is  he  to  discourage  us,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  to  breathe  into  us  a more  ex- 
hilarating hope  ; for  though  so  far  above 
us  he  is  still  one  of  us,  and  is  only  an 
illustration  of  the  capacities  which  we 
all  possess.  This  is  a great  truth.  Let 
me  strive  to  unfold  it.  Perhaps  I can- 
not better  express  my  views  than  by 
saying  that  I regard  all  minds  as  of  one 
family.  When  we  speak  of  higher  or- 
ders of  beings,  of  angels  and  archangels, 
we  are  apt  to  conceive  of  distinct  kinds 
or  races  of  beings,  separated  from  us 
and  from  each  other  by  impassable  bar- 
riers. But  it  is  not  so.  All  minds  are 
of  one  family.  There  is  no  such  par- 
tition in  the  spiritual  world  as  you  see 
in  the  material.  In  material  nature  you 
see  wholly  distinct  classes  of  beings.  A 
mineral  is  not  a vegetable,  and  makes 
no  approach  to  it ; these  two  great  king- 
doms of  nature  are  divided  by  immeas- 
urable spaces.  So,  when  we  look  at 
different  races  of  animals,  though  all 
partake  of  that  mysterious  property,  life, 
yet  what  an  immense  and  impassable  dis- 
tance is  there  between  the  insect  and 
the  lion.  They  have  no  bond  of  union, 
no  possibility  of  communication.  Dur- 
ing the  lapse  of  ages,  the  animalcules 
which  sport  in  the  sunbeams  a summer’s 
day  and  then  perish  have  made  no  ap- 
proximation to  the  king  of  the  forests. 
But  in  the  intellectual  world  there  are 
no  such  barriers.  All  minds  are  essen- 
tially of  one  origin,  one  nature,  kindled 
from  one  divine  flame,  and  are  all  tend- 
ing to  one  centre,  one  happiness.  This 
gr®at  truth,  to  us  the  greatest  of  truths, 
which  lies  at  the  foundation  of  all  relig- 
ion and  all  hope,  seems  to  me  not  only 
sustained  by  proofs  which  satisfy  the 
reason,  but  to  be  one  of  the  deep  in- 
stincts o'f  our  nature.  It  mingles,  un- 
perceived. with  all  our  worship  of  God, 
which  uniformly  takes  for  granted  that 
He  is  a Mind  having  thought,  affection, 
and  volition  like  ourselves.  It  runs 
through  false  religions ; and  whilst,  by 
its^perversion,  it  has  made  them  false,  it 
has  also  given  to  them  whatever  purify- 
ing power  they  possess.  But  passing 
over  this  instinct,  which  is  felt  more  and 


more  to  be  unerring  as  the  intellect  is 
improved,  this  great  truth  of  the  unity 
or  likeness  of  all  minds  seems  to  me 
demonstrable  from  this  consideration, 
that  truth,  the  object  and  nutriment  of 
mind,  is  one  and  immutable,  so  that  the 
whole  family  of  intelligent  beings  must 
have  the  same  views,  the  same  motives, 
and  the  same  general  ends.  For  ex- 
ample, a truth  of  mathematics  is  not  a 
truth  only  in  this  world,  a truth  to  our 
minds,  but  a truth  everywhere,  — a truth 
in  heaven,  a truth  to  God,  who  has  in- 
deed framed  his  creation  according  to 
the  laws  of  this  universal  science.  So, 
happiness  and  misery,  which  lie  at  the 
foundation  of  morals,  must  be  to  all  in- 
telligent beings  what  they  are  to  us,  the 
objects,  one  of  desire  and  hope  and  the 
other  of  aversion ; and  who  can  doubt 
that  virtue  and  vice  are  the  same  every- 
where as  on  earth,  that  in  every  com- 
munity of  beings  the  mind  which  de- 
votes itself  to  the  general  weal  must  be 
more  reverenced  than  a mind  which 
would  subordinate  the  general  interest 
to  its  own  ? Thus  all  souls  are  one  in 
nature,  approach  one  another,  and  have 
grounds  and  bonds  of  communion  with 
one  another.  I am  not  only  one  of  the 
human  race  ; I am  one  of  the  great  in- 
tellectual family  of  God.  There  is  no 
spirit  so  exalted  with  which  I have  not 
common  thoughts  and  feelings.  That 
conception  which  I have  gained  of  One 
Universal  Father,  whose  love  is  the 
fountain  and  centre  of  all  things,  is  the 
dawn  of  the  highest  and  most  magnifi- 
cent views  in  the  universe  ; and  if  I look 
up  to  this  Being  with  filial  love,  I have 
the  spring  and  beginning  of  the  noblest 
sentiments  and  joys  which  are  known 
in  the  universe.  No  greatness,  there- 
fore, of  a being  separates  me  from  him 
or  makes  him  unapproachable  by  me. 
The  mind  of  Jesus  Christ,  my  hearer, 
and  your  mind  are  of  one  family ; nor 
was  there  any  thing  in  his  of  which 
you  have  not  the  principle,  the  ca- 
pacity, the  promise  in  yourself.  This 
is  the  very  impression  which  he  in- 
tends to  give.  He  never  held  himself 
up  as  an  inimitable  and  unapproachable 
being;  but  directly  the  reverse.  He  al- 
ways spoke  of  himself  as  having  come 
to  communicate  himself  to  others.  He 
always  invited  men  to  believe  on  and 
adhere  to  him,  that  they  might  receive 
that  very  spirit,  that  pure,  celestial  spirit, 


314 


I MIT  A BLENESS  OF  CHRISTS  CHARACTER. 


by  which  he  was  himself  actuated.  “ Fol- 
low me,”  is  his  lesson.  The  relation 
which  he  came  to  establish  between 
himself  and  mankind  was  not  that  of 
master  and  slave,  but  that  of  friends. 
He  compares  himself,  in  a spirit  of  di- 
vine benevolence,  to  a vine,  which,  you 
know,  sends  its  own  sap,  that  by  which 
it  is  itself  nourished,  into  all  its  branches. 
We  read,  too,  these  remarkable  words 
in  his  prayer  for  his  disciples,  “ I have 
given  to  them  the  glory  thou  gavest 
me  ; ” and  I am  persuaded  that  there  is 
not  a glory,  a virtue,  a power,  a joy, 
possessed  by  Jesus  Christ,  to  which  his 
disciples  will  not  successively  rise.  In 
the  spirit  of  these  remarks,  the  Apostles 
say,  “ Let  the  same  mind  be  in  you  which 
was  also  in  Christ.” 

I have  said  that  all  minds  being  of 
one  family,  the  greatness  of  the  mind  of 
Christ  is  no  discouragement  to  our  adop- 
tion of  him  as  our  model.  I now  ob- 
serve that  there  is  one  attribute  of  mind 
to  which  I have  alluded,  that  should 
particularly  animate  us  to  propose  to 
ourselves  a sublime  standard,  as  sublime 
as  Jesus  Christ.  I refer  to  the  principle 
of  growth  in  human  nature.  We  were 
made  to  grow.  Our  faculties  are  germs, 
and  given  for  an  expansion  to  which 
nothing  authorizes  us  to  set  bounds. 
The  soul  bears  the  impress  of  illimit- 
ableness in  the  thirst,  the  unquench- 
able thirst,  which  it  brings  with  it  into 
being,  for  a power,  knowledge,  happi- 
ness, which  it  never  gains,  and  which 
always  carry  it  forward  into  futurity. 
The  body  soon  reaches  its  limit.  But 
intellect,  affection,  moral  energy,  in  pro- 
portion to  their  growth,  tend  to  further 
enlargement,  and  every  acquisition  is  an 
impulse  to  something  higher.  When  I 
consider  this  principle  or  capacity  of 
the  human  soul,  I cannot  restrain  the 
hope  which  it  awakens.  The  partition- 
walls  which  imagination  has  reared  be- 
tween men  and  higher  orders  of  beings 
vanish.  I no  longer  see  aught  to  pre- 
vent our  becoming  whatever  was  good 
and  great  in  Jesus  on  earth.  In  truth,  I 
feel  my  utter  inability  to  conceive  what 
a mind  is  to  attain  which  is  to  advance 
for  ever.  Add  but  that  element,  eter- 
nity, to  man’s  progress,  and  the  results 
of  his  existence  Surpass  not  only  human 
but  angelic  thought.  Give  me  this,  and 
the  future  glory  of  the  human  mind  be- 
comes to  me  as  incomprehensible  as  God 


himself.  To  encourage  these  thoughts 
and  hopes,  our  Creator  has  set  before  us 
delightful  exemplifications,  even  now,  of 
this  principle  of  growth  both  in  outward 
nature  and  in  the  human  mind.  We 
meet  them  in  nature.  Suppose  you  were 
to  carry  a man,  wholly  unacquainted  with 
vegetation,  to  the  most  majestic  tree  in 
our  forests,  and,  whilst  he  was  admiring 
its  extent  and  proportions,  suppose  you 
should  take  from  the  earth  at  its  root  a 
little  downy  substance,  which  a breath 
might  blow  away,  and  say  to  him,  That 
tree  was  once  such  a seed  as  this  ; it  was 
wrapped  up  here  ; it  once  lived  only  within 
these  delicate  fibres,  this  narrow  compass. 
With  what  incredulous  wonder  would 
he  regard  you  ! And  if  by  an  effort  of 
imagination  somewhat  oriental,  we  should 
suppose  this  little  seed  to  be  suddenly 
endued  with  thought,  and  to  be  told  that 
it  was  one  day  to  become  this  mighty 
tree,  and  to  cast  out  branches  which 
would  spread  an  equal  shade,  and  wave 
with  equal  grace,  and  withstand  the  win- 
ter winds  ; with  what  amazement  may 
we  suppose  it  to  anticipate  it’s  future  lot ! 
Such  growth  we  witness  in  nature.  A 
nobler  hope  we  Christians  are  to  cher- 
ish ; and  still  more  striking  examples 
of  the  growth  of  mind  are  set  before  us 
in  human  history.  We  wonder,  indeed, 
when  we  are  told  that  one  day  we  shall  be 
as  the  angels  of  God.  I apprehend  that 
as  great  a wonder  has  been  realized  al- 
ready on  the  earth.  I apprehend  that  the 
distance  between  the  mind  of  Newton 
and  of  a Hottentot  may  have  been  as 
great  as  between  Newton  and  an  angel. 
There  is  another  view  still  more  striking. 
This  Newton,  who  lifted  his  calm,  sub- 
lime eye  to  the  heavens,  and  read  among 
the  planets  and  the  stars  the  great  law 
of  the  material  universe,  was,  forty  or 
fifty  years  before,  an  infant,  without  $ne 
clear  perception,  and  unable  to  distin- 
guish his  nurse’s  arm  from  the  pillow  on 
which  he  slept.  Howard,  too,  who, 
under  the  strength  of  an  all-sacrificing 
benevolence,  explored  the  depths  of  hu- 
man suffering,  was,  forty  or  fifty  years 
before,  an  infant  wholly  absorbed  in 
himself,  grasping  at  all  he  saw,  and 
almost  breaking  his  little  heart  with  fits 
of  passion  when  the  idlest  toy  was  with- 
held. Has  not  man  already  traversed 
as  wide  a space  as  separates  him  from 
angels  ? And  why  must  he  stop  ? There 
is  no  extravagance  in  the  boldest  antici- 


I MIT  A BLENESS  OF  CHRISTS  CHARACTER . 


pation.  We  may  truly  become  one  with 
Christ,  a partaker  of  that  celestial  mind. 
He  is  truly  our  brother,  one  of  our  fam- 
ily. Let  us  make  him  our  constant 
model. 

I know  not  that  the  doctrine  now  laid 
down  is  liable  but  to  one  abuse.  It  may 
unduly  excite  susceptible  minds,  and 
impel  to  a vehemence  of  hope  and  exer- 
tion unfavorable  in  the  end  to  the  very 
progress  which  is  proposed.  To  such  I 
would  say,  Hasten  to  conform  yourselves 
to  Christ,  but  hasten  according  to  the 
laws  of  your  nature.  As  the  body  can- 
not, by  the  concentration  of  its  whole 
strength  into  one  bound,  scale  the  height 
of  a mountain,  neither  can  the  mind  free 
every  obstacle  and  achieve  perfection  by 
an  agony  of  the  will.  Great  effort  is 
indeed  necessary ; but  such  as  can  be 
sustained,  such  as  fits  us  for  greater, 
such  as  will  accumulate,  not  exhaust, 
our  spiritual  force.  The  soul  may  be 
overstrained  as  truly  as  the  body,  and  it 
often  is  so  in  seasons  of  extraordinary 
religious  excitement ; and  the  conse- 
quence is  an  injury  to  the  constitution 
of  the  intellect  and  the  heart  which  a 
life  may  not  be  able  to  repair.  I rest 
the  hopes  for  human  nature  which  I 
have  now  expressed  on  its  principle  of 
growth  ; and  growth,  as  you  well  know, 
is  a gradual  process,  not  a convulsive 
start,  accomplishing  the  work  of  years  in 
a moment.  All  great  attainments  are 
gradual.  As  easily  might  a science  be 
mastered  by  one  struggle  of  thought  as 
sin  be  conquered  by  a spasm  of  remorse. 
Continuous,  patient  effort,  guided  by 
wise  deliberation,  is  the  true  means  of 
spiritual  progress.  In  religion,  as  in 
common  life,  mere  force  of  vehemence 
will  prove  a fallacious  substitute  for  the 
sobriety  of  wisdom. 

The  doctrine  which  I have  chiefly 
labored  to  maintain  in  this  discourse, 
that  minds  are  all  of  one  family,  are  all 
brethren,  and  may  be  more  and  more 
nearly  united  to  God,  seems  to  me  to 
have  been  felt  peculiarly  by  Jesus  Christ ; 
and  if  I were  to  point  out  the  distinction 
of.  his  greatness,  I should  say  it  lay  in 
this.  He  felt  his  superiority,  but  he 
never  felt  as  if  it  separated  him  from 
mankind.  He  did  not  come  among  us 
as  some  great  men  would  visit  a col- 
liery, or  any  other  resort  of  the  ignorant 
and  corrupt,  with  an  air  of  greatness, 
feeling  himself  above  us,  and  giving  ben- 


315 

efits  as  if  it  were  an  infinite  condescen- 
sion. He  came  and  mingled  with  us  as 
a friend  and  a brother.  He  saw  in  every 
human  being  a mind  which  might  wear 
his  own  brightest  glory.  He  was  severe 
only  towards  one  class  of  men,  and  they 
were  those  who  looked  down  on  the 
multitude  with  contempt.  Jesus  re- 
spected human  nature  ; he  felt  it  to  be 
his  own.  This  was  the  greatness  of 
Jesus  Christ.  He  felt,  as  no  other  felt, 
a union  of  mind  with  the  human  race, 
felt  that  all  had  a spark  of  that  same 
intellectual  and  immortal  flame  which 
dwelt  in  himself. 

I insist  on  this  view  of  his  character, 
not  only  to  encourage  us  to  aspire  after 
a likeness  to  Jesus  ; I consider  it  as  pe- 
culiarly fitted  to  call  forth  love  towards 
him.  If  I regard  Jesus  as  an  august 
stranger,  belonging  to  an  entirely  differ- 
ent class  of  existence  from  myself,  hav- 
ing no  common  thoughts  or  feelings 
with  me,  and  looking  down  upon  me 
with  only  such  a sympathy  as  I have  with 
an  inferior  animal,  I should  regard  him 
with  a vague  awe  ; but  the  immeasurable 
space  between  us  would  place  him  be- 
yond friendship  and  affection.  But 
when  I feel  that  all  minds  form  one 
family,  that  I have  the  same  nature 
with  Jesus,  and  that  he  came  to  com- 
municate to  me,  by  his  teaching,  ex- 
ample, and  intercession,  his  own  mind, 
to  bring  me  into  communion  with  what 
was  sublimest,  purest,  happiest  in  him- 
self, then  I can  love  him  as  I love  no 
other  being,  excepting  only  him  who  is 
the  Father  alike  of  Christ  and  of  the 
Christian.  With  these  views,  I feel  that, 
though  ascended  to  heaven,  he  is  not 
gone  beyond  the  reach  of  our  hearts  ; 
that  he  has  now  the  same  interest  in 
mankind  as  when  he  entered  their  dwell- 
ings, sat  at  their  tables,  washed  their 
feet ; and  that  there  is  no  being  so  ap- 
proachable, none  with  whom  such  unre- 
served intercourse  is  to  be  enjoyed  in 
the  future  world. 

Believing,  as  I do,  that  I have  now 
used  no  inflated  language,  but  have 
spoken  the  words  of  truth  and  sober- 
ness, I exhort  you  with  calmness,  but 
earnestness,  to  choose  and  adopt  Jesus 
Christ  as  your  example  with  the  whole 
energy  of  your  wills.  I exhort  you  to 
resolve  on  following  him,  not,  as  per- 
haps you  have  done,  with  a faint  and 
yielding  purpose,  but  with  the  full  con- 


LOVE  TO  CHRIST. 


316 

viction  that  ycur  whole  happiness  is 
concentrated  in  the  force  and  constancy 
of  your  adherence  to  this  celestial  guide. 
My  friends,  there  is  no  other  happiness. 
Let  not  the  false  views  of  Christianity 
which  prevail  in  the  world  seduce  you 
into  the  belief  that  Christ  can  bless  you 
in  any  other  way  than  by  assimilating 
you  to  his  own  virtue,  than  by  breathing 
into  you  his  own  mind.  Do  not  imagine 
that  any  faith  or  love  towards  Jesus  can 
avail  you  but  that  which  quickens  you  to 
conform  yourselves  to  his  spotless  purity 
and  unconquerable  rectitude.  Settle  it 
as  an  immovable  truth,  that  neither  in 
this  world  nor  in  the  next  can  you  be 
happy  but  in  proportion  to  the  sanctity 
and  elevation  of  your  characters.  Let 
no  man  imagine  that  through  the  patron- 
age or  protection  of  Jesus  Christ,  or  any 
other  being,  he  can  find  peace  or  any 
sincere  good  but  in  the  growth  of  an 
enlightened,  firm,  disinterested,  holy 
mind.  Expect  no  good  from  Jesus  any 
farther  than  you  clothe  yourselves  with 
excellence.  He  can  impart  to  you  noth- 
ing so  precious  as  himself,  as  his  own 
mind  ; and  believe  me,  my  hearers,  this 
mind  may  dwell  in  you.  His  sublimest 
virtues  may  be  yours.  Admit,  welcome 
this  great  truth.  Look  up  to  the  illus- 
trious Son  of  God  with  the  conviction 
that  you  may  become  one  with  him  in 
thought,  in  feeling,  in  power,  in  holiness. 
His  character  will  become  a blessing 
just  as  far  as  it  shall  awaken  in  you 
this  consciousness,  this  hope.  The  most 
lamentable  scepticism  on  earth,  and  in- 


comparably the  most  common,  is  a scep- 
ticism as  to  the  greatness,  powers,  and 
high  destinies  of  human  nature.  In  this 
greatness  I desire  to  cherish  an  unwav- 
ering faith.  Tell  me  not  of  the  universal 
corruption  of  the  race.  Humanity  has 
already,  in  not  a few  instances,  borne 
conspicuously  the  likeness  of  Christ  and 
God.  The  sun  grows  dim,  the  grandeur 
of  outward  nature  shrinks,  when  com- 
pared with  the  spiritual  energy  of  men 
who,  in  the  cause  of  truth,  of  God,  of 
charity,  have  spurned  all  bribes  of  ease, 
pleasure,  renown,  and  have  withstood 
shame,  want,  persecution,  torture,  and 
the  most  dreaded  forms  of  death.  In 
such  men  I learn  that  the  soul  was  made 
in  God’s  image,  and  made  to  conform 
itself  to  the  loveliness  and  greatness  of 
his  Son. 

My  friends,  we  may  all  approach  Jesus 
Christ.  For  all  of  us  he  died,  to  leave 
us  an  example  that  we  should  follow  his 
steps.  By  earnest  purpose,  by  self- 
conflict, by  watching  and  prayer,  by 
faith  in  the  Christian  promises,  by  those 
heavenly  aids  and  illuminations  which 
he  that  seeketh  shall  find,  we  may  all 
unite  ourselves  in  living  bonds  to  Christ, 
— may  love  as  he  loved,  may  act  from 
his  principles,  may  suffer  with  his  con- 
stancy, may  enter  into  his  purposes, 
may  sympathize  with  his  self-devotion 
to  the  cause  of  God  and  mankind,  and, 
by  likeness  of  spirit,  may  prepare  our- 
selves to  meet  him  as  our  everlasting 
friend. 


LOVE  TO  CHRIST. 


FIRST  DISCOURSE. 

Ephesians  vi.  24  : “Grace  be  with  all  them  that  love 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  in  sincerity.” 

I propose  in  this  discourse  to  speak 
of  Love  to  Christ,  and  especially  of  the 
foundations  on  which  it  rests.  I will 
not  detain  you  by  remarks  on  the  impor- 
tance of  the  subject.  I trust  that  you 
feel  it,  and  that  no  urgency  is  needed  to 
secure  your  serious  attention. 

Love  to  Christ  is  said,  and  said  with 


propriety,  to  be  a duty,  not  of  natural, 
but  of  revealed  religion.  Other  pre- 
cepts of  Christianity  are  dictates  of  nat- 
ure as  well  as  of  revelation.  They 
result  from  the  original  and  permanent 
relations  which  we  bear  to  our  Creator 
and  our  fellow-creatures  ; and  are  writ- 
ten by  God  on  the  mind  as  well  as  in  the 
Bible.  For  example,  gratitude  towards 
the  Author  of  our  being,  and  justice  and 
benevolence  towards  men,  are  inculcated 
with  more  or  less  distinctness  by  our 


LOVE  TO  CHRIST. 


317 


moral  faculties  ; they  are  parts  of  the 
inward  law  which  belongs  to  a rational 
mind ; and  accordingly,  wherever  nfen 
are  found,  you  find  some  conviction  of 
these  duties,  some  sense  of  their  obli- 
gation to  a higher  power  and  to  one 
another.  But  the  same  is  not  true  of 
the  duty  of  love  to  Jesus  Christ ; for  as 
the  knowledge  of  him  is  not  communi- 
cated by  nature,  — as  his  name  is  not 
written,  like  that  of  God,  on  the  heavens 
and  earth,  but  is  confined  to  countries 
where  his  gospel  is  preached, — it  is 
plain  that  no  sense  of  obligation  to  him 
can  be  felt  beyond  these  bounds.  No 
regard  is  due  or  can  be  paid  to  him  be- 
yond these.  It  is  commonly  said,  there- 
fore, that  love  to  Christ  is  a duty  of 
revealed,  not  natural  religion,  and  this 
language  is  correct ; but  let  it  not  mis- 
lead us.  Let  us  not  imagine  that  attach- 
ment to  Jesus  is  an  arbitrary  duty,  that 
it  is  unlike  our  other  duties,  that  it  is 
separate  from  common  virtue,  or  that  it 
is  not  founded,  like  all  virtues,  in  our 
constitution,  or  not  recognized  and  en- 
forced by  natural  conscience.  We  say 
that  nature  does  not  enjoin  this  regard 
to  the  Saviour,  simply  because  it  does 
not  make  him  known  ; but,  as  soon  as 
he  is  made  known,  nature  enjoins  love 
and  veneration  towards  him  as  truly  as 
towards  God  or  towards  excellent  men. 
Reason  and  conscience  teach  us  to  regard 
him  with  a strong  and  tender  interest. 
Love  to  him  is  not  an  arbitrary  precept. 
It  is  not  unlike  our  othe*r  affections  ; it 
requires  for  its  culture  no  peculiar  influ- 
ences from  heaven  ; it  stands  on  the 
same  ground  with  all  our  duties  ; it  is  to 
be  strengthened  by  the  same  means.  It 
is  essentially  the  same  sentiment,  feel- 
ing, or  principle,  which  we  put  forth 
towards  other  excellent  beings,  whether 
in  heaven  or  on  earth. 

I make  these  remarks,  because  I ap- 
prehend that  the  duty  of  loving  Jesus 
Christ  has  been  so  urged  as  to  seem  to 
many  particularly  mysterious  and  ob- 
scure ; and  the  consequence  has  been 
that  by  some  it  has  been  neglected 
as  unnatural,  unreasonable,  and  uncon- 
nected with  common  life  ; whilst  others, 
in  seeking  to  cherish  it,  have  rushed 
into  wild,  extravagant,  and  feverish  emo- 
tions. I would  rescue,  if  I can,  this 
duty  from  neglect  on  the  one  hand,  and 
from  abuse  on  the  other  ; and  to  do  this, 
nothing  is  necessary  but  to  show  the 


true  ground  and  nature  of  love  to  Christ. 
You  will  then  see  not  only  that  it  is  an 
exalted  and  generous  sentiment,  but  that 
it  blends  with,  and  gives  support  to,  all 
the  virtuous  principles  of  the  mind,  and 
to  all  the  duties,  even  the  most  common, 
of  active  life. 

There  is  another  great  good  which 
may  result  from  a just  explanation  of 
the  love  due  to  Christ.  You  will  see 
that  this  sentiment  has  no  dependence, 
at  least  no  necessary  dependence,  on  the 
opinions  we  may  form  about  his  place,  or 
rank,  in  the  universe.  This  topic  has 
convulsed  the  church  for  ages.  Chris- 
tians have  cast  away  the  spirit,  in  settling 
the  precise  dignity,  of  their  Master. 
That  this  question  is  unimportant,  I do 
not  say.  That  some  views  are  more 
favorable  to  love  towards  him  than 
others,  I believe  ; but  I maintain  that 
all  opinions,  adopted  by  different  sects, 
include  the  foundation  on  which  venera- 
tion and  attachment  are  due  to  our  com- 
mon Lord.  This  truth  — for  I hold  it  to 
be  a plain  truth  — is  so  fitted  to  heal  the 
wounds  and  allay  the  uncharitable  fer- 
vors of  Christ’s  divided  church,  that  I 
shall  rejoice  if  I can  set  it  forth  to  others 
as  clearly  as  it  rises  to  my  own  mind. 

To  accomplish  the  ends  now  ex- 
pressed, I am  led  to  propose  to  you  one 
great  but  simple  question.  What  is  it 
that  constitutes  Christ’s  claim  to  love 
and  respect  ? What  is  it  that  is  to  be 
loved  in  Christ  ? Why  are  we  to  hold 
him  dear  ? I answer,  There  is  but  one 
ground  for  virtuous  affection  in  the  uni- 
verse, but  one  object  worthy  of  cherished 
and  enduring  love  in  heaven  or  on  earth, 
and  that  is  moral  goodness.  I make  no 
exceptions.  My  principle  applies  to  all 
beings,  to  the  Creator  as  well  as  to  his 
creatures.  The  claim  of  God  to  the 
love  of  his  rational  offspring  rests  on 
the  rectitude  and  benevolence  of  his 
will.  It  is  the  moral  beauty  and  gran- 
deur of  his  character  to  which  alone  we 
are  bound  to  pay  homage.  The  only 
power  which  can  and  ought  to  be  loved 
is  a beneficent  and  righteous  power. 
The  creation  is  glorious,  and  binds  us 
to  supreme  and  everlasting  love  to  God, 
only  because  it  sprung  from  and  shows 
forth  this  energy  of  goodness  ; nor  has 
any  being  a claim  on  love  any  farther 
than  this  same  energy  dwells  in  him, 
and  is  manifested  in  him.  I know  no 
exception  to  this  principle.  I can  con- 


LOVE  TO  CHRIST 


318 

ceive  of  no  being  who  can  have  any 
claim  to  affection  but  what  rests  on 
his  character,  meaning  by  this  the  spirit 
and  principles  which  constitute  his  mind, 
and  from  which  he  acts  ; nor  do  I know 
but  one  character  which  entitles  a being 
to  our  hearts,  and  it  is  that  which  the 
Scriptures  express  by  the  word  right- 
eousness ; which  in  man  is  often  called 
virtue,  — in  God,  holiness;  which  con- 
sists essentially  in  supreme  reverence 
for  and  adoption  of  what  is  right ; and 
of  which  benevolence,  or  universal  char- 
ity, is  the  brightest  manifestation. 

After  these  remarks,  you  will  easily 
understand  what  I esteem  the  ground  of 
love  to  Christ.  It  is  his  spotless  purity, 
his  moral  perfection,  his  unrivalled  good- 
ness. It  is  the  spirit  of  his  religion, 
which  is  the  spirit  of  God,  dwelling  in 
him  without  measure.  Of  consequence, 
to  love  Christ  is  to  love  the  perfection 
of  virtue,  of  righteousness,  of  benevo- 
lence ; and  the  great  excellence  of  this 
love  is  that,  by  cherishing  it,  we  imbibe, 
we  strengthen  in  our  own  souls,  the 
most  illustrious  virtue,  and  through 
Jesus  become  like  to  God. 

From  the  view  now  given,  you  see 
that  love  to  Jesus  Christ  is  a perfectly 
natural  sentiment,  — I mean,  one  which 
our  natural  sense  of  right  enjoins  and 
approves,  and  which  our  minds  are  con- 
stituted to  feel  and  to  cherish,  as  truly 
as  any  affection  to  the  good  whom  we 
know  on  earth.  It  is  not  a theological, 
mysterious  feeling,  which  some  super- 
natural and  inexplicable  agency  must 
generate  within  us.  It  has  its  founda- 
tion or  root  in  the  very  frame  of  our 
minds,  in  that  sense  of  right  by  which 
we  are  enabled  to  discern,  and  bound  to 
love,  perfection.  I observe  next  that, 
according  to  this  view,  it  is,  as  I have 
said,  an  exalted  and  generous  affec- 
tion ; for  it  brings  us  into  communion 
and  contact  with  the  sublimest  character 
ever  revealed  among  men.  It  includes 
and  nourishes  great  thoughts  and  high 
aspirations,  and  gives  us  here  on  earth 
the  benefit  of  intercourse  with  celestial 
beings. 

Do  you  not  also  see  that  the  love  of 
Christ,  according  to  the  view  now  given 
of  it,  has  no  dependence  on  any  par- 
ticular views  which  are  formed  of  his 
nature  by  different  sects  ? According 
to  all  sects,  is  he  not  perfect,  spotless 
in  virtue,  the  representative  and  re- 


splendent image  of  the  moral  goodness 
and  rectitude  of  God  ? However  con- 
tending sects  may  be  divided  as  to  other 
points,  they  all  agree  in  the  moral  per- 
fection of  his  character.  All  recognize 
his  most  glorious  peculiarity,  his  sub- 
lime and  unsullied  goodness.  All  there- 
fore see  in  him  that  which  alone  deserves 
love  and  veneration. 

I am  aware  that  other  views  are  not 
uncommon.  It  is  said  that  a true  love 
to  Christ  requires  just  opinions  concern- 
ing him,  and  that  they  who  form  different 
opinions  of  him,  however  they  may  use 
the  same  name,  do  not  love  the  same 
being.  We  must  know  him,  it  is  said, 
in  order  to  esteem  him  as  we  ought. 
Be  it  so.  To  love  Christ  we  must  know 
him.  But  what  must  we  know  respect- 
ing him  ? Must  we  know  his  counte- 
nance and  form,  must  we  know  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  existed  before  his  birth, 
or  the  manner  in  which  he  now  exists  ? 
Must  we  know  his  precise  rank  in  the  uni- 
verse, his  precise  power  and  influence  ? 
On  all  these  points,  indeed,  just  views 
would  be  gratifying  and  auxiliary  to  vir- 
tue. But  love  to  Christ  may  exist  and 
grow  strong  without  them.  What  we  need 
to  this  end  is  the  knowledge  of  his  mind, 
his  virtues,  his  principles  of  action.  No 
matter  how  profoundly  we  speculate 
about  Christ,  or  how  profusely  we  heap 
upon  him  epithets  of  praise  and  admira- 
tion ; if  we  do  not  understand  the  dis- 
tinguishing virtues  of  his  character,  and 
see  and  feel  their  grandeur,  we  are  as 
ignorant  of  him  as  if  we  had  never  heard 
his  name,  nor  can  we  offer  him  an  ac- 
ceptable love.  I desire  indeed  to  know 
Christ’s  rank  in  the  universe  ; but  rank 
is  nothing  except  as  it  proves  and  mani- 
fests superior  virtue.  High  station  only 
degrades  a being  who  fills  it  unworthily. 
It  is  the  mind  which  gives  dignity  to 
the  office,  not  the  office  to  the  mind. 
All  glory  is  of  the  soul.  Accordingly 
we  know  little  or  nothing  of  another 
until  we  look  into  his  soul.  I cannot 
be  said  to  know  a being  of  a singularly 
great  character  because  I have  learned 
from  what  region  he  came,  to  what 
family  he  belongs,  or  what  rank  he  sus- 
tains. I can  only  know  him  as  far  as  I 
discern  the  greatness  of  his  spirit,  the 
unconquerable  strength  of  his  benevo- 
lence, his  loyalty  to  God  and  duty,  his 
power  to  act  and  suffer  in  a good  and 
righteous  cause,  and  his  intimate  com- 


LOVE  TO  CHRIST. 


319 


munion  with  God.  Who  knows  Christ 
best  ? I answer,  It  is  he  who,  in  read- 
ing his  history,  sees  and  feels  most  dis- 
tinctly and  deeply  the  perfection  by  which 
he  was  distinguished.  Who  knows  Jesus 
best?  It  is  he  who,  not  resting  in 
general  and  almost  unmeaning  praises, 
becomes  acquainted  with  what  was  pe- 
culiar, characteristic,  and  individual  in 
his  mind,  and  who  has  thus  framed  to 
himself,  not  a dim  image  called  Jesus, 
but  a living  being,  with  distinct  and 
glorious  features,  and  with  all  the  reality 
of  a well-known  friend.  Who  best  knows 
Jesus  ? I answer,  It  is  he  who  deliber- 
ately feels  and  knows  that  his  character 
is  of  a higher  order  than  all  other  char- 
acters which  have  appeared  on  earth, 
and  who  thirsts  to  commune  with  and 
resemble  it.  I hope  I am  plain.  When 
I hear,  as  I do,  men  disputing  about 
Jesus,  and  imagining  that  they  know 
him  by  settling  some  theory  as  to  his 
generation  in  time  or  eternity,  or  as  to 
his  rank  in  the  scale  of  being,  I feel 
that  their  knowledge  of  him  is  about  as 
great  as  I should  have  of  some  saint  or 
hero  by  studying  his  genealogy.  These 
controversies  have  built  up  a technical 
theology,  but  give  no  insight  into  the 
mind  and  heart  of  Jesus  ; and  without 
this  the  true  knowledge  of  him  cannot 
be  enjoyed.  And  here  I would  observe, 
not  in  the  spirit  of  reproach,  but  from 
a desire  to  do  good,  that  I know  not  a 
more  effectual  method  of  hiding  Jesus 
from  us,  of  keeping  us  strangers  to  him, 
than  the  inculcation  of  the  doctrine 
which  makes  him  the  same  being  with 
his  Father,  — makes  him  God  himself. 
This  doctrine  throws  over  him  a misti- 
ness. For  myself,  when  I attempt  to 
bring  it  home,  I have  not  a real  being 
before  me,  not  a soul  which  I can  under- 
stand and  sympathize  with,  but  a vague, 
shifting  image, .which  gives  nothing  of 
the  stability  of  knowledge.  A being, 
consisting  of  two  natures,  two  souls, 
one  divine  and  another  human,  one  finite 
and  another  infinite,  is  made  up  of  quali- 
ties which  destroy  one  another,  and  leave 
nothing  for  distinct  apprehension.  This 
compound  of  different  minds  and  of  con- 
tradictory attributes,  I cannot,  if  I would, 
regard  as  one  conscious  person,  one  in- 
telligent agent.  It  strikes  me  almost 
irresistibly  as  a fiction.  On  the  other 
hand,  Jesus,  contemplated  as  he  is  set 
before  us  in  the  gospel,  as  one  mind, 


one  heart,  answering  to  my  own  in  all 
its  essential  powers  and  affections,  but 
purified,  enlarged,  exalted,  so  as  to  con- 
stitute him  the  unsullied  image  of  God 
and  a perfect  model,  is  a being  who 
bears  the  marks  of  reality,  whom  I can 
understand,  whom  I can  receive  into  my 
heart  as  the  best  of  friends,  with  whom 
I can  become  intimate,  and  whose  so- 
ciety I can  and  do  anticipate  among  the 
chief  blessings  of  my  future  being. 

My  friends,  I have  now  stated,  in 
general,  what  knowledge  of  Christ  is 
most  important,  and  is  alone  required  in 
order  to  a true  attachment  to  him.  Let 
me  still  farther  illustrate  my  views  by 
descending  to  one  or  two  particulars. 
Among  the  various  excellences  of  Jesus, 
he  was  distinguished  by  a benevolence 
so  deep,  so  invincible,  that  injury  and 
outrage  had  no  power  over  it.  His 
kindness  towards  men  was  in  no  degree 
diminished  by  their  wrong-doing.  The 
only  intercession  which  he  offered  in  his 
sufferings  was  for  those  who  at  that  very 
moment  were  wreaking  on  him  their 
vengeance  ; and  what  is  more  remark- 
able, he  not  only  prayed  for  them,  but, 
with  an  unexampled  generosity  and  can- 
dor, urged  in  their  behalf  the  only  ex- 
tenuation which  their  conduct  would 
admit.  Now,  to  know  Jesus  Christ  is 
to  understand  this  attribute  of  his  mind, 
to  understand  the  strength  and  triumph 
of  the  benevolent  principle  in  this  se- 
verest trial,  to  understand  the  energy 
with  which  he  then  held  fast  the  virtue 
which  he  had  enjoined.  It  is  to  see  in  the 
mind  of  Jesus  at  that  moment  a moral 
grandeur  which  raised  him  above  all 
around  him.  This  is  to  know  him.  I 
will  suppose  now  a man  to  have  studied 
all  the  controversies  about  Christ’s  nat- 
ure, and  to  have  arrived  at  the  truest 
notions  of  his  rank  in  the  universe. 
But  this  incident  in  Christ’s  history, 
this  discovery  of  his  character,  has  never 
impressed  him ; the  glory  of  a philan- 
thropy which  embraces  one’s  enemies 
has  never  dawned  upon  him.  With  all 
his  right  opinions  about  the  Unity  or 
the  Trinity,  he  lives  and  acts  towards 
others  very  much  as  if  Jesus  had  never 
lived  or  died.  Now  I say  that  such  a 
man  does  not  know  Christ.  I say  that 
he  is  a stranger  to  him.  I say  that  the 
great  truth  is  hidden  from  him  ; that  his 
skill  in  religious  controversy  is  of  little 
more  use  to  him  than  would  be  the 


320 


LOVE  TO  CHRIST 


learning  by  rote  of  a language  which  he 
does  not  understand.  He  knows  the 
name  of  Christ,  but  the  excellence  which 
that  name  imports,  and  which  gives  it 
its  chief  worth,  is  to  him  as  an  unknown 
tongue. 

I have  referred  to  one  view  of  Christ’s 
character.  I might  go  through  his  whole 
life.  I will  only  observe  that,  in  the 
New  Testament,  the  crucifixion  of 
Jesus  is  always  set  forth  as  the  most 
illustrious  portion  of  his  history.  The 
spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  of  deliberate  self- 
immolation,  of  calm,  patient  endurance 
of  the  death  of  the  cross,  in  the  cause  of 
truth,  piety,  virtue,  human  happiness,  — 
this  particular  manifestation  of  love  is 
always  urged  upon  us  in  the  New  Tes- 
tament as  the  crowning  glory  of  Jesus 
Christ.  To  understand  this  part  of  his 
character ; to  understand  him  when  he 
gave  himself  up  to  the  shame  and  anguish 
of  crucifixion  ; to  understand  that  sym- 
pathy with  human  misery,  that  love  of 
human  nature,  that  thirst  for  the  recov- 
ery of  the  human  soul,  that  zeal  for 
human  virtue,  that  energy  of  moral 
principle,  that  devotion  to  God’s  pur- 
poses, through  which  the  severest  suf- 
fering was  chosen  and  borne,  and  into 
which  no  suffering,  or  scorn,  or  deser- 
tion, or  ingratitude,  could  infuse  the 
least  degree  of  selfishness,  unkindness, 
doubt,  or  infirmity,  — to  understand  this, 
is  to  understand  Jesus  ; and  he  who 
wants  sensibility  to  this,  be  his  spec- 
ulations what  they  may,  has  every  thing 
to  learn  respecting  the  Saviour. 

You  will  see,  from  the  views  now 
given,  that  I consider  love  to  Christ  as 
requiring  nothing  so  much  as  that  we 
fix  our  thoughts  on  the  excellence  of 
his  character,  study  it,  penetrate  our 
minds  with  what  was  peculiar  in  it,  and 
cherish  profound  veneration  for  it  ; and 
consequently  I fear  that  attachment  to 
him  has  been  diminished  by  the  habit 
of  regarding  other  things  in  Christ  as 
more  important  than  his  lovely  and  sub- 
lime virtues. 

Christians  have  been  prone  to  fix  on 
something  mysterious  in  his  nature,  or 
else  on  the  dignity  of  his  offices,  as  his 
chief  claim  ; and  in  this  way  his  supreme 
glory  has  been  obscured.  His  nature 
and  offices  I,  of  course,  would  not  dis- 
parage ; but  let  them  not  be  exalted 
above  his  moral  worth.  I maintain  that 
this  gives  to  his  nature  and  offices  all 


their  claims  to  love  and  veneration,  and 
that  we  understand  them  only  as  far  as 
we  see  this  to  pervade  them.  This 
principle  I would  uphold  against  Chris- 
tians of  very  different  modes  of  faith. 

First,  there  are  Christians  who  main- 
tain that  Jesus  Christ  is  to  be  loved  as 
the  Son  of  God,  understanding  by  this 
title  some  mysterious  connection  and 
identity  with  the  Father.  Far  be  it 
from  me  to  deny  that  the  Divine  Sonship 
of  Jesus  constitutes  his  true  claim  on 
our  affection  ; but  I do  deny  that  the 
mysterious  properties  of  this  relation 
form  any  part  of  this  claim  ; for  it  is 
very  clear  that  love  to  a being  must  rest 
on  what  we  know  of  him,  and  not  on  un- 
known and  unintelligible  attributes.  In 
saying  that  the  Divine  Sonship  of  Jesus 
is  the  great  foundation  of  attachment  to 
him,  I say  nothing  inconsistent  with  the 
doctrine  of  this  discourse,  that  the  moral 
excellence  of  Jesus  is  the  great  object 
and  ground  of  the  love  which  is  due  to 
him.  Indeed,  I only  repeat  the  prin- 
ciple that  he  is  to  be  loved  exclusively 
for  the  virtues  of  his  character ; for 
what,  I ask,  is  the  great  idea  involved  in 
his  filial  relation  to  God?  To  be  the 
Son  of  God,  in  the  chief  and  highest 
sense  of  that  term,  is  to  bear  the  like- 
ness, to  possess  the  spirit,  to  be  partaker 
of  the  moral  perfections  of  God.  This 
is  the  essential  idea.  To  be  God's  Son 
is  to  be  united  with  him  by  consent  and 
accordance  of  mind.  Jesus  wras  the  only 
begotten  Son,  because  he^vas  the  per- 
fect image  and  representative  of  God, 
especially  of  divine  philanthropy ; be- 
cause he  espoused  as  his  own  the  be- 
nevolent purposes  of  God  towards  the 
human  race,  and  yielded  himself  to  their 
accomplishment  with  an  entire  self-sac- 
rifice. To  know  Jesus  as  the  Son  of 
God.  is  not  to  understand  what  theo- 
logians have  written  about  his  eternal 
generation,  or  about  a mystical,  incom- 
prehensible union  between  Christ  and 
his  Father.  It  is  something  far  higher 
and  more  instructive.  It  is  to  see  in 
Christ,  if  I may  say  so,  the  lineaments  of 
the  Universal  Father.  It  is  to  discern 
in  him  a godlike  purity  and  goodness. 
It  is  to  understand  his  harmony  with  the 
Divine  Mind,  and  the  entireness  and 
singleness  of  love  with  wffiich  he  devoted 
himself  to  the  purposes  of  God,  and  the 
interests  of  the  human  race.  Of  con- 
sequence, to  love  Jesus  as  the  Son  of  God 


LOVE  TO  CHRIST. 


321 


is  to  love  the  spotless  purity  and  godlike 
charity  of  his  soul. 

There  are  other  Christians  who  differ 
widely  from  those  of  whom  I have  now 
spoken,  but  who  conceive  that  Christ’s 
offices,  inspiration,  miracles,  are  his 
chief  claims  to  veneration,  and  who,  I 
fear,  in  extolling  these,  have  overlooked 
what  is  incomparably  more  glorious,  — 
the  moral  dignity  of  his  mind,  the  purity 
and  inexhaustibleness  of  his  benev- 
olence. It  is  possible  that  to  many  who 
hear  me,  Christ  seems  to  have  been 
more  exalted  when  he  received  from  his 
Father  supernatural  light  and  truth,  or 
when  with  superhuman  energy  he  quelled 
the  storm  and  raised  the  dead,  than  when 
he  wept  over  the  city  which  was  in  a 
few  days  to  doom  him  to  the  most 
shameful  and  agonizing  death  ; and  yet 
his  chief  glory  consisted  in  the  spirit 
through  which  these  tears  were  shed. 
Christians  have  yet  to  learn  that  inspi- 
ration, and  miracles,  and  outward  dig- 
nities are  nothing  compared  with  the 
soul.  We  all  need  to  understand  better 
than  we  have  done  that  noble  passage 
of  Paul,  44  Though  I speak  with  the 
tongues  of  men  and  of  angels,  and  under- 
stand all  mysteries,  and  have  all  faith, 
so  that  I could  remove  mountains,  and 
have  not  charity  [disinterestedness,  love], 
I am  nothing;”  and  this  is  as  true  of 
Christ  as  of  Paul.  Indeed  it  is  true  of 
all  beings,  and  yet,  I fear,  it  is  not  felt 
as  it  should  be  by  the  multitude  of 
Christians. 

You  tell  me,  my  friends,  that  Christ’s 
unparalleled  inspiration,  his  perpetual  re- 
ception of  light  from  God,  that  this  was 
his  supreme  distinction ; and  a great 
distinction  undoubtedly  it  was  : but  I 
affirm  that  Christ’s  inspiration,  though 
conferred  on  him  without  measure,  gives 
him  no  claim  to  veneration  or  love,  any 
farther  than  it  found  within  him  a virtue 
which  accorded  with,  welcomed,  and 
adopted  it,  any  farther  than  his  own 
heart  responded  to  the  truths  he  re- 
ceived ; any  farther  than  he  sympathized 
with,  and  espoused  as  his  own,  the  be- 
nevolent purposes  of  God,  which  he  was 
sent  to  announce  ; any  farther  than  the 
spirit  of  the  religion  which  he  preached 
was  his  own  spirit,  and  was  breathed 
from  his  life  as  well  as  from  his  lips.  In 
other  words,  his  inspiration  was  made 
glorious  through  his  virtues.  Mere  in- 
spiration seems  to  me  a very  secondary 


thing.  Suppose  the  greatest  truths  in 
the  universe  to  be  revealed  supernatu- 
rally  to  a being  who  should  take  no  inter- 
est in  them,  who  should  not  see  and  feel 
their  greatness,  but  should  repeat  them 
mechanically,  as  they  were  put  into  his 
mouth  by  the  Deity.  Such  a man  would 
be  inspired,  and  would  teach  the  great- 
est verities,  and  yet  he  would  be  nothing, 
and  would  have  no  claim  to  reverence. 

The  excellence  of  Jesus  did  not  con- 
sist in  his  mere  inspiration,  but  in  the 
virtue  and  love  which  prepared  him  to 
receive  it,  and  by  which  it  was  made 
effectual  to  the  world.  He  did  not  pas- 
sively hear,  and  mechanically  repeat, 
certain  doctrines  from  God,  but  his 
whole  soul  accorded  with  what  he 
heard.  Every  truth  which  he  uttered 
came  warm  and  living  from  his  own 
mind  ; and  it  was  this  pouring  of  his  own 
soul  into  his  instructions  which  gave 
them  much  of  their  power.  Whence 
came  the  authority  and  energy,  the  con- 
scious dignity,  the  tenderness  and  sym- 
pathy, with  which  Jesus  taught  ? They 
came  not  from  inspiration,  but  from  the 
mind  of  him  who  was  inspired.  His 
personal  virtues  gave  power  to  his 
teachings  ; and  without  these  no  inspi- 
ration could  have  made  him  the  source 
of  such  light  and  strength  as  he  now 
communicates  to  mankind. 

My  friends,  I have  aimed  to  show  in 
this  discourse  that  virtue,  purity,  recti- 
tude of  Jesus  Christ  is  his  most  honora- 
ble distinction,  and  constitutes  his  great 
claim  to  veneration  and  love.  I can 
direct  you  to  nothing  in  Christ  more 
important  than  his  tried,  and  victorious, 
and  perfect  goodness.  Others  may  love 
Christ  for  mysterious  attributes  ; I love 
him  for  the  rectitude  of  his  soul  and  his 
life.  I love  him  for  that  benevolence 
which  went  through  Judea,  instructing 
the  ignorant,  healing  the  sick,  giving 
sight  to  the  blind.  I love  him  for  that 
universal  charity  which  comprehended 
the  despised  publican,  the  hated  Samar- 
itan, the  benighted  heathen,  and  sought 
to  bring  a world  to  God  and  to  happi- 
ness. I love  him  for  that  gentle,  mild, 
forbearing  spirit,  which  no  insult,  out- 
rage, injury,  could  overpower;  and 
which  desired  as  earnestly  the  repent- 
ance and  happiness  of  its  foes  as  the 
happiness  of  its  friends.  I love  him  for 
the  spirit  of  magnanimity,  constancy, 
and  fearless  rectitude  with;,  which,  amidst 


21 


322 


LOVE  TO  CHRIST. 


peril  and  opposition,  he  devoted  himself 
to  the  work  which  God  gave  him  to  do. 
I love  him  for  the  wise  and  enlightened 
zeal  with  which  he  espoused  the  true, 
the  spiritual  interests  of  mankind,  and 
through  which  he  lived  and  died  to  re- 
deem them  from  every  sin,  to  frame 
them  after  his  own  godlike  virtue.  I 
love  him,  I have  said,  for  his  moral  ex- 
cellence ; I know  nothing  else  to  love. 
I know  nothing  so  glorious  in  the  Crea- 
tor or  his  creatures.  This  is  the  great- 
est gift  which  God  bestows,  the  greatest 
to  be  derived  from  his  Son. 

You  see  why  I call  you  to  cherish  the 
love  of  Christ.  This  love  I do  not  rec- 
ommend as  a luxury  of  feeling,  as  an 
ecstasy  bringing  immediate  and  over- 
flowing joy.  I view  it  in  a nobler  light. 
I call  you  to  love  Jesus,  that  you  may 
bring  yourselves  into  contact  and  com- 
munion with  perfect  virtue,  and  may 
become  what  you  love.  I know  no  sin- 
cere, enduring  good  but  the  moral  ex- 
cellence which  shines  forth  in  Jesus 
Christ.  Your  wealth,  your  outward  com- 
forts and  distinctions,  are  poor,  mean, 
contemptible,  compared  with  this  ; and 
to  prefer  them  to  this  is  self-debase- 
ment, self  destruction.  May  this  great 
truth  penetrate  our  souls  ; and  may  we 
bear  witness  in  our  common  lives,  and 
especially  in  trial,  in  sore  temptation, 
that  nothing  is  so  dear  to  us  as  the  virtue 
of  Christ ! 


SECOND  DISCOURSE. 

Ephesians  vi  24 : “ Grace  be  with  all  them  that  love 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.” 

In  the  preceding  discourse,  I consid- 
ered the  nature  and  ground  of  love  to 
Christ.  The  subject  is  far  from  being 
exhausted.  I propose  now,  after  a few 
remarks  on  the  importance  and  happi- 
ness of  this  attachment,  to  call  your  at- 
tention to  some  errors  in  relation  to  it 
which  prevail  in  the  Christian  world. 

A virtuous  attachment  purifies  the 
heart.  In  loving  the  excellent,  we  re- 
ceive strength  to  follow  them.  It  is 
happy  for  us  when  a pure  affection 
springs  up  within  us,  when  friendship 
knits  us  with  holy  and  generous  minds. 
It  is  happy  for  us  when  a being  of  noble 
sentiments  and  beneficent  life  enters  our 
circle,  becomes  an  object  of  interest  to 
us,  and  by  affectionate  intercourse  takes 


a strong  hold  on  our  hearts.  Not  a few 
can  trace  the  purity  and  elevation  of 
their  minds  to  connection  with  an  indi- 
vidual who  has  won  them  by  the  beauty 
of  his  character  to  the  love  and  practice 
of  righteousness.  These  views  show  us 
the  service  which  Jesus  Christ  has  done 
to  mankind,  simply  in  offering  himself 
before  them  as  an  object  of  attachment 
and  affection.  In  inspiring  love,  he  is  a 
benefactor.  A man  brought  to  see  and 
feel  the  godlike  virtues  of  Jesus  Christ, 
who  understands  his  character  and  is 
attracted  and  won  by  it,  has  gained,  in 
this  sentiment,  immense  aid  in  his  con- 
flict with  evil  and  in  his  pursuit  of  per- 
fection. And  he  has  not  only  gained 
aid,  but  happiness  ; for  a true  love  is 
in  itself  a noble  enjoyment.  It  is  the 
'proper  delight  of  a rat'onal  and  moral 
being,  leaving  no  bitterness  or  shame 
behind,  not  enervating  like  the  world’s 
pleasures,  but  giving  energy  and  a lofty 
consciousness  to  the  mind. 

Our  nature  was  framed  for  virtuous 
attachments.  How  strong  and  interest- 
ing are  the  affections  of  domestic  life, 
the  conjugal,  parental,  filial  ties  ! But 
the  heart  is  not  confined  to  our  homes, 
or  even  to  this  world.  There  are  more 
sacred  attachments  than  these  in  which 
instinct  has  no  part,  which  have  their 
origin  in  our  highest  faculties,  which 
are  less  tumultuous  and  impassioned 
than  the  affections  of  nature,  but  more 
enduring,  more  capable  of  growth,  more 
peaceful,  far  happier,  and  far  nobler. 
Such  is  love  to  Jesus  Christ,  the  most 
purifying,  and  the  happiest  attachment, 
next  to  the  love  of  our  Creator,  which 
we  can  form.  I wish  to  aid  you  in  cher- 
ishing this  sentiment,  and  for  this  end  I 
have  thought  that  in  the  present  dis- 
course it  would  be  well  to  point  out 
some  wrong  views  which  I think  have 
obstructed  it,  and  obscured  its  glory. 

I apprehend  that  among  those  Chris- 
tians who  bear  the  name  of  rational, 
from  the  importance  which  they  give  to 
the  exercise  of  reason  in  religion,  love 
to  Christ  has  lost  something  of  its  honor, 
in  consequence  of  its  perversion.  It  has 
too  often  been  substituted  for  practical 
religion.  Not  a few  have  professed  a 
very  fervent  attachment  to  Jesus,  and 
have  placed  great  confidence  in  this 
feeling,  who,  at  the  same  time,  have 
seemed  to  think  little  of  his  precepts, 
and  have  even  spoken  of  them  as  unim- 


LOVE  TO  CHRIST. 


323 


portant,  compared  with  certain  doctrines 
about  his  person  or  nature.  Gross  errors 
of  this  kind  have  led,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
to  the  opposite  extreme.  They  have 
particularly  encouraged  among  calm 
and  sober  people  the  idea  that  the  great 
object  of  Christ  was  to  give  a religion, 
to  teach  great  and  everlasting  truth, 
and  that  our  concern  is  with  his  religion 
rather  than  with  himself.  The  great 
question,  as  such  people  say,  is  not 
what  Jesus  was,  but  what  he  revealed. 
In  this  way  a distinction  has  been  made 
between  Jesus  and  his  religion  ; and, 
whilst  some  sects  have  done  little  but 
talk  of  Christ  and  his  person,  others 
have  dwelt  on  the  principles  he  taught, 
to  the  neglect,  in  a measure,  of  the 
Divine  Teacher.  I consider  this  as  an 
error  to  which  some  of  us  may  be  ex- 
posed, and  which,  therefore,  deserves 
consideration. 

Now  I grant  that  Jesus  Christ  came  to 
give  a religion,  to  reveal  truth.  This  is 
his  great  office  ; but  I maintain  that  this 
is  no  reason  for  overlooking  Jesus  ; for 
his  religion  has  an  intimate  and  pecul- 
iar connection  with  himself.  It  derives 
authority  and  illustration  from  his  char- 
acter. Jesus  is  his  religion  embodied 
and  made  visible.  The  connection  be- 
tween him  and  his  system  is  peculiar. 
It  differs  altogether  from  that  which 
ancient  philosophers  bore  to  their  teach- 
ings. An  ancient  sage  wrote  a book, 
and  the  book  is  of  equal  value  to  us 
whether  we  know  its  author  or  not. 
But  there  is  no  such  thing  as  Christi- 
anity without  Christ.  We  cannot  know 
it  separately  from  him.  If  is  not  a book 
which  Jesus  wrote.  It  is  his  conversa- 
tion, his  character,  his  history,  his  life, 
his  death,  his  resurrection.  He  per- 
vades it  throughout.  In  loving  him,  we 
love  his  religion  ; and  a just  interest  in 
this  cmnot  be  awakened,  but  by  con- 
templating it  as  it  shone  forth  in  him- 
self. 

Christ’s  religion,  I have  said,  is  very 
imperfect  without  himself ; and  there- 
fore they  who  would  make  an  abstract 
of  his  precepts,  and  say  that  it  is  enough 
to  follow  these  without  thinking  of  their 
author,  grievously  mistake,  and  rob  the 
system  of  much  of  its  energy.  I mean 
not  to  disparage  the  precepts  of  Christ, 
considered  in  themselves.  But  their 
full  power  is  only  to  be  understood  and 
felt  by  those  who  place  themselves  near 


the  Divine  Teacher,  who  see  the  celes- 
tial fervor  of  his  affection  whilst  he 
utters  them,  who  follow  his  steps  from 
Bethlehem  to  Calvary,  and  witness  the 
expression  of  his  precepts  in  his  own 
life.  These  come  to  me  almost  as  new 
precepts  when  I associate  them  with 
Jesus.  His  command  to  love  my  ene- 
mies becomes  intelligible  and  bright 
when  I stand  by  his  cross  and  hear  his 
prayer  for  his  murderers.  I understand 
what  he  meant  by  the  self-denial  which 
he  taught  when  I see  him  foregoing  the 
comforts  of  life,  and  laying  down  life 
itself  for  the  good  of  others.  I learn  the 
true  character  of  that  benevolence  by 
which  human  nature  is  perfected,  how  it 
unites  calmness  and  earnestness,  tender- 
ness and  courage,  condescension  and 
dignity,  feeling  and  action  ; this  I learn 
in  the  life  of  Jesus  as  no  words  could 
teach  me.  So  I am  instructed  in  the 
nature  of  piety  by  the  same  model. 
The  command  to  love  God  with  all  my 
heart,  if  only  written,  might  have  led  me 
into  extravagance,  enthusiasm,  and  neg- 
lect of  common  duties, — for  religious 
excitement  has  a peculiar  tendency  to 
excess, — but  in  Jesus  I see  a devo- 
tion to  God,  entire,  perfect,  never  re- 
mitted, yet  without  the  least  appearance 
of  passion,  as  calm  and  self-possessed 
as  the  love  which  a good  mind  bears  to 
a parent ; and  in  him  I am  taught,  as 
words  could  not  teach,  how  to  join  su- 
preme regard  to  my  Creator  with  active 
charity  and  common  duties  towards  my 
fellow-beings. 

And  not  only  the  precepts  but  the 
great  doctrines  of  Christianity  are  bound 
up  with  Jesus,  and  cannot  be  truly  un- 
derstood without  him.  For  example, 
one  of  the  great  doctrines  of  Christian- 
ity, perhaps  its  chief,  is  the  kind  interest 
of  God  in  all  his  creatures,  not  only  in 
the  good  but  in  the  evil ; his  placable, 
clement,  merciful  character ; his  desire 
to  recover  and  purify  and  make  for  ever 
happy  even  those  who  have  stained 
themselves  with  the  blackest  guilt 
The  true  character  of  God  in  this 
respect  I see  indeed  in  his  providence, 
I read  it  in  his  word,  and  for  every 
manifestation  of  it  I am  grateful.  But 
when  I see  his  spotless  and  beloved 
Son.  to  whom  his  power  was  peculiarly 
delegated,  and  in  whom  He  peculiarly 
dwelt,  giving  singular  attention  to  the 
most  fallen  and  despised  men,  casting 


324 


LOVE  TO  CHRIST. 


away  all  outward  pomp  that  he  might 
mingle  familiarly  with  the  poor  and  neg- 
lected ; when  I see  him  sitting  at  table 
with  the  publican  and  the  sinner,  invit- 
ing them  to  approach  him  as  a friend, 
suffering  the  woman  whose  touch  was 
deemed  pollution  to  bedew  his  feet  with 
tears  ; and  when  I hear  him  in  the  midst 
of  such  a concourse  saying,  “ I am  come 
to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  was  lost,” 
— I have  a conviction  of  the  lenity,  be- 
nignity, grace,  of  that  God  whose  repre- 
sentative and  chosen  minister  he  was, 
such  as  no  abstract  teaching  could  have 
given  me.  Let  me  add  one  more  doc- 
trine, — that  of  immortality.  I prize 
every  evidence  of  this  great  truth  ; I look 
within  and  without  me  for  some  pledge 
that  I am  not  to  perish  in  the  grave  ; that 
this  mind,  with  its  thoughts  and  affec- 
tions, is  to  live,  and  improve,  and  be 
perfected,  and  to  find  that  joy  for  which 
it  thirsts,  and  which  it  cannot  find  on 
earth.  Christ’s  teaching  on  this  subject 
is  invaluable  ; but  what  power  does  this 
teaching  gain,  when  I stand  by  his  sep- 
ulchre, and  see  the  stone  rolled  away, 
and  behold  the  great  Revealer  of  immor- 
tality rising  in  power  and  triumph,  and 
ascending  to  the  life  and  happiness  he 
had  promised  ! 

Thus  Christianity,  from  beginning  to 
end,  is  intimately  connected  with  its 
Divine  Teacher.  It  is  not  an  abstract 
system.  The  rational  Christian  who 
would  think  of  it  as  such,  who,  in  dwell- 
ing on  the  religion,  overlooks  its  Re- 
vealer, is  unjust  to  it.  Would  he  see 
and  feel  its  power,  let  him  see  it  warm, 
living,  breathing,  acting  in  the  mind, 
heart,  and  life  of  its  Founder.  Let  him 
love  it  there.  In  other  words,  let  him 
love  the  character  of  Jesus,  justly 
viewed,  and  he  will  love  the  religion 
in  the  way  most  fitted  to  make  it  the 
power  of  God  unto  salvation. 

I have  said  that  love  to  Christ,  when 
he  is  justly  viewed,  — that  is,  when  it  is 
an  enlightened  and  rational  affection,  — 
includes  the  love  of  his  whole  religion ; 
but  I beg  you  to  remember  that  I give 
this  praise  only  to  an  enlightened  affec- 
tion ; and  such  is  not  the  most  common, 
nor  is  it  easily  acquired.  I apprehend 
that  there  is  no  sentiment  which  needs 
greater  care  in  its  culture  than  this. 
Perhaps,  in  the  present  state  of  the 
world,  no  virtue  is  of  more  difficult  ac- 
quisition than  a pure  and  intelligent  love 


towards  Jesus.  There  is  undoubtedly 
much  of  fervent  feeling  towards  him  in 
the  Christian  world.  But  let  me  speak 
plainly.  I do  it  from  no  uncharitable- 
ness. I do  it  only  to  warn  my  fellow- 
Christians.  The  greater  part  of  this 
affection  to  Jesus  seems  to  me  of  very 
doubtful  worth.  In  many  cases,  it  is  an 
irregular  fervor,  which  impairs  the  force 
and  soundness  of  the  mind,  and  which 
is  substituted  for  obedience  to  his  pre- 
cepts, for  the  virtues  which  ennoble  the 
soul.  Much  of  what  is  called  love  to 
Christ  I certainly  do  not  desire  you  or 
myself  to  possess.  I know  of  no  senti- 
ment which  needs  more  to  be  cleared 
from  error  and  abuse,  and  I therefore 
feel  myself  bound  to  show  you  some  of 
its  corruptions. 

In  the  first  place,  I am  persuaded  that 
a love  to  Christ  of  quite  a low  character 
is  often  awakened  by  an  injudicious  use 
of  his  sufferings.  I apprehend  that  if  the 
affection  which  many  bear  to  Jesus  were 
analyzed,  the  chief  ingredient  in  it  would 
be  found  to  be  a tenderness  awaken- 
ed by  his  cross.  In  certain  classes  of 
Christians,  it  is  common  for  the  religious 
teacher  to  delineate  the  bleeding,  dying 
Saviour,  and  to  detail  his  agonies,  until 
men’s  natural  sympathy  is  awakened ; 
and  when  assured  that  this  deep  woe 
was  borne  for  themselves,  they  almost 
necessarily  yield  to  the  softer  feelings 
of  their  nature.  I mean  not  to  find  fault 
with  this  sensibility.  It  is  happy  for  us 
that  we  are  made  to  be  touched  by 
others’  pains.  Woe  to  him  who  has  no 
tears  for  mortal  agony ! But  in  this 
emotion  there  is  no  virtue,  no  moral 
worth ; and  we  dishonor  Jesus  when 
this  is  the  chief  tribute  we  offer  him. 
I say  there  is  no  moral  goodness  in  this 
feeling.  To  be  affected,  overpowered 
by  a crucifixion,  is  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world.  Who  of  us,  let  me 
ask,  whether  religious  or  not,  ever  went 
into  a Catholic  church,  and  there  saw 
the  picture  of  Jesus  hanging  from  his 
cross,  his  head  bending  under  the  weight 
of  exhausting  suffering,  his  hands  and 
feet  pierced  with  nails,  and  his  body 
stained  with  his  open  wounds,  and  has 
not  been  touched  by  the  sight  ? Sup- 
pose that,  at  this  moment,  there  were 
lifted  up  among  us  a human  form,  trans- 
fixed with  a spear,  and  from  which  the 
warm  life-blood  was  dropping  in  the 
midst  of  us.  Who  would  not  be  deeply 


LOVE  TO  CHRIST. 


325 


moved  ? and  when  a preacher,  gifted 
with  something  of  an  actor’s  power, 
places  the  cross,  as  it  were,  in  the  midst 
of  a people,  is  it  wonderful  that  they  are 
softened  and  subdued  ? I mean  not  to 
censure  all  appeals  of  this  kind  to  the 
human  heart.  There  is  something  in- 
teresting and  encouraging  in  the  tear  of 
compassion.  There  was  wisdom  in  the 
conduct  of  the  Moravian  missionaries  in 
Greenland  who,  finding  that  the  rugged 
and  barbarous  natives  were  utterly  in- 
sensible to  general  truth,  depicted,  with 
all  possible  vividness,  the  streaming 
blood  and  dying  agonies  of  Jesus,  and 
thus  caught  the  attention  of  the  sav- 
age through  his  sympathies,  whom  they 
could  not  interest  through  his  reason  or 
his  fears.  But  sensibility  thus  awakened 
is  quite  a different  thing  from  true,  vir- 
tuous love  to  Jesus  Christ;  and,  when 
viewed  and  cherished  as  such,  it  takes 
the  place  of  higher  affections.  I have 
often  been  struck  by  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  use  made  of  the  cross  in  the 
pulpit,  and  the  calm,  unimpassioned 
manner  in  which  the  sufferings  of  Jesus 
are  detailed  by  the  Evangelists.  These 
witnesses  of  Christ’s  last  moments  give 
you  in  simple  language  the  particulars 
of  that  scene,  without  one  remark,  one 
word  of  emotion  ; and  if  you  read  the 
Acts  and  Epistles,  you  will  not  find  a 
single  instance  in  which  the  Apostles 
strove  to  make  a moving  picture  of  his 
crucifixion.  No;  they  honored  Jesus 
too  much,  they  felt  too  deeply  the  great- 
ness of  his  character,  to  be  moved  as 
many  are  by  the  circumstances  of  his 
death.  Reverence,  admiration,  sympa- 
thy with  his  sublime  spirit,  these  swal- 
lowed up,  in  a great  measure,  sympathy 
with  his  sufferings.  The  cross  was  to 
them  the  last  crowning  manifestation  of 
a celestial  mind  ; they  felt  that  it  was 
endured  to  communicate  the  same  mind 
to  them  and  the  world  ; and  their  emo- 
tion was  a holy  joy  in  this-  consummate 
and  unconquerable  goodness.  To  be 
touched  by  suffering  is  a light  thing.  It 
is  not  the  greatness  of  Christ’s  sufferings 
on  the  cross  which  is  to  move  our  whole 
souls,  but  the  greatness  of  the  spirit 
with  which  he  suffered.  There,  in 
death,  he  proved  his  entire  consecration 
of  himself  to  the  cause  of  God  and  man- 
kind. There  his  love  flowed  forth  to- 
wards his  friends,  his  enemies,  and  the 
human  race.  It  is  moral  greatness,  at  is 


victorious  love,  it  is  the  energy  of  prin- 
ciple, which  gives  such  interest  to  the 
cross  of  Christ.  We  are  to  look  through 
the  darkness  which  hung  over  him, 
through  his  wounds  and  pains,  to  his 
unbroken,  disinterested,  confiding  spirit. 
To  approach  the  cross  for  the  purpose 
of  weeping  over  a bleeding,  dying  friend, 
is  to  lose  the  chief  influence  of  the  cruci- 
fixion. We  are  to  visit  the  cross,  not  to 
indulge  a natural  softness,  but  to  ac- 
quire firmness  of  spirit,  to  fortify  our 
minds  for  hardship  and  suffering  in  the 
cause  of  duty  and  of  human  happiness. 
To  live  as  Christ  lived,  to  die  as  Christ 
died,  to  give  up  ourselves  as  sacrifices 
to  God,  to  conscience,  to  whatever  good 
interest  we  can  advance,  — these  are  the 
lessons  written  with  the  blood  of  Jesus. 
His  cross  is  to  inspire  us  with  a calm 
courage,  resolution,  and  superiority  to 
all  temptation.  I fear  (is  my  fear  ground- 
less ?)  that  a sympathy  which  enervates 
rather  than  fortifies,  is  the  impression 
too  often  received  from  the  crucifixion. 
The  depression  with  which  the  Lord’s 
table  is  too  often  approached,  and  too 
often  left,  shows,  I apprehend,  that  the 
chief  use  of  his  sufferings  is  little  under- 
stood, and  that  he  is  loved,  not  as  a 
glorious  sufferer  who  died  to  spread  his 
own  sublime  spirit,  but  as  a man  of  sor- 
rows, a friend  bowed  down  with  the 
weight  of  grief. 

In  the  second  place,  love  to  Christ  of 
a very  defective  kind  is  cherished  in 
many  by  the  views  which  they  are  ac- 
customed to  take  of  themselves.  They 
form  irrational  ideas  of  their  own  guilt, 
supposing  it  to  have  its  origin  in  their 
very  creation,  and  then  represent  to 
their  imaginations  an  abyss  of  fire  and 
torment  over  which  they  hang,  into  which 
the  anger  of  God  is  about  to  precipitate 
them,  and  from  which  nothing  but  Jesus 
can  rescue  them.  Not  a few,  I appre- 
hend, ascribe  to  Jesus  Christ  a greater 
compassion  towards  them  than  God  is 
supposed  to  feel.  His  heart  is  tenderer 
than  that  of  the  Universal  Parent,  and 
this  tenderness  is  seen  in  his  plucking 
them  by  a mighty  power  from  tremen- 
dous and  infinite  pain,  from  everlasting 
burnings.  Now,  that  Jesus  under  such 
circumstances  should  excite  the  mind 
strongly,  should  become  the  object  of  a 
very  intense  attachment,  is  almost  neces- 
sary : but  the  affection  so  excited  is  of 
very  little  worth.  Let  the  universe  seem 


LOVE  TO  CHRIST. 


326 

to  me  wrapped  in  darkness,  let  God’s 
throne  send  forth  no  light  but  blast- 
ing flashes,  let  Jesus  be  the  only  bright 
and  cheering  object  to  my  affrighted  and 
desolate  soul,  and  a tumultuous  grati- 
tude will  carry  me  towards  him  just  as 
irresistibly  as  natural  instinct  carries  the 
parent  animal  to  its  young.  I do  and 
must  grieve  at  the  modes  commonly 
used  to  make  Jesus  Christ  an  interesting 
being.  Even  the  Infinite  Father  is 
stripped  of  his  glory  for  the  sake  of 
throwing  a lustre  round  the  Son.  The 
condition  of  man  is  painted  in  frightful 
colors,  which  cast  unspeakable  dishonor 
on  his  Creator,  for  the  sake  of  magnify- 
ing the  greatness  of  Christ’s  salvation. 
Man  is  stripped  of  all  the  powers  which 
make  him  a responsible  being,  his  soul 
harrowed  with  terrors,  and  the  future 
illumined  only  by  the  flames  which  are 
to  consume  him,  that  his  deliverer  may 
seem  more  necessary  ; and  when  the 
mind,  in  this  state  of  agitation,  in  this 
absence  of  self-control,  is  wrought  up 
into  a fervor  of  gratitude  to  Jesus,  it  is 
thought  to  be  sanctified.  This  selfish, 
irrational  gratitude,  is  called  a virtue. 
Much  of  the  love  given  to  Jesus,  having 
the  origin  of  which  I now  speak,  seems 
to  me  of  no  moral  worth.  It  is  not  the 
soul’s  free  gift,  not  a sentiment  nour- 
ished by  our  own  care  from  a convic- 
tion of  its  purity  and  nobleness,  but  an 
instinctive,  ungoverned,  selfish  feeling. 
Suppose,  my  friends,  that  in  a tempest- 
uous night  you  should  find  yourselves 
floating  towards  a cataract,  the  roar  of 
which  should  announce  the  destruction 
awaiting  you,  and  that  a fellow-being  of 
great  energy  should  rush  through  the 
darkness  and  bring  you  to  the  shore  ; 
could  you  help  embracing  him  with  grat- 
itude ? And  would  this  emotion  imply 
any  change  of  character  ? Would  you 
not  feel  it  towards  your  deliverer,  even 
should  he  have  acted  from  mere  impulse, 
and  should  his  general  character  be 
grossly  defective  ? Is  not  this  a neces- 
sary working  of  nature,  a fruit  of  terror 
changed  into  joy  ? I mean  not  to  con- 
demn it ; I only  say  it  is  not  virtue.  It 
is  a poor  tribute  to  Jesus ; he  deserves 
something  far  purer  and  nobler. 

The  habit  of  exaggerating  the  wretch- 
edness of  man’s  condition  for  the  pur- 
pose of  rendering  Jesus  more  necessary, 
operates  very  seriously  to  degrade  men’s 
love  to  Jesus,  by  accustoming  them  to 


ascribe  to  him  a low  and  commonplace 
character.  I wish  this  to  be  weighed. 
They  who  represent  to  themselves  the 
whole  human  race  as  sinking  by  an 
hereditary  corruption  into  an  abyss  of 
flame  and  perpetual  woe,  very  naturally 
think  of  Jesus  as  a being  of  overflowing 
compassion,  as  impelled  by  a resistless 
pity  to  fly  to  the  relief  of  these  hopeless 
victims ; for  this  is  the  emotion  that 
such  a sight  is  fitted  to  produce.  Now 
this  overpowering  compassion,  called 
forth  by  the  view  of  exquisite  misery, 
is  a very  ordinary  virtue  ; and  yet,  I 
apprehend,  it  is  the  character  ascribed 
above  all  others  to  Jesus.  It  certainly 
argues  no  extraordinary  goodness,  for 
it  is  an  almost  necessary  impulse  of 
nature.  Were  you,  my  friends,  to  see 
millions  and  millions  of  the  human  race 
on  the  edge  of  a fiery  gulf,  where  ages 
after  ages  of  torture  awaited  them,  and 
were  the  shrieks  of  millions  who  had 
already  been  plunged  into  the  abyss  to 
pierce  your  ear,  could  you  refrain  from 
an  overpowering  compassion,  and  would 
you  not  willingly  endure  hours  and  days 
of  exquisite  pain  to  give  these  wretched 
millions  release  ? Is  there  any  man 
who  has  not  virtue  enough  for  this  ? 
I have  known  men  of  ordinary  charac- 
ter hazard  their  lives  under  the  impulse 
of  compassion,  for  the  rescue  of  fellow- 
beings  from  infinitely  lighter  evils  than 
are  here  supposed.  To  me  it  seems 
that  to  paint  the  misery  of  human  be- 
ings in  these  colors  of  fire  and  blood, 
and  to  ascribe  to  Christ  the  compassion 
which  such  misery  must  awaken,  and 
to  make  this  the  chief  attribute  of  his 
mind,  is  the  very  method  to  take  from  his 
character  its  greatness,  and  to  weaken 
his  claim  on  our  love.  I see  nothing 
in  Jesus  of  the  overpowering  compas- 
sion which  is  often  ascribed  to  him. 
His  character  rarely  exhibited  strong 
emotion.  It  was  distinguished  by  calm- 
ness, firmness,  and  conscious  dignity. 
Jesus  had  a mind  too  elevated  to  be 
absorbed  and  borne  away  by  pity,  or 
any  other  passion.  He  felt,  indeed, 
deeply  for  human  suffering  and  grief ; 
but  his  chief  sympathy  was  with  the 
mind,  with  its  sins  and  moral  diseases, 
and  especially  with  its  capacity  of  im- 
provement and  everlasting  greatness 
and  glory.  He  felt  himself  commis- 
sioned to  quicken  and  exalt  immortal 
beings.  The  thought  which  kindled  and 


LOVE  TO  CHRIST. 


3 27 


sustained  him  was  that  of  an  immeasu- 
rable virtue  to  be  conferred  on  the  mind, 
even  of  the  most  depraved,  — a good, 
the  very  conception  of  which  implies  a 
lofty  character ; a good,  which  as  yet 
has  only  dawned  on  his  most  improved 
disciples.  It  is  his  consecration  to  this 
sublime  end  which  constitutes  his  glory; 
and  no  farther  than  we  understand  this, 
can  we  yield  him  the  love  which  his 
character  claims  and  deserves. 

I have  endeavored  to  show  the  cir- 
cumstances which  have  contributed  to 
depress  and  degrade  men’s  affections 
towards  Jesus  Christ.  To  me  the  in- 
fluence of  these  causes  seems  to  be 
great.  I know  of  no  feeling  more  sus- 
picious than  the  common  love  to  Christ. 
A true  affection  to  him,  indeed,  is  far 
from  being  of  easy  acquisition.  As  it 
is  the  purest  and  noblest  we  can  cher- 
ish, with  the  single  exception  of  love  to 
God,  so  it  requires  the  exercise  of  our 
best  powers.  You  all  must  feel  that  an 
indispensable  requisite  or  preparation 
for  this  love  is  to  understand  the  char- 
acter of  Jesus.  But  this  is  no  easy 
thing.  It  not  only  demands  that  we 
carefully  read  and  study  his  history  ; 
there  is  another  process  more  impor- 
tant. We  must  begin  in  earnest  to  con- 
vert into  practice  our  present  imperfect 
knowledge  of  Christ,  and  to  form  our- 
selves upon  him  as  far  as  he  is  now  dis- 
cerned. Nothing  so  much  brightens 
and  strengthens  the  eye  of  the  mind  to 
understand  an  excellent  being,  as  like- 
ness to  him.  We  never  know  a great 
character  until  something  congenial  to 
it  has  grown  up  within  ourselves.  No 
strength  of  intellect  and  no  study  can 
enable  a man  of  a selfish  and  sensual 
mind  to  comprehend  Jesus.  Such  a 
mind  is  covered  with  a mist ; and  just 
in  proportion  as  it  subdues  evil  within 
itself,  the  mist  will  be  scattered  ; Jesus 
will  rise  upon  it  with  a sunlike  bright- 
ness, and  will  call  forth  its  most  fer- 
vent and  most  enlightened  affection. 

I close  with  two  remarks.  You  see, 
by  this  discourse,  how  important  to  the 
love  of  Christ  it  is,  to  understand  with 
some  clearness  the  purpose  for  which 
he  came  into  the  world.  The  low  views 
prevalent  on  this  subject  seem  to  me  to 
exert  a disastrous- influence  on  the  whole 
character,  and  particularly  on  our  feel- 
ings towards  Christ.  Christ  is  sup- 
posed to  have  come  to  rescue  us  from  I 


an  outward  hell,  to  bear  the  penalties 
of  an  outward  law.  Such  benevolence 
would  indeed  be  worthy  of  praise  ; but 
it  is  an  inferior  form  of  benevolence. 
The  glory  of  Christ’s  character,  its  pe- 
culiar brightness,  seems  to  me  to  con- 
sist in  his  having  given  himself  to 
accomplish  an  inward,  moral,  spiritual 
deliverance  of  mankind.  He  was  alive 
to  the  worth  and  greatness  of  the  hu- 
man soul.  He  looked  through  what 
men  were,  looked  through  the  thick 
shades  of  their  idolatry,  superstition, 
and  vice,  and  saw  in  every  human  be- 
ing a spirit  of  divine  origin  and  godlike 
faculties,  which  might  be  recovered 
from  all  its  evil,  which  might  become 
an  image  and  a temple  of  God.  The 
greatness  of  Jesus  consisted  in  his  de- 
voting himself  to  call  forth  a mighty 
power  in  the  human  breast,  to  kindle  in 
us  a celestial  flame,  to  breathe  into  us 
an  inexhaustible  hope,  and  to  lay  with- 
in us  the  foundation  of  an  immovable 
peace.  His  greatness  consists  in  the 
greatness  and  sublimity  of  the  action 
which  he  communicates  to  the  human 
soul.  This  is  his  chief  glory.  To 
avert  pain  and  punishment  is  a subor- 
dinate work.  Through  neglect  of  these 
truths,  I apprehend  that  the  brightness 
of  Christ’s  character  is  even  now  much 
obscured,  and  perhaps  least  discerned 
by  some  who  think  they  understand 
him  best. 

My  second  remark  is  that,  if  the  lead- 
ing views  of  this  discourse  be  just,  then 
love  to  Jesus  Christ  depends  very  little 
on  our  conception  of  his  rank  in  the 
scale  of  being.  On  no  other  topic  have 
Christians  contended  so  earnestly,  and 
yet  it  is  of  secondary  importance.  To 
know  Jesus  Christ  is  not  to  know  the 
precise  place  he  occupies  in  the  uni- 
verse. It  is  something  more  ; it  is  to 
look  into  his  mind ; to  approach  his 
soul ; to  comprehend  his  spirit ; to  see 
how  he  thought,  and  felt,  and  purposed, 
and  loved,  — to  understand  the  work- 
ings of  that  pure  and  celestial  principle 
within  him,  through  which  he  came 
among  us  as  our  friend,  and  lived  and 
died  for  us.  I am  persuaded  that  con- 
troversies about  Christ’s  person  have  in 
one  way  done  great  injury.  They  have 
turned  attention  from  his  character. 
Suppose  that,  as  Americans,  we  should 
employ  ourselves  in  debating  the  ques- 
tions, where  Washington  was  born,  and 


PREACHING  CHRIST. 


328  * 

from  what  spot  he  came  when  he  ap- 
peared at  the  head  of  our  armies  ; and 
that,  in  the  fervor  of  these  contentions, 
we  should  overlook  the  character  of  his 
mind,  the  spirit  that  moved  within  him, 
the  virtues  which  distinguished  him, 
the  beamings  of  a noble,  magnanimous 
soul,  — how  unprofitably  should  we  be 
employed  ! Who  is  it  that  understands 
Washington  ? Is  it  he  that  can  settle 
his  rank  in  the  creation,  his  early  his- 
tory, his  present  condition  ? or  he  to 
whom  the  soul  of  that  great  man  is  laid 
open,  who  comprehends  and  sympa- 
thizes with  his  generous  purposes,  who 
understands  the  energy  with  which  he 
espoused  the  cause  of  freedom  and  his 
country,  and  who  receives  through  ad- 
miration a portion  of  the  same  divine 
energy  ? So  in  regard  to  Jesus,  the 
questions  which  have  been  agitated 
about  his  rank  and  nature  are  of  in- 
ferior moment.  His  greatness  belonged 
not  to  his  condition,  but  to  his  mind, 
his  spirit,  his  aim,  his  disinterested- 
ness, his  calm,  sublime  consecration  of 
himself  to  the  high  purpose  of  God. 

My  hearers,  it  is  the  most  interesting 
event  in  human  history,  that  such  a be- 
ing as  Jesus  has  entered  our  world,  to 


accomplish  the  deliverance  of  our  minds 
from  all  evil,  to  bring  them  to  God,  to 
open  heaven  within  them,  and  thus  to 
fit  them  for  heaven.  It  is  our  greatest 
privilege  that  he  is  brought  within  our 
view,  offered  to  our  imitation,  to  our 
trust,  to  our  love.  A sincere  and  en- 
lightened attachment  to  him  is  at  once 
our  honor  and  our  happiness,  a spring 
of  virtuous  action,  of  firmness  in  suffer- 
ing, of  immortal  hope.  But  remember, 
it  will  not  grow  up  of  itself.  You  must 
resolve  upon  it,  and  cherish  it,  You 
must  bring  Jesus  near,  as  he  lives  and 
moves  in  the  gospel.  You  should  meet 
him  in  the  institution  which  he  espe- 
cially appointed  for  the  commemoration 
of  himself.  You  should  seek,  by  pray- 
er, God’s  aid  in  strengthening  your  love 
to  the  Saviour.  You  should  learn  his 
greatness  and  beneficence  by  learning 
the  greatness  and  destination  of  the 
souls  which  he  came  to  rescue  and 
bless.  In  the  last  place,  you  should 
obey  his  precepts,  and  through  this  obe- 
dience should  purify  and  invigorate 
your  minds  to  know  and  love  him  more. 
“ Grace  be  with  all  them  that  love  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  in  sincerity.” 


PREACHING  CHRIST: 

Discourse  at  the  Ordination  of  the  Rev . John  Emery  Ah  dot, 

Salem,  1815. 


Colossians  i.  28 : “ Whom  we  preach,  warning 
every  man,  and  teaching  every  man  in  all  wisdom, 
that  we  may  present  every  man  perfect  in  Christ 
Jesus.” 

In  the  verses  immediately  preceding 
the  text  we  find  the  Apostle  enlarging 
with  his  usual  zeal  and  earnestness  on 
a subject  peculiarly  dear  to  him,  — on 
the  glorious  mystery  of  God,  or,  in 
other  words,  on  the  great  purpose  of 
God,  which  had  been  kept  secret  from 
ages,  to  make  the  Gentile  world  par- 
takers through  faith  of  the  blessings  of 
the  long-promised  Messiah.  “ Christ, 
the  hope  of  glory  to  the  Gentiles,”  was 
the  theme  on  which  Paul,  the  Apostle 
of  the  Gentiles,  delighted  to  expatiate. 


Having  spoken  of  Jesus  in  this  charac- 
ter, he  immediately  adds,  “ Whom  we 
preach,  warning  every  man,  and  teach- 
ing every  man  in  all  wisdom,  that  we 
may  present  every  man  perfect  in  Christ 
Jesus.” 

On  the  present  occasion,  which  in- 
vites us  to  consider  the  design  and 
duties  of  the  Christian  ministry,  I have 
thought  that  these  words  would  guide 
us  to  many  appropriate  and  useful  re- 
flections. They  teach  us  what  the  Apos- 
tle preached : “ We  preach  Christ.” 

They  teach  us  the  ehd  or  object  for 
which  he  thus  preached  : “ That  we 
may  present  every  man  perfect  in  Christ 
Jesus.”  Following  this  natural  order, 


PREACHING  CHRIST. 


329 


I shall  first  consider  what  is  intended 
by  “ preaching  Christ.”  I shall  then 
endeavor  to  illustrate  and  recommend 
the  end  or  object  for  which  Christ  is  to 
be  preached ; and  I shall  conclude  with 
some  remarks  on  the  methods  by  which 
this  end  is  to  be  accomplished.  In  dis- 
cussing these  topics,  on  which  a variety 
of  sentiment  is  known  to  exist,  I shall 
necessarily  dissent  from  some  of  the 
views  which  are  cherished  by  particular 
classes  of  Christians.  But  the  frank 
expression  of  opinion  ought  not  to  be 
construed  into  any  want  of  affection  or 
esteem  for  those  from  whom  I differ. 

I.  What  are  we  to  understand  by 
“ preaching  Christ  ” ? This  subject  is 
the  more  interesting  and  important,  be- 
cause I fear  it  has  often  been  misun- 
derstood. Many  persons  imagine  that 
Christ  is  never  preached,  unless  his 
name  is  continually  repeated  and  his 
character  continually  kept  in  view.  This 
is  an  error,  and  should  be  exposed. 
Preaching  Christ,  then,  does  not  con- 
sist in  making  Christ  perpetually  the 
subject  of  discourse,  but  in  inculcating, 
on  his  authority,  the  religion  which  he 
taught.  Jesus  came  to  be  the  light  and 
teacher  of  the  world ; and  in  this  sub- 
lime and  benevolent  character  he  un- 
folded many  truths  relating  to  the 
Universal  Father,  to  his  own  character, 
to  the  condition,  duties,  and  prospects 
of  mankind,  to  the  perfection  and  true 
happiness  of  the  human  soul,  to  a fut- 
ure state  of  retribution,  to  the  terms  of 
forgiveness,  to  the  means  of  virtue,  and 
of  everlasting  life.  Now,  whenever  we 
teach,  on  the  authority  of  Jesus,  any 
doctrine  or  precept  included  in  this 
extensive  system,  we  “ preach  Christ.” 
When,  for  instance,  we  inculcate  on 
his  authority  the  duties  of  forgiving 
enemies,  of  denying  ourselves,  of  hun- 
gering after  righteousness,  we  “ preach 
Christ  ” as  truly  as  when  we  describe 
his  passion  on  the  cross,  or  the  purpose 
and  the  importance  of  his  sufferings. 

By  the  word  “ Christ  ” in  the  text 
and  in  many  other  places,  we  are  to 
understand  his  religion  rather  than  his 
person.  Among  the  Jews  nothing  was 
more  common  than  to  give  the  name  of 
a religious  teacher  to  the  system  of 
truth  which  he  taught.  We  see  this 
continually  exemplified  in  the  New  Tes- 
tament. Thus,  it  is  said  of  the  Jews, 
“ They  have  Moses  and  the  prophets.” 


What  is  meant  by  this  ? that  they  had 
Moses  residing  in  person  among  them  ? 
Certainly  not ; but  that  they  had  his 
law,  his  religion.  Jesus  says,  “ I came 
not  to  destroy  the  prophets.”  What 
did  he  mean  ? that  he  had  not  come  to 
slay  or  destroy  the  prophets  who  had 
died  ages  before  his  birth  ? Certainly 
not ; he  only  intended  that  his  doc- 
trines were  suited  to  confirm,  not  to 
invalidate,  the  writings  of  these  holy 
men.  According  to  the  same  form  of 
speech,  Stephen  was  accused  of  blas- 
phemy against  Moses,  because  some  of 
his  remarks  were  construed  into  a re- 
proach on  the  law  of  Moses.  These 
passages  are  sufficient  to  show  us  that 
a religion  was  often  called  by  the  name 
of  its  teacher ; and  conformably  to  this 
usage,  when  Paul  says,  “ We  preach 
Christ,”  we  ought  to  understand  him  as 
affirming  that  he  preached  the  whole 
system  of  doctrines  and  duties  which 
Christ  taught,  whether  they  related  to 
Jesus  himself,  or  to  any  other  subject. 

But  there  is  one  passage  more  de- 
cisive on  this  point  than  any  which  I 
have  adduced.  In  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles,*  James  says,  “ Moses  of  old 
time  hath  in  every  city  them  that  preach 
him,  being  read  in  the  synagogue  every 
Sabbath-day.”  Here  we  find  the  Apos- 
tle declaring  that  in  every  city  there 
were  men  who  preached  Moses  ; and  we 
are  told  in  what  this  preaching  con- 
sisted : “ Moses  is  read  in  the  syna- 
gogue every  Sabbath-day.”  No  one 
acquainted  with  the  ancient  services  of 
the  synagogue  can  suppose,  for  a mo- 
ment, that  the  character  and  offices  of 
Moses  were  the  themes  of  the  Jewish 
teachers  every  Sabbath,  and  that  they 
preached  nothing  else.  It  was  their 
custom  to  read  the  books  of  the  law 
in  course,  and  to  offer  comments  upon 
obscure  or  important  passages.  In 
many  parts  of  these  books  the  name  of 
Moses  is  not  mentioned.  We  have 
whole  chapters  about  the  tabernacle, 
and  about  the  rites  of  cleansing  from 
the  leprosy.  But,  according  to  James, 
when  these  portions  were  read  and 
explained,  Moses  was  preached ; not 
because  his  character  was  the  subject, 
but  because  the  instructions  contained 
in  these  chapters  were  a part  of  the 
religion  which  he  was  appointed  to 

* Acts  xv.  21. 


330 


PREACHING  CHRIST. 


communicate  to  the  children  of  Israel. 
The  name  of  the  teacher  was  given  to 
his  doctrine.  This  form  of  speech  was 
not  peculiar  to  the  Jews  ; all  nations 
have  probably  adopted  it.  At  the  pres- 
ent day,  nothing  is  more  common  than 
to  hear  that  Locke,  or  Newton,  or  some 
other  distinguished  philosopher,  is  pub- 
lished, or  taught ; not  that  his  personal 
character  and  history  are  made  public, 
but  his  system  of  doctrines.  In  the 
same  way  Christ  is  preached,  published, 
proclaimed  when  his  instructions  are 
delivered,  although  these  instructions 
may  relate  to  other  topics  beside  his 
own  offices  and  character. 

I hope  I shall  not  be  misunderstood 
in  the  remarks  which  I have  now  made. 
Do  not  imagine  that  I would  exclude 
from  the  pulpit  discourses  on  the  excel- 
lence of  Jesus  Christ.  The  truths  which 
relate  to  Jesus  himself  are  among  the 
most  important  which  the  gospel  re- 
veals. The  relations  which  Jesus  Christ 
sustains  to  the  world  are  so  important 
and  so  tender ; the  concern  which  he 
has  expressed  in  human  salvation  so 
strong  and  disinterested  ; the  blessings 
of  pardon  and  immortal  life  which  he 
brings  so  undeserved  and  unbounded; 
his  character  is  such  a union  of  moral 
beauty  and  grandeur  ; his  example  is  at 
once  so  pure  and* so  persuasive;  the 
events  of  his  life,  his  miracles,  his  suffer- 
ings, his  resurrection  and  ascension,  and 
his  offices  of  intercessor  and  judge,  are 
so  strengthening  to  faith,  hope,  and 
charity,  that  his  ministers  should  dwell 
on  his  name  with  affectionate  veneration, 
and  should  delight  to  exhibit  him  to  the 
gratitude,  love,  imitation,  and  confidence 
of  mankind. 

But  whilst  the  Christian  minister  is 
often  to  insist  on  the  life,  the  character, 
the  offices,  and  the  benefits  of  Jesus 
Christ,  let  him  not  imagine  that  he  is 
preaching  Christ  only  when  these  are 
his  themes.  If  he  confine  himself  to 
these  he  will  not,  in  the  full  sense  of  the 
word,  preach  Christ ; for  this  is  to  preach 
the  whole  religion  of  Jesus,  and  this  re- 
ligion is  of  vast  extent.  It  regards  man 
in  his  diversified  and  ever-multiplying 
relations  to  his  Creator  and  to  his  fellow- 
creatures,  to  the  present  state  and  to  all 
future  ages.  Its  aim  is  to  instruct  and 
quicken  us  to  cultivate  an  enlarged 
virtue,  — to  cultivate  our  whole  intel- 
lectual and  moral  nature.  It  collects 


and  offers  motives  to  piety  from  the 
past  and  from  the  future,  from  heaven 
and  hell,  from  nature  and  experience, 
from  human  example,  and  from  the  im- 
itable  excellences  of  God,  from  the  world 
without  and  the  world  within  us.  The 
gospel  of  Christ  is  indeed  an  inexhaust- 
ible treasury  of  moral  and  religious 
truth.  Jesus,  the  first  and  best  of  evan- 
gelical teachers,  did  not  confine  him- 
self to  a few  topics,  but  manifested  him- 
self to  be  the  wisdom  of  God  by  the 
richness  and  variety  of  his  instructions. 
To  preach  Christ  is  to  unfold,  as  far  as 
our  feeble  and  narrow  powers  permit, 
all  the  doctrines,  duties,  and  motives, 
which  are  recorded  in  the  Gospels  and 
in  the  writings  of  his  inspired  Apostles. 

It  is  not  intended  by  these  remarks 
that  all  the  instructions  of  Christ  are  of 
equal  importance,  and  that  all  are  to  be 
urged  with  equal  frequency  and  zeal. 
Some  undoubtedly  are  of  greater  mo- 
ment and  of  more  universal  application 
than  others.  But  a minister  of  a sound 
and  candid  mind  will  be  very  cautious 
lest  he  assign  so  high  a rank  to  a few 
doctrines  that  the  rest  will  sink  into 
comparative  insignificance,  and  almost 
fade  from  the  minds  of  his  hearers.  He 
will  labor  to  give  enlarged  and  harmoni- 
ous views  of  all  the  principles  of  Chris- 
tianity, recollecting  that  each  receives 
support  from  the  rest,  and  that  no  doc- 
trine or  precept  will  exert  its  proper  in- 
fluence if  swelled  into  disproportioned 
importance,  or  detached  from  the  truths 
which  ought  to  modify  and  restrain  it. 

It  has  been  the  object  of  these  re- 
marks to  show  that  preaching  Christ 
does  not  imply  that  the  offices  and  char- 
acter of  Christ  are  to  be  made  perpet- 
ually the  subjects  of  discourse.  Where 
this  idea  prevails,  it  too  often  happens 
that  the  religion  of  Jesus  is  very  par- 
tially preached.  A few  topics  are  re- 
peated without  end.  Many  delightful 
and  ennobling  views  of  Christianity  are 
seldom  or  never  exhibited.  The  duties 
of  the  gospel  receive  but  a cursory  at- 
tention. Religion  is  thought  to  consist 
in  a fervid  state  of  mind,  produced  by 
the  constant  contemplation  of  a few 
affecting  ideas  ; whilst  the  only  accept- 
able religion,  which  consists  in  living 
“ soberly,  righteously,  and  godly  in  the 
world,”  seems  to  be  undervalued  as 
quite  an  inferior  attainment.  Where 
this  mistake  prevails,  we  too  often  dis- 


PREACHING  CHRIST. 


331 


cover  a censorious  spirit  among  hearers, 
who  pronounce  with  confidence  on  this 
and  another  minister,  that  they  do  not 
preach  Christ,  because  their  discourses 
do  not  turn  on  a few  topics  in  relation 
to  the  Saviour  which  are  thought  to 
contain  the  whole  of  Christianity.  Very 
often  the  labors  of  a pious  and  upright 
minister  are  defeated  by  this  prejudice  ; 
nor  must  he  wonder  if  he  find  himself 
decried  as  an  enemy  to  the  faith,  by 
those  whose  want  of  education  or  ca- 
pacity confines  them  to  the  narrowest 
views  of  the  Christian  system.  May  I 
be  permitted,  with  deference  and  re- 
spect, to  beseech  Christian  ministers 
not  to  encourage  by  example  this  spirit 
of  censure  among  private  Christians. 
There  is  no  lesson  which  we  can  teach 
our  hearers  more  easily  than  to  think 
contemptuously  and  to  speak  bitterly  of 
other  classes  of  Christians,  and  espe- 
cially of  their  teachers.  Let  us  never 
forget  that  we  none  of  us  preach  Christ 
in  the  full  import  of  that  phrase.  None 
of  us  can  hope  that  we  give  a complete 
representation  of  the  religion  of  our 
Master,  — that  we  exhibit  every  doc- 
trine without  defect  or  without  excess 
in  its  due  proportions  and  in  its  just 
connections.  We  of  necessity  com- 
municate a portion  of  our  own  weakness 
and  darkness  to  the  religion  which  we 
dispense.  The  degree  of  imperfection 
indeed  differs  in  different  teachers  ; but 
none  are  free  from  the  universal  frailty, 
and  none  are  authorized  to  take  the  seat 
of  judgment,  and  on  the  ground  of  im- 
agined errors  to  deny  to  others,  whose 
lives  are  as  spotless  as  their  own,  a con- 
scientious purpose  to  learn  and  to  teach 
the  whole  counsel  of  God. 

II.  Having  thus  considered  what  is 
intended  by  preaching  Christ,  I proceed 
to  consider,  secondly,  for  what  end 
Christ  is  to  be  preached.  We  preach 
Christ,  says  the  Apostle,  “ warning  every 
man,  and  teaching  every  man,  that  we 
may  present  every  man  perfect  in  Christ 
Jesus  that  is,  perfect  in  the  religion 
of  Christ,  or  a perfect  Christian.  From 
the  passage  we  derive  a most  important 
sentiment,  confirmed  by  the  whole  New 
Testament,  that  the  great  design  of  all 
the  doctrines  and  precepts  of  the  gospel 
is  to  exalt  the  character,  to  promote 
eminent  purity  of  heart  and  life,  to  make 
men  perfect  as  their  Father  in  heaven  is 
perfect.  For  what  end,  then,  is  Chris- 


tianity to  be  preached  ? The  answer  is 
plain.  We  must  preach,  not  to  make 
fiery  partisans,  and  to  swell  the  number 
of  a sect ; not  to  overwhelm  the  mind 
with  fear,  or  to  heat  it  with  feverish  rapt- 
ure ; not  to  form  men  to  the  decencies 
of  life,  to  a superficial  goodness,  which 
will  secure  the  admiration  of  mankind. 
All  these  effects  fall  infinitely  short  of 
the  great  end  of  the  Christian  ministry. 
We  should  preach  that  we  may  make  men 
perfect  Christians  ; perfect,  not  accord- 
ing to  the  standard  of  the  world,  but  ac- 
cording to  the  law  of  Christ ; perfect  in 
heart  and  in  life,  in  solitude  and  in  so- 
ciety, in  the  great  and  in  the  common 
concerns  of  life.  Here  is  the  purpose 
of  Christian  preaching.  In  this,  as  in  a 
common  centre,  all  the  truths  of  the 
gospel  meet ; to  this  they  all  conspire  ; 
and  no  doctrine  has  an  influence  on 
salvation  any  farther  than  it  is  an  aid 
and  excitement  to  the  perfecting  of  our 
nature. 

The  Christian  minister  needs  often  to 
be  reminded  of  this  great  end  of  his 
office,  — the  perfection  of  the  human 
character.  He  is  too  apt  to  rest  in  low 
attainments  himself,  and  to  be  satisfied 
with  low  attainments  in  others.  He  ought 
never  to  forget  the  great  distinction  and 
glory  of  the  gospel,  — that  it  is  designed 
to  perfect  human  nature.  All  the  pre- 
cepts of  this  divine  system  are  marked 
by  a sublime  character.  It  demands  that 
our  piety  be  fervent,  our  benevolence 
unbounded,  and  our  thirst  for  righteous- 
ness strong  and  insatiable.  It  enjoins 
a virtue  which  does  not  stop  at  what  is 
positively  prescribed,  but  which  is  prod- 
igal of  service  to  God  and  to  mankind. 
The  gospel  enjoins  inflexible  integrity, 
fearless  sincerity,  fortitude  which  de- 
spises pain  and  tramples  pleasure  under 
foot  in  the  pursuit  of  duty,  and  an  inde- 
pendence of  spirit  which  no  scorn  can 
deter  and  no  example  seduce  from  as- 
serting truth  and  adhering  to  the  cause 
which  conscience  approves.  With  this 
spirit  of  martyrs,  this  hardness  and 
intrepidity  of  soldiers  of  the  cross,  the 
gospel  calls  us  to  unite  the  mildest  and 
meekest  virtues ; a sympathy  which 
melts  over  others’  woes  ; a disinterest- 
edness which  finds  pleasure  in  toils,  and 
labors  for  others’  good ; a humility  which 
loves  to  bless  unseen,  and  forgets  itself 
in  the  performance  of  the  noblest  deeds. 
To  this  perfection  of  social  duty  the 


332 


PREACHING  CHRIST \ 


gospel  commands  us  to  join  a piety  which 
refers  every  event  to  the  providence  of 
God,  and  every  action  to  his  will ; a 
love  which  counts  no  service  hard,  and 
a penitence  which  esteems  no  judgment 
severe  ; a gratitude  which  offers  praise 
even  in  adversity ; a holy  trust  unbro- 
ken by  protracted  suffering,  and  a hope 
triumphant  over  death.  In  one  word, 
it  enjoins  that,  loving  and  confiding  in 
Jesus  Christ,  we  make  his  spotless  char- 
acter, his  heavenly  life,  the  model  of 
our  own.  Such  is  the  sublimity  of  char- 
acter which  the  gospel  demands,  and 
such  the  end  to  which  our  preaching 
should  ever  be  directed. 

I have  dwelt  on  this  end  of  preaching 
because  it  is  too  often  forgotten,  and 
because  a stronger  conviction  of  it  will 
give  new  force  and  elevation  to  our  in- 
structions. We  need  to  feel  more  deeply 
that  we  are  intrusted  with  a religion 
which  is  designed  to  ennoble  human 
nature ; which  recognizes  in  man  the 
capacities  of  all  that  is  good,  great,  and 
excellent ; and  which  offers  every  en- 
couragement and  aid  to  the  pursuit  of 
perfection.  The  Christian  minister 
should  often  recollect  that  man,  though 
propense  to  evil,  has  yet  powers  and 
faculties  which  may  be  exalted  and 
refined  to  angelic  glory ; that  he  is 
called  by  the  gospel  to  prepare  for  the 
community  of  angels  ; that  he  is  formed 
for  unlimited  progress  in  intellectual 
and  moral  excellence  and  felicity.  He 
should  often  recollect  that  in  Jesus  Christ 
our  nature  has  been  intimately  united 
with  the  divine,  and  that  in  Jesus  it  is 
already  enthroned  in  heaven.  Famil- 
iarized to  these  generous  conceptions, 
the  Christian  preacher,  whilst  he  faith- 
fully unfolds  to  men  their  guilt  and 
danger,  should  also  unfold  their  capac- 
ities of  greatness ; should  reveal  the 
splendor  of  that  destiny  to  which  they 
are  called  by  Christ ; should  labor  to 
awaken  within  them  aspirations  after  a 
nobler  character  and  a higher  existence, 
and  to  inflame  them  with  the  love  of  all 
the  graces  and  virtues  with  which  Jesus 
came  to  enrich  and  adorn  the  human 
soul.  In  this  way  he  will  prove  that  he 
understands  the  true  and  great  design 
of  the  gospel  and  the  ministry,  which  is 
nothing  less  than  The  perfection  of  the 
human  character. 

May  I be  permitted  to  sav,  that  per- 
haps one  of  the  greatest  defects  in  our 


preaching  is,  that  it  is  not  sufficiently 
directed  to  ennoble  and  elevate  the  minds 
of  men.  It  does  not  breathe  a suffi- 
ciently generous  spirit.  It  appeals  too 
constantly  to  the  lowest  principle  of 
human  nature,  — I mean  the  principle 
of  fear,  which,  under  judicious  excite- 
ment, is  indeed  of  great  and  undoubted 
use,  but  which,  as  every  parent  knows, 
when  habitually  awakened,  is  always 
found  to  debase  the  mind,  to  break  the 
spirit,  to  give  tameness  to  the  charac- 
ter, and  to  chill  the  best  affections. 
Perhaps  one  cause  of  the  limited  influ- 
ence of  Christianity  is  that,  as  it  is  too 
often  exhibited,  it  seems  adapted  to 
form  an  abject,  servile  character,  rather 
than  to  raise  its  disciples  to  true  great- 
ness and  dignity.  Perhaps,  were  Chris- 
tianity more  habitually  regarded  as  a 
system,  whose  great  design  it  is  to  in- 
fuse honorable  sentiments,  magnanimity, 
energy,  an  ingenuous  love  of  God,  a su- 
periority to  the  senses,  a spirit  of  self- 
sacrifice,  a virtue  akin  to  that  of  heaven, 
its  reception  would  be  more  cordial,  and 
its  influence  more  extensive,  more  happy, 
more  accordant  with  its  great  end,  the 
perfection  of  human  nature. 

III.  Having  thus  considered  the  end  of 
Christian  preaching,  I now  come  to  offer, 
in  the  third  place,  a few  remarks  on  the 
best  method  of  accomplishing  it ; and 
here  I find  myself  obliged  to  omit  a 
great  variety  of  topics,  and  can  only  offer 
one  or  two  of  principal  importance.  That 
the  gospel  may  attain  its  end,  may  exert 
the  most  powerful  and  ennobling  influ- 
ence on  the  human  character,  it  must  be 
addressed  at  once  to  the  understanding 
and  to  the  heart.  It  must  be  so  preached 
as  to  be  firmly  believed  and  deeply  felt. 
To  secure  to  Christianity  this  firm  be- 
lief, I have  only  time  to  observe  that  it 
should  be  preached  in  a rational  man- 
ner. By  this  I mean  that  a Christian 
minister  should  beware  of  offering  inter- 
pretations of  Scripture  which  are  repug- 
nant to  any  clear  discoveries  of  reason 
or  dictates  of  conscience.  This  admo- 
nition is  founded  upon  the  very  obvious 
principle,  that  a revelation  from  God 
must  be  adapted  to  the  rational  and 
moral  nature  which  He  has  conferred 
on  man  ; that  God  can  never  contradict 
in  his  word  what  He  has  himself  writ- 
ten on  the  human  heart,  or  teaches  in 
his  works  and  providence.  Every  man 
who  reads  the  Bible  knows  that,  like 


PREACHING  CHRIST \ 


333 


other  books,  it  has  many  passages  which 
admit  a variety  of  interpretations.  Hu- 
man language  does  not  admit  entire  pre- 
cision. It  has  often  been  observed  by 
philosophers,  that  the  most  familiar  sen- 
tences owe  their  perspicuity,  not  so  much 
to  the  definiteness  of  the  language  as  to 
an  almost  incredible  activity  of  the  mind, 
which  selects  from  a variety  of  mean- 
ings that  which  each  word  demands, 
and  assigns  such  limits  to  every  phrase 
as  the  intention  of  the  speaker,  his  char- 
acter and  situation,  require.  In  addition 
to  this  source  of  obscurity,  to  which  all 
writings  are  exposed,  we  must  remem- 
ber that  the  Scriptures  were  written  in  a 
distant  age,  in  a foreign  language,  by 
men  who  were  unaccustomed  to  the  sys- 
tematic arrangements  of  modern  times, 
and  who,  although  inspired,  were  left  to 
communicate  their  thoughts  in  the  style 
most  natural  or  habitual.  Can  we  won- 
der, then,  that  they  admit  a variety  of 
interpretations?  Now,  we  owe  it  to  a 
book,  which  records,  as  we  believe,  rev- 
elations from  heaven,  and  which  is  plain- 
ly designed  for  the  moral  improvement 
of  the  race,  to  favor  those  explications 
of  obscure  passages  which  are  s£en  to 
harmonize  with  the  moral  attributes  of 
God,  and  with  the  acknowledged  teach- 
ings of  nature  and  conscience.  All  those 
interpretations  of  the  gospel  which  strike 
the  mind  at  once  as  inconsistent  with  a 
righteous  government  of  the  universe, 
which  require  of  man  what  is  dispropor- 
tioned  to  his  nature,  or  which  shock  any 
clear  conviction  which  our  experience 
has  furnished,  cannot  be  viewed  with 
too  jealous  an  eye  by  him  who,  revering 
Christianity,  desires  to  secure  to  it  an 
intelligent  belief. 

It  is  in  vain  to  say  that  the  first  and 
most  obvious  meaning  of  Scripture  is 
always  to  be  followed,  no  matter  where 
it  leads.  I answer,  that  the  first  and 
most  obvious  meaning  of  a passage, 
written  in  a foreign  language  and  in  re- 
mote antiquity,  is  very  often  false,  and 
such  as  farther  inquiry  compels  us  to 
abandon.  I answer,  too,  that  all  sects 
of  Christians  agree,  and  are  forced  to 
agree,  in  frequently  forsaking  the  literal 
sense,  on  account  of  its  incongruity 
with  acknowledged  truth.  There  is,  in 
fact,  no  book  in  the  world  which  requires 
us  more  frequently  to  restrain  unlimited 
expressions,  to  qualify  the  letter  by  the 
spirit,  and  to  seek  the  meaning  in  the 


state  and  customs  of  the  writer  and  of 
his  age,  than  the  New  Testament.  No 
book  is  written  in  a more  popular,  fig- 
urative, and  animated  style,  — the  very 
style  which  requires  the  most  constant 
exercise  of  judgment  in  the  reader. 
The  Scriptures  are  not  a frigid  digest 
of  Christianity,  as  if  this  religion  were 
a mere  code  of  civil  laws.  They  give 
us  the  gospel  warm  from  the  hearts  of 
its  preachers.  The  language  is  not  that’ 
of  logicians,  not  the  language  of  retired 
and  inanimate  speculation,  but  of  affec- 
tion, of  zeal,  of  men  who  burned  to 
convey  deep  and  vivid  impressions  of 
the  truth.  In  understanding  such  writ- 
ers, moral  feeling  is  often  a better  guide 
than  a servile  adherence  to  the  literal 
and  most  obvious  meaning  of  every 
word  and  phrase.  It  may  be  said  of  the 
New  as  well  as  the  Old  Testament,  that 
sometimes  the  letter  killeth  whilst  the 
spirit  giveth  life.  Almost  any  system 
may  be  built  on  the  New  Testament 
by  a commentator  who,  forgetting  the 
general  scope  of  Christianity  and  the 
lessons  of  nature  and  experience,  shall 
impose  on  every  passage  the  literal  sig- 
nification which  is  first  offered  to  the 
mind.  The  Christian  minister  should 
avail  himself,  in  his  exposition  of  the 
Divine  Word,  of  the  aids  of  learning 
and  criticism,  and  also  of  the  aids  of 
reason  and  conscience.  Those  inter- 
pretations of  difficult  passages  which 
approve  themselves  to  his  clear  and  es- 
tablished -conceptions  of  rectitude,  and 
to  his  devout  and  benevolent  affections, 
he  should  regard  with  a favorable  eye  ; 
whilst  those  of  an  opposite  character 
should  be  regarded  with  great  distrust. 

I have  said  that  this  rational  method 
of  preaching  Christianity  is  important, 
if  we  would  secure  a firm  belief  to 
Christianity.  Some  men  may  indeed  be 
reconciled  to  an  unreasonable  religion  ; 
and  terror,  that  passion  which  more  than 
any  other  unsettles  the  intellect,  may 
silence  every  objection  to  the  most  con- 
tradictory and  degrading  principles.  But 
in  general  the  understanding  and  con- 
science cannot  be  entirely  subdued.  They 
resist  the  violence  which  is  done  them. 
A lurking  incredulity  mingles  with  the 
attempt  to  believe  what  contradicts  the 
highest  principles  of  our  nature.  Par- 
ticularly the  most  intelligent  part  of  the 
community,  who  will  ultimately  govern 
public  sentiment,  will  doubt  and  dis- 


334 


PREACHING  CHRIST. 


believe  the  unreasonable  system  which, 
perhaps,  they  find  it  prudent  to  acknowl- 
edge ; and  will  either  convert  it  into  an 
instrument  of  policy,  or  seize  a favor- 
able moment  for  casting  off  its  restraints 
and  levelling  its  institutions  with  the 
dust.  Thus  important  is  it  that  Christi- 
anity should  be  recommended  to  the  un- 
derstandings of  men. 

But  this  is  not  enough.  It  is  also 
most  important  that  the  gospel  should 
be  recommended  to  the  heart.  Christi- 
anity should  be  so  preached  as  to  inter- 
est the  affections,  to  awaken  contrition 
and  fear,  veneration  and  love,  gratitude 
and  hope.  Some  preachers,  from  ob- 
serving the  pernicious  effects  of  violent 
and  exclusive  appeals  to  the  passions, 
have  fallen  into  an  opposite  error,  which 
has  rendered  the  labors  of  their  lives 
almost  wholly  unfruitful.  They  have 
addressed  men  as  mere  creatures  of 
intellect ; they  have  forgotten  that  affec- 
tion is  as  essential  to  our  nature  as 
thought,  that  action  requires  motive, 
that  the  union  of  reason  and  sensibility 
is  the  health  of  the  soul,  and  that  with- 
out moral  feeling  there  can  be  no 
strength  of  moral  purpose.  They  have 
preached  ingeniously,  and  the  hearer 
has  pronounced  the  preaching  true. 
But  the  truth,  coldly  imparted  and 
coldly  received,  has  been  forgotten  as 
fast  as  heard  ; no  energy  of  will  has 
been  awakened  ; no  resistance  to  habit 
and  passion  been  called  forth  ; perhaps 
not  a momentary  purpose  df  self-im- 
provement has  glanced  through  the 
mind.  Preaching,  to  be  effectual,  must 
be  as  various  as  our  nature.  The  sun 
warms  at  the  same  moment  that  it  en- 
lightens ; and  unless  religious  truth  be 
addressed  at  once  to  the  reason  and  the 
affections,  unless  it  kindles  whilst  it 
guides,  it  is  a useless  splendor ; it 
leaves  the  heart  barren  : it  produces  no 
fruits  of  godliness.  Let  the  Christian 
minister,  then,  preach  the  gospel  with 
earnestness,  with  affection,  with  a heart 
warmed  by  his  subject,  not  thinking  of 
himself,  not  seeking  applause,  but  so- 
licitous for  the  happiness  of  mankind, 
tenderly  concerned  for  his  people,  awake 
to  the  solemnities  of  eternity,  and  deeply 
impressed  with  the  worth  of  the  human 
soul,  with  the  glory  and  happiness  to 
which  it  may  be  exalted,  and  with  the 
misery  and  ruin  into  which  it  will  be 
plunged  by  irreligion  and  vice.  Let  him 


preach,  not  to  amuse  but  to  convince 
and  awaken  ; not  to  excite  a momentary 
interest  but  a deep  and  lasting  serious- 
ness ; not  to  make  his  hearers  think  of 
the  preacher  but  of  themselves,  of  their 
own  characters  and  future  condition. 
Let  him  labor,  by  delineating  with  un- 
affected ardor  the  happiness  of  virtue, 
by  setting  forth  religion  in  its  most 
attractive  forms,  by  displaying  the  pa- 
ternal character  of  God,  and  the  love~  of 
Christ  which  was  stronger  than  death, 
by  unfolding  the  purity  and  blessedness 
of  the  heavenly  world,  by  revealing  to 
the  soul  its  own  greatness,  and  by  per- 
suasion, by  entreaty,  by  appeals  to  the 
best  sentiments  of  human  nature,  by 
speaking  from  a heart  convinced  of  im- 
mortality, — let  him  labor,  by  these 
methods,  to  touch  and  to  soften  his 
hearers,  to  draw  them  to  God  and  duty, 
to  awaken  gratitude  and  love,  a sublime 
hope  and  a generous  desire  of  exalted 
goodness.  And  let  him  also  labor,  by 
solemn  warning,  by  teaching  men  their 
responsibility,  by  setting  before  sinners 
the  aggravations  of  their  guilt,  by  show- 
ing them  the  ruin  and  immediate  wretch- 
edness wrought  by  moral  evil  in  the  soul, 
and  by  pointing  them  to  approaching 
death,  and  the  retributions  of  the  future 
world,  — let  him  labor,  by  these  means, 
to  reach  the  consciences  of  those  whom 
higher  motives  will  not  quicken,  to  break 
the  slumbers  of  the  worldly,  to  cut  off 
every  false  hope,  and  to  persuade  the 
sinner,  by  a salutary  terror,  to  return  to 
God,  and  to  seek,  with  a new  earnest- 
ness, virtue,  glory,  and  eternal  life. 


Note  on  the  First  Head  of  the 
Preceding  Discourse.  — The  error 
which  I have  opposed  on  the  subject  of 
“ preaching  Christ,”  may  be  traced  in  a 
great  measure  to  what  appears  to  me  a 
wrong  interpretation  of  the  two  first 
chapters  of  the  First  Epistle  to  the  Co- 
rinthians. In  these  chapters  Paul  says 
that  he  “determined  to  know  nothing 
among  the  Corinthians,  save  Jesus  Christ 
and  him  crucified,”  and  speaks  once  and 
again  of  “preaching  Christ  crucified,” 
&c.  It  has  been  supposed  that  the 
Apostle  here  intended  to  select  the  par- 
ticular point  on  which  preaching  should 
chiefly  turn,  and  that  we  have  his  au- 
thority for  censuring  a discourse  which 
does  not  relate  immediately  to  the  char- 
acter of  Christ,  and  especially  to  his 


PREACHING  CHRIST \ 


335 


sufferings  on  the  cross.  But  I think 
that  a little  attention  to  the  circum- 
stances of  the  Apostle  and  of  the  Corin- 
thians will  show  us  that  Paul  referred  to 
the  religion  of  Jesus  generally  as  the 
subject  of  his  preaching,  and  not  to  a 
very  limited  part  of  it. 

Corinth,  being  the  most  commercial 
city  of  Greece,  was  inhabited  by  Jews 
as  well  as  Greeks.  These  Jews,  as 
Paul  tells  us,  “ wanted  a sign,”  just  as 
the  Pharisees  in  the  time  of  Christ  de- 
manded “a  sign  from  heaven.”  That  is, 
they  wanted  a Messiah  who  should  be 
marked  out  to  them  by  a visible  descent 
from  heaven,  or  by  some  glorious  appear- 
ance from  heaven,  or  by  some  outward 
majesty  which  should  be  a pledge  of  his 
breaking  the  Roman  yoke,  and  raising 
Judea  to  the  empire  of  the  world.  They 
wanted  a splendid  and  temporal  Mes- 
siah. The  Greeks,  on  the  other  hand, 
who  were  a speculative  people,  wanted 
wisdom , or  a system  of  philosophy,  and 
could  hear  nothing  patiently  but  the 
subtile  disputations  and  studied  ha- 
rangues with  which  they  were  amused 
by  those  who  pretended  to  wisdom.  Such 
was  the  state  of  Corinth  when  Paul  en- 
tered it.  Had  he  brought  with  him  an 
account  of  a triumphant  Messiah,  or  an 
acute  philosopher,  he  would  have  been 
received  with  eagerness.  But  none  were 
desirous  to  hear  the  simple  religion  of 
Jesus  of  Nazareth,  who  proved  his  mis- 
sion, not  by  subtilties  of  eloquence,  but 
by  miracles  evincing  the  power  of  God, 
and  who  died  at  last  on  the  ignominious 
cross.  Paul,  however,  in  opposition  to 
Jew  and  Greek,  determined  to  know 
nothing  of  a worldly  Messiah,  nothing 
of  any  old  or  new  scheme  of  philosophy  ; 
but  to  know  aid  to  preach  Jesus  Christ, 
and  to  exhibit  him  in  a light  which  Juda- 
ism and  philosophy  would  alike  abhor,  as 
crucified  for  the  recovery  of  men  from 
error,  sin,  and  condemnation.  In  other 
words,  he  resolved  to  preach  the  relig- 
ion of  Jesus  in  its  greatest  simplicity, 
without  softening  its  most  offensive  feat- 
ure, the  cross  of  its  author,  or  without 
borrowing  any  thing  from  Moses  or  from 
any  Gentile  philosopher  to  give  currency 
to  his  doctrines.  This  is  the  amount  of 
what  Paul  teaches  in  these  chapters. 

We  must  not  imagine,  when  we  read 
these  chapters,  that  Corinth  was  a city 
of  professing  Christians ; that  among 
these  Christians  a difference  of  opinion 


had  arisen  as  to  the  proper  subjects  of 
Christian  preaching,  and  that  Paul  in- 
tended to  specify  the  topic  on  which 
ministers  should  chiefly  or  exclusively 
insist.  This,  I fear,  is  the  common  im- 
pression under  which  this  portion  of 
Scripture  is  read  ; but  this  is  altogether 
erroneous.  No  controversy  of  this  kind 
existed ; and  Paul,  in  these  chapters, 
had  not  the  most  distant  idea  of  recom- 
mending one  part  of  the  gospel  in  pref- 
erence to  others,  but  intended  to  recom- 
mend the  whole  gospel . the  whole  religion 
of  Jesus  Christ,  in  distinction  from  Juda- 
ism and  Gentile  philosophy.  The  dan- 
gers of  the  Corinthian  Christians  required 
that  he  should  employ  every  effort  to 
secure  their  fidelity  to  the  simple  gospel 
of  Jesus.  Having  been  educated  in  the 
Jewish  or  Heathen  religions  ; living  in 
the  midst  of  Jews  and  Heathens  ; hear- 
ing perpetually,  from  one  class,  that  the 
Messiah  was  to  be  a triumphant  prince, 
and  that  without  submission  to  the  law 
of  Moses  no  one  could  partake  his  bless- 
ings ; and  hearing,  from  the  other, 
perpetual  praises  of  this  and  another 
philosopher,  and  perpetual  derision  of 
the  gospel,  because  in  its  docrines  and 
style  it  bore  no  resemblance  to  the  re- 
finements and  rhetoric  of  their  most 
celebrated  sages  ; the  Corinthian  Chris- 
tians, in  these  trying  circumstances,  were 
strongly  tempted  to  assimilate  the  gospel 
to  the  prevalent  religions,  to  blend  with 
it  foreign  doctrines,  to  keep  the  humil- 
iation of  its  author  out  of  sight,  and  to 
teach  it  as  a system  of  philosophy  rest- 
ing on  subtile  reasoning  rather  than  on 
miracles  and  the  authority  of  God.  To 
save  them  from  this  danger,  — a danger 
which  at  present  we  can  hardly  estimate, 
— the  Apostle  reminded  them  that  when 
he  came  to  them  he  came  not  with  “ ex- 
cellency of  speech  and  with  enticing 
words  of  man’s  wisdom,”  but  in  demon- 
stration of  the  Spirit  and  of  miraculous 
powers  ; that  he  did  not  comply  with  the 
demands  of  Greek  or  Jew ; that  he 
preached  a crucified  Messiah,  and  no 
other  teacher  or  deliverer ; and  that  he 
always  insisted  that  the  religion  of  Jesus, 
unaided  by  Judaism  or  philosophy,  was 
able  to  make  men  wise  to  salvation.  He 
also  reminded  them  that  this  preaching, 
however  branded  as  foolishness,  had 
proved  divinely  powerful,  and  had  saved 
them  from  that  ignorance  of  God  from 
which  human  wisdom  had  been  unable 


SELF-DENIAL. 


336 

to  deliver  them.  These  remarks,  I hope, 
will  assist  common  readers  in  under- 
standing the  chapters  under  considera- 
tion. 

We  are  too  apt,  in  reading  the  New 
Testament,  and  particularly  the  Epistles, 
to  forget  that  the  gospel  was  a new  re- 
ligion, and  that  the  Apostles  were  called 
to  preach  Jesus  to  those  who,  perhaps, 
had  never  before  heard  his  name,  and 
whose  prejudices  and  passions  prepared 
them  to  contemn  and  reject  his  claims. 
In  these  circumstances  they  had  to  be- 
gin at  the  very  foundation,  to  prove  to 
the  unbelieving  world  that  Jesus  was 
the  Messiah,  or  sent  from  God  to  in- 
struct and  save  mankind.  This  is  often 
called  “ preaching  Christ,”  especially  in 
the  Acts.  When  converts  were  made, 
the  work  of  the  Apostles  was  not  ended. 
These  converts  wished  to  bring  with 
them  a part  of  their  old  religion  into  the 
church  ; and  some  of  the  Jews  even  in- 
sisted that  obedience  to  Moses  was  es- 
sential to  salvation.  These  errors  the 
Apostles  resolutely  opposed,  and,  having 
previously  established  the  Messiahship 
of  Jesus,  they  next  proceeded  to  estab- 
lish the  sufficiency  and  perfection  of  his 
religion,  to  show  that  faith  in  him,  or 
reception  of  his  gospel,  was  all  that  was 


required  to  salvation.  This  is  some- 
times called  “ preaching  Christ.”  These 
difficulties,  which  called  the  Apostles  to 
so  much  anxiety  and  toil,  are  now  in  a 
great  measure  removed.  Christian  min- 
isters, at  the  present  day,  are  not  often 
called  to  preach  Christ  in  opposition  to 
the  infidel,  and  never  in  opposition  to 
the  weak  convert  who  would  incor- 
porate Judaism  or  Gentile  philosophy 
with  Christianity.  The  great  foundation 
on  which  the  Apostles  spent  so  much 
strength  is  now  firmly  laid.  Our  hear- 
ers generally  acknowledge  Jesus  to  be 
the  Messiah,  sent  by  God  to  be  the  light 
of  the  world,  and  “ able  to  save  to  the 
uttermost  all  who  come  to  God  by  him.” 
We  are  therefore  seldom  called  to  preach 
Christ  in  the  senses  which  have  just 
been  considered,  and  our  preaching  must 
of  course  differ  in  a measure  from  that 
of  the  Apostles.  But  there  is  another 
sense  of  preaching  Christ,  involved  in 
both  the  preceding,  in  which  our  work 
precisely  accords  with  theirs.  Like 
them,  we  are  to  unfold  to  those  who  ac- 
knowledge Jesus  as  their  Lord  all  the 
truths,  motives,  and  precepts  which  he 
has  left  to  guide  and  quicken  men  to 
excellence,  and  to  prepare  them  for  a 
happy  immortality. 


SELF-DENIAL. 


FIRST  DISCOURSE. 

Matthew  xvi.  24 : “ Then  said  Jesus  unto  his  dis- 
ciples, If  any  man  will  come  after  me,  let  him  deny 
himself,  and  take  up  his  cross,  and  follow  me.” 

This  passage  is  an  example  of  our 
Saviours  mode  of  teaching.  He  has 
given  us  his  truth  in  the  costume  of  the 
age  ; and  this  style  is  so  common  in  the 
New  Testament  that  an  acquaintance 
with  the  usages  of  those  times  is  neces- 
sary to  the  understanding  of  a large  part 
of  his  instructions.  The  cross  was  then 
a mode  of  punishment  reserved  for  the 
greatest  criminals,  and  was  intended  to 
inflict  the  deepest  • disgrace  as  well  as 
sorest  pain.  aTo  take  up  the  cross” 
had  therefore  become  a proverbial  ex- 
pression of  the  most  dreaded  suffering 


and  shame.  By  this  phrase  in  the  text 
Jesus  intended  to  teach  that  no  man 
could  become  his  disciple  without  such 
a deep  conviction  of  the  truth  and  excel- 
lence of  his  religion  as  would  fortify  the 
mind  against  persecution,  reproach,  and 
death.  The  command  “ to  deny  our- 
selves” is  more  literal,  but  is  an  instance 
of  what  is  very  common  in  our  Saviour’s 
teaching,  — I mean,  of  the  use  of  un- 
limited expressions,  which  require  to  be 
restrained  by  the  good  sense  of  the 
hearer,  and  which,  if  taken  without  con- 
siderable modification,  may  lead  into 
pernicious  error.  We  know  that  this 
precept,  for  want  of  a wise  caution,  has 
driven  men  to  self-inflicted  penance  and 
to  the  austerities  of  the  cloister  and 
wilderness  ; and  it  is  one  among  many 


SELF-DENI4L. 


337 


proofs  of  the  necessity  of  a calm  and 
sober  judgment  to  a beneficial  use  of 
Christianity. 

In  this  discourse  I shall  offer  remarks 
on  the  limits  or  just  extent  of  Christian 
self-denial,  and  on  the  design  of  Provi- 
dence in  so  constituting  us  as  to  make 
self-denial  necessary  ; and  in  discussing 
these  topics  I shall  set  before  you  its 
obligation,  necessity,  and  excellence. 

We  are  to  deny  ourselves  ; but  how 
far  ? to  what  extent  ? This  is  our  first 
inquiry.  Are  we  to  deny  ourselves 
wholly?  To  deny  ourselves  in  every 
power,  faculty,  and  affection  of  our  nat- 
ure ? Has  the  duty  no  bounds  ? For 
example,  are  we  to  deny  the  highest 
part  of  our  nature,  — I mean  con- 
science, or  the  moral  faculty  ? Are  we 
to  oppose  our  sense  of  right  or  desire 
of  virtue  ? Every  Christian  says,  No. 
Conscience  is  sacred ; and  revelation 
is  intended  to  quicken,  not  resist  it. 

Again,  are  we  to  deny  reason,  the  in- 
tellectual faculty  by  which  we  weigh 
evidence,  trace  out  causes  and  effects, 
ascend  to  universal  truths,  and  seek  to 
establish  harmony  among  all  our  views  ? 
The  answer  to  this  question  seems  as 
plain  as  to  the  former.  Yet  many  good 
men  have  seemed  to  dread  reason,  have 
imagined  an  inconsistency  between  faith 
and  a free  use  of  our  intellectual  powers, 
and  have  insisted  that  it  is  a religious 
duty  “ to  prostrate  our  understandings.” 
To  some  this  may  even  seem  a principal 
branch  of  Christian  self-denial.  The 
error,  I think,  is  a great  one  ; and  be- 
lieving that  the  honor,  progress,  and 
beneficial  influence  of  Christianity  are 
involved  in  its  removal,  I wish  to  give  it 
a brief  consideration. 

I am  told  that  I must  deny  reason. 
I ask,  Must  I deny  it  when  it  teaches 
me  that  there  is  a God  ? If  so,  the 
very  foundation  of  religion  is  destroyed, 
and  I am  abandoned  to  utter  unbelief. 
Again,  must  I deny  reason  when  it  for- 
bids the  literal  interpretation  of  the 
text,  which  commands  us  to  hate  father 
and  mother  and  our  own  lives  ? If  so, 

I must  rupture  the  most  sacred  ties  of 
domestic  life,  and  must  add  to  social 
vices  the  crime  of  self-murder.  Surely 
reason,  in  its  teachings  on  these  great 
subjects,  is  not  to  be  denied,  but  re- 
vered and  obeyed  ; and  if  revered  here, 
where  ought  it  to  be  contemned  and 
renounced  ? 


I am  told  that  we  have  a better  guide 
than  reason,  even  God’s  word,  and  that 
this  is  to  be  followed  and  the  other 
denied.  But  I ask,  How  do  I know 
that  Christianity  is  God’s  word  ? Are 
not  the  evidences  of  this  religion  sub- 
mitted to  reason  ? and  if  this  faculty  be 
unworthy  of  trust,  is  not  revelation 
necessarily  involved  in  the  same  con- 
demnation ? The  truth  is,  and  it  ought 
not  to  be  disguised,  that  our  ultimate 
reliance  is,  and  must  be,  on  our  own 
reason.  Faith  in  this  power  lies  at  the 
foundation  of  all  other  faith.  No  trust 
can  be  placed  in  God,  if  we  discredit 
the  faculty  by  which  God  is  discerned. 
I have  another  objection  to  the  doctrine 
that  we  must  deny  reason  in  order  to 
follow  revelation.  Reason  is  the  very 
faculty  to  which  revelation  is  addressed, 
and  by  which  alone  it  can  be  explained. 
Without  it  we  should  be  incapable  of 
divine  teaching,  just  as  without  the  eye 
we  should  lose  the  happiest  influences 
of  the  sun  ; and  they  who  would  dis- 
courage the  use  of  reason,  that  we  may 
better  receive  revelation,  are  much  like 
those  who  should  bind  up  or  pluck  out 
the  eye  that  we  might  enjoy  to  the  full 
the  splendor  of  day. 

Perhaps  I shall  be  pointed  to  the 
many  and  gross  errors  into  which  reason 
has  fallen  on  almost  every  subject,  and 
shall  be  told  that  here  are  motives  for 
distrusting  and  denying  it.  I reply, 
first,  by  asking  how  we  detect  these 
errors  ? By  what  power  do  we  learn 
that  reason  so  often  misguides  us  ? Is 
it  not  by  reason  itself  ? and  shall  we 
renounce  it  on  account  of  its  capacity 
of  rectifying  its  own  wrong  judgments  ? 
Consider  next,  that  on  no  subject  has 
reason  gone  more  astray  than  in  the 
interpretation  of  the  Scriptures  ; so 
that  if  it  is  to  be  denied  on  account  of 
its  errors,  we  must  especially  debar  it 
from  the  study  of  revelation  ; in  other 
words,  we  must  shut  the  word  of  God 
in  despair,  — a consequence  which,  to 
a Protestant,  is  a sufficient  refutation  of 
the  doctrine  from  which  it  flows. 

A common  method  of  enforcing  the 
denial  of  reason  is  to  contrast  it  with 
the  infinite  intelligence  of  God,  and 
then  to  ask  whether  it  can  be  pros- 
trated too  submissively,  or  renounced' 
too  humbly,  before  him.  I acknowledge 
reverently  the  immeasurable  superiority 
of  God  to  human  reason ; but  I do  not 


22 


SELF-DENIAL. 


338 

therefore  contemn  or  renounce  it  ; for, 
in  the  first  place,  it  is  as  true  of  the 
“ rapt  seraph  ” as  of  man,  that  his  in- 
telligence is  most  narrow,  compared 
with  the  divine.  Is  no  honor  therefore 
due  to  angelic  wisdom  ? In  the  next 
place,  I observe  that  human  reason, 
imperfect  though  it  be,  is  still  the  off- 
spring of  God,  allied  to  him  intimately, 
and  worthy  of  its  divine  Parent.  There 
is  no  extravagance  in  calling  it,  as  is 
sometimes  done,  “ a beam  of  the  infinite 
light ; ” for  it  involves  in  its  very  es- 
sence those  immutable  and  everlasting 
principles  of  truth  and  rectitude  which 
constitute  the  glory  of  the  Divine  Mind. 
It  ascends  to  the  sublime  idea  of  God 
by  possessing  kindred  attributes,  and 
knows  him  only  through  its  affinity  with 
him.  It  carries  within  itself  the  germ 
of  that  spiritual  perfection  which  is  the 
great  end  of  the  creation.  Is  it  not, 
then,  truly  a “ partaker  of  a divine 
nature  ” ? Can  we  think  or  speak  of  it 
too  gratefully  or  with  too  much  respect  ? 
The  infinity  of  God,  so  far  from  calling 
on  me  to  prostrate  and  annihilate  reason, 
exalts  my  conception  of  it.  It  is  my 
faith  in  this  perfection  of  the  Divine 
Mind  that  inspires  me  with  reverence 
for  the  human,  for  they  are  intimately 
connected,  the  latter  being  a derivation 
from  the  former,  and  endued  with  the 
power  of  approaching  its  original  more 
and  more  through  eternity.  Severed 
from  God,  reason  would  lose  its  gran- 
deur. In  his  infinity  it  has  at  once  a 
source  and  a pledge  of  endless  and 
unbounded  improvement.  God  delights 
to  communicate  himself  ; and  therefore 
his  greatness,  far  from  inspiring  con- 
tempt for  human  reason,  gives  it  a 
sacredness,  and  opens  before  it  the 
most  elevating  hopes.  The  error  of 
men  is  not  that  they  exaggerate,  but 
that  they  do  not  know  or  suspect  the 
worth  and  dignity  of  their  rational 
nature. 

Perhaps  I shall  be  told  that  reason  is 
not  to  be  denied  universally,  but  only 
in  cases  where  its  teachings  are  con- 
tradicted by  revelation.  To  this  I reply 
that  a contradiction  between  reason  and 
a genuine  revelation  cannot  exist.  A 
doctrine  claiming  a divine  origin  would 
refute  itself,  by  opposing  any  of  the 
truths  which  reason  intuitively  discerns, 
or  which  it  gathers  from  nature.  God 
is  the  “ Father  of  lights  ” and  the  “ Au- 


thor of  concord,”  and  He  cannot  darken 
and  distract  the  human  mind  by  jarring 
and  irreconcilable  instructions.  He  can- 
not subvert  the  authority  of  the  very 
faculty  through  which  we  arrive  at  the 
knowledge  of  himself.  A revelation 
from  the  Author  of  our  rational  nature 
will  certainly  be  adapted  to  its  funda- 
mental laws.  I am  aware  that  it  is  very 
possible  to  give  the  name  of  reason  to 
rash  prejudices  and  corrupt  opinions, 
and  that  on  this  ground  we  may  falsely 
pronounce  a genuine  revelation  to  be 
inconsistent  with  reason  ; and  our  lia- 
bleness to  this  delusion  binds  us  to 
judge  calmly,  cautiously,  and  in  the  fear 
of  God.  But  if,  after  a deliberate  and 
impartial  use  of  our  best  faculties,  a 
professed  revelation  seems  to  us  plainly 
to  disagree  with  itself  or  to  clash  with 
great  principles  which  we  cannot  ques- 
tion, we  ought  not  to  hesitate  to  with- 
hold from  it  our  belief.  I am  surer  that 
my  rational  nature  is  from  God  than 
that  any  book  is  an  expression  of  his 
will.  This  light  in  my  own  breast  is  his 
primary  revelation,  and  all  subsequent 
ones  must  accord  with  it,  and  are,  in  fact, 
intended  to  blend  with  and  brighten  it. 
My  hearers,  as  you  value  Christianity, 
never  speak  of  it  as  in  any  thing  op- 
posed to  man’s  rational  nature.  Join 
not  its  foes  in  casting  on  it  this  reproach. 
It  *was  given,  not  to  supersede  our 
rational  faculties,  but  to  quicken  and 
invigorate  them,  to  open  a wider  field 
to  thought,  to  bring  peace  into  the  in- 
tellect as  well  as  into  the  heart,  to  give 
harmony  to  all  our  views.  We  griev- 
ously wrong  Christianity  by  supposing 
it  to  raise  a standard  against  reason  or 
to  demand  the  sacrifice  of  our  noblest 
faculties.  These  are  her  allies,  friends, 
kindred.  With  these  she  holds  unalter- 
able concord.  Whenever  doctrines  are 
taught  you  from  the  Christian  records 
opposing  any  clear  conviction  of  reason 
and  conscience,  be  assured  that  it  is 
not  the  teaching  of  Christ  winch  you 
hear.  Some  rash  human  expounder  is 
substituting  his  own  weak,  discordant 
tones  for  the  voice  of  God,  which  they 
no  more  resemble  than  the  rattling 
chariot-wheel  does  heaven's  awful  thun- 
der. Never,  never  do  violence  to  your 
rational  nature.  He  who  in  any  case 
admits  doctrines  which  contradict  rea- 
son, has  broken  down  the  great  barrier 
between  truth  and  falsehood,  and  lays 


SELF-DENIAL. 


339 


open  his  mind  to  every  delusion.  The 
great  mark  of  error,  which  is  incon- 
sistency, ceases  to  shock  him.  He  has 
violated  the  first  law  of  the  intellect,  and 
must  pay  the  fearful  penalty.  Happy 
will  it  be  for  him  if,  by  the  renuncia- 
tion of  reason,  he  be  not  prepared  for 
the  opposite  extreme,  and  do  not, 
through  a natural  reaction,  rush  into 
the  excess  of  incredulity.  In  the  rec- 
ords of  individuals  and  of  the  race,  it 
is  not  uncommon  for  an  era  of  intel- 
lectual prostration  to  be  followed  by  an 
era  of  proud  and  licentious  philosophy  ; 
nor  will  this  alternation  cease  to  form 
this  history  of  the  human  mind  till  the 
just  rights  of  reason  be  revered. 

I will  notice  one  more,  and  a very 
common  one,  in  which  the  duty  of  de- 
nying reason  is  urged.  We  are  told 
that  there  is  one  case  in  which  we  ought 
to  prostrate  our  understandings,  and 
that  is  the  case  of  mysteries,  whenever 
they  are  taught  in  the  word  of  God. 
The  answer  to  this  popular  language  is 
short.  Mysteries,  continuing  such , can- 
not, from  their  very  nature,  be  believed, 
and  of  consequence  reason  incurs  no 
blame  in  refusing  them  assent.  This 
will  appear  by  considering  what  a mys- 
tery is.  In  the  language  of  Scripture, 
and  in  its  true  sense,  it  is  a secret,  — 
something  unknown.  I say,  then,  that 
from  its  nature  it  cannot  be  an  object  of 
belief  ; for  to  know  and  to  believe  are 
expressions  of  the  same  act  of  the  mind, 
differing  chiefly  in  this,  that  the  former 
is  more  applicable  to  what  admits  of  dem- 
onstration. the  latter  to  probable  truth. 
I have  no  disposition  to  deny  the  exist- 
ence of  mysteries.  Every  truth  involves 
them.  Every  object  which  falls  under 
our  notice,  the  most  common  and  simple, 
contains  much  that  we  do  not  know  and 
cannot  now  penetrate.  We  know  not, 
for  example,  what  it  is  which  holds  to- 
gether the  particles  of  the  meanest  stone 
beneath  our  feet,  nor  the  manner  in 
which  the  humblest  plant  grows.  That 
there  are  mysteries,  secrets,  things  un- 
known without  number,  I should  be  the 
last  to  deny.  I only  maintain  — and  in 
so  doing  I utter  an  identical  proposition 
— that  what  is.  mysterious,  secret,  un- 
known, cannot  at  the  same  time  be 
known  or  an  object  of  faith.  It  is  a great 
and  common  error  to  confound  facts 
which  we  understand  with  the  mysteries 
which  lurk  under  them,  and  to  suppose 


that  in  believing  the  first  we  believe  the 
last.  But  no  two  things  are  more  dis- 
tinct, nor  does  the  most  thorough  knowl- 
edge of  the  one  imply  the  least  percep- 
tion of  the  other.  For  example,  my 
hand  is  moved  by  the  act  of  my  will. 
This  is  a plain  fact.  The  words  which 
convey  it  are  among  the  most  intelligible. 
I believe  it  without  doubt.  But  under 
this  fact,  which  I so  well  know,  lies  a 
great  mystery.  The  manner  in  which 
the  will  acts  on  the  hand,  or  the  process 
which  connects  them,  is  altogether  un- 
known. The  fact  and  the  mystery,  as 
you  see,  have  nothing  in  common.  The 
former  is  so  manifest  that  I cannot,  if  I 
would,  withhold  from  it  my  faith.  Of 
the  latter  not  even  a glimpse  is  afforded 
me  ; not  an  idea  of  it  has  dawned  on  the 
mind  ; and  without  ideas,  there  can,  of 
course,  be  no  knowledge  or  belief. 
These  remarks  apply  to  revelation  as 
well  as  to  nature.  The  subjects  of  which 
revelation  treats  — God,  Christ,  human 
nature,  holiness,  heaven,  — contain  infi- 
nite mysteries.  What  is  revealed  in  regard 
to  them  is  indeed  as  nothing  compared 
with  what  remains  secret.  But  “ secret 
things  belong  to  God,”  and  the  pride  of 
reason  is  manifested  not  in  declining, 
but  in  professing  to  make  them  objects 
of  faith.  It  is  the  influence  of  time  and 
of  intellectual  improvement  to  bring  mys- 
teries to  light,  both  in  nature  and  re- 
ligion ; and  just  as  far  as  this  process 
goes  on,  the  belief  of  them  becomes 
possible  and  right.  Thus,  the  cause  of 
eclipses,  which  was  once  a mystery,  is 
now  disclosed  ; and  who  of  us  does  not 
believe  it  ? In  like  manner  Christ  re- 
vealed “ the  mysteries  of  the  kingdom 
of  heaven,”  or  the  purposes  and  methods 
of  God  which  had  been  kept  secret  for 
ages,  in  relation  to  the  redemption  of  the 
world  from  sin,  death,  and  woe.  Being 
now  revealed,  or  having  ceased  to  be 
mysteries,  these  have  become  objects  of 
faith,  and  reason  ranks  them  among  its 
most  glorious  truths. 

From  what  has  been  said,  we  see  that 
to  deny  reason  is  no  part  of  religion. 
Never  imagine  yourselves  called  to  pros- 
trate and  contemn  this  noble  nature. 
Reverence  conscience.  Foster,  extend, 
enlighten  intellect.  Never  imagine  that 
you  are  forsaking  God  in  reposing  a 
trust  in  the  faculties  He  has  given  you. 
Only  exercise  them  with  impartiality, 
disinterestedness,  and  a supreme  love 


340 


SELF-DENIAL. 


of  truth,  and  their  instructions  will  con- 
spire with  revelation,  and  a beautiful 
harmony  will  more  and  more  manifest 
itself  in  the  lessons  which  God’s  book 
and  God’s  works,  which  Christ  and  con- 
science teach. 

But  if  reason  and  conscience  are  not 
to  be  denied,  what  is  ? I answer,  that 
there  are  other  principles  in  our  nature. 
Man  is  not  wholly  reason  and  con- 
science. He  has  various  appetites,  pas- 
sions, desires,  resting  on  present  gratifi- 
cation and  on  outward  objects  ; some  of 
which  we  possess  in  common  with  in- 
ferior animals,  such  as  sensual  appetites 
and  anger  ; and  others  belong  more  to 
the  mind,  such  as  love  of  power,  love  of 
honor,  love  of  property,  love  of  society, 
love  of  amusement,  or  a taste  for  litera- 
ture and  elegant  arts  ; but  all  referring 
to  our  present  being,  and  terminating 
chiefly  on  ourselves,  or  on  a few  beings 
who  are  identified  with  ourselves.  These 
are  to  be  denied  or  renounced,  — by  which 
I mean  not  exterminated,  but  renounced 
as  masters,  guides,  lords,  and  brought  in- 
to strict  and  entire  subordination  to  our 
moral  and  intellectual  powers.  It  is  a 
false  idea  that  religion  requires  the  ex- 
termination of  any  principle,  desire,  ap- 
petite, or  passion  which  our  Creator  has 
implanted.  Our  nature  is  a whole,  a 
beautiful  whole,  and  no  part  can  be 
spared.  You  might  as  properly  and  in- 
nocently lop  off  a limb  from  the  body  as 
eradicate  any  natural  desire  from  the 
mind.  All  our  appetites  are  in  them- 
selves innocent  and  useful,  ministering 
to  the  general  weal  of  the  soul.  They 
are  like  the  elements  of  the  natural  world, 
parts  of  a wise  and  beneficent  system, 
but,  like  those  elements,  are  beneficent 
only  when  restrained. 

There  are  two  remarks  relating  to  our 
appetites  and  desires  which  will  show 
their  need  of  frequent  denial  and  con- 
stant control.  In  the  first  place,  it  is 
true  of  them  all  that  they  do  not  carry 
within  themselves  their  own  rule.  They 
are  blind  impulses.  Present  their  ob- 
jects, and  they  are  excited  as  easily 
when  gratification  would  be  injurious  as 
when  it  would  be  useful.  We  are  not 
so  constituted,  for  example,  that  we  hun- 
ger and  thirst  for  those  things  only 
which  will  be  nutritive  and  wholesome, 
and  lose  all  hunger  and  thirst  at  the 
moment  when  we  have  eaten  or  drunk 
enough.  We  are  not  so  made  that  the 


desire  of  property  springs  up  only  when 
property  can  be  gained  by  honest  means, 
and  that  it  declines  and  dies  as  soon 
as  we  have  acquired  a sufficiency  for 
ourselves  and  for  usefulness.  Our  de- 
sires are  undiscerning  instincts,  gener- 
ally directed  to  what  is  useful,  but  often 
clamoring  for  gratification,  which  would 
injure  health,  debilitate  the  mind,  or  op- 
pose the  general  good  ; and  this  blind- 
ness of  desire  makes  the  demand  for 
self-denial  urgent  and  continual. 

I pass  to  a second  remark.  Our  ap- 
petites and  desires  carry  with  them  a 
principle  of  growth  or  tendency  to  en- 
largement. They  expand  by  indulgence, 
and,  if  not  restrained,  they  fill  and 
exhaust  the  soul,  and  hence  are  to  be 
strictly  watched  over  and  denied.  Nat- 
ure has  set  bounds  to  the  desires  of  the 
brute,  but  not  to  human  desire,  which 
partakes  of  the  illimitableness  of  the 
soul  to  which  it  belongs.  In  brutes,  for 
example,  the  animal  appetites  impel  to 
a certain  round  of  simple  gratifications, 
beyond  which  they  never  pass.  But 
man,  having  imagination  and  invention, 
is  able  by  these  noble  faculties  to  whet 
his  sensual  desires  indefinitely.  He  is 
able  to  form  new  combinations  of  ani- 
mal pleasures,  and  to  provoke  appetite 
by  stimulants.  The  East  gives  up  its 
spices,  and  the  South  holds  not  back  its 
vintage.  Sea  and  land  are  rifled  for  lux- 
uries. Whilst  the  animal  finds  its  nour- 
ishment in  a few  plants,  perhaps  in  a 
single  blade,  man’s  table  groans  under 
the  spoils  of  all  regions  ; and  the  conse- 
quence is  that  in  not  a few  cases  the 
whole  strength  of  the  soul  runs  into  ap- 
petite, just  as  some  rich  soil  shoots  up 
into  poisonous  weeds,  and  man,  the  ra- 
tional creature  of  God,  degenerates  into 
the  most  thorough  sensualist.  As  an- 
other illustration  of  the  tendency  of  our 
desires  to  grow  and  usurp  the  whole 
mind,  take  the  love  of  property.  We 
see  this  every  day  gaining  dangerous 
strength,  if  left  to  itself,  if  not  denied 
or  curbed.  It  is  a thirst  which  is  in- 
flamed by  the  very  copiousness  of  its 
draughts.  Anxiety  grows  with  posses- 
sion. Riches  become  dearer  by  time. 
The  love  of  money,  far  from  withering 
in  life’s  winter,  strikes  deeper  and 
deeper  root  in  the  heart  of  age.  He 
who  has  more  than  he  can  use  or  man- 
age, grows  more  and  more  eager  and 
i restless  for  new  gains,  muses  by  day 


SELF-DENIAL. 


341 


and  dreams  by  night  of  wealth  ; and  in 
this  way  the  whole  vigor  of  his  soul,  of 
intellect  and  affection,  shoots  up  into  an 
intense,  unconquerable,  and  almost  infi- 
nite passion  for  accumulation. 

It  is  an  interesting  and  solemn  reflec- 
tion, that  the  very  nobleness  of  human 
nature  may  become  the  means  and  in- 
strument of  degradation.  The  powers 
which  ally  us  to  God,  when  pressed  into 
the  service  of  desire  and  appetite,  en- 
large desire  into  monstrous  excess,  and 
irritate  appetite  into  fury.  The  rapidity 
of  thought,  the  richness  of  imagination, 
the  resources  of  invention,  when  en- 
slaved to  any  passion,  give  it  an  extent 
and  energy  unknown  to  inferior  nat- 
ures ; and  just  in  proportion  as  this 
usurper  establishes  its  empire  over  us, 
all  the  nobler  attainments  and  products 
of  the  soul  perish.  Truth,  virtue,  honor, 
religion,  hope,  faith,  charity,  die.  Here 
we  see  the  need  of  self-denial.  The 
lower  principles  of  our  nature  not  only 
act  blindly,  but,  if  neglected,  grow  in- 
definitely, and  overshadow  and  blight 
and  destroy  every  better  growth.  With- 
out self-restraint  and  self-denial,  the  pro- 
portion, order,  beauty,  and  harmony  of 
the  spiritual  nature  are  subverted,  and 
the  soul  becomes  as  monstrous  and  de- 
formed as  the  body  would  become  were 
all  the  nutriment  to  flow  into  a few  or- 
gans, and  these  the  least  valuable,  and 
to  break  out  into  loathsome  excres- 
cences, whilst  the  eye,  the  ear,  and  the 
active  limbs  should  pine,  and  be  palsied, 
and  leave  us  without'guidance  or  power. 

Do  any  of  you  now  ask,  how  it  comes 
to  pass  that  we  are  so  constituted ; why 
we  are  formed  with  desires  so  blind  and 
strong,  and  tending  so  constantly  to  en- 
largement and  dominion  ; and  how  we 
can  reconcile  this  constitution  with 
God’s  goodness  ? This  is  our  second 
question.  Some  will  answer  it  by  say- 
ing that  this  constitution  is  a sinful  nat- 
ure derived  from  our  first  parents  ; that 
it  comes  not  from  God,  but  from  Adam  ; 
that  it  is  a sad  inheritance  from  the  first 
fallen  pair  ; and  that  God  is  not  to  be 
blamed  for  it,  but  our  original  progeni- 
tor. But  I confess  this  explanation 
does  not  satisfy  me.  Scripture  says  it 
was  God  who  made  me,  not  Adam. 
What  I was  at  birth,  I was  by  the  ordi- 
nance of  God.  Make  the  connection 
between  Adam  and  his  posterity  as  close 
as  you  will,  God  must  have  intended  it, 


and  God  has  carried  it  into  effect.  My 
soul,  at  the  moment  of  its  creation,  was 
as  fresh  from  the  hands  of  the  Deity  as 
if  no  human  parent  had  preceded  me  ; 
and  I see  not  how  to  shift  off  on  any 
other  being  the  reproach  of  my  nature, 
if  it  deserve  reproach.  But  does  it 
merit  blame  ? Is  the  tendency  to  ex- 
cess and  growth,  which  we  are  conscious 
of  in  our  passions  and  appetites,  any 
derogation  from  the  goodness  or  wis- 
dom of  our  Maker  ? Can  we  find  only 
evil  in  such  a constitution  ? Perhaps  it 
may  minister  to  the  highest  purpose  of 
God. 

It  is  true  that,  as  we  are  now  made, 
our  appetites  and  desires  often  war 
against  reason,  conscience,  and  relig- 
ion. But  why  is  this  warfare  appointed  ? 
Not  to  extinguish  these  high  principles, 
but  to  awaken  and  invigorate  them.  It 
is  meant  to  give  them  a field  for  ac- 
tion, occasion  for  effort,  and  means  of 
victory.  True,  virtue  is  thus  opposed 
and  endangered ; but  virtue  owes  its 
vigor  and  hardihood  to  obstacles,  and 
wins  its  crown  by  conflict.  I do  not 
say  that  God  can  find  no  school  for 
character  but  temptation,  and  trial,  and 
strong  desire  ; but  I do  say  that  the 
present  state  is  a fit  and  noble  school. 
You,  my  hearers,  would  have  the  path 
of  virtue  from  the  very  beginning  smooth 
and  strewed  with  flowers  ; and  would 
this  train  the  soul  to  energy?  You 
would  have  pleasure  always  coincide 
with  duty  ; and  how,  then,  would  you 
attest  your  loyalty  to  duty  ? You  would 
have  conscience  and  desire  always  speak 
the  same  language  and  prescribe  the 
same  path  ; and  how,  then,  would  con- 
science assert  its  supremacy  ? God 
has  implanted  blind  desires,  which 
often  rise  up  against  reason  and  con- 
science, that  He  may  give  to  these  high 
faculties  the  dignity  of  dominion  and 
the  joy  of  victory.  He  has  surrounded 
us  with  rivals  to  himself,  that  we  may 
love  him  freely,  and  by  our  own  unfet- 
tered choice  erect  his  throne  in  our 
souls.  He  has  given  us  strong  desires 
of  inferior  things,  that  the  desire  of  ex- 
cellence may  grow  stronger  than  all. 
Make  such  a world  as  you  wish,  let  no 
appetite  or  passion  ever  resist  God’s 
will,  no  object  of  desire  ever  come  in 
competition  with  duty ; and  where 
would  be  the  resolution,  and  energy, 
and  constancy,  and  effort,  and  purity, 


342 


SELF-DENIAL. 


the  trampling  under  foot  of  low  inter- 
ests, the  generous  self-surrender,  the 
heroic  devotion,  all  the  sublimities  of 
virtue,  which  now  throw  lustre  over 
man’s  nature  and  speak  of  his  immor- 
tality ? You  would  blot  the  precept  of 
self-denial  from  the  Scriptures,  and  the 
need  of  it  from  human  life,  and  in  so 
doing  you  would  blot  out  almost  every 
interesting  passage  in  man’s  history. 
Let  me  ask  you,  when  you  read  that 
history,  what  is  it  which  most  interests 
and  absorbs  you,  which  seizes  on  the 
imagination  and  memory,  which  agitates 
the  soul  to  its  centre  ? Who  is  the  man 
whom  you  select  from  the  records  of 
time  as  the  object  of  your  special  admi- 
ration ? Is  it  he  who  lived  to  indulge 
himself  ? whose  current  of  life  flowed 
most  equably  and  pleasurably  ? whose 
desires  were  crowned  most  liberally 
with  means  of  gratification  ? whose  ta- 
ble was  most  luxuriantly  spread  ? and 
whom  Fortune  made  the  envy  of  his 
neighborhood  by  the  fulness  of  her 
gifts  ? Were  such  the  men  to  whom 
monuments  have  been  reared,  and  whose 
memories,  freshened  with  tears  of  joy 
and  reverence,  grow  and  flourish  and 
spread  through  every  age  ? Oh,  no  ! 
He  whom  we  love,  whose  honor  we 
most  covet,  is  he  who  has  most  denied 
and  subdued  himself ; who  has  made 
the  most  entire  sacrifice  of  appetites 
and  passions  and  private  interest  to 
God,  and  virtue,  and  mankind  ; who  has 
walked  in  a rugged  path,  and  clung  to 
good  and  great  ends  in  persecution  and 
pain  ; who,  amidst  the  solicitations  of 
ambition,  ease,  and  private  friendship, 
and  the  menaces  of  tyranny  and  malice, 
has  listened  to  the  voice  of  conscience, 
and  found  a recompense  for  blighted 
hopes  and  protracted  suffering  in  con- 
scious uprightness  and  the  favor  of 
God.  Who  is  it  that  is  most  lovely  in 
domestic  life  ? It  is  the  martyr  to  do- 
mestic affection,  the  mother  forgetting 
herself,  and  ready  to  toil,  suffer,  die  for 
the  happiness  and  virtue  of  her  chil- 
dren. Who  is  it  that  we  honor  in  pub- 
lic life  ? It  is  the  martyr  to  his  country, 
he  who  serves  her  not  when  she  has 
honors  for  his  brow  and  wealth  for  his 
coffers,  but  who  clings  to  her  in  her 
danger  and  fallen  glories,  and  thinks 
life  a cheap  sacrifice  to  her  safety  and 
freedom.  Whom  does  the  church  re- 
tain in  most  grateful  remembrance,  and 


pronounce  holy  and  blessed  ? The  self- 
denying,  self-immolating  apostle,  the 
fearless  confessor,  the  devoted  martyr, 
men  who  have  held  fast  the  truth  even 
in  death,  and  bequeathed  it  to  future 
ages  amidst  blood.  Above  all,  to  what 
moment  of  the  life  of  Jesus  does  the 
Christian  turn  as  the  most  affecting  and 
sublime  illustration  of  his  divine  char- 
acter ? It  is  that  moment  when,  in  the 
spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  denying  every 
human  passion,  and  casting  away  every 
earthly  interest,  he  bore  the  agony  and 
shame  of  the  cross.  Thus  all  great 
virtues  bear  the  impress  of  self-denial ; 
and  were  God’s  present  constitution  of 
our  nature  and  life  so  reversed  as  to 
demand  no  renunciation  of  desire,  the 
chief  interest  and  glory  of  our  present 
being  would  pass  away.  There  would 
be  nothing  in  history  to  thrill  us  with 
admiration.  We  should  have  no  con- 
sciousness of  the  power  and  greatness 
of  the  soul.  We  should  love  feebly 
and  coldly,  for  we  should  find  nothing 
in  one  another  to  love  earnestly.  Let 
us  not,  then,  complain  of  Providence 
because  it  has  made  self-denial  neces- 
sary ; or  complain  of  religion  because  it 
summons  us  to  this  work.  Religion  and 
nature  here  hold  one  language.  Our 
own  souls  bear  witness  to  the  teaching 
of  Christ,  that  it  is  the  “ narrow  way  ” 
of  self-denial  “which  leadeth  unto  life.” 

My  friends,  at  death,  if  reason  is 
spared  to  us  and  memory  retains  its 
hold  on  the  past,  will  it  gratify  us  to 
see  that  we  have  lived  not  to  deny  but 
to  indulge  ourselves,  that  we  have  bowed 
our  souls  to  any  passion,  that  we  gave 
the  reins  to  lust,  that  we  were  palsied 
by  sloth,  that  through  love  of  gain  we 
hardened  ourselves  against  the  claims 
of  humanity,  or  through  love  of  man’s 
favor  parted  with  truth  and  moral  inde- 
pendence, or  that  in  any  thing  reason 
and  conscience  were  sacrificed  to  the 
impulse  of  desire,  and  God  forgotten 
for  present  good  ? Shall  we  then  find 
comfort  in  remembering  our  tables  of 
luxury,  our  pillows  of  down,  our  wealth 
amassed  and  employed  for  private  ends, 
or  our  honors  won  by  base  compliance 
with  the  world  ? Did  any  man  at  his 
death  ever  regret  his  conflicts  with  him- 
self, his  victories  over  appetite,  his 
scorn  of  impure  pleasures,  or  his  suffer- 
ings for  righteousness’  sake  ? Did  any 
man  ever  mourn  that  he  had  impover- 


SELF-DENIAL. 


343 


ished  himself  by  integrity,  or  worn  out 
his  frame  in  the  service  of  mankind  ? 
Are  these  the  recollections  which  har- 
row the  soul,  and  darken  and  appal  the 
last  hour?  To  whom  is  the  last  hour 
most  serene  and  full  of  hope  ? Is  it 
not  to  him  who,  amidst  perils  and  allure- 
ments, has  denied  himself,  and  taken  up 
the  cross  with  the  holy  resolution  of 
Jesus  Christ  ? 


SECOND  DISCOURSE. 

Matthew  xvi.  24  : “ Then  said  Jesus  unto  his  dis- 
ciples, If  liny  man  will  come  after  me,  let  him  deny 
himself,  and  take  up  his  cross,  and  follow  me.”  * 

In  the  preceding  discourse  I spoke  of 
the  just  limits  and  moral  dignity  of  self- 
denial.  I resume  the  subject  because  it 
throws  much  light  on  the  nature  of  true 
virtue,  and  helps  us  to  distinguish  moral 
goodness  from  qualities  which  resemble 
it.  Clear  conceptions  on  this  point  are 
inestimable.  To  love  and  seek  excel- 
lence we  must  know  what  it  is,  and  sep- 
arate it  from  counterfeits.  From  want 
of  just  views  of  virtue  and  piety,  men’s 
admiration  and  efforts  are  often  wasted, 
and  sometimes  carry  them  wide  of  the 
great  object  of  human  life.  Perhaps 
truth  on  this  subject  cannot  be  brought 
out  more  clearly  than  by  considering 
the  nature  of  self-denial.  Such  will  be 
the  aim  of  this  discourse. 

To  deny  ourselves  is  to  deny,  to  with- 
stand, to  renounce  whatever,  within  or 
without,  interferes  with  our  conviction 
of  right  or  with  the  will  of  God.  It  is 
to  suffer,  to  make  sacrifices  for  duty 
or  our  principles.  The  question  now 
offers  itself,  What  constitutes  the  sin- 
gular merit  of  this  suffering  ? Mere 
suffering,  we  all  know,  is  not  virtue. 
Evil  men  often  endure  pain  as  well  as 
the  good,  and  are  evil  still.  This  and 
this  alone  constitutes  the  worth  and  im- 
portance of  the  sacrifice,  suffering,  which 
enters  into  self-denial,  that  it  springs 
from  and  manifests  moral  strength,  power 
over  ourselves,  force  of  purpose,  or  the 
mind’s  resolute  determination  of  itself 
to  duty.  It  is  the  proof  and  result  of 
inward  energy.  Difficulty,  hardship, 
suffering,  sacrifices,  are  tests  and  meas- 
ures of  moral  force,  and  the  great  means 
of  its  enlargement.  To  withstand  these 
is  the  same  thing  as  to  put  forth  power. 
Self-denial,  then,  is  the  will  acting  with 


power  in  the  choice  and  prosecution  of 
duty.  Here  we  have  the  distinguishing 
glory  of  self-denial,  and  here  we  have 
the  essence  and  distinction  of  a good 
and  virtuous  man. 

The  truth  to  which  these  views  lead 
us,  and  which  I am  now  solicitous  to 
enforce,  is  this,  that  the  great  char- 
acteristic of  a virtuous  or  religious  mind 
is  strength  of  moral  purpose.  This  force 
is  the  measure  of  excellence.  The  very 
idea  of  duty  implies  that  we  are  bound 
to  adopt-  and  pursue  it  with  a stronger 
and  more  settled  determination  than  any 
other  object,  and  virtue  consists  in  fidel- 
ity to  this  primary  dictate  of  conscience. 
We  have  virtue  only  as  far  as  we  exert 
inward  energy,  or  as  far  as  we  put  forth 
a strong  and  overcoming  will  in  obeying 
the  law  of  God  and  of  our  own  minds. 
Let  this  truth  be  deeply  felt.  Let  us 
not  confide  in  good  emotions,  in  kind 
feelings,  in  tears  for  the  suffering,  or  in 
admiration  of  noble  deeds.  These  are 
not  goodness  in  the  moral  and  Chris- 
tian sense  of  that  word.  It  is  force  of 
upright  and  holy  purpose,  attested  and 
approved  by  withstanding  trial,  temp- 
tation, allurement,  and  suffering ; it  is 
this  in  which  virtue  consists.  I know 
nothing  else  which  an  enlightened  con- 
science approves,  nothing  else  which 
God  will  accept. 

I am  aware  that  if  I were  called  upon 
to  state  my  ideas  of  a perfect  character, 
I should  give  an  answer  that  would 
seem  at  first  to  contradict  the  doctrine 
just  expressed,  or  to  be  inconsistent 
with  the  stress  which  I have  laid  on 
strength  of  moral  purpose.  I should 
say,  that  perfection  of  mind,  like  that  of 
the  body,  consists  of  two  elements,  — 
of  strength  and  beauty  ; that  it  consists 
of  firmness  and  mildness,  of  force  and 
tenderness,  of  vigor  and  grace.  It 
would  ill  become  a teacher  of  Chris- 
tianity to  overlook  the  importance  of 
sympathy,  gentleness,  humility,  and 
charity,  in  his  definition  of  moral  excel- 
lence. The  amiable,  attractive,  mild 
attributes  of  the  mind  are  recommended 
as  of  great  price  in  the  sight  of  God,  by 
him  who  was  emphatically  meek  and 
lowly  in  heart.  Still  I must  say  that  all 
virtue  lies  in  strength  of  character  or  of 
moral  purpose  ; for  these  gentle,  sweet, 
winning  qualities  rise  into  virtue  only 
when  pervaded  and  sustained  by  moral 
energy.  On  this  they  must  rest,  by  this 


344 


SELF-DENIAL. 


they  must  be  controlled  and  exalted,  or 
they  have  no  moral  worth.  I acknowl- 
edge love,  kindness,  to  be  a great  virtue  ; 
but  what  do  I mean  by  love  when  I thus 
speak  ? Do  I mean  a constitutional 
tenderness  ? an  instinctive  sympathy  ? 
the  natural  and  almost  necessary  at- 
tachment to  friends  and  benefactors  ? 
the  kindness  which  is  inseparable  from 
our  social  state,  and  which  is  never 
wholly  extinguished  in  the  human  breast  ? 
In  all  these  emotions  of  our  nature  I 
see  the  kind  design  of  God  ; • I see  a 
beauty ; I see  the  germ  and  capacity  of 
an  ever  growing  charity.  But  they  are 
not  virtues,  they  are  not  proper  objects 
of  moral  approbation,  nor  do  they  give 
any  sure  pledge  of  improvement.  This 
natural  amiableness  I too  often  see  in 
company  with  sloth,  with  uselessness, 
with  the  contemptible  vanity  and  dis- 
sipation of  fashionable  life.  It  is  no 
ground  of  trust,  no  promise  of  fidelity  in 
any  of  the  great  exigencies  of  life.  The 
love,  the  benevolence  which  I honor  as 
virtue,  is  not  the  gift  of  nature  or  con- 
dition, but  the  growth  and  manifestation 
of  the  soul’s  moral  power.  It  is  a spirit 
chosen  as  excellent,  cherished  as  divine, 
protected  with  a jealous  care,  and  espe- 
cially fortified  by  the  resistance  and 
subjection  of  opposite  propensities.  It 
is  the  soul  determining  itself  to  break 
every  chain  of  selfishness,  to  enlarge 
and  to  invigorate  the  kind  affections,  to 
identify  itself  with  other  beings,  to  sym- 
pathize not  with  a few,  but  with  all  the 
living  and  rational  children  of  God,  to 
honor  others’  worth,  to  increase  and  en- 
joy their  happiness,  to  partake  in  the 
universal  goodness  of  the  Creator,  and 
to  put  down  within  itself  every  motion 
of  pride,  anger,  or  sensual  desire  incon- 
sistent with  this  pure  charity.  In  other 
words,  it  is  strength  of  holy  purpose 
infused  into  the  kind  affections,  which 
raises  them  into  virtues,  or  gives  them  a 
moral  worth  not  found  in  constitutional 
amiableness. 

I read  in  the  Scriptures  the  praises  of 
meekness.  But  when  I see  a man  meek 
or  patient  of  injury  through  tameness, 
or  insensibility,  or  want  of  self-respect, 
passively  gentle,  meek  through  consti- 
tution or  fear,  I look  on  him  with  feel- 
ings very  different  from  veneration.  It 
is  the  meekness  of  principle  ; it  is  mild- 
ness replete  with  energy;  it  is  the  for- 
bearance of  a man  who  feels  a wrong, 


but  who  curbs  anger,  who  though  in- 
jured resolves  to  be  just,  who  volun- 
tarily remembers  that  his  foe  is  a man 
and  a-  brother,  who  dreads  to  surrender 
himself  to  his  passions,  who  in  the  mo- 
ment of  provocation  subjects  himself  to 
reason  and  religion,  and  who  holds  fast 
the  great  truth,  that  the  noblest  victory 
over  a foe  is  to  disarm  and  subdue  him 
by  equity  and  kindness,  — it  is  this 
meekness  which  I venerate,  and  which 
seems  to  me  one  of  the  divinest  virt- 
ues. It  is  moral  power,  the  strength  of 
virtuous  purpose,  pervading  meekness, 
which  gives  it  all  its  title  to  respect. 

fIt  is  worthy  of  special  remark,  that 
without  this  moral  energy,  resisting 
passion  and  impulse,  our  tenderest  at- 
tachments degenerate  more  or  less  into 
weaknesses  and  immoralities ; some- 
times prompting  us  to  sympathize  with 
those  whom  we  love  in  their  errors, 
prejudices,  and  evil  passions ; some- 
times inciting  us  to  heap  upon  them  in- 
jurious praises  and  indulgences  ; some- 
times urging  us  to  wrong  or  neglect 
others,  that  we  may  the  more  enjoy  or 
serve  our  favorites  ; and  sometimes  poi- 
soning our  breasts  with  jealousy  or  envy, 
because  our  affection  is  not  returned 
with  equal  warmth.  The  principle  of 
love,  whether  exercised  towards  our 
relatives  or  our  country,  whether  mani- 
fested in  courtesy  or  compassion,  can 
only  become  virtue,  can  only  acquire 
purity,  consistency,  serenity,  dignity, 
when  imbued,  swayed,  cherished,  en- 
larged by  the  power  of  a virtuous  will, 
by  a self-denying  energy.  It  is  inward 
force,  power  over  ourselves,  which  is 
the  beginning  and  the  end  of  virtue. 

What  I have  now  said  of  the  kind 
affections  is  equally  true  of  the  relig- 
ious ones.  These  have  virtue  in  them 
only  as  far  as  they  are  imbued  with 
self-denying  strength.  I know  that  mul- 
titudes place  religion  in  feeling.  Ar- 
dent sensibility  is  the  measure  of  piety. 
He  who  is  wrought  up  by  preaching  or 
sympathy  into  extraordinary  fervor,  is 
a'saint ; and  the  less  he  governs  himself 
in  his  piety,  the  more  he  is  looked  upon 
as  inspired.  But  I know  of  no  religion 
which  has  moral  worth,  or  is  acceptable 
to  God,  but  that  which  grows  from  and 
is  nourished  by  our  own  spiritual,  self- 
denying  energy.  Emotion  towards  God, 
springing  up  without  our  own  thought 
or  care,  grateful  feelings  at  the  recep- 


SELF-DENIAL. 


345 


tion  of  signal  benefits,  the  swelling  of 
the  soul  at  the  sight  of  nature,  tender- 
ness a’wakened  by  descriptions  of  the 
love  and  cross  of  Christ,  — these, 
though  showing  high  capacities,  though 
means  and  materials  of  piety,  are  not 
of  themselves  acceptable  religion.  The 
religious  character  which  has  true  virtue, 
and  which  is  built  upon  a rock,  is  that 
which  has  been  deliberately  and  reso- 
lutely adopted  and  cherished  as  our 
highest  duty,  and  as  the  friend  and 
strength ener  of  all  other  duties  ; and 
which  we  have  watched  over  and  con- 
firmed by  suppressing  inconsistent  de- 
sires and  passions,  by  warring  against 
.selfishness  and  the  love  of  the  world. 

There  is  one  fact  very  decisive  on 
this  subject.  It  is  not  uncommon  to 
see  people  with  strong  religious  feeling 
who  are  not  made  better  by  it ; who  at 
church  or  in  other  meetings  are  moved 
perhaps  to  tears,  but  who  make  no  prog- 
ress in  self-government  or  charity,  and 
who  gain  nothing  of  elevation  of  mind  in 
their  common  feelings  and  transactions. 
They  take  pleasure  in  religious  excite- 
ment, just  as  others  delight  to  be  in- 
terested by  a fiction  or  a play.  They 
invite  these  emotions  because  they  sup- 
pose them  to  aid  or  insure  salvation, 
and  soon  relapse  into  their  ordinary 
sordidness  or  other  besetting  infirmi- 
ties. Now,  to  give  the  name  of  religion 
to  this  mockery  is  the  surest  way  to  dis- 
honor it.  True  religion  is  not  mere 
emotion,  is  not  something  communi- 
cated to  us  without  our  own  moral  effort. 
It  involves  much  self-denial.  Its  great 
characteristic  is  not  feeling,  but  the 
subjection  of  our  wills,  desires,  habits, 
lives,  to  the  will  of  God,  from  a convic- 
tion that  what  He  wills  is  the  perfection 
of  virtue,  and  the  true  happiness  of  our 
nature.  In  genuine  piety  the  mind 
chooses  as  its  supreme  good  the  moral 
excellence  enjoined  by  its  Author,  and 
resolutely  renounces  whatever  would 
sully  this  divine  image,  and  so  disturb 
its  communion  with  God.  This  relig- 
ion, though  its  essence  be  not  emotion, 
will  gradually  gather  and  issue  in  a sen- 
sibility deeper,  intenser,  more  glowing 
than  the  blind  enthusiast  ever  felt ; and 
then  only  does  it  manifest  itself  in  its 
perfect  form,  when,  through  a self-de- 
nying and  self-purifying  power,  it  rises 
to  an  overflowing  love,  gratitude,  and 
joy  towards  the  Universal  Father. 


In  insisting  on  the  great  principle  that 
religion,  or  virtue,  consists  in  strength 
of  moral  purpose,  in  the  soul’s  resolute 
determination  of  itself  to  duty,  I am 
satisfied  that  I express  a truth  which 
has  a witness  and  confirmation  in  the 
breast  of  every  reflecting  man.  We  all 
of  us  feel  that  virtue  is  not  something 
adopted  from  necessity,  something  to 
which  feeling  impels  us,  something 
which  comes  to  us  from  constitution, 
or  accident,  or  outward  condition  ; but 
that  it  has  its  origin  in  our  moral  free- 
dom, that  it  consists  in  moral  energy  ; 
and  accordingly  we  all  measure  virtue 
by  the  trials  and  difficulties  which  it 
overcomes,  for  these  are  the  tests  and 
measures  of  the  force  with  which  the 
soul  adopts  it.  Every  one  of  us  who 
has  adhered  to  duty,  when  duty  brought 
no  recompense  but  the  conviction  of 
well-doing,  who  has  faced  the  perils  of 
a good  but  persecuted  cause  with  un- 
shrinking courage,  who  has  been  con- 
scious of  an  inward  triumph  over  temp- 
tation, conscious  of  having  put  down 
bad  motives  and  exalted  good  ones  in 
his  own  breast,  must  remember  the 
clear,  strong,  authentic  voice,  the  ac- 
cents of  peculiar  encouragement  and 
joy,  with  which  the  inward  judge  has  at 
such  seasons  pronounced  its  approving 
sentence.  This  experience  is  universal, 
and  it  is  the  voice  of  nature  and  of  God 
in  confirmation  of  the  great  truth  of 
this  discourse. 

I fear  that  the  importance  of  strength 
in  the  Christian  character  has  been  in 
some  degree  obscured  by  the  habit  of 
calling  certain  Christian  graces  of  sin- 
gular worth  by  the  name  of  passive 
virtues.  This  name  has  been  given  to 
humility,  patience,  resignation ; and  I 
fear  that  the  phrase  has  led  some  to 
regard  these  noble  qualities  as  allied 
to  inaction,  as  wanting  energy  and  de- 
termination. Now  the  truth  is  that  the 
mind  never  puts  forth  greater  power 
over  itself  than  when,  in  great  trials,  it 
yields  up  calmly  its  desires,  affections, 
interests  to  God.  There  are  seasons 
when  to  be  still  demands  immeasurably 
higher  strength  than  to  act.  Compos- 
ure is  often  the  highest  result  of  power. 
Think  you  it  demands  no  power  to  calm 
the  stormy  elements  of  passion,  to  mod- 
erate the  vehemence  of  desire,  to  throw 
off  the  load  of  dejection,  to  suppress 
every  repining  thought,  when  the  dear- 


SELF-LENiAL. 


346 

est  hopes  are  withered,  and  to  turn  the 
wounded  spirit  from  dangerous  reveries 
and  wasting  grief  to  the  quiet  discharge 
of  ordinary  duties  ? Is  there  no  power 
put  forth  when  a man,  stripped  of  his 
property,  of  the  fruits  of  a life’s  labor, 
quells  discontent  and  gloomy  forebod- 
ings, and  serenely  and  patiently  returns 
to  the  tasks  which  Providence  assigns  ? 
I doubt  not  that  the  all-seeing  eye  of 
God  sometimes  discerns  the  sublimest 
human  energy  under  a form  and  coun- 
tenance which  by  their  composure  and 
tranquillity  indicate  to  the  human  spec- 
tator only  passive  virtues. 

The  doctrine  of  this  discourse  is  in 
every  view  interesting.  To  me  it  goes 
further  than  all  others  to  explain  the 
present  state.  If  moral  strength,  if  in- 
ward power  in  the  choice  and  practice 
of  duty,  constitute  excellence  and  happi- 
ness, then  I see  why  we  are  placed  in  a 
world  of  obstructions,  perils,  hardships, 
why  duty  is  so  .often  a ‘‘narrow  way,” 
why  the  warfare  of  the  passions  with 
conscience  is  so  subtile  and  unceasing ; 
why  within  and  without  us  are  so  many 
foes  to  rectitude  ; for  this  is  the  very 
state  to  call  forth  and  to  build  up  moral 
force.  In  a world  where  duty  and  in- 
clination should  perfectly  agree,  we 
should  indeed  never  err,  but  the  living 
power  of  virtue  could  not  be  developed. 
Do  not  complain,  then,  of  life’s  trials. 
Through  these  you  may  gain  incom- 
parably higher  good  than  indulgence 
and  ease.  This  view  reveals  to  us  the 
impartial  goodness  of  God  in  the  variety 
of  human  conditions.  We  sometimes 
see  individuals  whose  peculiar  trials  are 
thought  to  make  their  existence  to  them 
an  evil.  But  among  such  may  be  found 
the  most  favored  children  of  God.  If 
there  be  a man  on  earth  to  be  envied  it 
is  he  who,  amidst  the  sharpest  assaults 
from  his  own  passions,  from  fortune, 
from  society,  never  falters  in  his  alle- 
giance to  God  and  the  inward  monitor. 
So  peculiar  is  the  excellence  of  this 
moral  strength,  that  I believe  the  Crea- 
tor regards  one  being  who  puts  it  forth 
with  greater  complacency  than  He  would 
look  on  a world  of  beings  innocent  and 
harmless  through  the  necessity  of  con- 
stitution. I know  not  that  human  wis- 
dom has  arrived  at  a juster  or  higher 
view  of  the  present  state  than  that  it 
is  intended  to  call  forth  power  by  ob- 
struction, the  power  of  intellect  by  the 


difficulties  of  knowledge,  the  power  of 
conscience  and  virtue  by  temptation, 
allurement,  pleasure,  pain,  and  the  alter- 
nations of  prosperous  and  adverse  life. 
When  I see  a man  holding  faster  his  up- 
rightness in  proportion  as  it  is  assailed  ; 
fortifying  his  religious  trust  in  proportion 
as  Providence  is  obscure ; hoping  in  the 
ultimate  triumphs  of  virtue  more  surely 
in  proportion  to  its  present  afflictions  ; 
cherishing  philanthropy  amidst  the  dis- 
couraging experience  of  men’s  unkind- 
ness and  unthankfulness  ; extending  to 
others  a sympathy  which  his  own  suffer- 
ings need  but  cannot  obtain  ; growing 
milder  and  gentler  amidst  what  tends  to 
exasperate  and  harden ; and  through 
inward  principle  converting  the  very  in- 
citements to  evil  into  the  occasions  of  a 
victorious  virtue,  — I see  an  explanation, 
and  a noble  explanation,  of  the  present 
state.  I see  a good  produced  so  tran- 
scendent in  its  nature  as  to  justify  all 
the  evil  and  suffering  under  which  it 
grows  up.  I should  think  the  formation 
of  a few  such  minds  worth  all  the  appa- 
ratus of  the  present  world.  I should 
say  that  this  earth,  with  its  continents 
and  oceans,  its  seasons  and  harvests, 
and  its  successive  generations,  was  a 
work  worthy  of  God,  even  were  it  to 
accomplish  no  other  end  than  the  train- 
ing and  manifestation  of  the  illustrious 
characters  which  are  scattered  through 
history.  And  when  I consider  how  small 
a portion  of  human  virtue  is  recorded  by 
history,  how  superior  in  dignity  as  well 
as  in  number  are  the  unnoticed,  unhon- 
ored saints  and  heroes  of  domestic  and 
humble  life,  I see  a light  thrown  over 
the  present  state  which  more  than  rec- 
onciles me  to  all  its  evils. 

The  views  given  in  this  discourse  of 
the  importance  of  moral  power  mani- 
fested in  great  trials,  may  be  employed 
to  shed  a glorious  and  perhaps  a new 
light  on  the  character  and  cross  of  Christ. 
But  this  topic  can  now  be  only  suggested 
to  your  private  meditation.  There  is, 
however,  one  practical  application  of  our 
subject  which  may  be  made  in  a few 
words,  and  which  I cannot  omit.  I wish 
to  ask  the  young  who  hear  me,  and 
especially  of  my  own  sex,  to  use  the 
views  now  offered  in  judging  and  form- 
ing their  characters.  Young  man,  re- 
member that  the  only  test  of  goodness, 
virtue,  is  moral  strength,  self-denying 
energy.  You  have  generous  and  honor- 


THE  EVIL  OF  SIN. 


347 


able  feelings,  you  scorn  mean  actions, 
your  heart  beats  quick  at  the  sight  or 
hearing  of  courageous,  disinterested 
deeds,  and  all  these  are  interesting 
qualities  ; but  remember  they  are  the 
gifts  of  nature,  the  endowments  of  your 
susceptible  age.  They  are  not  virtue. 
God  and  the  inward  monitor  ask  for 
more.  The  question  is,  Do  you  strive 
to  confirm  into  permanent  principles  the 
generous  sensibilities  of  the  heart  ? Are 
you  watchful  to  suppress  the  impetuous 
emotions,  the  resentments,  the  selfish 
passionateness  which  are  warring  against 
your  honorable  feelings  ? Especially  do 
you  subject  to  your  moral  and  religious 
convictions  the  love  of  pleasure,  the 
appetites,  the  passions  which  form  the 
great  trials  of  youthful  virtue  ? Here  is 
the  field  of  conflict  to  which  youth  is 
summoned.  Trust  not  to  occasional 
impulses  of  benevolence,  to  constitu- 
tional courage,  frankness,  kindness,  if 


you  surrender  yourselves  basely  to  the 
temptations  of  your  age.  No  man  who 
has  made  any  observation  of  life  but 
will  tell  you  how  often  he  has  seen  the 
promise  of  youth  blasted ; intellect, 
genius,  honorable  feeling,  kind  affec- 
tion, overpowered  and  almost  extin- 
guished through  the  want  of  moral 
strength,  through  a tame  yielding  to 
pleasure  and  the  passions.  Place  no 
trust  in  your  good  propensities,  unless 
these  are  fortified,  and  upheld,  and  im- 
proved by  moral  energy  and  self-control. 
To  all  of  us,  in  truth,  the  same  lesson 
comes.  If  any  man  will  be  Christ’s 
disciple,  sincerely  good,  and  worthy  to 
be  named  among  the  friends  of  virtue, 
if  he  will  have  inward  peace  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  progress  towards  heaven, 
he  must  deny  himself,  he  must  take  the 
cross,  and  follow  Christ  in  the  renuncia- 
tion of  every  gain  and  pleasure  incon- 
sistent with  the  will  of  God. 


THE  EVIL  OF  SIN. 


Proverbs  xiv.  9:  “ Fools  make  a mock  at  sin.” 

My  aim  in  this  discourse  is  simple, 
and  may  be  expressed  in  a few  words. 
I wish ’to  guard  you  against  thinking 
lightly  of  sin.  No  folly  is  so  monstrous, 
and  yet  our  exposure  to  it  is  great. 
Breathing  an  atmosphere  tainted  with 
moral  evil,  seeing  and  hearing  sin  in  our 
daily  walks,  we  are  in  no  small  danger 
of  overlooking  its  malignity.  This  ma- 
lignity I would  set  before  you  with  all 
plainness,  believing  that  the  effort  which 
is  needed  to  resist  this  enemy  of  our 
peace  is  to  be  called  forth  by  fixing  on 
it  our  frequent  and  serious  attention. 

I feel  as  if  a difficulty  lay  at  the  very 
threshold  of  this  discussion,  which  it  is 
worth  our  while  to  remove.  The  word 
sin,  I apprehend,  is  to  many  obscure,  or 
not  sufficiently  plain.  It  is  a word  sel- 
dom used  in  common  life.  It  belongs 
to  theology  and  the  pulpit.  By  not  a 
few  people  sin  is  supposed  to  be  a prop- 
erty of  our  nature,  born  with  us  ; and  we 
sometimes  hear  of  the  child  as  being 
sinful  before  it  can  have  performed  any 


action.  From  these  and  other  causes 
the  word  gives  to  many  confused  no- 
tions. Sin,  in  its  true  sense,  is  the  vio- 
lation of  duty,  and  cannot,  consequently, 
exist  before  conscience  has  begun  to 
act,  and  before  power  to  obey  it  is  un- 
folded. To  sin  is  to  resist  our  sense  of 
right,  to  oppose  known  obligation,  to 
cherish  feelings  or  commit  deeds  which 
we  know  to  be  wrong.  It  is  to  withhold 
from  God  the  reverence,  gratitude,  and 
obedience  which  our  own  consciences 
pronounce  to  be  due  to  that  great  and 
good  Being.  It  is  to  transgress  those 
laws  of  equity,  justice,  candor,  humanity, 
disinterestedness,  which  we  all  feel  to 
belong  and  to  answer  to  our  various  so- 
cial relations.  It  is  to  yield  ourselves 
to  those  appetites  which  we  know  to  be 
the  inferior  principles  of  our  nature,  to 
give  the  body  a mastery  over  the  mind, 
to  sacrifice  the  intellect  and  heart  to  the 
senses,  to  surrender  ourselves  to  ease 
and  indulgence,  or  to  prefer  outward  ac- 
cumulation and  power  to  strength  and 
peace  of  conscience,  to  progress  towards 


THE  EVIL  OF  SIN. 


348 

perfection.  Such  is  sin.  It  is  voluntary 
wrong-doing.  Any  gratification  injurious 
to  ourselves  is  sin.  Any  act  injurious  to 
our  neighbors  is  sin.  Indifference  to 
our  Creator  is  sin.  The  transgression 
of  any  command  which  this  excellent 
Being  and  rightful  Sovereign  has  given 
us,  whether  by  conscience  or  revelation, 
is  sin.  So  broad  is  this  term.  It  is  as 
extensive  as  duty.  It  is  not  some  mys- 
terious thing  wrought  into  our  souls  at 
birth.  It  is  not  a theological  subtilty. 
It  is  choosing  and  acting  in  opposition 
to  our  sense  of  right,  to  known  obliga- 
tion. 

Now,  according  to  the  Scriptures, 
there  is  nothing  so  evil,  so  deformed,  so 
ruinous  as  sin.  All  pain,  poverty,  con- 
tempt, affliction,  ill  success,  are  light  and 
not  to  be  named  with  it.  To  do  wrong 
is  more  pernicious  than  to  incur  all  the 
calamities  which  nature  or  human  malice 
can  heap  upon  us.  According  to  the 
Scriptures,  I am  not  to  fear  those  who 
would  kill  this  body,  and  have  nothing 
more  that  they  can  do.  Such  enemies 
are  impotent  compared  with  that  sin 
which  draws  down  the  displeasure  of 
God,  and  draws  after  it  misery  and 
death  to  the  soul.  According  to  the 
Scriptures,  I am  to  pluck  out  even  a 
right  eye,  or  cut  off  even  a right  arm, 
which  would  ensnare  or  seduce  me  into 
crime.  The  loss  of  the  most  important 
limbs  and  organs  is  nothing  compared 
to  the  loss  of  innocence.  Such  you 
know  is  the  whole  strain  of  Scripture. 
Sin,  violated  duty,  the  evil  of  the  heart, 
this  is  the  only  evil  of  which  Scripture 
takes  account.  It  was  from  this  that 
Christ  came  to  redeem  us.  It  is  to  pu- 
rify us  from  this  stain,  to  set  us  free 
from  this  yoke,  that  a new  and  supernat- 
ural agency  was  added  to  God’s  other 
means  of  promoting  human  happiness. 

It  is  the  design  of  these  represen- 
tations of  Scripture  to  lead  us  to  con- 
nect with  sin  or  wrong-doing  the  ideas 
of  evil,  wretchedness,  and  debasement 
more  strongly  than  with  any  thing  else  ; 
and  this  deep,  deliberate  conviction  of 
the  wrong  and  evil  done  to  ourselves  by 
sin  is  not  simply  a command  of  Christi- 
anity. It  is  not  an  arbitrary,  positive 
precept,  which  rests  solely  on  the  word 
of  the  lawgiver,  and  of  which  no  account 
can  be  given  but  that  he  wills  it.  It  is 
alike  the  dictate  of  natural  and  revealed 
religion,  an  injunction  of  conscience  and 


reason,  founded  in  our  very  souls,  and 
confirmed  by  constant  experience.  To 
regard  sin,  wrong-doing,  as  the  greatest 
of  evils  is  God’s  command,  proclaimed 
from  within  and  without,  from  heaven 
and  earth  ; and  he  who  does  not  hear  it 
has  not  learned  the  truth  on  which  his 
whole  happiness  rests.  This  I propose 
to  illustrate. 

1.  If  we  look  within,  we  find  in  our 
very  nature  a testimony  to  the  doctrine 
that  sin  is  the  chief  of  evils,  — a testi- 
mony which,  however  slighted  or  smoth- 
ered, will  be  recognized,  I think,  by  every 
one  who  hears  me.  To  understand  this 
truth  better,  it  may  be  useful  to  inquire 
into  and  compare  the  different  kinds  of 
evil.  Evil  has  various  forms,  but  these 
may  all  be  reduced  to  two  great  di- 
visions, called  by  philosophers  natural 
and  i7ioral.  By  the  first  is  meant  the 
pain  or  suffering  which  springs  from 
outward  condition  and  events,  or  from 
causes  independent  of  the  will.  The 
latter,  that  is,  moral  evil,  belongs  to 
character  and  conduct,  and  is  commonly 
expressed  by  the  words  sin,  vice,  trans- 
gression of  the  rule  of  right.  Now  I 
say  that  there  is  no  man,  unless  he  be 
singularly  hardened  and  an  exception  to 
his  race,  who,  if  these  two  classes  or  di- 
visions of  evil  should  be  clearly  and  fully 
presented  him  in  moments  of  calm  and  de- 
liberate thinking,  would  not  feel,  through 
the  very  constitution  of  his  mind,  that 
sin  or  vice  is  worse  and  morq  to  be 
dreaded  than  pain.  I am  willing  to  take 
from  among  you  the  individual  who  has 
studied  least  the  great  questions  of  mo- 
rality and  religion,  whose  mind  has  grown 
up  with  least  discipline.  If  I place  before 
such  a hearer  two  examples  in  strong 
contrast,  one  of  a man  gaining  great 
property  by  an  atrocious  crime,  and  an- 
other exposing  himself  to  great  suffering 
through  a resolute  purpose  of  duty,  will 
he  not  tell  me  at  once,  from  a deep 
moral  sentiment  which  leaves  not  a 
doubt  on  his  mind,  that  the  last  has 
chosen  the  better  part,  that  he  is  more  to 
be  envied  than  the  first  ? On  these  great 
questions,  What  is  the  chief  good  ? and 
What  the  chief  evil  ? we  are  instructed 
by  our  own  nature.  An  inward  voice  has 
told  men,  even  in  heathen  countries,  that 
excellence  of  character  is  the  supreme 
good,  and  that  baseness  of  soul  and  of 
action  involves  something  worse  than 
suffering.  We  have  all  of  us,  at  some 


THE  EVIL  OF  SIN. 


349 


period  of  life,  had  the  same  conviction ; 
and  these  have  been  the  periods  when 
the  mind  has  been  healthiest,  clearest, 
least  perturbed  by  passion.  Is  there 
any  one  here  who  does  not  feel  that 
what  the  divine  faculty  of  conscience 
enjoins  as  right  has  stronger  claims 
upon  him  than  what  is  recommended  as 
merely  agreeable  or  advantageous  ; that 
duty  is  something  more  sacred  than  in- 
terest or  pleasure  ; that  virtue  is  a good 
of  a higher  order  than  gratification  ; that 
crime  is  something  worse  than  outward 
loss  ? What  means  the  admiration  with 
which  we  follow  the  conscientious  and 
disinterested  man,  and  which  grows 
strong  in  proportion  to  his  sacrifices  to 
duty  ? Is  it  not  the  testimony  of  our 
whole  souls  to  the  truth  and  greatness 
of  the  good  he  has  chosen  ? What 
means  the  feeling  of  abhorrence,  which 
we  cannot  repress  if  we  would,  towards 
him  who,  by  abusing  confidence,  tram- 
pling on  weakness,  or  hardening  himself 
against  the  appeals  of  mercy,  has  grown 
rich  or  great  ? Do  we  think  that  such  a 
man  has  made  a good  bargain  in  barter- 
ing principle  for  wealth  ? Is  prosperous 
fortune  a balance  for  vice  ? In  our  de- 
liberate moments,  is  there  not  a voice 
which  pronounces  his  craft  folly,  and  his 
success  misery  ? 

And,  to  come  nearer  home,  what  con- 
viction is  it  which  springs  up  most 
spontaneously  in  our  more  reflecting 
moments,  when  we  look  back  without 
passion  on  our  own  lives  ? Can  vice 
stand  that  calm  look?  Is  there  a sin- 
gle wrong  act  which  we  would  not  then 
rejoice  to  expunge  from  the  unalterable 
records  of  our  deeds  ? Do  we  ever 
congratulate  ourselves  on  having  de- 
spised the  inward  monitor,  or  revolted 
against  God  ? To  what  portions  of  our 
history  do  we  return  most  joyfully  ? 
Are  they  those  in  which  we  gained  the 
world  and  lost  the  soul,  in  which  temp- 
tation mastered  our  principles,  which 
levity  and  sloth  made  a blank,  or  which 
a selfish  and  unprincipled  activity  made 
worse  than  a blank,  in  our  existence  ? 
or  are  they  those  in  which  we  suffered 
but  were  true  to  conscience,  in  which 
we  denied  ourselves  for  duty,  and  sacri- 
ficed success  through  unwavering  rec- 
titude ? In  these  moments  of  calm 
recollection,  do  not  the  very  transgres- 
sions at  which  perhaps  we  once  mocked, 
and  which  promised  unmixed  joy,  recur 


to  awaken  shame  and  remorse  ? And 
do  not  shame  and  remorse  involve  a con- 
sciousness that  we  have  sunk  beneath 
our  proper  good  ? that  our  highest  nat- 
ure, what  constitutes  our  true  self,  has 
been  sacrificed  to  low  interests  and 
pursuits  ? I make  these  appeals  con- 
fidently. I think  my  questions  can 
receive  but  one  answer.  Now,  these 
convictions  and  emotions  with  which  we 
witness  moral  evil  in  others,  or  recollect 
it  in  ourselves  ; these  feelings  towards 
guilt,  which  mere  pain  and  suffering 
never  excite,  and  which  manifest  them- 
selves with  more  or  less  distinctness  in 
all  nations  and  all  stages  of  society ; 
these  inward  attestations  that  sin, 
wrong-doing,  is  a peculiar  evil,  for 
which  no  outward  good  can  give  ade- 
quate compensation, — surely  these  de- 
serve to  be  regarded  as  the  voice  of 
nature,  the  voice  of  God.  They  are 
accompanied  with  a peculiar  conscious- 
ness of  truth.  They  are  felt  to  be  our 
ornament  and  defence.  Thus,  our  nat- 
ure teaches  the  doctrine  of  Christianity, 
that  sin,  or  moral  evil,  ought  of  all  evils 
to  inspire  most  abhorrence  and  fear. 

Our  first  argument  has  been  drawn 
from  sentiment,  from  deep  and  almost 
instinctive  feeling,  from  the  hand-writ- 
ing of  the  Creator  on  the  soul.  Our 
next  may  be  drawn  from  experience. 
We  have  said  that  even  when  sin  or 
wrong-doing  is  prosperous,  and  duty 
brings  suffering,  we  feel  that  the  suffer- 
ing is  a less  evil  than  sin.  I now  add, 
in  the  second  place,  that  sin,  though  it 
sometimes  prospers,  and  never  meets 
its  full  retribution  on  earth,  yet,  on  the 
whole,  produces  more  present  suffering 
than  all  things  else  ; so  that  experience 
warns  us  against  sin  or  wrong-doing  as 
the  chief  evil  we  can  incur.  Whence 
come  the  sorest  diseases  and  acutest 
bodily  pains  ? Come  they  not  from  the 
lusts  warring  in  our  members,  from 
criminal  excess  ? What  chiefly  gen- 
erates poverty  and  its  worst  suffer- 
ings ? Is  it  not  to  evils  of  character, 
to  the  want  of  self-denying  virtue,  that 
we  must  ascribe  chiefly  the  evils  of  our 
outward  condition  ? The  pages  of  his- 
tory, how  is  it  that  they  are  so  dark  and 
sad?  Is  it  not  that  they  are  stained 
with  crime  ? If  we  penetrate  into  pri- 
vate life,  what  spreads  most  misery 
through  our  homes  ? Is  it  sickness,  or 
selfishness  ? Is  it  want  of  outward  com- 


350 


THE  EVIL  OF  SIN. 


forts,  or  want  of  inward  discipline,  of 
the  spirit  of  love  ? What  more  do  we 
need  to  bring  back  Eden’s  happiness 
than  Eden’s  sinlessness  ? How  light  a 
burden  would  be  life’s  necessary  ills 
were  they  not  aided  by  the  crushing 
weight  of  our  own  and  others’  faults 
and  crimes  ? How  fast  would  human 
woe  vanish  were  human  selfishness, 
sensuality,  injustice,  pride,  impiety,  to 
yield  to  the  pure  and  benign  influences 
of  Christian  truth  ? How  many  of  us 
know  that  the  sharpest  pains  we  have 
ever  suffered  have  been  the  wounds  of 
pride,  the  paroxysms  of  passion,  the 
stings  of  remorse  ; and  where  this  is 
not  the  case,  who  of  us,  if  he  were  to 
know  his  own  soul,  would  not  see  that 
the  daily  restlessness  of  life,  the  wear- 
ing uneasiness  of  the  mind,  which,  as  a 
whole,  brings  more  suffering  than  acute 
pains,  is  altogether  the  result  of  undis- 
ciplined passions,  of  neglect  or  dis- 
obedience of  God  ? Our  discontents 
and  anxieties  have  their  origin  in  moral 
evil.  The  lines  of  suffering  on  almost 
every  human  countenance  have  been 
deepened,  if  not  traced  there,  by  un- 
faithfulness to  conscience,  by  depart- 
ures from  duty.  To  do  wrong  is  the 
surest  way  to  bring  suffering  ; no  wrong 
deed  ever  failed  to  bring  it.  Those  sins 
which  are  followed  by  no  palpable  pain 
are  yet  terribly  avenged  even  in  this 
life.  They  abridge  our  capacity  of  hap- 
piness, impair  our  relish  for  innocent 
pleasure,  and  increase  our  sensibility  to 
suffering.  They  spoil  us  of  the  armor 
of  a pure  conscience  and  of  trust  in 
God,  without  which  we  are  naked  amidst 
hosts  of  foes,  and  are  vulnerable  by  all 
the  changes  of  life.  Thus,  to  do  wrong 
is  to  inflict  the  surest  injury  on  our  own 
pqace.  No  enemy  can  do  us  equal 
harm  with  what  we  do  ourselves  when- 
ever or  however  we  violate  any  moral 
or  religious  obligation. 

I have  time  but  for  one  more  view  of 
moral  evil  or  sin,  showing  that  it  is  truly 
the  greatest  evil.  It  is  this.  The  mis- 
eries of  disobedience  to  conscience  and 
God  are  not  exhausted  in  this  life.  Sin 
deserves,  calls  for,  and  will  bring  down 
future,  greater  misery.  This  Christian- 
ity teaches,  and  this  nature  teaches. 
Retribution  is  not  a new  doctrine  brought 
by  Christ  into  the  world.  Though  dark- 
ened and  corrupted,  it  was  spread  every- 
where before  he  came.  It  carried  alarm 


to  rude  nations,  which  nothing  on  earth 
could  terrify.  It  mixed  with  all  the 
false  religions  of  antiquity,  and  it  finds 
a response  now  in  every  mind  not  per- 
verted by  sophistry.  That  we  shall 
carry  with  us  into  the  future  world  our 
present  minds,  and  that  a character 
formed  in  opposition  to  our  highest  fac- 
ulties and  to  the  will  of  God  will  pro- 
duce suffering  in  our  future  being, — 
these  are  truths,  in  which  revelation, 
reason,  and  conscience  remarkably  con- 
spire. 

I know,  indeed,  that  this  doctrine  is 
sometimes  questioned.  It  is  maintained 
by  some  among  us  that  punishment  is 
confined  to  the  present  state  ; that  in 
changing  worlds  we  shall  change  our 
characters  ; that  moral  evil  is  to  be 
buried  with  the  body  in  the  grave.  As 
this  opinion  spreads  industriously,  and 
as  it  tends  to  diminish  the  dread  of  sin, 
it  deserves  some  notice.  To  my  mind, 
a more  irrational  doctrine  was  never 
broached.  In  the  first  place,  it  con- 
tradicts all  our  experience  of  the  nature 
and  laws  of  the  mind.  There  is  nothing 
more  striking  in  the  mind  than  the  con- 
nection of  its  successive  states.  Our 
present  knowledge,  thoughts,  feelings, 
characters,  are  the  results  of  former  im- 
pressions, passions,  and  pursuits.  We 
are  this  moment  what  the  past  has  made 
us  ; and  to  suppose  that  at  death  the 
influences  of  our  whole  past  course  are 
to  cease  on  our  minds,  and  that  a char- 
acter is  to  spring  up  altogether  at  war 
with  what  has  preceded  it,  is  to  suppose 
the  most  important  law  or  principle  of 
the  mind  to  be  violated,  is  to  destroy  all 
analogy  between  the  present  and  fut- 
ure, and  to  substitute  for  experience  the 
wildest  dreams  of  fancy.  In  truth,  such 
a sudden  revolution  in  the  character  as 
is  here  supposed  seems  to  destroy  a 
man’s  identity.  The  individual  thus 
transformed  can  hardly  seem  to  himself 
or  to  others  the  same  being.  It  is 
equivalent  to  the  creation  of  a new 
soul. 

Let  me  next  ask,  what  fact  can  be 
adduced  in  proof  or  illustration  of  the 
power  ascribed  to  death  of  changing 
and  purifying  the  mind  ? What  is  death  ? 
It  is  the  dissolution  of  certain  limbs  and 
organs  by  which  the  soul  now  acts.  But 
these,  however  closely  connected  with 
the  mind,  are  entirely  distinct  from  its 
powers,  from  thought  and  will,  from 


THE  EVIL  OF  SIN. 


35  1 


conscience  and  affection.  Why  should 
the  last  grow  pure  from  the  dissolution 
of  the  first  ? Why  shall  the  mind  put 
on  a new  character  by  laying  aside  the 
gross  instruments  through  which  it  now 
operates  ? At  death,  the  hands,  the 
feet,  the  eye,  and  the  ear  perish.  But 
they  often  perish  during  life  ; and  does 
character  change  with  them  ? It  is  true 
that  our  animal  appetites  are  weakened 
and  sometimes  destroyed  by  the  decay 
of  the  bodily  organs  on  which  they  de- 
pend. But  our  deeper  principles  of  ac- 
tion, and  the  moral  complexion  of  the 
mind,  are  not  therefore  reversed.  It 
often  happens  that  the  sensualist,  bro- 
ken down  by  disease  which  excess  has 
induced,  comes  to  loathe  the  luxuries  to 
which  he  was  once  enslaved  ; but  do  his 
selfishness,  his  low  habits  of  thought, 
his  insensibility  to  God,  decline  and 
perish  with  his  animal  desires  ? Lop 
off  the  criminaFs  hands  ; does  the  dis- 
position to  do  mischief  vanish  with  them  ? 
When  the  feet  mortify,  do  we  see  a cor- 
responding mortification  of  the  will  to 
go  astray  ? The  loss  of  sight  or  hearing 
is  a partial  death  ; but  is  a single  vice 
plucked  from  the  mind,  or  one  of  its 
strong  passions  palsied,  by  this  destruc- 
tion of  its  chief  corporeal  instruments  ? 

Again  ; the  idea  that  by  dying  or 
changing  worlds  a man  may  be  made 
better  or  virtuous,  shows  an  ignorance 
of  the  nature  of  moral  goodness  or  virtue. 
This  belongs  to  free  beings  ; it  supposes 
moral  liberty.  A man  cannot  be  made 
virtuous  as  an  instrument  may  be  put  in 
tune,  by  a foreign  hand,  by  an  outward 
force.  Virtue  is  that  to  which  the  man 
himself  contributes.  It  is  the  fruit  of 
exertion.  It  supposes  conquest  of  temp- 
tation. It  cannot  be  given  from  abroad 
to  one  who  has  wasted  life  or  steeped 
himself  in  crime.  To  suppose  moral 
goodness  breathed  from  abroad  into  the 
guilty  mind,  just  as  health  may  be  im- 
parted to  a sick  body,  is  to  overlook  the 
distinction  between  corporeal  and  intel- 
lectual natures,  and  to  degrade  a free 
being  into  a machine. 

I will  only  add,  that  to  suppose  no 
connection  to  exist  between  the  present 
and  the  future  character,  is  to  take  away 
the  use  of  the  present  state.  Why  are 
we  placed  in  a state  of  discipline,  ex- 
posed to  temptation,  encompassed  with 
suffering,  if,  without  discipline,  and  by 
a sovereign  act  of  omnipotence,  we  are 


all  of  us,  be  our  present  characters  what 
they  may,  soon  and  suddenly  to  be  made 
perfect  in  virtue  and  perfect  in  happi- 
ness ? 

Let  us  not  listen  for  a moment  to  a 
doctrine  so  irrational  as  that  our  present 
characters  do  not  follow  us  into  a future 
world.  If  we  are  to  live  again,  let  us 
settle  it  as  a sure  fact,  that  we  shall 
carry  with  us  our  present  minds,  such 
as  we  now  make  them;  that  we  shall 
reap  good  or  ill  according  to  their  im- 
provement or  corruption  ; and,  of  con- 
sequence, that  every  act  which  affects 
character  will  reach  in  its  influence  be- 
yond the  grave,  and  have  a bearing  on 
our  future  weal  or  woe.  We  are  now 
framing  our  future  lot.  He  who  does  a 
bad  deed  says,  more  strongly  than  words 
can  utter,  fc<  I cast  away  a portion  of 
future  good,  I resolve  on  future  pain.” 

I proceed  now  to  an  important  and 
solemn  remark  in  illustration  of  the  evil 
of  sin.  It  is  plainly  implied  in  Scripture 
that  we  shall  suffer  much  more  from  sin, 
evil  tempers,  irreligion,  in  the  future 
world  than  we  suffer  here.  This  is  one 
main  distinction  between  the  two  states. 
In  the  present  world  sin  does  indeed 
bring  with  it  many  pains,  but  not  full  or 
exact  retribution,  and  sometimes  it  seems 
crowned  with  prosperity  ; and  the  cause 
of  this  is  obvious.  The  present  world 
is  a state  for  the  formation  of  character. 
It  is  meant  to  be  a state  of  trial,  where 
we  are  to  act  freely,  to  have  opportuni- 
ties of  wrong  as  well  as  right  action,  and 
to  become  virtuous  amidst  temptation. 
Now  such  a purpose  requires  that  sin, 
or  wrong-doing,  should  not  regularly  and 
infallibly  produce  its  full  and  "immediate 
punishment.  For  suppose,  my  hearers, 
that  at  the  very  instant  of  a bud  purpose 
or  a bad  deed  a sore  and  awful  penalty 
were  unfailingly  to  light  upon  you  ; would 
this  be  consistent  with  trial  ? would  you 
have  moral  freedom  ? would  you  not  live 
under  compulsion  ? Who  would  do 
wrong  if  judgment  were  to  come  like 
lightning  after  every  evil  deed  ? In 
such  a world  fear  would  suspend  our 
liberty  and  supersede  conscience.  Ac- 
cordingly sin,  though,  as  we  have  seen, 
it  produces  great  misery,  is  still  left  to 
compass  many  of  its  objects,  often  to 
prosper,  often  to  be  gain.  Vice,  bad  as 
it  is,  has  often  many  pleasures  in  its 
train.  The  worst  men  partake,  equally 
with  the  good,  the  light  of  the  sun,  the 


352 


THE  EVIL  OF  SIN. 


rain,  the  harvest,  the  accommodations 
and  improvements  of  civilized  life,  and 
sometimes  accumulate  more  largely  out- 
ward goods.  And  thus  sin  has  its  pleas- 
ures, and  escapes  many  of  its  natural 
and  proper  fruits.  We  live  in  a world 
where,  if  we  please,  we  may  forget  our- 
selves, may  delude  ourselves,  may  in- 
toxicate our  minds  with  false  hopes,  and 
may  find  for  a time  a deceitful  joy  in  an 
evil  course.  In  this  respect  the  future 
will  differ  from  the  present  world.  After 
death,  character  will  produce  its  full 
effect.  According  to  the  Scriptures,  the 
color  of  our  future  existence  will  be 
wholly  determined  by  the  habits  and 
principles  which  we  carry  into  it.  The 
circumstances  which  in  this  life  prevent 
vice,  sin,  wrong-doing,  from  inflicting 
pain,  will  not  operate  hereafter.  There 
the  evil  mind  will  be  exposed  to  its  own 
terrible  agency,  and  nothing,  nothing 
will  interfere  between  the  transgressor 
and  his  own  awakened  conscience.  I 
ask  you  to  pause  and  weigh  this  dis- 
tinction between  the  present  and  future. 
In  the  present  life  we  have,  as  I have 
said,  the  means  of  escaping,  amusing, 
and  forgetting  ourselves.  Once  in  the 
course  of  every  daily  revolution  of  the 
sun  we  all  of  us  find  refuge,  and  many 
a long  refuge,  in  sleep  ; and  he  who  has 
lived  without  God,  and  in  violation  of 
his  duty,  hears  not  for  hours  a whisper 
of  the  monitor  within.  But  sleep  is  a 
function  of  our  present  animal  frame, 
and  let  not  the  transgressor  anticipate 
this  boon  in  the  world  of  retribution 
before  him.  It  may  be,  and  he  has 
reason  to  fear,  that  in  that  state  repose 
will  not  weigh  down  his  eyelids,  that 
conscience  will  not  slumber  there,  that 
night  and  day  the  same  reproaching 
voice  is  to  cry  within,  that  unrepented 
sin  will  fasten  with  unrelaxing  grasp  on 
the  ever-waking  soul.  What  an  im- 
mense change  in  condition  would  the 
removal  of  this  single  alleviation  of  suf- 
fering produce ! 

Again  ; in  the  present  state,  how  many 
pleasant  sights,  scenes,  voices,  motions, 
draw  us  from  ourselves  ; and  he  who  has 
done  wrong,  how  easily  may  he  forget 
it,  perhaps  mock  at  it,  under  the  bright 
light  of  this  sun,  on  this  fair  earth,  at 
the  table  of  luxury,  and  amidst  cheer- 
ful associates.  In  the  state  of  retribu- 
tion he  who  has  abused  the  present 
state  will  find  no  such  means  of  escap- 


ing the  wages  of  sin.  The  precise  mode 
in  which  such  a man  is  to  exist  here- 
after I know  not.  But  I know  that  it 
will  offer  nothing  to  amuse  him,  to  dis- 
sipate thought,  to  turn  him  away  from 
himself ; nothing  to  which  he  can  fly 
for  refuge  from  the  inward  penalties  of 
transgression. 

In  the  present  life,  I have  said,  the 
outward  creation,  by  its  interesting  ob- 
jects, draws  the  evil  man  from  himself. 
It  seems  to  me  probable  that,  in  the 
future,  the  whole  creation  will  through 
sin  be  turned  into  a source  of  suffering, 
and  will  perpetually  throw  back  the  evil 
mind  on  its  own  transgressions.  I can 
briefly  state  the  reflections  which  lead  to 
this  anticipation.  The  Scriptures  strong- 
ly imply,  if  not  positively  teach,  that  in 
the  future  life  we  shall  exist  in  connec- 
tion with  some  material  frame  ; and  the 
doctrine  is  sustained  by  reason : for  it 
can  hardly  be  thought  that,  in  a creation 
which  is  marked  by  gradual  change  and 
progress,  we  should  make  at  once  the 
mighty  transition  from  our  present  state 
into  a purely  spiritual  or  unembodied 
existence.  Now,  in  the  present  state, 
we  find  that  the  mind  has  an  immense 
power  over  the  body,  and  when  dis- 
eased, often  communicates  disease  to 
its  sympathizing  companion.  I believe 
that,  in  the  future  state,  the  mind  will 
have  this  power  of  conforming  its  out- 
ward frame  to  itself  incomparably  more 
than  here.  We  must  never  forget  that 
in  that  world  mind  or  character  is  to 
exert  an  all-powerful  sway  ; and,  accord- 
ingly, it  is  rational  to  believe  that  the 
corrupt  and  deformed  mind,  which  wants 
moral  goodness,  or  a spirit  of  concord 
with  God  and  with  the  universe,  will 
create  for  itself,  as  its  fit  dwelling,  a 
deformed  body,  which  will  also  want 
concord  or  harmony  with  all  things 
around  it.  Suppose  this  to  exist,  and 
the  whole  creation  which  now  amuses 
may  become  an  instrument  of  suffering, 
fixing  the  soul  with  a more  harrowing 
consciousness  on  itself.  You  know  that 
even  now,  in  consequence  of  certain 
derangements  of  the  nervous  system, 
the  beautiful  light  gives  acute  pain,  and 
sounds  which  once  delighted  us  be- 
come shrill  and  distressing.  How  often 
this  excessive  irritableness  of  the  body 
has  its  origin  in  moral  disorders,  per- 
haps few  of  us  suspect.  I apprehend, 
indeed,  that  we  should  be  all  amazed 


THE  EVIL  OF  SIN. 


353 


were  we  to  learn  to  what  extent  the  body 
is  continually  incapacitated  for  enjoy- 
ment, and  made  susceptible  of  suffer- 
ing, by  sins  of  the  heart  and  life.  That 
delicate  part  of  our  organization  on  which 
sensibility,  pain,  and  pleasure  depend, 
is,  I believe,  peculiarly  alive  to  the  touch 
of  moral  evil.  How  easily,  then,  may  the 
mind  hereafter  frame  the  future  body 
according  to  itself,  so  that,  in  proportion 
to  its  vice,  it  will  receive,  through  its 
organs  and  senses,  impressions  of  gloom 
which  it  will  feel  to  be  the  natural  pro- 
ductions of  its  own  depravity,  and  which 
will  in  this  way  give  a terrible  energy  to 
conscience  ! For  myself,  I see  no  need 
of  a local  hell  for  the  sinner  after  death. 
When  I reflect  how,  in  the  present  world, 
a guilty  mind  has  power  to  deform  the 
countenance,  to  undermine  health,  to 
poison  pleasure,  to  darken  the  fairest 
scenes  of  nature,  to  turn  prosperity  into 
a curse,  I can  easily  understand  how,  in 
the  world  to  come,  sin,  working  without 
obstruction  according  to  its  own  nature, 
should  spread  the  gloom  of  a dungeon 
over  the  whole  creation,  and  wherever  it 
goes  should  turn  the  universe  into  a hell. 

In  these  remarks  I presume  not  to  be 
the  prophet  of  the  future  world.  I only 
wish  you  to  feel  how  terribly  sin  is  here- 
after to  work  its  own  misery,  and  how 
false  and  dangerous  it  is  to  argue  from 
your  present  power  of  escaping  its  con- 
sequences, that  you  may  escape  them  in 
the  life  to  come.  Let  each  of  us  be 
assured  that  by  abusing  this  world  we 
shall  not  earn  a better.  The  Scriptures 
announce  a state  of  more  exact  and  rig- 
orous retribution  than  the  present.  Let 
this  truth  sink  into  our  hearts.  It  shows 
us,  what  I have  aimed  to  establish,  that 
to  do  wrong  is  to  incur  the  greatest  of 
calamities,  that  sin  is  the  chief  of  evils. 
May  I not  say  that  nothing  else  deserves 
the  name  ? No  other  evil  will  follow  us 
beyond  the  grave.  Poverty,  disease, 


the  world’s  scorn,  the  pain  of  bereaved 
affection,  these  cease  at  the  grave.  The 
purified  spirit  lays  down  there  every 
burden.  One  and  only  one  evil  can  be 
carried  from  this  world  to  the  next,  and 
that  is  the  evil  within  us,  moral  evil, 
guilt,  crime,  ungoverned  passion,  the 
depraved  mind,  the  memory  of  a wasted 
or  ill-spent  life,  the  character  which  has 
grown  up  under  neglect  of  God’s  voice 
in  the  soul  and  in  his  word.  This,  this 
will  go  with  us,  to  stamp  itself  on  our 
future  frames,  to  darken  our  future 
being,  to  separate  us  like  an  impassable 
gulf  from  our  Creator  and  from  pure 
and  happy  beings,  to  be  as  a consuming 
fire  and  an  undying  worm. 

I have  spoken  of  the  pains  and  pen- 
alties of  moral  evil,  or  of  wrong-doing, 
in  the  world  to  come.  How  long  they 
will  endure,  I know  not.  Whether  they 
will  issue  in  the  reformation  and  hap- 
piness of  the  sufferer,  or  will  terminate 
in  the  extinction  of  his  conscious  being, 
is  a question  on  which  Scripture  throws 
no  clear  light.  Plausible  arguments  may 
be  adduced  in  support  of  both  these 
doctrines.  On  this  and  on  other  points 
revelation  aims  not  to  give  precise  infor- 
mation, but  to  fix  in  us  a deep  impres- 
sion that  great  suffering  awaits  a dis- 
obedient, wasted,  immoral,  irreligious 
life.  To  fasten  this  impression,  to  make 
it  a deliberate  and  practical  conviction, 
is  more  needful  than  to  ascertain  the 
mode  or  duration  of  future  suffering. 
May  the  views  this  day  given  lead  us  all 
to  self-communion  and  to  new  energy, 
watchfulness,  and  prayer  against  our 
sins  ! May  they  teach  us  that  to  do 
wrong,  to  neglect  or  violate  any  known 
duty,  is  of  all  evils  the  most  fearful ! 
Let  every  act,  or  feeling,  or  motive, 
which  bears  the  brand  of  guilt,  seem  to 
us  more  terrible  than  the  worst  calam- 
ities of  life.  Let  us  dread  it  more  than 
the  agonies  of  the  most  painful  death. 


23 


354 


IMMORTALITY. 


IMMORTALITY. 


2 Timothy  i.  io  : “ Our  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  who 
hath  abolished  death,  and  hath  brought  life  and  im- 
mortality to  light  through  the  Gospel.” 

Immortality  is  the  glorious  discov- 
ery of  Christianity.  I say  discovery, 
not  because  a future  life  was  wholly  un- 
known before  Christ,  but  because  it  was 
so  revealed  by  him  as  to  become  to  a 
considerable  extent  a new  doctrine.  Be- 
fore Christ,  immortality  was  a conject- 
ure or  a vague  hope.  Jesus,  by  his 
teaching  and  resurrection,  has  made  it 
a certainty.  Again,  before  Christ,  a 
future  life  lent  little  aid  to  virtue.  It 
was  seized  upon  by  the  imagination  and 
passions,  and  so  perverted  by  them  as 
often  to  minister  to  vice.  In  Chris- 
tianity this  doctrine  is  wholly  turned  to 
a moral  use  ; and  the  future  is  revealed 
only  to  give  motives,  resolution,  force, 
to  self-conflict  and  to  a holy  life. 

My  aim  in  this  discourse  is  to  strength- 
en, if  I may,  your  conviction  of  immor- 
tality ; and  I have  thought  that  I may 
do  this  by  showing  that  this  great  truth 
is  also  a dictate  of  nature  : that  reason, 
though  unable  to  establish  it,  yet  ac- 
cords with  and  adopts  it ; that  it  is 
written  alike  in  God’s  word  and  in  the 
soul.  It  is  plainly  rational  to  expect 
that,  if  man  was  made  for  immortality, 
the  marks  of  this  destination  will  be 
found  in  his  very  constitution,  and  that 
these  marks  will  grow  stronger  in  pro- 
portion to  the  unfolding  of  his  faculties. 
I would  show  that  this  expectation  proves 
just,  that  the  teaching  of  revelation  in 
regard  to  a future  life  finds  a strong 
response  in  our  own  nature. 

This  topic  is  the  more  important  be- 
cause to  some  men  there  seem  to  be 
appearances  in  nature  unfavorable  to 
immortality.  To  many,  the  constant 
operation  of  decay  in  all  the  works  of 
creation,  the  dissolution  of  all  the  forms 
of  animal  and  vegetable  nature,  gives  a 
feeling  as  if  destruction  were  the  law  to 
which  we  and  all  beings  are  subjected. 

It  has  often  been  said  by  the  sceptic, 
that  the  races  or  classes  of  being  are 
alone  perpetual,  that  all  the  individuals 


which  compose  them  are  doomed  to 
perish.  Now  I affirm  that  the  more  we 
know  of  the  mind,  the  more  we  see  rea- 
son to  distinguish  it  from  the  animal 
and  vegetable  races  which  grow  and 
decay  around  us  ; and  that  in  its  very 
nature  we  see  reason  for  exempting  it 
from  the  universal  law  of  destruction. 
To  this  point  I now  ask  your  attention. 

When  we  look  round  us  on  the  earth, 
we  do  indeed  see  every  thing  changing, 
decaying,  passing  away  ; and  so  inclined 
are  we  to  reason  from  analogy  or  resem- 
blance, that  it  is  not  wonderful  that  the 
dissolution  of  all  the  organized  forms  of 
matter  should  seem  to  us  to  announce 
our  own  destruction.  But  we  overlook 
the  distinctions  between  matter  and 
mind  ; and  these  are  so  immense  as  to 
justify  the  directly  opposite  conclusion. 
Let  me  point  out  some  of  these  distinc- 
tions. 

i.  When  we  look  at  the  organized 
productions  of  nature,  we  see  that  they 
require  only  a limited  time,  and  most 
of  them  a very  short  time,  to  reach 
their  perfection  and  accomplish  their 
end.  Take,  for  example,  that  noble 
production,  a tree.  Having  reached  a 
certain  height  and  borne  leaves,  flowers, 
and  fruit,  it  has  nothing  more  to  do. 
Its  powers  are  fully  developed  ; it  has 
no  hidden  capacities,  of  which  its  buds 
and  fruit  are  only  the  beginnings  and 
pledges.  Its  design  is  fulfilled ; the 
principle  of  life  within  it  can  effect  no 
more.  Not  so  the  mind.  We  can  never 
say  of  this,  as  of  the  full-grown  tree  in 
autumn,  It  has  answered  its  end,  it  has 
done  its  work,  its  capacity  is  exhausted. 
On  the  contrary,  the  nature,  powers, 
desires,  and  purposes  of  the  mind  are 
all  undefined.  We  never  feel,  when  a 
great  intellect  has  risen  to  an  original 
thought  or  a vast  discovery,  that  it  has 
now  accomplished  its  whole  purpose, 
reached  its  bound,  and  can  yield  no 
other  or  higher  fruits.  On  the  contrary, 
our  conviction  of  its  resources  is  en- 
larged ; we  discern  more  of  its  affinity 
to  the  inexhaustible  intelligence  of  its 


IMMORTALITY. 


355 


Author.  In  every  step  of  its  progress 
we  see  a new  impulse  gained,  and  the 
pledge  of  nobler  acquirements.  So, 
when  a pure  and  resolute  mind  has 
made  some  great  sacrifice  to  truth  and 
duty,  has  manifested  its  attachment  to 
God  and  man  in  singular  - trials,  we  do 
not  feel  as  if  the  whole  energy  of  virtu- 
ous principle  were  now  put  forth,  as  if 
the  measure  of  excellence  were  filled, 
as  if  the  maturest  fruits  were  now 
borne,  and  henceforth  the  soul  could 
only  repeat  itself.  We  feel,  on  the  con- 
trary, that  virtue  by  illustrious  efforts 
replenishes  instead  of  wasting  its  life  ; 
that  the  mind,  by  perseverance  in  well- 
doing, instead  of  sinking  into  a mechan- 
ical tameness,  is  able  to  conceive  of 
higher  duties,  is  armed  for  a nobler 
daring,  and  grows  more  efficient  in 
charity.*  The  mind,  by  going  forward, 
does  not  reach  insurmountable  prison- 
walls,  but  learns  more  and  more  the 
boundlessness  of  its  powers,  and  of  the 
range  for  which  it  was  created. 

Let  me  place  this  topic  in  another 
light,  which  may  show  even  more 
strongly  the  contrast  of  the  mind  with 
the  noblest  productions  of  matter.  My 
meaning  may  best  be  conveyed  by  re- 
verting to  the  tree.  We  consider  the 
tree  as  having  answered  its  highest 
purpose  when  it  yields  a particular 
fruit.  We  judge  of  its  perfection  by  a 
fixed,  positive,  definite  product.  The 
mind,  however,  in  proportion  to  its  im- 
provement, becomes  conscious  that  its 
perfection  consists  not  in  fixed,  pre- 
scribed effects,  not  in  exact  and  defined 
attainments,  but  in  an  original,  creative, 
unconfinable  energy,  which  yields  new 
products,  which  carries  it  into  new 
fields  of  thought  and  new  efforts  for 
religion  and  humanity.  This  truth,  in- 
deed, is  so  obvious,  that  even  the  least 
improved  may  discern  it.  You  all  feel 
that  the  most  perfect  mind  is  not  that 
which  works  in  a prescribed  way,  which 
thinks  and  acts  according  to  prescribed 
rules,  but  that  which  has  a spring  of 
action  in  itself,  which  combines  anew 
the  knowledge  received  from  other 
minds,  which  explores  its  hidden  and 
multiplied  relations,  and  gives  it  forth 
in  fresh  and  higher  forms.  The  perfec- 
tion of  the  tree,  then,  lies  in  a precise 
or  definite  product.  That  of  the  mind 
lies  in  an  indefinite  and  boundless 
energy.  The  first  implies  limits.  To  I 


set  limits  to  the  mind  would  destroy 
that  original  power  in  which  its  perfec- 
tion consists.  Here,  then,  we  observe 
a distinction  between  material  forms 
and  the  mind  ; and  from  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  first,  which,  as  we  see,  at- 
tain perfection  and  fulfil  their  purpose 
in  a limited  duration,  we  cannot  argue 
to  the  destruction  of  the  last,  which 
plainly  possesses  the  capacity  of  a 
progress  without  end. 

2.  We  have  pointed  out  one  contrast 
between  the  mind  and  material  forms. 
The  latter,  we  have  seen,  by  their  nature 
have  bounds.  The  tree,  in  a short  time, 
and  by  rising  and  spreading  a short 
distance,  accomplishes  its  end.  I now 
add  that  the  system  of  nature  to  which 
the  tree  belongs  requires  that  it  should 
stop  where  it  does.  Were  it  to  grow 
for  ever,  it  would  be  an  infinite  mis- 
chief. A single  plant,  endued  with  the 
principle  of  unlimited  expansion,  would 
in  the  progress  of  centuries  overshadow 
nations  and  exclude  every  other  growth, 
would  exhaust  the  earth’s  whole  fertility. 
Material  forms,  then,  must  have  narrow 
bounds,  and  their  usefulness  requires 
that  their  life  and  growth  should  often 
be  arrested  even  before  reaching  the 
limits  prescribed  by  nature.  But  the 
indefinite  expansion  of  the  mind,  in- 
stead of  warring  with  and  counteract- 
ing the  system  of  creation,  harmonizes 
with  and  perfects  it.  One  tree,  should 
it  grow  for  ever,  would  exclude  other 
forms  of  vegetable  life.  One  mind,  in 
proportion  to  its  expansion,  awakens 
and  in  a sense  creates  other  minds.  It 
multiplies,  instead  of  exhausting,  the 
nutriment  which  other  understandings 
need.  A mind,  the  more  it  has  of  in- 
tellectual and  moral  life,  the  more  it 
spreads  life  and  power  around  it.  It  is 
an  ever-enlarging  source  of  thought  and 
love.  Let  me  here  add  that  the  mind, 
by  unlimited  growth,  not  only  yields  a 
greater  amount  of  good  to  other  beings, 
but  it  produces  continually  new  forms 
of  good.  This  is  an  important  distinc- 
tion. Were  the  tree  to  spread  indefi- 
nitely, it  would  abound  more  in  fruit, 
but  in  fruit  of  the  same  kind ; and,  by 
excluding  every  other  growth,  it  would 
destroy  the  variety  of  products  which 
now  contribute  to  health  and  enjoyment. 
But  the  mind  in  its  progress  is  perpetu- 
ally yielding  new  fruits,  new  forms  of 
thought  and  virtue  and  sanctity.  It 


IMMORTALITY. 


356 

always  contains  within  itself  the  germs 
of  higher  influences  than  it  has  ever 
put  forth,  the  buds  of  fruits  which  it 
has  never  borne.  Thus  the  very  reason 
which  requires  the  limitation  of  ma- 
terial forms  — I mean  the  good  of  the 
whole  system  — seems  to  require  the 
unlimited  growth  of  mind. 

3.  Another  distinction  between  ma- 
terial forms  and  the  mind  is,  that  to  the 
former  destruction  is  no  loss.  They 
exist  for  others  wholly,  in  no  degree  for 
themselves  ; and  others  only  can  sorrow 
for  their  fall.  The  mind,  on  the  con- 
trary, has  a deep  interest  in  its  own  ex- 
istence. In  this  respect,  indeed,  it  is 
distinguished  from  the  animal  as  well 
as  the  vegetable.  To  the  animal,  the 
past  is  a blank,  and  so  is  the  future. 
The  present  is  every  thing.  But  to  the 
mind  the  present  is  comparatively  noth- 
ing. Its  great  sources  of  happiness 
are  memory  and  hope.  It  has  power 
over  the  past,  not  only  the  power  of 
recalling  it,  but  of  turning  to  good  all 
its  experience,  its  errors  and  sufferings 
as  well  as  its  successes.  It  has  power 
over  the  future,  not  only  the  power  of 
anticipating  it,  but  of  bringing  the  pres- 
ent to  bear  upon  it,  and  of  sowing  for 
it  the  seeds  of  a golden  harvest.  To 
a mind  capable  of  thus  connecting  it- 
self with  all  duration,  of  spreading 
itself  through  times  past  and  to  come, 
existence  becomes  infinitely  dear,  and, 
what  is  most  worthy  of  observation,  its 
interest  in  its  own  being  increases  with 
its  progress  in  power  and  virtue.  An 
improved  mind  understands  the  great- 
ness of  its  own  nature,  and  the  worth 
of  existence,  as  these  cannot  be  under- 
stood by  the  unimproved.  The  thought 
of  its  own  destruction  suggests  to  it  an 
extent  of  ruin  which  the  latter  cannot 
comprehend.  The  thought  of  such  fac- 
ulties as  reason,  conscience,  and  moral 
will  being  extinguished  ; of  powers  akin 
to  the  divine  energy  being  annihilated  by 
their  Author  ; of  truth  and  virtue,  those 
images  of  God,  being  blotted  out ; of 
progress  towards  perfection  being  bro- 
ken off  almost  at  its  beginning,  — this 
is  a thought  fitted  to  overwhelm  a mind 
in  which  the  consciousness  of  its  own 
spiritual  nature  is  in  a good  degree  un- 
folded. In  other  words,  the  more  the 
mind  is  true  to  itself  and  to  God,  the 
more  it  clings  to  existence,  the  more  it 
shrinks  from  extinction  as  an  infinite 


loss.  Would  not  its  destruction,  then, 
be  a very  different  thing  from  the  de- 
struction of  material  beings,  and  does 
the  latter  furnish  an  analogy  or  pre- 
sumption in  support  of  the  former  ? To 
me,  the  undoubted  fact  that  the  mind 
thirsts  for  continued  being  just  in  pro- 
portion as  it  obeys  the  will  of  its 
Maker,  is  a proof,  next  to  irresistible, 
of  its  being  destined  by  him  for  im- 
mortality. 

4.  Let  me  add  one  more  distinction 
between  the  mind  and  material  forms. 
I return  to  the  tree.  We  speak  of  the 
tree  as  destroyed.  We  say  that  de- 
struction is  the  order  of  nature,  and  some 
say  that  man  must  not  hope  to  escape 
the  universal  law.  Now  we  deceive  our- 
selves in  this  use  of  words.  There  is  in 
reality  no  destruction  in  the  material 
world.  True,  the  tree  is  resolved  into 
its  elements.  But  its  elements  survive, 
and,  still  more,  they  survive  to  fulfil  the 
same  end  which  they  before  accom- 
plished. Not  a power  of  nature  is  lost. 
The  particles  of  the  decayed  tree  are 
only  left  at  liberty  to  form  new,  perhaps 
more  beautiful  and  useful  combinations. 
They  may  shoot  up  into  more  luxuriant 
foliage,  or  enter  into  the  structure  of 
the  highest  animals.  But  were  mind  to 
perish,  there  would  be  absolute,  irre- 
trievable destruction  ; for  mind,  from  its 
nature,  is  something  individual,  an  un- 
compounded essence,  which  cannot  be 
broken  into  parts,  and  enter  into  union 
with  other  minds.  I am  myself,  and 
can  become  no  other  being.  My  experi- 
ence, my  history,  cannot  become  my 
neighbor’s.  My  consciousness,  my  mem- 
ory, my  interest  in  my  past  life,  my  affec- 
tions, cannot  be  transferred.  If  in  any 
instance  I have  withstood  temptation, 
and  through  such  resistance  have  ac- 
quired power  over  myself  and  a claim 
to  the  approbation  of  my  fellow-beings, 
this  resistance,  this  power,  this  claim, 
are  my  own  ; I cannot  make  them  an- 
other’s. I can  give  away  my  property, 
my  limbs  ; but  that  which  makes  myself, 
— in  other  words,  my  consciousness,  my 
recollections,  my  feelings,  my  hopes, — 
these  can  never  become  parts  of  another 
mind.  In  the  extinction  of  a thinking, 
moral  being,  who  has  gained  truth  and 
virtue,  there  would  be  an  absolute  de- 
struction. This  event  would  not  be  as 
the  setting  of  the  sun,  which  is  a transfer 
of  light  to  new  regions  ; but  a quenching 


IMMORTALITY. 


of  the  light.  It  would  be  a ruin  such  as 
nature  nowhere  exhibits,  — a ruin  of 
what  is  infinitely  more  precious  than  the 
outward  universe,  — and  is  not,  there- 
fore, to  be  inferred  from  any  of  the 
changes  of  the  material  world. 

I am  aware  that  views  of  this  nature, 
intended  to  show  us  that  immortality  is 
impressed  on  the  soul  itself,  fail  to  pro- 
duce conviction  from  various  causes. 
There  are  not  a few  who  are  so  accus- 
tomed to  look  on  the  errors  and  crimes 
of  society,  that  human  nature  seems  to 
them  little  raised  above  the  brutal ; and 
they  hear,  with  a secret  incredulity,  of 
those  distinctions  and  capacities  of  the 
mind  which  point  to  its  perpetual  exist- 
ence. To  such  men  I might  say  that  it 
is  a vicious  propensity  which  leads  them 
to  fasten  continually  and  exclusively  on 
the  sins  of  human  nature  ; just  as  it  is 
criminal  to  fix  the  thoughts  perpetually 
on  the  miseries  of  human  life,  and  to  see 
nothing  but  evil  in  the  order  of  creation 
and  the  providence  of  God.  But,  pass- 
ing over  this,  I allow  that  human  nature 
abounds  in  crime.  But  this  does  not  de- 
stroy my  conviction  of  its  greatness  and 
immortality.  I say  that  I see  in  crime 
itself  the  proofs  of  human  greatness  and 
of  an  immortal  nature.  The  position 
may  seem  extravagant,  but  it  may  be 
fully  sustained. 

I ask  you  first  to  consider  what  is 
implied  in  crime.  Consider  in  what  it 
originates.  It  has  its  origin  in  the  no- 
blest principle  that  can  belong  to  any 
being,  — I mean,  in  moral  freedom. 
There  can  be  no  crime  without  liberty 
of  action,  without  moral  power.  Were 
man  a machine,  were  he  a mere  creat- 
ure of  sensation  and  impulse,  like  the 
brute,  he  could  do  no  wrong.  It  is  only 
because  he  has  the  faculties  of  reason 
and  conscience,  and  a power  over  him- 
self, that  he  is  capable  of  contracting 
guilt.  Thus  great  guilt  is  itself  a testi- 
mony to  the  high  endowments  of  the 
soul. 

In  the  next  place,  let  me  ask  you  to 
consider  whence  it  is  that  man  sins.  He 
sins  by  being  exposed  to  temptation. 
Now  the  great  design  of  temptation 
plainly  is,  that  the  soul,  by  withstanding 
it,  should  gain  strength,  should  make 
progress,  should  become  a proper  object 
of  divine  reward.  That  is,  man  sins 
through  an  exposure  which  is  designed 
to  carry  him  forward  to  perfection  ; so 


357 

that  the  cause  of  his  guilt  points  to  a 
continued  and  improved  existence. 

In  the  next  place,  I say  that  guilt  has 
a peculiar  consciousness  belonging  to  it 
which  speaks  strongly  of  a future  life. 
It  carries  with  it  intimations  of  retri- 
bution. Its  natural  associate  is  fear. 
The  connection  of  misery  with  crime  is 
anticipated  by  a kind  of  moral  instinct ; 
and  the  very  circumstance  that  the  un- 
principled man  sometimes  escapes  pres- 
ent suffering,  suggests  more  strongly  a 
future  state,  where  this  apparent  injus- 
tice will  be  redressed,  and  where  present 
prosperity  will  become  an  aggravation  of 
woe.  Guilt  sometimes  speaks  of  a fut- 
ure state  even  in  louder  and  more  solemn 
tones  than  virtue.  It  has  been  known 
to  overwhelm  the  spirit  with  terrible 
forebodings,  and  has  found  through  its 
presentiments  the  hell  which  it  feared. 
Thus  guilt  does  not  destroy,  but  corrob- 
orates, the  proofs  contained  in  the  soul 
itself  of  its  own  future  being. 

Let  me  add  one  more  thought.  The 
sins  which  abound  in  the  world,  and 
which  are  so  often  adduced  to  chill  our 
belief  in  the  capacities  and  vast  pros- 
pects of  human  nature,  serve  to  place  in 
stronger  relief,  and  in  brighter  light,  the 
examples  of  piety  and  virtue  which  all 
must  acknowledge  are  to  be  found  among 
the  guilty  multitude.  A mind  which,  in 
such  a world,  amidst  so  many  corrupting 
influences,  holds  fast  to  truth,  duty,  and 
God,  is  a nobler  mind  than  any  which 
could  be  formed  in  the  absence  of  such 
temptation.  Thus  the  great  sinfulness 
of  the  world  makes  the  virtue  which  ex- 
ists in  it  more  glorious  ; and  the  very 
struggles  which  the  good  man  has  to 
maintain  with  its  allurements  and  perse- 
cutions, prepare  him  for  a brighter  re- 
ward. To  me,  such  views  are  singularly 
interesting  and  encouraging.  I delight 
to  behold  the  testimony  which  sin  itself 
furnishes  to  man’s  greatness  and  im- 
mortality. I indeed  see  great  guilt  on 
earth  ; but  I see  it  giving  occasion  to 
great  moral  strength,  and  to  singular  de- 
votion and  virtue  in  the  good,  'and  thus 
throwing  on  human  nature  a lustre  which 
more  than  compensates  for  its  own  de- 
formity. I do  not  shut  my  eyes  on  the 
guilt  of  my  race.  I see,  in  history,  hu- 
man malignity  so  aggravated,  so  unre- 
lenting, as  even  to  pursue  with  torture, 
and  to  doom  to  the  most  agonizing  death, 
the  best  of  human  beings.  But  when  I 


IMMORTALITY. 


358 

see  these  beings  unmoved  by  torture  ; 
meek  and  calm,  and  forgiving  in  their 
agonies  ; superior  to  death,  and  never 
so  glorious  as  in  the  last  hour,  — I for- 
get the  guilt  which  persecutes  them,  in 
my  admiration  of  their  virtue.  In  their 
sublime  constancy,  I see  a testimony  to 
the  worth  and  immortality  of  human  nat- 
ure that  outweighs  the  wickedness  of 
which  they  seem  to  be  the  victims  ; and 
I feel  an  assurance,  which  nothing  can 
wrest  from  me,  that  the  godlike  virtue 
which  has  thus  been  driven  from  earth 
will  find  a home,  an  everlasting  home,  in 
its  native  heaven.  Thus  sin  itself  be- 
comes a witness  to  the  future  life  of 
man. 

I have  thus,  my  hearers,  endeavored 
to  show  that  our  nature,  the  more  it  is 
inquired  into,  discovers  more  clearly  the 
impress  of  immortality.  I do  not  mean 
that  this  evidence  supersedes  all  other. 
From  its  very  nature,  it  can  only  be  un- 
derstood thoroughly  by  improved  and 
purified  minds.  The  proof  of  immor- 
tality, which  is  suited  to  all  understand- 
ings, is  found  in  the  gospel,  sealed  by 
the  blood  and  confirmed  by  the  resur- 
rection of  Christ.  But  this,  I think,  is 
made  more  impressive  by  a demonstra- 
tion of  its  harmony  with  the  teachings 
of  nature.  To  me,  nature  and  revela- 
tion speak  with  one  voice  on  the  great 
theme  of  man’s  future  being.  Let  not 
their  joint  witness  be  unheard. 

How  full,  how  bright,  are  the  evi- 
dences of  this  grand  truth  ! How  weak 
are  the  common  arguments  which  scep- 
ticism arrays  against  it ! To  me  there 
is  but  one  objection  against  immortality, 
if  objection  it  may  be  called,  and  this 
arises  from  the  very  greatness  of  the 
truth.  My  mind  sometimes  sinks  under 
its  weight,  is  lost  in  its  immensity  ; I 
scarcely  dare  believe  that  such  a good 
is  placed  within  my  reach.  When  I 
think  of  myself  as  existing  through  all 
future  ages,  as  surviving  this  earth  and 
that  sky,  as  exempted  from  every  imper- 
fection and  error  of  my  present  being, 
as  clothe*d  with  an  angel’s  glory,  as  com- 
prehending with  my  intellect  and  em- 
bracing in  my  affections  an  extent  of 
creation  compared  with  which  the  earth 
is  a point ; when  I think  of  myself  as 
looking  on  the  outward  universe  with  an 
organ  of  vision  that  will  reveal  to  me  a 
beauty  and  harmony  and  order  not  now 
imagined,  and  as  having  an  access  to 


the  minds  of  the  wise  and  good  which 
will  make  them  in  a sense  my  own  ; 
when  I think  of  myself  as  forming 
friendships  with  innumerable  beings  of 
rich  and  various  intellect  and  of  the 
noblest  virtue,  as  introduced  to  the  so- 
ciety of  heaven,  as  meeting  there  the 
great  and  excellent  of  whom  I have 
read  in  history,  as  joined  with  “ the 
just,  made  perfect  ” in  an  ever-enlarging 
ministry  of  benevolence,  as  conversing 
with  Jesus  Christ  with  the  familiarity  of 
friendship,  and  especially  as  having  an 
immediate  intercourse  with  God,  such 
as  the  closest  intimacies  of  earth  dimly 
shadow  forth  ; when  this  thought  of  my 
future  being  comes  to  me,  whilst  I hope, 
I also  fear  ; the  blessedness  seems  too 
great ; the  consciousness  of  present 
weakness  and  unworthiness  is  almost 
too  strong  for  hope.  But  when  in  this 
frame  of  mind  I look  round  on  the  crea- 
tion, and  see  there  the  marks  of  an  om- 
nipotent goodness,  to  which  nothing  is 
impossible,  and  from  which  every  thing 
may  be  hoped  ; when  I see  around  me 
the  proofs  of  an  Infinite  Father  who 
must  desire  the  perpetual  progress  of 
his  intellectual  offspring  ; when  I look 
next  at  the  human  mind,  and  see  what 
powers  a few  years  have  unfolded,  and 
discern  in  it  the  capacity  of  everlasting 
improvement ; and  especially  when  I 
look  at  Jesus,  the  conqueror  of  death, 
the  heir  of  immortality,  who  has  gone 
as  the  forerunner  of  mankind  into  the 
mansions  of  light  and  purity,  I can 
and  do  admit  the  almost  overpowering 
thought  of  the  everlasting  life,  growth, 
felicity  of  the  human  soul. 

To  each  of  us,  my  friends,  is  this  fe- 
licity offered,  — a good  which  turns  to 
darkness  and  worthlessness  the  splen- 
dor and  excellence  of  the  most  favored 
lot  on  earth.  I say  it  is  offered.  It 
cannot  be  forced  on  us  ; from  its  nature, 
it  must  be  won.  Immortal  happiness 
is  nothing  more  than  the  unfolding  of 
our  own  minds,  the  full,  bright  exercise 
of  our  best  powers  ; and  these  powers 
are  never  to  be  unfolded  here  or  here- 
after, but  through  our  own  free  exer- 
tion. To  anticipate  a higher  existence 
whilst  we  neglect  our  own  souls,  is  a 
delusion  on  which  reason  frowns  no  less 
than  revelation.  Dream  not  of  a heaven 
into  which  you  may  enter,  live  here  as 
you  may.  To  such  as  waste  the  present 
state,  the  future  will  not,  cannot  bring 


THE  FUTURE  LIFE . 


359 


happiness.  There  is  no  concord  be- 
tween them  and  that  world  of  purity. 
A human  being  who  has  lived  without 
God,  and  without  self-improvement,  can 
no  more  enjoy  heaven  than  a moulder- 
ing body,  lifted  from  the  tomb  and 
placed  amidst  beautiful  prospects,  can 
enjoy  the  light  through  its  decayed 
eyes,  or  feel  the  balmy  air  which  blows 
away  its  dust.  My  hearers,  immortality 
is  a glorious  doctrine  ; but  not  given  us 
for  speculation  or  amusement.  Its  hap- 


piness is  to  be  realized  only  through 
our  own  struggles  with  ourselves,  only 
through  our  own  reaching  forward  to 
new  virtue  and  piety.  To  be  joined 
with  Christ  in  heaven,  we  must  be 
joined  with  him  now  in  spirit,  in  the 
conquest  of  temptation,  in  charity  and 
well-doing.  Immortality  should  begin 
here.  The  seed  is  now  to  be  sown 
which  is  to  expand  for  ever.  “ Be  not 
weary  then  in  well-doing  ; for  in  due 
time  we  shall  reap,  if  we  faint  not.” 


THE  FUTURE  LIFE: 

Discourse  preached  on  Easter  Sunday , 1834,  after  the  Death  of  an 
Excellent  and  very  Dear  Friend ’ 


Ephesians,  i.  20:  “ He  raised  him  from  the  dead, 
and  set  him  at  his  own  right  hand  in  the  heavenly 
places.” 

This  day  is  set  apart  by  the  Chris- 
tian world  to  the  commemoration  of 
Christ’s  resurrection.  Many  uses  may 
be  made  of  this  event,  but  it  is  par- 
ticularly fitted  to  confirm  the  doctrine 
of  another  life,  and  to  turn  our  thoughts, 
desires,  hopes  towards  another  world. 
I shall  employ  it  to  give  this  direction 
to  our  minds. 

There  is  one  method  in  which  Christ’s 
resurrection  gives  aid  to  our  faith  in 
another  life  which  is  not  often  dwelt  on, 
and  which  seems  to  me  worthy  of  atten- 
tion. Our  chief  doubts  and  difficulties 
in  regard  to  that  state  spring  chiefly 
from  the  senses  and  the  imagination, 
and  not  from  the  reason.  The  eye, 
fixed  on  the  lifeless  body,  on  the  wan 
features  and  the  motionless  limbs,  — 
and  the  imagination,  following  the  frame 
into  the  dark  tomb,  and  representing  to 
itself  the  stages  of  decay  and  ruin,  are 
apt  to  fill  and  oppress  the  mind  with 
discouraging  and  appalling  thoughts. 
The  senses  can  detect  in  the  pale  corpse 
not  a trace  of  the  activity  of  that  spirit 
which  lately  moved  it.  Death  seems  to 
have  achieved  an  entire  victory ; and 
when  reason  and  revelation  speak  of 
continued  and  a higher  life,  the  senses 
and  imagination,  pointing  to  the  disfig- 
ured and  mouldering  body,  obscure  by 


their  sad  forebodings  the  light  which 
reason  and  revelation  strive  to  kindle  in 
the  bereaved  soul. 

Now  the  resurrection  of  Christ  meets, 
if  I may  so  say,  the  senses  and  imag- 
ination on  their  own  ground,  contends 
with  them  with  their  own  weapons.  It 
shows  us  the  very  frame  on  which 
death,  in  its  most  humiliating  form,  had 
set  its  seal,  and  which  had  been  com- 
mitted in  utter  hopelessness  to  the 
tomb,  rising,  breathing,  moving  with 
new  life,  and  rising  not  to  return  again 
to  the  earth,  but,  after  a short  sojourn, 
to  ascend  from  the  earth  to  a purer  re- 
gion, and  thus  to  attest  man’s  destina- 
tion to  a higher  life.  These  facts,  sub- 
mitted to  the  very  senses,  and  almost 
necessarily  kindling  the  imagination  to 
explore  the  unseen  world,  seem  to  me 
particularly  suited  to  overcome  the  main 
difficulties  in  the  way  of  Christian  faith. 
Reason  is  not  left  to  struggle  alone 
with  the  horrors  of  the  tomb.  The  as- 
surance that  Jesus  Christ,  who  lived  on 
the  earth,  who  died  on  the  cross,  and 
was  committed  a mutilated,-  bleeding 
frame  to  the  receptacle  of  the  dead, 
rose  uninjured,  and  then  exchanged  an 
earthly  for  a heavenly  life,  puts  to  flight 
the  sad  auguries  which  rise  like  spectres 
from  the  grave,  and  helps  us  to  con- 
ceive, as  in  our  present  weakness  we 
could  not  otherwise  conceive,  of  man’s 
appointed  triumph  over  death. 


360 


THE  FUTURE  LIFE. 


Such  is  one  of  the  aids  given  by  the 
resurrection  to  faith  in  immortality. 
Still  this  faith  is  lamentably  weak  in 
the  multitude  of  men.  To  multitudes, 
heaven  is  almost  a world  of  fancy.  It 
wants  substance.  The  idea  of  a world 
in  which  beings  exist  without  these 
gross  bodies,  exist  as  pure  spirits,  or 
clothed  with  refined  and  spiritual  frames, 
strikes  them  as  a fiction.  What  can- 
not be  seen  or  touched  appears  unreal. 
This  is  mournful,  but  not  wonderful  ; 
for  how  can  men,  who  immerse  them- 
selves in  the  body  and  its  interests  and 
cultivate  no  acquaintance  with  their  own 
souls  and  spiritual  powers,  comprehend 
a higher,  spiritual  life  ? There  are 
multitudes  who  pronounce  a man  a vis- 
ionary who  speaks  distinctly  and  joy- 
fully of  his  future  being,  and  of  the 
triumph  of  the  mind  over  bodily  decay. 

This  scepticism  as  to  things  spiritual 
and  celestial  is  as  irrational  and  un- 
philosophical  as  it  is  degrading.  We 
have  more  evidence  that  we  have  souls 
or  spirits  than  that  we  have  bodies. 
We  are  surer  that  we  think,  and  feel, 
and  will,  than  that  we  have  solid  and 
extended  limbs  and  organs.  Philoso- 
phers have  said  much  to  disprove  the 
existence  of  matter  and  motion,  but 
they  have  not  tried  to  disprove  the 
existence  of  thought ; for  it  is  by 
thought  they  attempt  to  set  aside  the 
reality  of  material  nature. 

Farther,  how  irrational  is  it  to  im- 
agine that  there  are  no  worlds  but  this, 
and  no  higher  modes  of  existence  than 
our  own ! Who  that  sends  his  eye 
through  this  immense  creation  can 
doubt  that  there  are  orders  of  beings 
superior  to  ourselves,  or  can  see  any- 
thing unreasonable  in  the  doctrine  that 
there  are  states  in  which  mind  exists 
less  circumscribed  and  clogged  by  mat- 
ter than  on  earth  ; in  other  words,  that 
there  is  a spiritual  world  ? It  is  child- 
ish to  make  this  infant  life  of  ours  the 
model  of  existence  in  all  other  worlds. 
The  philosopher,  especially,  who  sees 
a vast  chain  of  beings  and  an  infinite 
variety  of  life  on  this  single  globe, 
which  is  but  a point  in  creation,  should 
be  ashamed  of  that  narrowness  of  mind 
which  can  anticipate  nothing  nobler  in 
the  universe  of  God  than  his  present 
mode  of  being. 

How,  now,  shall  the  doctrine  of  a 
future,  higher  life,  the  doctrine  both  of 


reason  and  revelation,  be  brought  to 
bear  more  powerfully  on  the  mind,  to 
become  more  real  and  effectual  ? V ari- 
ous  methods  might  be  given.  I shall 
confine  myself  to  one.  This  method  is, 
to  seek. some  clearer,  more  definite  con- 
ception of  the  future  state.  That  world 
seems  less  real,  for  want  of  some  dis- 
tinctness in  its  features.  We  should 
all  believe  it  more  firmly  if  we  conceived 
of  it  more  vividly.  It  seems  unsub- 
stantial, from  its  vagueness  and  dim- 
ness. I think  it  right,  then,  to  use  the 
aids  of  Scripture  and  reason  in  forming 
to  ourselves  something  like  a sketch  of 
the  life  to  come.  The  Scriptures,  in- 
deed, give  not  many  materials  for  such  a 
delineation,  but  the  few  they  furnish  are 
invaluable,  especially  when  we  add  to 
these  the  lights  thrown  over  futurity 
by  the  knowledge  of  our  own  spiritual 
nature.  Every  new  law  of  the  mind 
which  we  discover  helps  us  to  compre- 
hend its  destiny ; for  its  future  life  must 
correspond  to  its  great  laws  and  essen- 
tial powers. 

These  aids  we  should  employ  to  give 
distinctness  to  the  spiritual  state  ; and 
it  is  particularly  useful  so  to  do  when 
excellent  beings,  whom  we  have  known 
and  loved,  pass  from  earth  into  that 
world.  Nature  prompts  us  to  follow 
them  to  their  new  abode,  to  inquire  into 
their  new  life,  to  represent  to  ourselves 
their  new  happiness  ; and  perhaps  the 
spiritual  world  never  becomes  so  near 
and  real  to  us  as  when  we  follow  into  it 
dear  friends,  and  sympathize  with  them 
in  the  improvements  and  enjoyments  of 
that  blessed  life.  Do  not  say  that  there 
is  danger  here  of  substituting  imagina- 
tion for  truth.  There  is  no  danger  if 
we  confine  ourselves  to  the  spiritual 
views  of  heaven  given  us  in  the  New 
Testament,  and  interpret  these  by  the 
principles  and  powers  of  our  own  souls. 
To  me  the  subject  is  too  dear  and 
sacred  to  allow  me  to  indulge  myself  in 
dreams.  I want  reality  ; 1 want  truth  ; 
and  this  I find  in  God's  word  and  in 
the  human  soul. 

When  our  virtuous  friends  leave  the 
world,  we  know  not  the  place  where  they 
go.  We  can  turn  our  eyes  to  no  spot  in 
the  universe  and  say  they  are  there.  Nor 
is  our  ignorance  here  of  any  moment. 
It  is  unimportant  what  region  of  space 
contains  them.  Whilst  we  know  not  to 
what  place  they  go,  we  know  what  is 


THE  FUTURE  LIFE . 


infinitely  more  interesting,  to  what  be- 
ings they  go.  We  know  not  where 
heaven  is,  but  we  know  whom  it  con- 
tains, and  this  knowledge  opens  to  us 
an  infinite  field  for  contemplation  and 
delight. 

I.  Our  virtuous  friends,  at  death,  go 
to  Jesus  Christ.  This  is  taught  in  the 
text.  “ God  raised  him  from  the  dead, 
and  exalted  him  to  heaven.”  The  New 
Testament  always  speaks  of  Jesus  as 
existing  now  in  the  spiritual  world  ; and 
Paul  tells  us  that  it  is  the  happiness  of 
the  holy,  when  absent  from  the  body,  to 
be  present  with  the  Lord.  Here  is  one 
great  fact  in  regard  to  futurity.  The 
good,  on  leaving  us  here,  meet  their 
Saviour ; and  this  view  alone  assures 
us  of  their  unutterable  happiness.  In 
this  world  they  had  cherished  acquaint- 
ance with  Jesus  through  the  records  of 
the  Evangelists.  They  had  followed 
him  through  his  eventful  life  with  ven- 
eration and  love,  had  treasured  in  their 
memories  his  words,  works,  and  life- 
giving  promises,  and,  by  receiving  his 
spirit,  had  learned  something  of  the 
virtues  and  happiness  of  a higher  world. 
Now  they  meet  him;  they  see  him.  He 
is  no  longer  a faint  object  to  their  mind, 
obscured  by  distance  and  by  the  mists 
of  sense  and  the  world.  He  is  present 
to  them,  and  more  intimately  present 
than  we  are  to  each  other.  Of  this  we 
are  sure  ; for  whilst  the  precise  mode 
of  our  future  existence  is  unknown,  we 
do  know  that  spiritual  beings  in  that 
higher  state  must  approach  and  com- 
mune with  each  other  more  and  more 
intimately  in  proportion  to  their  prog- 
ress. Those  who  are  newly  born  into 
heaven  meet  Jesus,  and  meet  from  him 
the  kindest  welcome.  The  happiness 
of  the  Saviour,  in  receiving  to  a higher 
life  a human  being  who  has  been  re- 
deemed, purified,  inspired  with  immortal 
goodness  by  his  influence,  we  can  but 
imperfectly  comprehend.  You  can  con- 
ceive what  would  be  your  feelings  on 
welcoming  to  shore  your  best  friend 
who  had  been  tossed  on  a perilous  sea ; 
but  the  raptures  of  earthly  reunion  are 
faint  compared  with  the  happiness  of 
Jesus  in  receiving  the  spirit  for  which 
he  died,  and  which,  under  his  guidance, 
has  passed  with  an  improving  virtue 
through  a world  of  sore  temptation.  We 
on  earth  meet,  after  our  long  separations, 
to  suffer  as  well  as  enjoy,  and  soon  to 


361 

part  again.  Jesus  meets  those  who 
ascend  from  earth  to  heaven  with  the 
consciousness  that  their  trial  is  past, 
their  race  is  run,  that  death  is  con- 
quered. With  his  far-reaching,  pro- 
phetic eye  he  sees  them  entering  a 
career  of  joy  and  glory  never  to  end. 
And  his  benevolent  welcome  is  ex- 
pressed with  a power  which  belongs 
only  to  the  utterance  of  heaven,  and 
which  communicates  to  them  an  im- 
mediate, confiding,  overflowing  joy.  You 
know  that  on  earth  we  sometimes  meet 
human  beings  whose  countenances,  at  the 
first  view,  scatter  all  distrust,  and  win 
from  us  something  like  the  reliance  of 
a long-tried  friendship.  One  smile  is 
enough  to  let  us  into  their  hearts,  to 
reveal  to  us  a goodness  on  which  we 
may  repose.  That  smile  with  which 
Jesus  will  meet  the  new-born  inhabitant 
of  heaven,  that  joyful  greeting,  that 
beaming  of  love  from  him  who  bled  for 
us,  that  tone  of  welcome,  — all  these 
I can  faintly  conceive,  but  no  language 
can  utter  them.  The  joys  of  centuries 
will  be  crowded  into  that  meeting.  This 
is  not  fiction.  It  is  truth  founded  on 
the  essential  laws  of  the  mind. 

Our  friends,  when  they  enter  heaven, 
meet  Jesus  Christ,  and  their  intercourse 
with  him  will  be  of  the  most  affectionate 
and  ennobling  character.  There  will  be 
nothing  of  distance  in  it.  Jesus  is,  in- 
deed, sometimes  spoken  of  as  reigning 
in  the  future  world,  and  sometimes 
imagination  places  him  on  a real  and 
elevated  throne.  Strange  that  such  con- 
ceptions can  enter  the  minds  of  Chris- 
tians. Jesus  will  indeed  reign  in  heaven, 
and  so  he  reigned  on  earth.  He  reigned 
in  the  fishing-boat,  from  which  he 
taught ; in  the  humble  dwelling,  where 
he  gathered  round  him  listening  and 
confiding  disciples.  His  reign  is  not 
the  vulgar  dominion  of  this  world.  It 
is  the  empire  of  a great,  godlike,  dis- 
interested being  over  minds  capable  of 
comprehending  and  loving  him.  In 
heaven,  nothing  like  what  we  call 
government  on  earth  can  exist,  for 
government  here  is  founded  in  human 
weakness  and  guilt.  The  voice  of  com- 
mand is  never  heard  among  the  spirits 
of  the  just.  Even  on  earth,  the  most 
perfect  government  is  that  of  a family, 
where  parents  employ  no  tone  but  that 
of  affectionate  counsel,  where  filial  af- 
fect’on  reads  its  duty  in  the  mild  look, 


THE  FUTURE  LIFE. 


362 

and  finds  its  law  and  motive  in  its  own 
pure  impulse.  Christ  will  not  be  raised 
on  a throne  above  his  followers.  On 
earth  he  sat  at  the  same  table  with  the 
publican  and  sinner.  Will  he  recede 
from  the  excellent  whom  he  has  fitted 
for  celestial  mansions  ? How  minds 
will  communicate  with  one  another  in 
that  world,  we  know  not ; but  we  know 
that  our  closest  embraces  are  but  types 
of  the  spiritual  nearness  which  will  then 
be  enjoyed  ; and  to  this  intimacy  with 
Jesus  the  new-born  inhabitant  of  heaven 
is  admitted. 

But  we  have  not  yet  exhausted  this 
source  of  future  happiness.  The  excel- 
lent go  from  earth  not  only  to  receive  a 
joyful  welcome  and  assurances  of  eter- 
nal love  from  the  Lord.  There  is  a still 
higher  view.  They  are  brought  by  this 
new  intercourse  to  a new  comprehension 
of  his  mind,  and  to  a new  reception  of 
his  spirit.  It  is,  indeed,  a happiness  to 
know  that  we  are  objects  of  interest  and 
love  to  an  illustrious  being ; but  it  is  a 
greater  happiness  to  know  deeply  the 
sublime  and  beautiful  character  of  this 
being,  to  sympathize  with  him,  to  enter 
into  his  vast  thoughts  and  pure  designs, 
and  to  become  associated  with  him  in 
the  great  ends  for  which  he  lives.-  Even 
here,  in  our  infant  and  dim  state  of  being, 
we  learn  enough  of  Jesus,  of  his  divine 
philanthropy  triumphant  over  injuries 
and  agonies,  to  thrill  us  with  affectionate 
admiration.  But  those  in  heaven  look 
into  that  vast,  godlike  soul  as  we  have 
never  done.  They  approach  it  as  we 
cannot  approach  the  soul  of  the  most 
confiding  friend  ; and  this  nearness  to 
the  mind  of  Jesus  awakens  in  them- 
selves a power  of  love  and  virtue  which 
they  little  suspected  during  their  earthly 
being.  I trust  I speak  to  those  who,  if 
they  have  ever  been  brought  into  con- 
nection with  a noble  human  being,  have 
felt,  as  it  were,  a new  spirit,  and  almost 
new  capacities  of  thought  and  life,  ex- 
panded within  them.  We  all  know  how 
a man  of  mighty  genius  and  of  heroic 
feeling  can  impart  himself  to  other 
minds,  and  raise  them  for  a time  to 
something  like  his  own  energy  ; and  in 
this  we  have  a faint  delineation  of  the 
power  to  be  exerted  on  the  minds  of 
those  who  approach  Jesus  after  death. 
As  nature  at  this  season  springs  to  a 
new  life  under  the  beams  of  the  sun,  so 
will  the  human  soul  be  warmed  and  ex- 


panded under  the  influence  of  Jesus 
Christ.  It  will  then  become  truly  con- 
scious of  the  immortal  power  treasured 
up  in  itself.  His  greatness  will  not 
overwhelm  it,  but  will  awaken  a corre- 
sponding grandeur. 

Nor  is  this  topic  yet  exhausted.  The 
good,  on  approaching  Jesus,  will  not 
only  sympathize  with  his  spirit,  but  will 
become  joint  workers,  active,  efficient 
ministers  in  accomplishing  his  great 
work  of  spreading  virtue  and  happi- 
ness. We  must  never  think  of  heaven 
as  a state  of  inactive  contemplation,  or 
of  unproductive  feeling.  Even  here  on 
earth  the  influence  of  Christ’s  character 
is  seen  in  awakening  an  active,  self- 
sacrificing  goodness.  It  sends  the  true 
disciples  to  the  abodes  of  the  suffering. 
It  binds  them  by  new  ties  to  their  race. 
It  gives  them  a new  consciousness  of 
being  created  for  a ministry  of  be- 
neficence ; and  can  they,  when  they 
approach  more  nearly  this  divine  Phi- 
lanthropist, and  learn,  by  a new  alliance 
with  him,  the  fulness  of  his  love,  can 
they  fail  to  consecrate  themselves  to  his 
work  and  to  kindred  labors  with  an 
energy  of  will  unknown  on  earth  ? In 
truth,  our  sympathy  with  Christ  could 
not  be  perfect  did  we  not  act  with  him. 
Nothing  so  unites  beings  as  co-opera- 
tion in  the  same  glorious  cause,  and  to 
this  union  with  Christ  the  excellent 
above  are  received. 

There  is  another  very  interesting  view 
of  the  future  state,  which  seems  to  me 
to  be  a necessary  consequence  of  the 
connection  to  be  formed  there  with 
Jesus  Christ.  Those  who  go  there 
from  among  us  must  retain  the  deepest 
interest  in  this  world.  Their  ties  to 
those  they  have  left  are  not  dissolved, 
but  only  refined.  On  this  point,  indeed, 
I want  not  the  evidence  of  revelation  ; I 
want  no  other  evidence  than  the  essen- 
tial principles  and  laws  of  the  soul.  If 
the  future  state  is  to  be  an  improve- 
ment on  the  present,  if  intellect  is  to  be 
invigorated  and  love  expanded  there, 
then  memory,  the  fundamental  power  of 
the  intellect,  must  act  with  new  energy 
on  the  past,  and  all  the  benevolent 
affections  which  have  been  cherished 
here  must  be  quickened  into  a higher 
life.  To  suppose  the  present  state 
blotted  out  hereafter  from  the  mind 
would  be  to  destroy  its  use,  would  cut 
off  all  connection  between  the  two 


THE  FUTURE  LIFE . 


worlds,  and  would  subvert  responsibil- 
ity ; for  how  can  retribution  be  awarded 
for  a forgotten  existence?  No;  we 
must  carry  the  present  with  us,  whether 
we  enter  the  world  of  happiness  or  woe. 
The  good  will  indeed  form  new,  holier, 
stronger  ties  above ; but,  under  the  ex- 
panding influence  of  that  better  world, 
the  human  heart  will  be  capacious 
enough  to  retain  the  old  whilst  it  re- 
ceives the  new,  to  remember  its  birth- 
place with  tenderness  whilst  enjoying  a 
maturer  and  happier  being.  Did  I think 
of  those  who  are  gone  as  dying  to  those 
they  left,  I should  honor  and  love  them 
less.  The  man  who  forgets  his  home 
when  he  quits  it,  seems  to  want  the 
best  sensibilities  of  our  nature  ; and  if 
the  good  were  to  forget  their  brethren 
on  earth  in  their  new  abode,  were  to 
cease  to  intercede  for  them  in  their 
nearer  approach  to  their  common  Fa- 
ther, could  we  think  of  them  as  im- 
proved by  the  change  ? 

All  this  I am  compelled  to  infer  from 
the  nature  of  the  human  mind.  But 
when  I add  to  this  that  the  new-born 
heirs  of  heaven  go  to  Jesus  Christ,  the 
great  lover  of  the  human  family,  who 
dwelt  here,  suffered  here,  who  moist- 
ened our  earth  with  his  tears  and  blood, 
who  has  gone  not  to  break  off  but  to 
continue  and  perfect  his  beneficent  la- 
bors for  mankind,  whose  mind  never  for 
a moment  turns  from  our  race,  whose 
interest  in  the  progress  of  his  truth  and 
the  salvation  of  the  tempted  soul  has 
been  growing  more  and  more  intense 
ever  since  he  left  our  world,  and  who 
has  thus  bound  up  our  race  with  his 
very  being,  — when  I think  of  all  this,  I 
am  sure  that  they  cannot  forget  our 
world.  Could  we  hear  them,  I believe 
they  would  tell  us  that  they  never  truly 
loved  the  race  before ; never  before 
knew  what  it  is  to  sympathize  with  hu- 
man sorrow,  to  rejoice  in  human  virtue, 
to  mourn  for  human  guilt.  A new  foun- 
tain of  love  to  man  is  opened  within 
them.  They  now  see  what  before  dimly 
gleamed  on  them,  the  capacities,  the 
mysteries  of  a human  soul.  The  sig- 
nificance of  that  word  immortality  is 
now  apprehended,  and  every  being  des- 
tined to  it  rises  into  unutterable  impor- 
tance. They  love  human  nature  as 
never  before,  and  human  friends  are 
prized  as  above  all  price. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  asked  whether 


363 

those  born  into  heaven  not  only  remem- 
ber with  interest,  but  have  a present  im- 
mediate knowledge  of  those  whom  they 
left  on  earth  ? On  this  point  neither 
Scripture  nor  the  principles  of  human 
nature  give  us  light,  and  we  are  of 
course  left  to  uncertainty.  I will  only 
say  that  I know  nothing  to  prevent  such 
knowledge.  We  are  indeed  accustomed 
to  think  of  heaven  as  distant ; but  of 
this  we  have  no  proof.  Heaven  is  the 
union,  the  society  of  spiritual,  higher 
beings.  May  not  these  fill  the  universe, 
so  as  to  make  heaven  everywhere  ? are 
such  beings  probably  circumscribed,  as 
we  are,  by  material  limits  ? Milton  has 
said,  — 

“ Millions  of  spiritual  beings  walk  the  earth 
Both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep.” 

It  is  possible  that  the  distance  of 
heaven  lies  wholly  in  the  veil  of  flesh, 
which  we  now  want  power  to  penetrate. 
A new  sense,  a new  eye,  might  show 
the  spiritual  world  compassing  us  on 
every  side. 

But  suppose  heaven  to  be  remote. 
Still  we  on  earth  may  be  visible  to  its 
inhabitants  ; still  in  an  important  sense 
they  may  be  present ; for  what  do  we 
mean  by  presence  ? Am  I not  present 
to  those  of  you  who  are  beyond  the 
reach  of  my  arm,  but  whom  I distinctly 
see  ? And  is  it  at  all  inconsistent  with 
our  knowledge  of  nature  to  suppose 
that  those  in  heaven,  whatever  be  their 
abode,  may  have  spiritual  senses,  or- 
gans, by  which  they  may  discern  the 
remote  as  clearly  as  we  do  the  near  ? 
This  little  ball  of  sight  can  see  the 
planets  at  the  distance  of  millions  of 
miles,  and  by  the  aids  of  science  can 
distinguish  the  inequalities  of  their  sur- 
faces. And  it  is  easy  for  us  to  conceive 
of  an  organ  of  vision  so  sensitive  and 
piercing,  that  from  our  earth  the  inhabi- 
tants of  those  far-rolling  worlds  might 
be  discerned.  Why,  then,  may  not  they 
who  have  entered  a higher  state,  and 
are  clothed  with  spiritual  frames,  sur- 
vey our  earth  as  distinctly  as  when  it 
was  their  abode  ? 

This  may  be  the  truth  ; but  if  we  re- 
ceive it  as  such,  let  us  not  abuse  it.  It 
is  liable  to  abuse.  Let  us  not  think  of 
the  departed  as  looking  on  us  with 
earthly,  partial  affections.  They  love 
us  more  than  ever,  but  with  a refined 
and  spiritual  love.  They  have  now  but 


3^4 


THE  FUTURE  LIFE. 


one  wish  for  us,  which  is,  that  we  may 
fit  ourselves  to  join  them  in  their  man- 
sions of  benevolence  and  piety.  Their 
spiritual  vision  penetrates  to  our  souls. 
Could  we  hear  their  voice,  it  would  not 
be  an  utterance  of  personal  attachment 
so  much  as  a quickening  call  to  greater 
effort,  to  more  resolute  self-denial,  to  a 
wider  charity,  to  a meeker  endurance, 
a more  filial  obedience  of  the  will  of 
God.  Nor  must  we  think  of  them  as 
appropriated  to  ourselves.  They  are 
breathing  now  an  atmosphere  of  divine 
benevolence.  They  are  charged  with  a 
higher  mission  than  when  they  trod  the 
earth.  And  this  thought  of  the  enlarge- 
ment of  their  love  should  enlarge  ours, 
and  carry  us  beyond  selfish  regards  to  a 
benevolence  akin  to  that  with  which  they 
are  inspired. 

It  is  objected,  I know,  to  .the  view  I 
have  given  of  the  connection  of  the  in- 
habitants of  heaven  with  this  world,  that 
it  is  inconsistent  with  their  happiness. 
It  is  said  that,  if  they  retain  their  knowl- 
edge of  this  state,  they  must  suffer  from 
the  recollection  or  sight  of  our  sins  and 
woes  ; that  to  enjoy  heaven  they  must 
wean  themselves  from  the  earth.  This 
objection  is  worse  than  superficial.  It 
is  a reproach  to  heaven  and  the  good. 
It  supposes  that  the  happiness  of  that 
world  is  founded  in  ignorance,  that  it  is 
the  happiness  of  the  blind  man,  who, 
were  he  to  open  his  eye  on  what  exists 
around  him,  would  be  filled  with  horror. 
It  makes  heaven  an  Elysium,  whose  in- 
habitants perpetuate  their  joy  by  shut- 
ting themselves  up  in  narrow  bounds, 
and  hiding  themselves  from  the  pains  of 
their  fellow-creatures.  But  the  good,  from 
their  very  nature,  cannot  thus  be  confined. 
Heaven  would  be  a prison  did  it  cut  them 
off  from  sympathy  with  the  suffering. 
Their  benevolence  is  too  pure,  too  divine, 
to  shrink  from  the  sight  of  evil.  Let  me 
add  that  the  objection  before  us  casts 
reproach  on  God.  It  supposes  that  there 
are  regions  of  his  universe  which  must 
be  kept  out  of  sight,  which,  if  seen, 
would  blight  the  happiness  of  the  virt- 
uous. But  this  cannot  be  true.  There 
are  no  such  regions,  no  secret  places 
of  woe  which  these  pure  spirits  must 
not  penetrate.  There  is  impiety  in  the 
thought.  In  such  a universe  there  could 
be  no  heaven. 

Do  you  tell  me  that  according  to  these 
views  suffering  must  exist  in  that  blessed 


state  ? I reply,  I do  and  must  regard 
heaven  as  a world  of  sympathy.  N othing, 
I believe,  has  greater  power  to  attract 
the  regards  of  its  benevolent  inhabitants 
than  the  misery  into  which  any  of  their 
fellow-creatures  may  have  fallen.  The 
suffering  which  belongs  to  a virtuous 
sympathy  I cannot,  then,  separate  from 
heaven.  But  that  sympathy,  though  it 
has  sorrow,  is  far  from  being  misery. 
Even  in  this  world,  a disinterested  com- 
passion, when  joined  with  power  to 
minister  to  suffering,  and  with  wisdom 
to  comprehend  its  gracious  purposes,  is 
a spirit  of  peace,  and  often  issues  in  the 
purest  delight.  Unalloyed  as  it  will  be 
in  another  world  by  our  present  infirmi- 
ties, and  enlightened  by  comprehensive 
views  of  God’s  perfect  government,  it 
will  give  a charm  and  loveliness  to  the 
sublimer  virtues  of  the  blessed,  and, 
like  all  other  forms  of  excellence,  will 
at  length  enhance  their  felicity. 

II.  You  see  how  much  of  heaven  is 
taught  us  in  the  single  truth,  that  they 
who  enter  it  meet  and  are  united  to 
Jesus  Christ.  There  are  other  interest- 
ing views  at  which  I can  only  glance. 
The  departed  go  not  to  Jesus  only. 
They  go  to  the  great  and  blessed  so- 
ciety which  is  gathered  round  him,  to 
the  redeemed  from  all  regions  of  earth, 
“to  the  city  of  the  living  God,  to  an 
innumerable  company  of  angels,  to  the 
church  of  the  first-born,  to  the  spirits 
of  the  just  made  perfect.”  Into  what  a 
glorious  community  do  they  enter ! And 
how  they  are  received  you  can  easily 
understand.  We  are  told  there  is  joy  in 
heaven  over  the  sinner  who  repenteth  ; 
and  will  not  his  ascension  to  the  abode 
of  perfect  virtue  communicate  more 
fervent  happiness  ? Our  friends  who 
leave  us  for  that  world  do  not  find 
themselves  cast  among  strangers.  No 
desolate  feeling  springs  up  of  having 
exchanged  their  home  for  a foreign 
country.  The  tenderest  accents  of  hu- 
man friendship  never  approached  in 
affectionateness  the  voice  of  congratu- 
lation which  bids  them  welcome  to  their 
new  and  everlasting  abode.  In  that 
world,  where  minds  have  surer  means 
of  revealing  themselves  than  here,  the 
newly  arrived  immediately  see  and  feel 
themselves  encompassed  with  virtue  and* 
goodness  ; and  through  this  insight  into 
the  congenial  spirits  which  surround 
them,  intimacies  stronger  than  years 


THE  FUTURE  LIFE . 


can  cement  on  earth  may  be  created  in 
a moment. 

It  seems  to  me  accordant  with  all  the 
principles  of  human  nature,  to  suppose 
that  the  departed  meet  peculiar  con- 
gratulation from  friends  who  had  gone 
before  them  to  that  better  world  ; and 
especially  from  all  who  had  in  any  way 
given  aids  to  their  virtue  ; from  parents 
who  had  instilled  into  them  the  first 
lessons  of  love  to  God  and  man  ; from 
associates,  whose  examples  had  won 
them  to  goodness,  whose  faithful  coun- 
sels deterred  them  from  sin.  The  ties 
created  by  such  benefits  must  be  eter- 
nal. The  grateful  soul  must  bind  itself 
with  peculiar  affection  to  such  as  guided 
it  to  immortality. 

In  regard  to  the  happiness  of  the  in- 
tercourse of  the  future  state,  all  of  you, 
I trust,  can  form  some  apprehensions  of 
it.  If  we  have  ever  known  the  enjoy- 
ments of  friendship,  of  entire  confi- 
dence, of  co-operation  in  honorable  and 
successful  labors  with  those  we  love, 
we  can  comprehend  something  of  the 
felicity  of  a world  where  souls,  refined 
from  selfishness,  open  as  the  day,  thirst- 
ing for  new  truth  and  virtue,  endued 
with  new  power  of  enjoying  the  beauty 
and  grandeur  of  the  universe,  allied  in 
the  noblest  works  of  benevolence,  and 
continually  discovering  new  mysteries 
of  the  Creator’s  power  and  goodness, 
communicate  themselves  to  one  another 
with  the  freedom  of  perfect  love.  The 
closest  attachments  of  this  life  are  cold, 
distant,  stranger-like,  compared  with 
theirs.  How  they  communicate  them- 
selves, by  what  language  or  organs,  we 
know  not.  But  this  we  know,  that  in 
the  progress  of  the  mind  its  power  of 
imparting  itself  must  improve.  The 
eloquence,  the  thrilling,  inspiring  tones, 
in  which  the  good  and  noble  sometimes 
speak  to  us  on  earth,  may  help  us  to 
conceive  the  expressiveness,  harmony, 
energy  of  the  language  in  which  supe- 
rior beings  reveal  themselves  above. 
Of  what  they  converse  we  can  better 
judge.  They  who  enter  that  world 
meet  beings  whose  recollections  extend 
through  ages,  who  have  met  together 
perhaps  from  various  worlds,  who  have 
been  educated  amidst  infinite  varieties 
of  condition,  each  of  whom  has  passed 
through  his  own  discipline  and  reached 
his  own  peculiar  form  of  perfection, 
and  each  of  whom  is  a peculiar  testi- 


365 

mony  to  the  providence  of  the  Univer- 
sal Father.  What  treasures  of  memory, 
observation,  experience,  imagery,  illus- 
tration, must  enrich  the  intercourse  of 
heaven  ! One  angel’s  history  may  be  a 
volume  of  more  various  truth  than  all 
the  records  of  our  race.  After  all,  how 
little  can  our  present  experience  help  us 
to  understand  the  intercourse  of  heaven, 

— a communion  marred  by  no  passion, 
chilled  by  no  reserve,  depressed  by  no 
consciousness  of  sin,  trustful  as  child- 
hood, and  overflowing  with  innocent  joy, 

— a communion  in  which  the  noblest 
feelings  flow  fresh  from  the  heart,  in 
which  pure  beings  give  familiar  utter- 
ance to  their  divinest  inspirations,  to 
the  wonder  which  perpetually  springs 
up  amidst  this  ever-unfolding  and  ever- 
mysterious  universe,  to  the  raptures  of 
adoration  and  pious  gratitude,  and  to 
the  swellings  of  a sympathy  which  can- 
not be  confined. 

But  it  would  be  wrong  to  imagine  that 
the  inhabitants  of  heaven  only  converse. 
They  who  reach  that  world  enter  on  a 
state  of  action,  life,  effort.  We  are  apt 
to  think  of  the  future  world  as  so  happy 
that  none  need  the  aid  of  others,  that 
effort  ceases,  that  the  good  have  nothing 
to  do  but  to  enjoy.  The  truth  is  that  all 
action  on  earth,  even  the  intensest,  is 
but  the  sport  of  childhood  compared 
with  the  energy  and  activity  of  that 
higher  life.  It  must  be  so.  For  what 
principles  are  so  active  as  intellect,  be- 
nevolence, the  love  of  truth,  the  thirst 
for  perfection,  sympathy  with  the  suffer- 
ing, and  devotion  to  God’s  purposes  ? 
and  these  are  the  ever-expanding  prin- 
ciples of  the  future  life.  It  is  true,  the 
labors  which  are  now  laid  on  us  for 
food,  raiment,  outward  interests,  cease 
at  the  grave.  But  far  deeper  wants 
than  those  of  the  body  are  developed  in 
heaven.  There  it  is  that  the  spirit  first 
becomes  truly  conscious  of  its  capacities ; 
that  truth  opens  before  us  in  its  infinity  ; 
that  the  universe  is  seen  to  be  a bound- 
less sphere  for  discovery,  for  science, 
for  the  sense  of  beauty,  for  beneficence, 
and  for  adoration.  There  new  objects 
to  live  for,  which  reduce  to  nothingness 
present  interests,  are  constantly  unfold- 
ed. We  must  not  think  of  heaven  as  a 
stationary  community.  I think  of  it  as 
a world  of  stupendous  plans  and  efforts 
for  its  own  improvement.  I think  of  it 
as  a society  passing  through  successive 


THE  FUTURE  LIFE. 


366 

stages  of  development,  virtue,  knowl- 
edge, power,  by  the  energy  of  its  own 
members.  Celestial  genius  is  always 
active  to  explore  the  great  laws  of  the 
creation  and  the  everlasting  principles 
of  the  mind,  to  disclose  the  beautiful  in 
the  universe,  and  to  discover  the  means 
by  which  every  soul  may  be  carried  for- 
ward. In  that  world,  as  in  this,  there 
are  diversities  of  intellect,  and  the  high- 
est minds  find  their  happiness  and  prog- 
ress in  elevating  the  less  improved. 
There  the  work  of  education,  which  be- 
gan here,  goes  on  without  end  ; and  a 
diviner  philosophy  than  is  taught  on 
earth  reveals  the  spirit  to  itself,  and 
awakens  it  to  earnest,  joyful  effort  for 
its  own  perfection. 

And  not  only  will  they  who  are  born 
into  heaven  enter  a society  full  of  life 
and  action  for  its  own  development. 
Heaven  has  connection  with  other 
worlds.  Its  inhabitants  are  God’s  mes- 
sengers through  the  creation.  They 
have  great  trusts.  In  the  progress  of 
their  endless  being,  they  may  have  the 
care  of  other  worlds.  But  I pause,  lest 
to  those  unused  to  such  speculations  I 
seem  to  exceed  the  bounds  of  calm  an- 
ticipation. What  I have  spoken  seems 
to  me  to  rest  on  God’s  word  and  the 
laws  of  the  mind,  and  these  laws  are 
everlasting. 

On  one  more  topic  I meant  to  enlarge, 
but  I must  forbear.  They  who  are  born 
into  heaven  go  not  only  to  Jesus  and  an 
innumerable  company  of  pure  beings. 
They  go  to  God.  They  see  him  with  a 
new  light  in  all  his  works.  Still  more, 
they  see  him,  as  the  Scriptures  teach, 
face  to  face,  that  is,  by  immediate  com- 
munion. These  new  relations  of  the  as- 
cended spirit  to  the  Universal  Father, 
how  near  ! how  tender  ! how  strong  ! 
how  exalting  ! But  this  is  too  great  a 
subject  for  the  time  which  remains. 
And  yet  it  is  the  chief  element  of  the 
felicity  of  heaven. 

The  views  now  given  of  the  future 
state  should  make  it  an  object  of  deep 


interest,  earnest  hope,  constant  pursuit. 
Heaven  is,  in  truth,  a glorious  reality. 
Its  attraction  should  be  felt  perpetually. 
It  should  overcome  the  force  with  which 
this  world  draws  us  to  itself.  Were 
there  a country  on  earth  uniting  all  that 
is  beautiful  in  nature,  all  that  is  great  in 
virtue,  genius,  and  the  liberal  arts,  and 
numbering  among  its  citizens  the  most 
illustrious  patriots,  poets,  philosophers, 
philanthropists  of  our  age,  how  eagerly 
should  we  cross  the  ocean  to  visit  it ! 
And  how  immeasurably  greater  is  the 
attraction  of  heaven ! There  live  the 
elder  brethren  of  the  creation,  the  sons 
of  the  morning,  who  sang  for  joy  at  the 
creation  of  our  race  ; there  the  great 
and  good  of  all  ages  and  climes  ; the 
friends,  benefactors,  deliverers,  orna- 
ments of  their  race ; the  patriarch, 
prophet,  apostle,  and  martyr ; the  true 
heroes  of  public,  and  still  more  of  pri- 
vate, life  ; the  father,  mother,  wife,  hus- 
band, child,  who,  unrecorded  by  man, 
have  walked  before  God  in  the  beauty 
of  love  and  self-sacrificing  virtue.  There 
are  all  who  have  built  up  in  our  hearts 
the  power  of  goodness  and  truth,  the 
writers  from  whose  pages  we  have  re- 
ceived the  inspiration  of  pure  and  lofty 
sentiments,  the  friends  whose  counte- 
nances have  shed  light  through  our  dwel- 
lings, and  peace  and  strength  through 
our  hearts.  There  they  are  gathered  to- 
gether, safe  from  every  storm,  triumph- 
ant over  evil ; and  they  say  to  us,  Come 
and  join  us  in  our  everlasting  blessedness ; 
come  and  bear  part  in  our  song  of  praise  ; 
share  our  adoration,  friendship,  prog- 
ress, and  works  of  love.  They  say  to 
us,  Cherish  now  in  your  earthly  life  that 
spirit  and  virtue  of  Christ  which  is  the 
beginning  and  dawn  of  heaven,  and  we 
shall  soon  welcome  you,  with  more  than 
human  friendship,  to  our  own  immor- 
tality. Shall  that  voice  speak  to  us  in 
vain  ? Shall  our  worldliness  and  unfor- 
saken sins  separate  us,  by  a gulf  which 
cannot  be  passed,  from  the  society  of 
heaven  ? 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY. 


367  ( 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY: 

Discourse  at  the  Ordination  of  the  Rev . Jared  Sparks . 
Baltimore , 1819. 


1 Thes-  v.  21 : “ Prove  all  things  ; hold  fast  that  which 
is  good  ” 

The  peculiar  circumstances  of  this 
occasion  not  only  justify  but  seem  to 
demand  a departure  from  the  course 
generally  followed  by  preachers  at  the 
introduction  of  a brother  into  the  sacred 
office.  It  is  usual  to  speak  of  the  nat- 
ure, design,  duties,  and  advantages  of 
the  Christian  ministry ; and  on  these 
topics  I should  now  be  happy  to  insist, 
did  I not  remember  that  a minister  is 
to  be  given  this  day  to  a religious  soci- 
ety whose  peculiarities  of  opinion  have 
drawn  upon  them  much  remark,  and, 
may  I not  add,  much  reproach.  Many 
good  minds,  many  sincere  Christians, 
I am  aware,  are  apprehensive  that  the 
solemnities  of  this  day  are  to  give  a 
degree  of  influence  to  principles  which 
they  deem  false  and  injurious.  The 
fears  and  anxieties  of  such  men  I re- 
spect ; and,  believing  that  they  are 
grounded  in  part  on  mistake,  I have 
thought  it  my  duty  to  lay  before  you,  as 
clearly  as  I can,  some  of  the  distinguish- 
ing opinions  of  that  class  of  Christians 
in  our  country  who  are  known  to  sympa- 
thize with  this  religious  society.  I must 
ask  your  patience,  for  such  a subject  is 
not  to  be  despatched  in  a narrow  com- 
pass. I must  also  ask  you  to  remember 
that  it  is  impossible  to  exhibit,  in  a sin- 
gle discourse,  our  views  of  every  doc- 
trine of  revelation,  much  less  the  differ- 
ences of  opinion  which  are  known  to 
subsist  among  ourselves.  I shall  con- 
fine myself  to  topics  on  which  our  sen- 
timents have  been  misrepresented,  or 
which  distinguish  us  most  widely  from 
others.  May  I not  hope  to  be  heard 
with  candor  ? God  deliver  us  all  from 
prejudice  and  unkindness,  and  fill  us 
with  the  love  of  truth  and  virtue  ! 

There  are  two  natural  divisions  under 
which  my  thoughts  will  be  arranged.  I 
shall  endeavor  to  unfold,  1st,  The  prin- 


ciples which  we  adopt  in  interpreting 
the  Scriptures;  and  2dly,  Some  of  the 
doctrines  which  the  Scriptures,  so  inter- 
preted, seem  to  us  clearly  to  express. 

I.  We  regard  the  Scriptures  as  the 
records  of  God’s  successive  revelations 
to  mankind,  and  particularly  of  the  last 
and  most  perfect  revelation  of  his  will 
by  Jesus  Christ.  Whatever  doctrines 
seem  to  us  to  be  clearly  taught  in  the 
Scriptures,  we  receive  without  reserve 
or  exception.  We  do  not,  however,  at- 
tach equal  importance  to  all  the  books 
in  this  collection.  Our  religion,  we  be- 
lieve, lies  chiefly  in  the  New  Testament. 
The  dispensation  of  Moses,  compared 
with  that  of  Jesus,  we  consider  as 
adapted  to  the  childhood  of  the  human 
race,  a preparation  for  a nobler  system, 
and  chiefly  useful  now  as  serving  to 
confirm  and  illustrate  the  Christian 
Scriptures.  Jesus  Christ  is  the  only 
master  of  Christians,  and  whatever  he 
taught,  either  during  his  personal  minis- 
try or  by  his  inspired  Apostles,  we  re- 
gard as  of  divine  authority,  and  profess 
to  make  the  rule  of  our  lives. 

This  authority  which  we  give  to  the 
Scriptures  is  a reason,  we  conceive,  for 
studying  them  with  peculiar  care,  and 
for  inquiring  anxiously  into  the  princi- 
ples of  interpretation  by  which  their 
true  meaning  may  be  ascertained.  The 
principles  adopted  by  the  class  of  Chris- 
tians in  whose  name  I speak  need  to  be 
explained,  because  they  are  often  mis- 
understood. We  are  particularly  ac- 
cused of  making  an  unwarrantable  use 
of  reason  in  the  interpretation  of  Script- 
ure. We  are  said  to  exalt  reason  above 
revelation,  to  prefer  our  own  wisdom  to 
God’s.  Loose  and  undefined  charges 
of  this  kind  are  circulated  so  freely,  that 
we  think  it  due  to  ourselves,  and  to  the 
cause  of  truth,  to  express  our  views 
with  some  particularity. 

Our  leading  principle  in  interpreting 


368 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY. 


Scripture  is  this,  that  the  Bible  is  a 
book  written  for  men,  in  the  language 
of  men,  and  that  its  meaning  is  to  be 
sought  in  the  same  manner  as  that  of 
other  books.  We  believe  that  God, 
when  He  speaks  to  the  human  race, 
conforms,  if  we  may  so  say,  to  the  es- 
tablished rules  of  speaking  and  writing. 
How  else  would  the  Scriptures  avail  us 
more  than  if  communicated  in  an  un- 
known tongue  ? 

Now  all  books  and  all  conversation 
require  in  the  reader  or  hearer  the  con- 
stant exercise  of  reason  ; or  their  true 
import  is  only  to  be  obtained  by  con- 
tinual comparison  and  inference.  Hu- 
man language,  you  well  know,  admits 
various  interpretations  ; and  every  word 
and  every  sentence  must  be  modified 
and  explained  according  to  the  subject 
which  is  discussed,  according  to  the 
purposes,  feelings,  circumstances,  and 
principles  of  the  writer,  and  according  to 
the  genius  and  idioms  of  the  language 
which  he  uses.  These  are  acknowl- 
edged principles  in  the  interpretation  of 
human  writings  ; and  a man  whose  words 
we  should  explain  without  reference  to 
these  principles  would  reproach  us  justly 
with  a criminal  want  of  candor,  and  an 
intention  of  obscuring  or  distorting  his 
meaning. 

Were  the  Bible  written  in  a language 
and  style  of  its  own,  did  it  consist  of 
words  which  admit  but  a single  sense, 
and  of  sentences  wholly  detached  from 
each  other,  there  would  be  no  place  for 
the  principles  now  laid  down.  We 
could  not  reason  about  it  as  about  other 
writings.  But  such  a book  would  be  of 
little  worth  ; and  perhaps,  of  all  books, 
the  Scriptures  correspond  least  to  this 
description.  The  word  of  God  bears 
the  stamp  of  the  same  hand  which  we 
see  in  his  works.  It  has  infinite  con- 
nections and  dependences.  Every  prop- 
osition is  linked  with  others,  and  is  to 
be  compared  with  others,  that  its  full 
and  precise  import  may  be  understood. 
’Nothing  stands  alone.  The  New  Tes- 
tament is  built  on  the  Old.  The  Chris- 
tian dispensation  is  a continuation  of 
the  Jewish,  the  completion  of  a vast 
scheme  of  providence,  requiring  great 
extent  of  view  in  the  reader.  Still  more, 
the  Bible  treats  of  subjects  on  which 
we  receive  ideas  from  other  sources 
besides  itself,  — such  subjects  as  the 
nature,  passions,  relations,  and  duties 


of  man  ; and  it  expects  us  to  restrain  and 
modify  its  language  by  the  known  truths 
which  observation  and  experience  fur- 
nish on  these  topics. 

We  profess  not  to  know  a book  which 
demands  a more  frequent  exercise  of 
reason  than  the  Bible.  In  addition  to 
the  remarks  now  made  on  its  infinite 
connections,  we  may  observe,  that  its 
style  nowhere  affects  the  precision  of 
science  or  the  accuracy  of  definition. 
Its  language  is  singularly  glowing,  bold,  & 
and  figurative,  demanding  more  frequent ' 
departures  from  the  literal  sense  than, 
that  of  our  own  age  and  country,  and 
consequently  demanding  more  continual 
exercise  of  judgment.  We  find,  too, 
that  the  different  portions  of  this  book, 
instead  of  being  confined  to  general, 
truths,  refer  perpetually  to  the  times  * 
when  they  were  written,  to  states  of 
society,  to  modes  of  thinking,  to  con-  - 
troversies  in  the  church,  to  feelings  and 
usages  which  have  passed  away,  and 
without  the  knowledge  of  which  we  are 
constantly  in  danger  of  extending  to  all 
times  and  places  what  was  of  temporary 
and  local  application.  We  find,  too, 
that  some  of  these  books  are  strongly 
marked  by  the  genius  and  character  of 
their  respective  writers,  that  the  Holy 
Spirit  did  not  so  guide  the  Apostles  as 
to  suspend  the  peculiarities  of  their 
minds,  and  that  a knowledge  of  their 
feelings,  and  of  the  influences  under 
which  they  were  placed,  is  one  of  the 
preparations  for  understanding  their 
writings.  With  these  views  of  the 
Bible,  we  feel  it  our  bounden  duty  to 
exercise  our  reason  upon  it  perpetually, 
to  compare,  to  infer,  to  look  beyond  the 
letter  to  the  spirit,  to  seek  in  the  nature 
of  the  subject  and  the  aim  of  the  writer 
his  true  meaning  ; and,  in  general,  to 
make  use  of  what  is  known  for  explain- 
ing what  is  difficult,  and  for  discovering 
new  truths. 

Need  I descend  to  particulars  to  prove 
that  the  Scriptures  demand  the  exer- 
cise of  reason  ? Take,  for  example,  the 
style  in  which  they  generally  speak  of 
God,  and  observe  how  habitually  they 
apply  to  him  human  passions  and  or- 
gans. Recollect  the  declarations  of 
Christ,  that  he  came  not  to  send  peace 
but  a sword ; that  unless  we  eat  his 
flesh  and  drink  his  blood  we  have  no 
life  in  us  ; that  we  must  hate  father  and 
mother,  and  pluck  out  the  right  eye ; 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY. 


369 


and  a vast  number  of  passages  equally 
bold  and  unlimited.  Recollect  the  un- 
qualified manner  in  which  it  is  said  of 
Christians  that  they  possess  all  things, 
know  all  things,  and  can  do  all  things. 
Recollect  the  verbal  contradiction  be- 
tween Paul  and  James,  and  the  appar- 
ent clashing  of  some  parts  of  Paul's 
writings  with  the  general  doctrines  'anci 
end  of  Christianity.  I might  extend  the 
enumeration  indefinitely  ; and  who  does 
not  see  that  we  must  limit  all  these  pas- 
sages by  the  known  attributes  of  God, 
of  Jesus  Christ,  and  of  human  nature, 
and  by  the  circumstances  under  which 
they  were  written,  so  as  to  give  the 
language  a quite  different  import  from 
what  it  would  require  had  it  been  ap- 
plied to  different  beings,  or  used  in  dif- 
ferent connections. 

Enough  has  been  said  to  show  in 
what  sense  we  make  use  of  reason  in 
interpreting  Scripture.  From  a variety 
of  possible  interpretations  we  select  that 
which  accords  with  the  nature. of  the 
subject  and  the  state  of  the  writer,  with 
the  connection  of  the  passage,  with  the 
general  strain  of  Scripture,  with  the 
known  character  and  will  of  God,  and 
with  the  obvious  and  acknowledged  laws 
of  nature.  In  other  words,  we  believe 
that  God  never  contradicts  in  one  part 
of  Scripture  what  He  teaches  in  an- 
other ; and  never  contradicts  in  revelation 
what  He  teaches  in  his  works  and  prov- 
idence. And  we  therefore  distrust  every 
interpretation  which,  after  deliberate 
attention,  seems  repugnant  to  any  es- 
tablished truth.  We  reason  about  the 
Bible  precisely  as  civilians  do  about  the 
constitution  under  which  we  live  ; who, 
you  know,  are  accustomed  to  limit  one 
provision  of  that  venerable  instrument 
by  others,  and  to  fix  the  precise  import 
of  its  parts  by  inquiring  into  its  general 
spirit,  into  the  intentions  of  its  authors, 
and  into  the  prevalent  feelings,  impres- 
sions, and  circumstances  of  the  time 
when  it  was  framed.  Without  these 
principles  of  interpretation,  we  frankly 
acknowledge  that  we  cannot  defend  the 
divine  authority  of  the  Scriptures.  Deny 
us.  this  latitude,  and  we  must  abandon 
this  book  to  its  enemies. 

We  do  not  announce  these  principles 
as  original,  or  peculiar  to  ourselves.  All 
Christians  occasionally  adopt  them,  not 
excepting  those  who  most  vehemently 
decry  them  when  they  happen  to  men- 


ace some  favorite  article  of  their  creed. 
All  Christians  are  compelled  to  use 
them  in  their  controversies  with  infidels. 
All  sects  employ  them  in  their  warfare 
with  one  another.  All  willingly  avail 
themselves  of  reason  when  it  can  be 
pressed  into  the  service  of  their  own 
party,  and  only  complain  of  it  when  its 
weapons  wound  themselves.  None  rea- 
son more  frequently  than  those  from 
whom  we  differ.  It  is  astonishing  what 
a fabric  they  rear  from  a few  slight 
hints  about  the  fall  of  our  first  parents  ; 
and  how  ingeniously  they  extract  from 
detached  passages  mysterious  doctrines  I 
about  the  divine  nature.  We  do  not 
blame  them  for  reasoning  so  abundantly, 
but  for  violating  the  fundamental  rules 
of  reasoning,  for  sacrificing  the  plain  to 
the  obscure,  and  the  general  strain  of 
Scripture  to  a scanty  number  of  insu- 
lated texts. 

We  object  strongly  to  the  contempt- 
uous manner  in  which  human  reason  is 
often  spoken  of  by  our  adversaries,  be- 
cause it  leads,  we  believe,  to  universal 
scepticism.  If  reason  be  so  dreadfully 
darkened  by  the  fall  that  its  most  deci- 
sive judgments  on  religion  are  unwor- 
thy of  trust,  then  Christianity,  and  even 
natural  theology,  must  be  abandoned  ; 
for  the  existence  and  veracity  of  God, 
and  the  divine  original  of  Christianity, 
are  conclusions  of  reason,  and  must 
stand  or  fall  with  it.  If  revelation  be  at 
war  with  this  faculty,  it  subverts  itself, 
for  the  great  question  of  its  truth  is  left 
by  God  to  be  decided  at  the  bar  of  rea- 
son. It  is  worthy  of  remark,  how  nearly 
the  bigot  and  the  sceptic  approach. 
Both  would  annihilate  our  confidence 
in  our  faculties,  and  both  throw  doubt 
and  confusion  over  every  truth.  We 
honor  revelation  too  highly  to  make  it 
the  antagonist  of  reason,  or  to  believe 
that  it  calls  us  to  renounce  our  highest 
powers. 

We  indeed  grant  that  the  use  of  rea- 
son in  religion  is  accompanied  with 
danger.  But  we  ask  any  honest  man  to 
look  back  on  the  history  of  the  church, 
and  say  whether  the  renunciation  of  it 
be  not  still  more  dangerous.  Besides,  it 
is  a plain  fact  that  men  reason  as  erro- 
neously on  all  subjects  as  on  religion. 
Who  does  not  know  the  wild  and  ground- 
less theories  which  have  been  framed 
in  physical  and  political  science  ? But 
who  ever,  supposed  that  we  must  cease 


370 


UNITARIAN  CHRIS TIA NIT Y. 


to  exercise  reason  on  nature  and  society 
because  men  have  erred  for  ages  in 
explaining  them  ? We  grant  that  the 
passions  continually,  and  sometimes 
fatally,  disturb  the  rational  faculty  in 
its  inquiries  into  revelation.  The  ambi- 
tious contrive  to  find  doctrines  in  the 
Bible  which  favor  their  love  of  dominion. 
The  timid  and  dejected  discover  there  a 
gloomy  system,  and  the  mystical  and 
fanatical  a visionary  theology.  The 
vicious  can  find  examples  or  assertions 
on  which  to  build  the  hope  of  a late 
repentance,  or  of  acceptance  on  easy 
terms.  The  falsely  refined  contrive  to 
light  on  doctrines  which  have  not  been 
soiled  by  vulgar  handling.  But  the 
passions  do  not  distract  the  reason  in 
religious  any  more  than  in  other  in- 
quiries which  excite  strong  and  general 
interest  ; and  this  faculty,  of  conse- 
quence, is  not  to  be  renounced  in  re- 
ligion unless  we  are  prepared  to  discard 
it  universally.  The  true  inference  from 
the  almost  endless  errors  which  have 
darkened  theology  is,  not  that  we  are  to 
neglect  and  disparage  our  powers,  but 
to  exert  them  more  patiently,  circum- 
spectly, uprightly ; the  worst  errors, 
after  all  having  sprung  up  in  that  church 
which  proscribes  reason,  and  demands 
from  its  members  implicit  faith.  The 
most  pernicious  doctrines  have  been  the 
growth  of  the  darkest  times,  when  the 
general  credulity  encouraged  bad  men 
and  enthusiasts  to  broach  their  dreams 
and  inventions,  and  to  stifle  the  faint 
remonstrances  of  reason  by  the  menaces 
of  everlasting  perdition.  Say  what  we 
may  God  has  given  us  a rational  nature, 
and  will  call  us  to  account  for  it.  We 
may  let  it  sleep,  but  we  do  so  at  our 
peril.  Revelation  is  addressed  to  us  as 
rational  beings.  We  may  wish,  in  our 
sloth,  that  God  had  given  us  a sys- 
tem demanding  no  labor  of  comparing, 
limiting,  and  inferring.  But  such  a sys- 
tem would  be  at  variance  with  the  whole 
character  of  our  present  existence  ; and 
it  is  the  part  of  wisdom  to  take  revela- 
tion as  it  is  given  to  us,  and  to  inter- 
pret it  by  the  help  of  the  faculties  which 
it  everywhere  supposes,  and  on  which 
it  is  founded. 

To  the  views  now  given  an  objection 
is  commonly  urged  from  the  character 
of  God.  We  are  told  that  God  being 
infinitely  wiser  than  men,  his  discoveries 
will  surpass  human  reason.  In  a rev- 


elation from  such  a teacher  we  ought  to 
expect  propositions  which  we  cannot  rec- 
oncile with  one  another  and  which  may 
seem  to  contradict  established  truths  ; 
and  it  becomes  us  not  to  question  or 
explain  them  away,  but  to  believe  and 
adore,  and  to  submit  our  weak  and 
carnal  reason  to  the  divine  word.  To 
tfiis  objection  we  have  two  short  an- 
swers. We  say,  first,  that  it  is  impos-  t 
sible  that  a teacher  of  infinite  wisdom 
should  expose  those  whom  he  would 
teach  to  infinite  error.  But  if  once  we 
admit  that  propositions  which  in  their 
literal  sense  appear  plainly  repugnant  to 
one  another,  or  to  any  known  truth,  are 
still  to  be  literally  understood  and  re- 
ceived, what  possible  limit  can  we  set 
to  the  belief  of  contradictions  ? What 
shelter  have  we  from  the  wildest  fanati- 
cism, which  can  always  quote  passages 
that,  in  their  literal  and  obvious  sense, 
give  support  to  its  extravagances  ? How 
can  the  Protestant  escape  from  tran- 
substantiation,  a doctrine  most  clearly 
taught  us,  if  the  submission  of  reason, 
now  contended  for,  be  a duty  ? How 
can  we  even  hold  fast  the  truth  of  rev- 
elation ; for  if  one  apparent  contradic- 
tion may  be  true,  so  may  another,  and 
the  proposition,  that  Christianity  is  false, 
though  involving  inconsistency,  may  still 
be  a verity  ? 

We  answer  again,  that  if  God  be  in- 
finitely wise,  He  cannot  sport  with  the 
understandings  of  his  creatures.  A wise 
teacher  discovers  his  wisdom  in  adapt- 
ing himself  to  the  capacities  of  his  pupils, 
not  in  perplexing  them  with  what  is  un- 
intelligible, not  in  distressing  them  with 
apparent  contradictions,  not  in  filling 
them  with  a sceptical  distrust  of  their 
own  powers.  An  infinitely  wise  teacher, 
who  knows  the  precise  extent  of  our 
minds  and  the  best  method  of  enlighten- 
ing them,  will  surpass  all  other  instruc- 
tors in  bringing  down  truth  to  our  appre- 
hension, and  in  showing  its  loveliness 
and  harmony.  We  ought,  indeed,  to 
expect  occasional  obscurity  in  such  a 
book  as  the  Bible,  which  was  written 
for  past  and  future  ages  as  well  as  for 
the  present.  But  God's  wisdom  is  a 
pledge  that  whatever  is  necessary  for 
us,  and  necessary  for  salvation,  is  re- 
vealed too  plainly  to  be  mistaken,  and 
too  consistently  to  be  questioned,  by  a 
sound  and  upright  mind.  It  is  not  the 
mark  of  wisdom  to  use  an  unintelligi- 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY. 


371 


ble  phraseology,  to  communicate  what 
is  above  our  capacities,  to  confuse  and 
unsettle  the  intellect  by  appearances  of 
contradiction.  We  honor  our  Heavenly 
Teacher  too  much  to  ascribe  to  him 
such  a revelation.  A revelation  is  a 
gift  of  light.  It  cannot  thicken  our 
darkness  and  multiply  our  perplexities. 

II.  Having  thus  stated  the  principles 
according  to  which  we  interpret  Script- 
ure, I now  proceed  to  the  second  great 
head  of  this  discourse,  which  is,  to  state 
•some  of  the  views  which  we  derive  from 
; that  sacred  book,  particularly  those 
l which  distinguish  us  from  other  Chris- 
tians. 

1.  In  the  first  place,  we  believe  in  the 
doctrine  of  God’s  unity,  or  that  there 
is  one  God,  and  one  only.  To  this  truth 
we  give  infinite  importance,  and  we  feel 
ourselves  bound  to  take  heed  lest  any 
man  spoil  us  of  it  by  vain  philosophy. 
The  proposition  that  there  is  one  God 
seems  to  us  exceedingly  plain.  We  un- 
derstand by  it  \hat  there  is  one  being, 
one  mind,  one  person,  one  intelligent 
agent,  and  one  only,  to  whom  underived 
and  infinite  perfection  and  dominion  be- 
long. We  conceive  that  these  words 
could  have  conveyed  no  other  meaning 
to  the  simple  and  uncultivated  people 
who  were  set  apart  to  be  the  depositaries 
of  this  great  truth,  and  who  were  utterly 
incapable  of  understanding  those  hair- 
breadth distinctions  between  being  and 
person  which  the  sagacity  of  later  ages 
has  discovered.  We  find  no  intima- 
tion that  this  language  was  to  be  taken 
in  an  unusual  sense,  or  that  God’s  unity 
was  a quite  different  thing  from  the  one- 
ness of  other  intelligent  beings. 

We  object  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Trin- 
ity, that,  whilst  acknowledging  in  words, 
it  subverts  in  effect,  the  unity  of  God. 
According  to  this  doctrine,  there  are 
three  infinite  and  equal  persons,  pos- 
sessing supreme  divinity,  called  the  Fa- 
ther, Son  and  Holy  Ghost.  Each  of 
these  persons,  as  described  by  theolo- 
gians, has  his  own  particular  conscious- 
ness, will,  and  perceptions.  They  love 
each  other,  converse  with  each  other, 
and  delight  in  each  other’s  society. 
They  perform  different  parts  in  man’s 
redemption,  each  having  his  appropriate 
office,  and  neither  doing  the  work  of  the 
other.  The  Son  is  mediator,  and  not 
the  Father.  The  Father  sends  the  Son, 
and  is  not  himself  sent ; nor  is  He  con- 


scious, like  the  Son,  of  taking  flesh. 
Here,  then,  we  have  three  intelligent 
agents,  possessed  of  different  conscious- 
nesses, different  wills,  and  different  per- 
ceptions, performing  different  acts,  and 
sustaining  different  relations ; and  if 
these  things  do  not  imply  and  constitute 
three  minds  or  beings,  we  are  utterly  at 
a loss  to  know  how  three  minds  or  be- 
ings are  to  be  formed.  It  is  difference 
of  properties,  and  acts,  and  concious- 
ness,  which  leads  us  to  the  belief  of  dif- 
ferent intelligent  beings,  and,  if  this 
mark  fails  us,  our  whole  knowledge 
falls ; we  have  no  proof  that  all  the 
agents  and  persons  in  the  universe  are 
not  one  and  the  same  mind.  When  we 
attempt  to  conceive  of  three  Gods,  we 
can  do  nothing  more  than  represent  to 
ourselves  three  agents,  distinguished 
from  each  other  by  simiHr  marks  and 
peculiarities  to  those  which  separate 
the  persons  of  the  Trinity ; and  when 
common  Christians  hear  these  persons 
spoken  of  as  conversing  with  each  other, 
loving  each  other,  and  performing  differ- 
ent acts,  how  can  they  help  regarding 
them  as  different  beings,  different  minds  ? 

We  do,  then,  with  all  earnestness, 
though  without  reproaching  our  brethren, 
protest  against  the  irrational  and  un- 
scriptural  doctrine  of  the  Trinity.  “ To 
us,”  as  to  the  Apostle  and  the  primitive 
Christians,  “ there  is  one  God,  even  the 
Father.”  With  Jesus,  we  worship  the 
Father,  as  the  only  living  and  true  God. 
We  are  astonished  that  any  man  can 
read  the  New  Testament  and  avoid  the 
conviction  that  the  Father  alone  is  God. 
We  hear  our  Saviour  continually  appro- 
priating this  character  to  the  Father. 
We  find  the  Father  continually  distin- 
guished from  Jesus  by  this  title.  “ God 
sent  his  Son.”  “ God  anointed  Jesus.” 
Now,  how  singular  and  inexplicable  is 
this  phraseology,  which  fills  the  New 
Testament,  if  this  title  belong  equally  to 
Jesus,  and  if  a principal  object  of  this 
book  is  to  reveal  him  as  God,  as  par- 
taking equally  with  the  Father  in  su- 
preme divinity  ! We  challenge  our 
opponents  to  adduce  one  passage  in  the 
New  Testament  where  the  word  God 
means  three  persons,  where  it  is  not 
limited  to  one  person,  and  wdiere,  unless 
turned  from  its  usual  sense  by  the  con- 
nection, it  does  not  mean  the  Father. 
Can  stronger  proof  be  given  that  the 
doctrine  of  three  persons  in  the  God- 


3 72 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY. 


head  is  not  a fundamental  doctrine  of 
Christianity  ? 

This  doctrine,  were  it  true,  must,  from 
its  difficulty,  singularity,  and  importance, 
have  been  laid  down  with  great  clear- 
ness, guarded  with  great  care,  and  stated 
with  all  possible  precision.  But  where 
does  this  statement  appear?  From  the 
many  passages  which  treat  of  God,  we 
ask  for  one,  one  only,  in  which  we  are  told 
that  He  is  a threefold  being,  or  that  He 
is  tfyree  persons,  or  that  He  is  Father, 
Son,  and  'Holy  Ghost.  On  the  contrary, 
in  the  New  Testament,  where,  at  least, 
we  might  expect  many  express  asser- 
tions of  this  nature,  God  is  declared  to 
be  one,  without  the  least  attempt  to  pre- 
vent the  acceptation  of  the  words  in 
their  common  sense  ; and  He  is  always 
spoken  of  and  addressed  in  the  singular 
number,  that  is,  in  language  which  was 
universally  understood  to  intend  a single 
person,  and  to  which  no  other  idea  could 
have  been  attached  without  an  express 
admonition.  So  entirely  do  the  Script- 
ures abstain  from  stating  the  Trinity, 
that  when  our  opponents  would  insert 
it  into  their  creeds  and  doxologies,  they 
are  compelled  to  leave  the  Bible,  and  to 
invent  forms  of  words  altogether  un- 
sanctioned  by  Scriptural  phraseology. 
That  a doctrine  so  strange,  so  liable  to 
misapprehension,  so  fundamental  as  this 
is  said  to  be,  and  requiring  such  careful 
exposition,  should  be  left  so  undefined 
and  unprotected,  to  be  made  out  by  in- 
ference, and  to  be  hunted  through  dis- 
tant and  detached  parts  of  Scripture,  — 
this  is  a difficulty  which,  we  think,  no 
ingenuity  can  explain. 

We  have  another  difficulty.  Chris- 
tianity, it  must  be  remembered,  was 
planted  and  grew  up  amidst  sharp-sight- 
ed enemies,  who  overlooked  no  objec- 
tionable part  of  the  system,  and  who 
must  have,  fastened  with  great  earnest- 
ness on  a doctrine  involving  such  ap- 
parent contradictions  as  the  Trinity. 
We  cannot  conceive  an  opinion  against 
which  the  Jews,  who  prided  themselves 
on  an  adherence  to  God’s  unity,  would 
have  raised  an  equal  clamor.  Now, 
how  happens  it  that  in  the  apostolic 
writings,  which  relate  so  much  to  objec- 
tions against  Christianity,  and  to  the 
controversies  which  grew  out  of  this  re- 
ligion, not  one  word  is  said  implying 
that  objections  were  brought  against  the 
gospel  from  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity, 


not  one  word  is  uttered  in  its  defence 
and  explanation,  not  a word  to  rescue  it 
from  reproach  and  mistake  ? This  argu- 
ment has  almost  the  force  of  demonstra- 
tion. We  are  persuaded  that,  had  three 
divine  persons  been  announced  by  the 
first  preachers  of  Christianity,  all  equal 
and  all  infinite,  one  of  whom  was  the 
very  Jesus  who  had  lately  died  on  the 
cross,  this  peculiarity  of  Christianity 
would  have  almost  absorbed  every  other, 
and  the  great  labor  of  the  Apostles 
would  have  been  to  repel  the  continual 
assaults  which  it  would  have  awakened. 
But  the  fact  is,  that  not  a whisper  of  ob- 
jection to  Christianity  on  that  account 
reaches  our  ears  from  the  apostolic  age. 
In  the  Epistles  we  see  not  a trace  of 
controversy  called  forth  by  the  Trinity. 

We  have  further  objections  to  this 
doctrine,  drawn  from  its  practical  influ- 
ence. We  regard  it  as  unfavorable  to 
devotion,  by  dividing  and  distracting  the 
mind  in  its  communion  with  God.  It  is 
a great  excellence  of  the  doctrine  of 
God’s  unity,  that  it  offers  to  us  one 
object  of  supreme  homage,  adoration, 
and  love,  One  Infinite  Father,  one  Being 
of  beings,  one  original  and  fountain,  to 
whom  we  may  refer  all  good,  in  whom 
all  our  powers  and  affections  may  be 
concentrated,  and  whose  lovely  and  ven- 
erable nature  may  pervade  all  our 
thoughts.  True  piety,  when  directed  to 
an  undivided  Deity,  has  a chasteness,  a 
singleness,  most  favorable  to  religious 
awe  and  love.  Now,  the  Trinity  sets 
before  us  three  distinct  objects  of  su- 
preme adoration  ; three  infinite  persons, 
having  equal  claims  on  our  hearts  ; three 
divine  agents,  performing  different  of- 
fices, and  to  be  acknowledged  and  wor- 
shipped in  different  relations.  And  is  ifi 
possible,  we  ask,  that  the  weak  and  lim- 
ited mind  of  man  can  attach  itself  to 
these  with  the  same  power  and  joy  as 
to  One  Infinite  Father,  the  only  First 
Cause,  in  whom  all  the  blessings  of  nat- 
ure and  redemption  meet  as  their  centre 
and  source  ? Must  not  devotion  be  dis- i 
tracted  by  the  equal  and  rival  claims  of 
three  equal  persons,  and  must  not  the 
worship  of  the  conscientious,  consistent 
Christian  be  disturbed  by  an  apprehen- 
sion lest  he  withhold  from  one  or  an- 
other of  these  his  due  proportion  of 
homage  ! 

We  also  think  that  the  doctrine  of  the 
Trinity  injures  devotion,  not  only  by 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY. 


373 


joining  to  the  Father  other  objects  of 
worship,  but  by  taking  from  the  Father 
the  supreme  affection  which  is  his  due, 
and  transferring  it  to  the  Son.  This 
is  a most  important  view.  That  Jesus 
Christ,  if  exalted  into  the  infinite  Di- 
vinity, should  be  more  interesting  than 
the  Father,  is  precisely  what  might  be 
expected  from  history,  and  from  the 
-.principles  of  human  nature.  Men  want 
an  object  of  worship  like  themselves, 
and  the  great  secret  of  idolatry  lies  in 
jthis  propensity.  A God,  clothed  in  our 
form  and  feeling  our  wants  and  sorrows, 
speaks  to  our  weak  nature  more  strongly 
than  a Father  in  heaven,  a pure  spirit,  in- 
visible and  unapproachable,  save  by  the 
reflecting  and  purified  mind.  We  think, 
too,  that  the  peculiar  offices  ascribed  to 
Jesus  by  the  popular  theology,  make  him 
the  most  attractive  person  in  the  God- 
head. The  Father  is  the  depositary  of 
the  justice,  the  vindicator  of  the  rights, 
the  avenger  of  the  laws  of  the  Divinity. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  Son,  the  bright- 
ness of  the  divine  mercy,  stands  between 
the  incensed  Deity  and  guilty  humanity, 
exposes  his  meek  head  to  the  storms, 
and  his  compassionate  breast  to  the 
sword  of  the  divine  justice,  bears  our 
whole  load  of  punishment,  and  purchases 
with  his  blood  every  blessing  which  de- 
scends from  heaven.  Need  we  state  the 
effect  of  these  representations,  especial- 
ly on  common  minds,  for  whom  Chris- 
tianity was  chiefly  designed,  and  whom 
it  seeks  to  bring  to  the  Father  as  the 
loveliest  being?  We  do  believe  that 
the  worship  of  a bleeding,  suffering  God 
tends  strongly  to  absorb  the  mind,  and 
to  draw  it  from  other  objects,  just  as  the 
human  tenderness  of  the  Virgin  Mary 
has  given  her  so  conspicuous  a place  in 
the  devotions  of  the  Church  of  Rome. 
We  believe,  too,  that  this  worship,  though 
attractive,  is  not  most  fitted  to  spiritual- 
ize the  mind,  that  it  awakens  human 
transport  rather  than  that  deep  venera- 
tion of  the  moral  perfections  of  God 
which  is  the  essence  of  piety. 

2.  Having  thus  given  our  views  of  the 
unity  of  God,  I proceed,  in  the  second 
place,  to  observe  that  we  believe  in  the 
L unity  of  Jesus  Christ.  We  believe  that 
Jesus  is  one  mind,  one  soul,  one  being, 
as  truly  one  as  we  are,  and  equally  dis- 
tinct from  the  one  God.  We  complain 
of  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  that,  not 
satisfied  with  making  God  three  beings, 


it  makes  Jesus  Christ  two  beings,  and 
thus  introduces  infinite  confusion  into 
our  conceptions  of  his  character.  This 
corruption  of  Christianity,  alike  repug- 
nant to  common  sense  and  to  the  gen- 
eral strain  of  Scripture,  is  a remarkable 
proof  of  the  power  of  a false  philosophy 
in  disfiguring  the  simple  truth  of  Jesus. 

According  to  this  doctrine,  Jesus 
Christ,  instead  of  being  one  mind,  one 
conscious,  intelligent  principle,  whom 
we  can  understand,  consists  of  two 
souls,  two  minds  ; the  one  divine,  the 
other  human  ; the  one  weak,  the  other 
almighty ; the  one  ignorant,  the  other 
omniscient.  Now  we  maintain  that  this 
is  to  make  Christ  two  beings.  To  de- 
nominate him  one  person,  one  being, 
and  yet  to  suppose  him  made  up  of  two 
minds,  infinitely  different  from  each 
other,  is  to  abuse  and  confound  lan- 
guage, and  to  throw  darkness  over  all 
our  conceptions  of  intelligent  natures. 
According  to  the  common  doctrine, 
each  of  these  two  minds  in  Christ  has 
its  own  consciousness,  its  own  will,  its 
own  perceptions.  They  have,  in  fact, 
no  common  properties.  The  divine 
mind  feels  none  of  the  wants  and  sor- 
rows of  the  human,  and  the  human  is 
infinitely  removed  from  the  perfection 
and  happiness  of  the  divine.  Can  you 
conceive  of  two  beings  in  the  universe 
more  distinct  ? We  have  always  thought 
that  one  person  was  constituted  and 
distinguished  by  one  consciousness. 
The  doctrine  that  one  and  the  same 
person  should  have  two  conscious- 
nesses, two  wills,  two  souls,  infinitely 
different  from  each  other,  this  we-  think 
an  enormous  tax  on  human  credulity. 

We  say  that  if  a doctrine  so  strange, 
so  difficult,  so  remote  from  all  the  pre- 
vious conceptions  of  men,  be  indeed  a 
part,  and  an  essential  part,  of  revela- 
tion, it  must  be  taught  with  great  dis- 
tinctness, and  we  ask  our  brethren  to 
point  to  some  plain,  direct  passage, 
where  Christ  is  said  to  be  composed  of 
two  minds  infinitely  different,  yet  con- 
stituting one  person.  We  find  none. 
Other  Christians,  indeed,  tell  us  that 
this  doctrine  is  necessary  to  the  har- 
mony of  the  Scriptures,  that  some  texts 
ascribe  to  Jesus  Christ  human,  and 
others  divine  properties,  and  that  to 
reconcile  these  we  must  suppose  two 
minds,  to  which  these  properties  may 
be  referred.  In  other  words,  for  the 


374 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY. 


purpose  of  reconciling  certain  difficult 
passages,  which  a just  criticism  can  in  a 
great  degree,  if  not  wholly,  explain,  we 
must  invent  an  hypothesis  vastly  more 
difficult,  and  involving  gross  absurdity. 
We  are  to  find  our  way  out  of  a laby- 
rinth by  a clue  which  conducts  us  into 
mazes  infinitely  more  inextricable. 

Surely,  if  Jesus  Christ  felt  that  he 
consisted  of  two  minds,  and  that  this 
was  a leading  feature  of  his  religion,  his 
phraseology  respecting  himself  would 
have  been  colored  by  this  peculiarity. 
The  universal  language  of  men  is 
framed  upon  the  idea  that  one  person 
is  one  person,  is  one  mind,  and  one 
soul ; and  when  the  multitude  heard 
this  language  from  the  lips  of  Jesus, 
they  must  have  taken  it  in  its  usual 
sense,  and  must  have  referred  to  a sin- 
gle soul  all  which  he  spoke,  unless 
expressly  instructed  to  interpret  it  dif- 
ferently. But  where  do  we  find  this 
instruction  ? Where  do  you  meet,  in 
the  New  Testament,  the  phraseology 
which  abounds  in  Trinitarian  books, 
and  which  necessarily  grows  from  the 
doctrine  of  two  natures  in  Jesus  ? 
Where  does  this  divine  teacher  say, 
“ This  I speak  as  God,  and  this  as 
man  ; this  is  true  only  of  my  human 
mind,  this  only  of  my  divine  ? ” Where 
do  we  find  in  the  Epistles  a trace  of  this 
strange  phraseology  ? Nowhere.  It 
was  not  needed  in  that  day.  It  was 
demanded  by  the  errors  of  a later  age. 

We  believe,  then,  that  Christ  is  one 
mind,  one  being,  and,  I add,  a being 
distinct  from  the  one  God.  That  Christ 
is  not  the  one  God,  not  the  same 
being  with  the  Father,  is  a necessary 
inference  from  our  former  head,  in 
which  we  saw  that  the  doctrine  of  three 
persons  in  God  is  a fiction.  But  on  so 
important  a subject  I would  add  a few 
remarks.  We  wish  that  those  from 
whom  we  differ  would  weigh  one  strik- 
ing fact.  Jesus,  in  his  preaching,  con- 
tinually spoke  of  God.  The  word  was 
always  in  his  mouth.  We  ask,  does  he 
by  this  word  ever  mean  himself  ? We 
say,  never.  On  the  contrary,  he  most 
plainly  distinguishes  between  God  and 
himself,  and  so  do  his  disciples.  How 
this  is  to  be  reconciled  with  the  idea 
that  the  manifestation  of  Christ,  as  God, 
was  a primary  object  of  Christianity,  our 
adversaries  must  determine. 

If  we  examine  the  passages  in  which 


Jesus  is  distinguished  from  God,  we 
shall  see  that  they  not  only  speak  of 
him  as  another  being,  but  seem  to  labor 
to  express  his  inferiority.  He  is  con- 
tinually spoken  of  as  the  Son  of  God, 
sent  of  God,  receiving  all  his  powers 
from  God,  working  miracles  because 
God  was  with  him,  judging  justly  be- 
cause God  taught  him,  having  claims 
on  our  belief  because  he  was  anointed 
and  sealed  by  God,  and  as  able  of  him- 
self to  do  nothing.  The  New  Testa- 
ment is  filled  with  this  language.  Now 
we  ask  what  impression  this  language 
was  fitted  and  intended  to  make  ? 
Could  any  who  heard  it  have  imagined 
that  Jesus  was  the  very  God  to  whom 
he  was  so  industriously  declared  to  be 
inferior ; the  very  Being  by  whom  he 
was  sent,  and  from  whom  he  professed 
to  have  received  his  message  and 
power  ? Let  it  here  be  remembered 
that  the  human  birth,  and  bodily  form, 
and  humble  circumstances,  and  mortal 
sufferings  of  Jesus,  must  all  have  pre- 
pared men  to  interpret,  in  the  most  un- 
qualified manner,  the  language  in  which 
his  inferiority  to  God  was  declared. 
Why,  then,  was  this  language  used  so 
continually,  and  without  limitation,  if 
Jesus  were  the  Supreme  Deity,  and  if 
this  truth  were  an  essential  part  of  his 
religion  ? I repeat  it,  the  human  condi- 
tion and  sufferings  of  Christ  tended 
strongly  to  exclude  from  men’s  minds 
the  idea  of  his  proper  Godhead ; and,  of 
course,  we  should  expect  to  find  in  the 
New  Testament  perpetual  care  and 
effort  to  counteract  this  tendency,  to 
hold  him  forth  as  the  same  being  with 
his  Father,  if  this  doctrine  were,  as  is 
pretended,  the  soul  and  centre  of  his 
religion.  We  should  expect  to  find  the 
phraseology  of  Scripture  cast  into  the 
mould  of  this  doctrine,  to  hear  familiarly 
of  God  the  Son,  of  our  Lord  God  Jesus, 
and  to  be  told  that  to  us  there  is  one 
God,  even  Jesus.  But,  instead  of  this, 
the  inferiority  of  Christ  pervades  the 
New  Testament.  It  is  not  only  implied 
in  the  general  phraseology,  but  repeat- 
edly and  decidedly  expressed,  and  un- 
accompanied with  any  admonition  to 
prevent  its  application  to  his  whole  nat- 
ure. Could  it,  then,  have  been  the  great 
design  of  the  sacred  writers  to  exhibit 
Jesus  as  the  Supreme  God  ? 

I am  aware  that  these  remarks  will  be 
met  by  two  or  three  texts  in  which  Christ 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY. 


375 


is  called  God,  and  by  a class  of  passages, 
not  very  numerous,  in  which  divine  prop- 
erties are  said  to  be  ascribed  to  him. 
To  these  we  offer  one  plain  answer.  We 
say  that  it  is  one  of  the  most  established 
and  obvious  principles  of  criticism,  that 
language  is  to  be  explained  according  to 
the  known  properties  of  the  subject  to 
which  it  is  applied.  Every  man  knows 
that  the  same  words  convey  very  differ- 
ent ideas  when  used  in  relation  to  dif- 
ferent beings.  Thus,  Solomon  built  the 
temple  in  a different  manner  from  the 
architect  whom  he  employed  ; and  God 
repents  differently  from  man.  Now  we 
maintain  that  the  known  properties  and 
circumstances  of  Christ,  his  birth,  suf- 
ferings, and  death,  his  constant  habit 
of  speaking  of  God  as  a distinct  being 
from  himself,  his  praying  to  God,  his 
ascribing  to  God  all  his  power  and 
offices,  — these  acknowledged  properties 
of  Christ,  we  say,  oblige  us  to  interpret 
the  comparatively  few  passages  which 
are  thought  to  make  him  the  Supreme 
God,  in  a manner  consistent’  with  his 
distinct  and  inferior  .nature.  It  is  our 
duty  to  explain  such  texts  by  the  rule 
which  we  apply  to  other  texts,  in  which 
human  beings  are  called  gods,  and  are 
said  to  be  partakers  of  the  divine  nature, 
to  know  and  possess  all  things,  and  to 
be  filled  with  all  God’s  fulness.  These 
latter  passages  we  do  not  hesitate  to 
modify,  and  restrain,  and  turn  from  the 
most  obvious  sense,  because  this  sense 
is  opposed  to  the  known  properties  of 
the  beings  to  whom  they  relate  ; and  we 
maintain  that  we  adhere  to  the  same 
principle,  and  use  no  greater  latitude,  in 
explaining,  as  we  do,  the  passages  which 
are  thought  to  support  the  Godhead  of 
Christ. 

Trinitarians  profess  to  derive  some 
important  advantages  from  their  mode 
of  viewing  Christ.  It  furnishes  them, 
they  tell  us,  with  an  infinite  atonement, 
for  it  shows  them  an  infinite  being  suf-  ! 
fering  for  their  sins.  The  confidence 
with  which  this  fallacy  is  repeated  as- 
tonishes us.  When  pressed  with  the 
question  whether  they  really  believe  that 
the  infinite  and  unchangeable  God  suf- 
fered and  died  on  the  cross,  they  acknowl- 
edge that  this  is  not  true,  but  that  Christ’s 
human  mind  alone  sustained  the  pains 
of  death.  How  have  we,  then,  an  infi- 
nite sufferer  ? This  language  seems  to 
us  an  imposition  on  common  minds,  and 


very  derogatory  to  God’s  justice,  as  if 
this  attribute  could  be  satisfied  by  a 
sophism  and  a fiction. 

We  are  also  told  that  Christ  is  a more 
interesting  object,  that  his  love  and 
mercy  are  more  felt,  when  he  is  viewed 
as  the  Supreme  God,  who  left  his  glory 
to  take  humanity  and  to  suffer  for  mer*. 
That  Trinitarians  are  strongly  moved 
by  this  representation,  we  do  not  mean 
to  deny  ; but  we  think  their  emotions 
altogether  founded  on  a misapprehen- 
sion of  their  own  doctrines.  They  talk 
of  the  second  person  of  the  Trinity’s 
leaving  his  glory  and  his  Father’s  bosom 
to  visit  and  save  the  world.  But  this 
second  person,  being  the  unchangeable 
and  infinite  God,  was  evidently  incapable 
of  parting  with  the  least  degree  of  his 
perfection  and  felicity.  At  the  moment 
of  his  taking  flesh,  he  was  as  intimately 
present  with  his  F'ather  as  before,  and 
equally  with  his  Father  filled  heaven, 
and  earth,  and  immensity.  This  Trin- 
itarians acknowledge ; and  still  they 
profess  to  be  touched  and  overwhelmed 
by  the  amazing  humiliation  of  this  im- 
mutable being  ! But  not  only  does  their 
doctrine,  when  fully  explained,  reduce 
Christ’s  humiliation  to  a fiction,  it  almost 
wholly  destroys  the  impressions  with 
which  his  cross  ought  to  be  viewed. 
According  to  their  doctrine,  Christ  was 
comparatively  no  sufferer  at  all.  It  is 
true,  his  human  mind  suffered  ; but  this, 
they  tell  us,  was  an  infinitely  small  part 
of  Jesus,  bearing  no  more  proportion  to 
his  whole  nature  than  a single  hair  of  our 
heads  to  the  whole  body,  or  than  a drop 
to  the  ocean.  The  divine  mind  of  Christ, 
that  which  was  most  properly  himself, 
was  infinitely  happy  at  the  very  moment 
of  the  suffering  of  his  humanity.  Whilst 
hanging  on  the  cross,  he  was  the  hap- 
piest being  in  the  universe,  as  happy  as 
the  infinite  Father;  so  that  his  pains, 
compared  with  his  felicity,  were  noth- 
i ing.  This  Trinitarians  do,  and  must, 
acknowledge.  It  follows  necessarily 
from  the  immutableness  of  the  divine 
nature  which  they  ascribe  to  Christ ; so 
that  their  system,  justly  viewed,  robs 
his  death  of  interest,  weakens  our  sym- 
pathy with  his  sufferings,  and  is,  of  all 
others,  most  unfavorable  to  a love  of 
Christ,  founded  on  a sense  of  his  sacri- 
fices for  mankind.  We  esteem  our  own 
views  to  be  vastly  more  affecting.  It  is 
our  belief  that  Christ’s  humiliation  was 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY. 


376 

real  and  entire,  that  the  whole  Saviour, 
and  not  a part  of  him,  suffered,  that  his 
crucifixion  was  a scene  of  deep  and  un- 
mixed agony.  As  we  stand  round  his 
cross,  our  minds  are  not  distracted,  nor 
our  sensibility  weakened,  by  contem- 
plating him  as  composed  of  incongruous 
and  infinitely  differing  minds,  and  as 
having  a balance  of  infinite  felicity.  We 
recognize  in  the  dying  Jesus  but  one 
mind.  This,  we  think,  renders  his  suf- 
ferings, and  his  patience  and  love  in 
bearing  them,  incomparably  more  im- 
pressive and  affecting  than  the  system 
we  oppose. 

3.  Having  thus  given  our  belief  on 
two  great  points,  namely,  that  there  is 
one  God,  and  that  Jesus  Christ  is  a 
being  distinct  from  and  inferior  to  God, 
I now  proceed  to  another  point  on  which 
we  lay  still  greater  stress.  We  believe 
in  the  moral  perfection  of  God.  We 
consider  no  part  of  theology  so  impor- 
tant as  that  which  treats  of  God’s  moral 
character ; and  we  value  our  views  of 
Christianity  chiefly  as  they  assert  his 
amiable  and  venerable  attributes. 

It  may  be  said  that  in  regard  to  this 
subject  all  Christians  agree,  that  all 
ascribe  to  the  Supreme  Being  infinite 
justice,  goodness,  and  holiness.  We 
reply,  that  it  is  very  possible  to  speak 
of  God  magnificently,  and  to  think  of 
him  meanly ; to  apply  to  his  person 
high-sounding  epithets,  and  to  his  gov- 
ernment principles  which  make  him 
odious.  The  Heathens  called  Jupiter 
the  greatest  and  the  best ; but  his  his- 
tory was  black  with  cruelty  and  lust. 
We  cannot  judge  of  men’s  real  ideas  of 
God  by  their  general  language,  for  in  all 
ages  they  have  hoped  to  soothe  the 
Deity  by  adulation.  We  must  inquire 
into  their  particular  views  of  his  pur- 
poses, of  the  principles  of  his  adminis- 
tration, and  of  his  disposition  towards 
his  creatures. 

We  conceive  that  Christians  have 
generally  leaned  towards  a very  injuri- 
ous view  of  the  Supreme  Being.  They 
have  too  often  felt  as  if  He  were  raised, 
by  his  greatness  and  sovereignty,  above 
the  principles  of  morality,  above  those 
eternal  laws  of  equity  and  rectitude  to 
which  all  other  beings  are  subjected. 
We  believe  that  in  no  being  is  the  sense 
of  right  so  strong,  so  omnipotent,  a6  in 
God.  We  believe  that  his  almighty 
power  is  entirely  submitted  to  his  per- 


ceptions of  rectitude  ; and  this  is  the 
ground  of  our  piety.  It  is  not  because 
He  is  our  Creator  merely,  but  because 
He  created  us  for  good  and  holy  pur- 
poses ; it  is  not  because  his  will  is 
irresistible,  but  because  his  will  is  the 
perfection  of  virtue,  that  we  pay  him 
allegiance.  We  cannot  bow  before  a 
being,  however  great  and  powerful,  who 
governs  tyrannically.  We  respect  noth- 
ing but  excellence,  whether  on  earth  or 
in  heaven.  We  venerate  not  the  lofti- 
ness of  God’s  throne,  but  the  equity  and 
goodness  in  which  it  is  established. 

We  believe  that  God  is  infinitely 
good,  kind,  benevolent,  in  the  proper 
sense  of  these  words,  — good  in  disposi- 
tion as  well  as  in  act ; good  not  to  a 
few,  but  to  all ; good  to  every  individ- 
ual, as  well  as  to  the  general  system. 

We  believe,  too,  that  God  is  just ; 
but  we  never  forget  that  his  justice  is 
the  justice  of  a good  being,  dwelling  in 
the  same  mind,  and  acting  in  harmony, 
with  perfect  benevolence.  By  this  at- 
tribute we  understand  God’s  infinite 
regard  to  virtue  or  moral  worth  ex- 
pressed in  a moral  government  ; that  is, 
in  giving  excellent  and  equitable  laws, 
and  in  conferring  such  rewards,  and  in- 
flicting such  punishments,  as  are  best 
fitted  to  secure  their  observance.  God’s 
justice  has  for  its  end  the  highest  virtue 
of  the  creation,  and  it  punishes  for  this 
end  alone  ; and  thus  it  coincides  with 
benevolence  ; for  virtue  and  happiness, 
though  not  the  same,  are  inseparably 
conjoined. 

God’s  justice,  thus  viewed,  appears 
to  us  to  be  in  perfect  harmony  with  his 
mercy.  According  to  the  prevalent 
systems  of  theology,  these  attributes 
are  so  discordant  and  jarring,  that  to 
reconcile  them  is  the  hardest  task  and 
the  most  wonderful  achievement  of  in- 
finite wisdom.  To  us  they  seem  to  be 
intimate  friends,  always  at  peace,  breath- 
ing the  same  spirit,  and  seeking  the 
same  end.  By  God’s  mercy,  we  under- 
stand not  a blind  instinctive  compas- 
sion, which  forgives  without  reflection, 
and  without  regard  to  the  interests  of 
virtue.  This,  we  acknowledge,  would 
be  incompatible  with  justice,  and  also 
with  enlightened  benevolence.  God's 
mercy,  as  we  understand  it,  desires 
strongly  the  happiness  of  the  guilty; 
but  only  through  their  penitence.  It 
has  a regard  to  character  as  truly  as 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY, \ 


377 


his  justice.  It  defers  punishment,  and 
suffers  long,  that  the  sinner  may  return 
to  his  duty,  but  leaves  the  impenitent 
and  unyielding  to  the  fearful  retribu- 
tion threatened  in  God’s  word. 
y To  give  our  views  of  God  in  one 
word,  we  believe  in  his  parental  charac- 
ter. We  ascribe  to  him  not  only  the 
name,  but  the  dispositions  and  princi- 
ples of  a father.  We  believe  that  He 
has  a father’s  concern  for  his  creatures, 
a father’s  desire  for  their  improvement, 
a father’s  equity  in  proportioning  his 
commands  to  their  powers,  a father’s 
joy  in  their  progress,  a father’s  readi- 
ness to  receive  the  penitent,  and  a fa- 
ther’s justice  for  the  incorrigible.  We 
look  upon  this  world  as  a place  of  edu- 
cation, in  which  He  is  training  men  by 
prosperity  and  adversity,  by  aids  and 
obstructions,  by  conflicts  of  reason  and 
passion,  by  motives  to  duty  and  temp- 
tations to  sin,  by  a various  discipline 
suited  to  free  and  moral  beings,  for 
union  with  himself,  ar.d  for  a sublime 
and  ever-growing  virtue  in  heaven. 

Now,  we  object  to  the  systems  of  re- 
ligion which  prevail  among  us,  that  they 
\ are  adverse,  in  a greater  or  less  degree, 
to  these  purifying,  comforting,  and  hon- 
orable views  of  God ; that  they  take 
from  us  our  Father  in  heaven,  and  sub- 
stitute for  him  a being  whom  we  can- 
not love  if  we  would,  and  whom  we 
ought  not  to  love  if  we  could.  We 
object,  particularly  on  this  ground,  to 
that  system  which  arrogates  to  itself 
the  name  of  Orthodqxy,  and  which  is 
now  industriously  propagated  through 
our  country.  This  system  indeed  takes 
various  shapes,  but  in  all  it  casts  dis- 
honor on  the  Creator.  According  to 
its  old  and  genuine  foru,  it  teaches  that 
God  brings  us  into  life  wholly  depraved, 
so  that  under  the  innocent  features  of 
our  childhood  is  hidden  a nature  averse 
to  all  good  and  propense  to  all  evil,  a 
nature  which  exposes  us  to  God’s  dis- 
pleasure and  wrath,  even  before  we 
have  acquired  power  to  understand  our 
duties  or  to  reflect  upon  our  actions. 
According  to  a more  modern  exposition, 
it  teaches  that  we  came  from  the  hands 
of  our  Maker  with  such  a constitution, 
and  are  placed  under  such  influences 
and  circumstances,  as  to  render  certain 
and  infallible  the  total  depravity  of 
every  human  being  from  the  first  mo- 
ment of  his  moral  agency  ; and  it  also 


teaches  that  the  offence  of  the  child, 
who  brings  into  life  this  ceaseless  ten- 
dency to  unmingled  crime,  exposes  him 
to  the  sentence  of  everlasting  damna- 
tion. Now,  according  to  the  plainest 
principles  of  morality,  we  maintain  that 
a natural  constitution  of  the  mind,  un- 
failingly disposing  it  to  evil,  and  to 
evil  alone,  would  absolve  it  from  guilt  ; 
that  to  give  existence  under  this  con- 
dition would  argue  unspeakable  cruelty  ; 
and  hat  to  punish  the  sin  of  this  un- 
happily constituted  child  with  endless 
ruin  would  be  a wrong  unparalleled  by 
the  most  merciless  despotism. 

This  system  also  teaches  that  God^ 
selects  from  this  corrupt  mass  a num- 
ber to  be  saved,  and  plucks  them,  by 
a special  influence,  from  the  common 
ruin  ; that  the  rest  of  mankind,  though 
left  without  that  special  grace  which 
their  conversion  requires,  are  com- 
manded to  repent,  under  penalty  of 
aggravated  woe  ; and  that  forgiveness 
is  promised  them  on  terms  which  their 
very  constitution  infallibly  disposes  them 
to  reject,  and  in  rejecting  which  they 
awfully  enhance  the  punishments  of 
hell.  These  proffers  of  forgiveness  and 
exhortations  of  amendment,  to  beings 
born  under  a blighting  curse,  fill  our 
minds  with  a horror  which  we  want 
words  to  express. 

That  this  religious  system  does  not 
produce  all  the  effects  on  character 
which  might  be  anticipated,  we  most 
joyfully  admit.  It  is  often,  very  often, 
counteracted  by  nature,  conscience,  com- 
mon sense,  by  the  general  strain  of 
Scripture,  by  the  mild  example  and  pre- 
cepts of  Christ,  and  by  the  many  posi- 
tive declarations  of  God’s  universal 
kindness  and  perfect  equity.  But  still 
we  think  that  we  see  its  unhappy  influ- 
ence. It  tends  to  discourage  the  timid, 
to  give  excuses  to  the  bad,  to  feed  the 
vanity  of  the  fanatical,  and  to  offer 
shelter  to  the  bad  feelings  of  the  malig- 
nant. By  shocking,  as  it  does,  the  fun- 
damental principles  of  morality,  and  by 
exhibiting  a severe  and  partial  Deity, 
it  tends  strongly  to  pervert  the  moral 
faculty,  to  form  a gloomy,  forbidding, 
and  servile  religion,  and  to  lead  men 
to  substitute  censoriousness,  bitterness, 
and  persecution,  for  a tender  and  im- 
partial charity.  We  think,  too,  that 
this  system,  which  begins  with  degrad- 
ing human  nature,  may  be  expected  to 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY. 


373 

end  in  pride  ; for  pride  grows  out  of  a 
consciousness  of  high  distinctions,  how- 
ever obtained,  and  no  distinction  is  so 
great  as  that  which  is  made  between  the 
elected  and  abandoned  of  God. 

The  false  and  dishonorable  views  of 
God  which  have  now  been  stated,  we 
feel  ourselves  bound  to  resist  unceas- 
ingly. Other  errors  we  can  pass  over 
with  comparative  indifference.  But  we 
ask  our  opponents  to  leave  to  us  a God 
worthy  of  our  love  and  trust,  in  whom 
our  moral  sentiments  may  delight,  in 
whom  our  weaknesses  and  sorrows  may 
find  refuge.  We  cling  to  the  divine  per- 
fections. We  meet  them  everywhere  in 
creation,  we  read  them  in  the  Scriptures, 
we  see  a lovely  image  of  them  in  Jesus 
Christ ; and  gratitude,  love,  and  venera- 
tion call  on  us  to  assert  them.  Re- 
proached, as  we  often  are,  by  men,  it  is 
our  consolation  and  happiness  that  one 
of  our  chief  offences  is  the  zeal  with 
which  we  vindicate  the  dishonored  good- 
ness and  rectitude  of  God. 

4.  Having  thus  spoken  of  the  unity  of 
God;  of  the  unity  of  Jesus,  and  his  in- 
feriority to  God ; and  of  the  perfections 
of  the  divine  character  ; I now  proceed 
to  give  our  views  of  the  mediation  of 
Christ,  and  of  the  purposes  of  his  mis- 
sion. With  regard  to  the  great  object 
which  Jesus  came  to  accomplish,  there 
seems  to  be  no  possibility  of  mistake. 
We  believe  that  he  was  sent  by  the 
Father  to  effect  a moral  or  spiritual 
deliverance  of  mankind ; that  is,  to  res- 
cue men  from  sin  and  its  consequences, 
and  to  bring  them  to  a state  of  everlast- 
ing purity  and  happiness.  We  believe, 
too,  that  he  accomplishes  this  sublime 
purpose  by  a variety  of  methods,  — by 
his  instructions  respecting  God’s  unity, 
parental  character,  and  moral  govern- 
ment, which  are  admirably  fitted  to 
reclaim  the  world  from  idolatry  and 
impiety,  to  the  knowledge,  love,  and 
obedience  of  the  Creator  ; by  his  prom- 
ises of  pardon  to  the  penitent,  and  of 
divine  assistance  to  those  who  labor  for 
progress  in  moral  excellence ; by  the 
light  which  he  has  thrown  on  the  path 
of  duty ; by  his  own  spotless  example, 
in  which  the  loveliness  and  sublimity 
of  virtue  shine  forth  to  warm  and 
quicken  as  well  as  guide  us  to  perfec- 
tion ; by  his  threatenings  against  incor- 
rigible guilt ; by  his  glorious  discoveries 
of  immortality ; by  his  sufferings  and 


death  ; by  that  signal  event,  the  resur- 
rection, which  powerfully  bore  witness 
to  his  divine  mission,  and  brought  down 
to  men’s  senses  a future  life  ; by  his 
continual  intercession,  which  obtains  for 
us  spiritual  aid  and  blessings ; and  by 
the  power  with  which  he  is  invested  of 
raising  the  dead,  judging  the  world,  and 
conferring  the  everlasting  rewards  prom- 
ised to  the  faithful. 

We  have  no  desire  to  conceal  the  fact 
that  a difference  of  opinion  exists  among 
us  in  regard  to  an  interesting  part  of 
Christ’s  mediation,  — I mean,  in  regard 
to  the  precise  influence  of  his  death  on 
our  forgiveness.  Many  suppose  that 
this  event  contributes  to  our  pardon,  as 
it  was  a principal  means  of  confirming 
his  religion,  and  of  giving  it  a power 
over  the  mind  ; in  other  words,  that  it 
procures  forgiveness  by  leading  to  that 
repentance  and  virtue  which  is  the  great 
and  only  condition  on  which  forgiveness 
is  bestowed.  Many  of  us  are  dissatisfied 
with  this  explanation,  and  think  that  the 
Scriptures  ascribe  the  remission  of  sins 
to  Christ’s  death  with  an  emphasis  so 
peculiar  that  we  ought  to  consider  this 
event  as  having  a special  influence  in 
removing  punishment,  though  the  Script- 
ures may  not  reveal  the  way  in  which  it 
contributes  to  this  end. 

Whilst,  however,  we  differ  in  explain- 
ing the  connection  between  Christ’s 
death  and  human  forgiveness,  — a con- 
nection which  we  all  gratefully  acknowl- 
edge, — we  agree  in  rejecting  many 
sentiments  which  prevail  in  regard  to 
his  mediation.  The  idea  which  is  con- 
veyed to  common  minds  by  the  popular 
system,  that  Christ's  death  has  an  influ- 
ence in  making  God  placable  or  merciful, 
in  awakening  his  kindness  towards  men, 
we  reject  with  strong  disapprobation. 
We  are  happy  to  find  that  this  very  dis- 
honorable notion  is  disowned  by  intelli- 
gent Christians  of  that  class  from  which 
we  differ.  We  recollect,  however,  that, 
not  long  ago,  it  was  common  to  hear  of 
Christ  as  "having  died  to  appease  God’s 
wrath,  and  to  pay  the  debt  of  sinners 
to  his  inflexible  justice  ; and  we  have  a 
strong  persuasion  that  the  language  of 
popular  religious  books,  and  the  common 
mode  of  stating  the  doctrine  of  Christ’s 
mediation,  still  communicate  very  de- 
grading views  of  God’s  character.  They 
give  to  multitudes  the  impression  that 
the  death  of  Jesus  produces  a change  in 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY. 


379 


the  mind  of  God  towards  man,  and  that 
in  this  its  efficacy  chiefly  consists.  No 
error  seems  to  us  more  pernicious.  We 
can  endure  no  shade  over  the  pure  good- 
ness of  God.  We  earnestly  maintain 
that  Jesus,  instead  of  calling  forth,  in 
any  way  or  degree,  the  mercy  of  the 
Father,  was  sent  by  that  mercy  to  be 
our  Saviour ; that  he  is  nothing  to  the 
human  race  but  what  he  is  by  God’s 
appointment  ; that  he  communicates 
nothing  but  what  God  empowers  him 
to  bestow;  that  our  Father  in  heaven 
is  originally,  essentially,  and  eternally 
placable,  and  disposed  to  forgive ; and 
that  his  unborrowed,  underived,  and  un- 
changeable love  is  the  only  fountain  of 
what  flows  to  us  through  his  Son.  We 
conceive  that  Jesus  is  dishonored,  not 
glorified,  by  ascribing  to  him  an  influ- 
ence which  clouds  the  splendor  of  divine 
benevolence. 

* We  farther  agree  in  rejecting,  as  un- 
scriptural  and  absurd,  the  explanation 
given  by  the  popular  system  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  Christ’s  death  procures 
forgiveness  for  men.  This  system  used 
to  teach,  as  its  fundamental  principle, 
that  man,  having  sinned  against  an  in- 
finite Being,  has  contracted  infinite  guilt, 
and  is  consequently  exposed  to  an  infinite 
penalty.  We  believe,  however,  that  this 
reasoning,  if  reasoning  it  may  be  called, 
which  overlooks  the  obvious  maxim  that 
the  guilt  of  a being  must  be  proportioned 
to  his  nature  and  powers,  has  fallen  into 
disuse.  Still  the  system  teaches  that 
sin,  of  whatever  degree,  exposes  to  end- 
less punishment,  and  that  the  whole 
human  race,  being  infallibly  involved  by 
their  nature  in  sin,  owe  this  awful  pen- 
alty to  the  justice  of  their  Creator.  It 
teaches  that  this  penalty  cannot  be  re- 
mitted, in  consistency  with  the  honor 
of  the  divine  law,  unless  a substitute  be 
found  to  endure  it  or  to. suffer  an  equiv- 
alent. It  also  teaches  that,  from  the 
nature  of  the  case,  no  substitute  is  ade- 
quate to  this  work  save  the  infinite  God 
himself ; and  accordingly,  God,  in  his 
second  person,  took  on  him  human  nat- 
ure, that  He  might  pay  to  his  own  justice 
the  debt  of  punishment  incurred  by  men, 
and  might  thus  reconcile  forgiveness 
with  the  claims  and  threatenings  of  his 
law.  Such  is  the  prevalent  system. 
Now,  to  us,  this  doctrine  seems  to  carry 
on  its  front  strong  marks  of  absurdity ; 
and  we  maintain  that  Christianity  ought 


not  to  be  encumbered  with  it,  unless  it 
be  laid  down  in  the  New  Testament 
fully  and  expressly.  We  ask  our  adver- 
saries, then,  to  point  to  some  plain  pas- 
sages where  it  is  taught.  We  ask  for 
one  text  in  which  we  are  told  that  God 
took  human  nature  that  He  might  make 
an  infinite  satisfaction  to  his  own  justice ; 
for  one  text  which  tells  us  that  human 
guilt  requires  an  infinite  substitute  ; that 
Christ’s  sufferings  owe  their  efficacy  to 
their  being  borne  by  an  infinite  being ; 
or  that  his  divine  nature  gives  infinite 
value  to  the  sufferings  of  the  human. 
Not  fine  word  of  this  description  can  we 
find  in  the  Scriptures  ; not  a text  which 
even  hints  at  these  strange  doctrines. 
They  are  altogether,  we  believe,  the  fic- 
tions of  theologians.  Christianity  is  in 
no  degree  responsible  for  them.  We  are 
astonished  at  their  prevalence.  What 
can  be  plainer  than  that  God  cannot,  in 
any  sense,  be  a sufferer,  or  bear  a pen- 
alty in  the  room  of  his  creatures  ? How 
dishonorable  to  him  is  the  supposition, 
that  his  justice  is  now  so  severe  as  to 
exact  infinite  punishment  for  the  sins  of 
frail  and  feeble  men,  and  now  so  easy 
and  yielding  as  to  accept  the  limited 
pains  of  Christ’s  human  soul  as  a full 
equivalent  for  the  endless  woes  due  from 
the  world  ? How  plain  is  it  also,  accord- 
ing to  this  doctrine,  that  God,  instead  of 
being  plenteous  in  forgiveness,  never 
forgives  ; for  it  seems  absurd  to  speak 
of  men  as  forgiven,  when  their  whole 
punishment,  or  an  equivalent  to  it,  is 
borne  by  a substitute  ? A scheme  more 
fitted  to  obscure  the  brightness  of  Chris- 
tianity and  the  mercy  of  God,  or  less 
suited  to  give  comfort  to  a guilty  and 
troubled  mind,  could  not,  we  think,  be 
easily  framed. 

We  believe,  too,  that  this  system  is 
unfavorable  to  the  character.  It  nat- 
urally leads  men  to  think  that  Christ 
came  to  change  God’s  mind  rather  than 
their  own ; that  the  highest  object  of 
his  mission  was  to  avert  punishment 
rather  than  to  communicate  holiness ; 
and  that  a large  part  of  religion  consists 
in  disparaging  good  works  and  human 
virtue,  for  the  purpose  of  magnifying  the 
value  of  Christ’s  vicarious  sufferings. 
In  this  way  a sense  of  the  infinite  im- 
portance and  indispensable  necessity  of 
personal  improvement  is  weakened,  and 
high-sounding  praises  of  Christ’s  cross 
seem  often  to  be  substituted  for  obe- 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY. 


380 

dience  to  his  precepts.  For  ourselves, 
we  have  not  so  learned  Jesus.  Whilst 
we  gratefully  acknowledge  that  he  came 
to  rescue  us  from  punishment,  we  be- 
lieve that  he  was  sent  on  a still  nobler 
errand,  namely,  to  deliver  us  from  sin 
itself,  and  to  form  us  to  a sublime  and 
heavenly  virtue.  We  regard  him  as  a 
Saviour,  chiefly  as  he  is  the  light,  phy- 
sician, and  guide  of  the  dark,  diseased, 
and  wandering  mind.  No  influence  in 
the  universe  seems  to  us  so  glorious  as 
that  over  the  character  ; and  no  redemp- 
tion so  worthy  of  thankfulness  as  the 
restoration  of  the  soul  to  purity.  With- 
out this,  pardon,  were  it  possible,  would 
be  of  little  value.  Why  pluck  the  sinner 
from  hell,  if  a hell  be  left  to  burn  in  his 
own  breast  ? Why  raise  him  to  heaven, 
if  he  remain  a stranger  to  its  sanctity 
and  love  ? With  these  impressions,  we 
are  accustomed  to  value  the  gospel 
chiefly  as  it  abounds  in  effectual  aids* 
motives,  excitements  to  a generous  and 
divine  virtue.  In  this  virtue,  as  in  a 
common  centre,  we  see  all  its  doctrines, 
precepts,  promises  meet ; and  we  believe 
that  faith  in  this  religion  is  of  no  worth, 
and  contributes  nothing  to  salvation,  any 
farther  than  as  it  uses  these  doctrines, 
precepts,  promises,  and  the  whole  life, 
character,  sufferings,  and  triumphs  of 
Jesus,  as  the  means  of  purifying  the 
mind,  of  changing  it  into  the  likeness  of 
his  celestial  excellence. 

5.  Having  thus  stated  our  views  of 
the  highest  object  of  Christ’s  mission, 
that  it  is  the  recovery  of  men  to  virtue, 
or  holiness,  I shall  now,  in  the  last  place, 
give  our  views  of  the  nature  of  Christian 
virtue,  or  true  holiness.  We  believe 
that  all  virtue  has  its  foundation  in  the 
moral  nature  of  man,  that  is,  in  con- 
science, or  his  sense  of  duty,  and  in  the 
power  of  forming  his  temper  and  life  ac- 
cording to  conscience.  We  believe  that 
these  moral  faculties  are  the  grounds  of 
responsibility,  and  the  highest  distinc- 
tions of  human  nature,  and  that  no  act 
is  praiseworthy  any  farther  than  it 
springs  from  their  exertion.  We  be- 
lieve that  no  dispositions  infused  into 
us  without  our  own  moral  activity  are  of 
the  nature  of  virtue,  and  therefore  we 
reject  the  doctrine  of  irresistible  divine 
influence  on  the  human  mind,  moulding 
it  into  goodness  as  marble  is  hewn  into 
a statue.  Such  goodness,  if  this  word 
may  be  used,  would  not  be  the  object  of 


moral  approbation,  any  more  than  the 
instinctive  affections  of  inferior  animals, 
or  the  constitutional  amiableness  of  hu- 
man beings. 

By  these  remarks,  we  do  not  mean  to 
deny  the  importance  of  God’s  aid  or 
Spirit ; but  by  his  Spirit  we  mean  a 
moral,  illuminating,  and  persuasive  in- 
fluence, not  physical,  not  compulsory, 
not  involving  a necessity  of  virtue.  We 
object,  strongly,  to  the  idea  of  many 
Christians  respecting  man’s  impotence 
and  God’s  irresistible  agency  on  the 
heart,  believing  that  they  subvert  our 
responsibility  and  the  laws  of  our  moral 
nature,  that  they  make  men  machines, 
that  they  cast  on  God  the  blame  of  all 
evil  deeds,  that  they  discourage  good 
minds,  and  inflate  the  fanatical  with 
wild  conceits  of  immediate  and  sensible 
inspiration. 

Among  the  virtues,  we  give  the  first 
place  to  the  love  of  God.  We  believe 
that  this  principle  is  the  true  end  and 
happiness  of  our  being,  that  we  were 
made  for  union  with  our  Creator,  that 
his  infinite  perfection  is  the  only  suffi- 
cient object  and  true  resting-place  for 
the  insatiable  desires  and  unlimited  ca- 
pacities of  the  human  mind,  and  that, 
without  him,  our  noblest  sentiments, 
admiration,  veneration,  hope,  and  love 
would  wither  and  decay.  We  believe, 
too,  that  the  love  of  God  is  not  only  es- 
sential to  happiness,  but  to  the  strength 
and  perfection  of  all  the  virtues  ; that 
conscience,  without  the  sanction  of  God’s 
authority  and  retributive  justice,  would 
be  a weak  director ; that  benevolence, 
unless  nourished  by  communion  with 
his  goodness,  and  encouraged  by  his 
smile,  could  not  thrive  amidst  the  sel- 
fishness and  thanklessness  of  the  world  ; 
and  that  self-government,  without  a sense 
of  the  divine  inspection,  would  hardly 
extend  beyond  .an  outward  and  partial 
purity.  God,  as  he  is  essentially  good- 
ness, holiness,  justice,  and  virtue,  so  he 
is  the  life,  motive,  and  sustainer  of  virtue 
in  the  human  soul. 

But  whilst  we  earnestly  inculcate  the 
love  of  God,  we  believe  that  great  care 
is  necessary  to  distinguish  it  from 
counterfeits.  We  think  that  much  which 
is  called  piety  is  worthless.  Many  have 
fallen  into  the  error  that  there  can  be  no 
excess  in  feelings  which  have  God  for 
their  object ; and,  distrusting  as  cold- 
ness that  self-possession  without  which 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY. 


381 


virtue  and  devotion  lose  all  their  dignity, 
they  have  abandoned  themselves  to  ex- 
travagances which  have  brought  con- 
tempt on  piety.  Most  certainly,  if  the 
love  of  God  be  that  which  often  bears 
its  name,  the  less  we  have  of  it  the 
better.  If  religion  be  the  shipwreck  of 
understanding,  we  cannot  keep  too  far 
from  it.  On  this  subject  we  always 
speak  plainly.  We  cannot  sacrifice  our 
reason  to  the  reputation  of  zeal.  We 
owe  it  to  truth  and  religion  to  maintain 
that  fanaticism,  partial  insanity,  sudden 
impressions,  and  ungovernable  trans- 
ports, are  any  thing  rather  than  piety. 

We  conceive  that  the  true  love  of  God 
is  a moral  sentiment,  founded  on  a clear 
perception,  and  consisting  in  a high  es- 
teem and  veneration  of  his  moral  per- 
fections. Thus,  it  perfectly  coincides, 
and  is,  in  fact,  the  same  thing,  with  the 
love  of  virtue,  rectitude,  and  goodness. 
You  will  easily  judge,  then,  what  we 
esteem  the  surest  and  only  decisive  signs 
of  piety.  We  lay  no  stress  on  strong 
excitements.  We  esteem  him,  and  him 
only,  a pious  man,  who  practically  con- 
forms to  God’s  moral  perfections  and 
government;  who  shows  his  delight  in 
God’s  benevolence  by  loving  and  serv- 
ing his  neighbor ; his  delight  in  God’s 
justice  by  being  resolutely  upright ; his 
sense  of  God’s  purity  by  regulating  his 
thoughts,  imagination,  and  desires  ; and 
whose  conversation,  business,  and  do- 
mestic life  are  swayed  by  a regard  to 
God’s  presence  and  authority.  In  all 
things  else  men  may  deceive  themselves. 
Disordered  nerves  may  give  them  strange 
sights,  and  sounds,  and  impressions. 
Texts  of  Scripture  may  come  to  them  as 
from  heaven.  Their  whole  souls  maybe 
moved,  and  their  confidence  in  God’s 
favor  be  undoubting.  But  in  all  this 
there  is  no  religion.  The  question  is, 
Do  they  love  God’s  commands,  in  which 
his  character  is  fully  expressed,  and 
give  up  to  these  their  habits  and  pas- 
sions ? Without  this,  ecstacy  is  a mock- 
ery. One  surrender  of  desire  to  God’s 
will  is  worth  a thousand  transports.  We 
do  not  judge  of  the  bent  of  men’s  minds 
by  their  raptures,  any  more  than  we 
judge  of  the  natural  direction  of  a tree 
during  a storm.  We  rather  suspect  loud 
profession,  for  we  have  observed  that 
deep  feeling  is  generally  noiseless,  and 
least  seeks  display. 

We  would  not,  by  these  remarks,  be 


understood  as  wishing  to  exclude  from 
religion  warmth,  and  even  transport. 
We  honor  and  highly  value  true  religious 
sensibility.  We  believe  that  Chris- 
tianity is  intended  to  act  powerfully  on 
our  whole  nature,  on  the  heart  as  well 
as  the  understanding  and  the  conscience. 
We  conceive  of  heaven  as  a state  where 
the  love  of  God  will  be  exalted  into  an 
unbounded  fervor  and  joy ; and  we  de- 
sire, in  our  pilgrimage  here,  to  drink 
into  the  spirit  of  that  better  world.  But 
we  think  that  religious  warmth  is  only  to 
be  valued  when  it  springs  naturally  from 
an  improved  character,  when  it  comes 
unforced,  when  it  is  the  recompense  of 
obedience,  when  it  is  the  warmth  of  a 
mind  which  understands  God  by  being 
like  him,  and  when,  instead  of  disorder- 
ing, it  exalts  the  understanding,  invig- 
orates conscience,  gives  a pleasure  to 
common  duties,  and  is  seen  to  exist  in 
connection  with  cheerfulness,  judicious- 
ness, and  a reasonable  frame  of  mind. 
When  we  observe  a fervor  called  relig- 
ious in  men  whose  general  character  ex- 
presses little  refinement  and  elevation, 
and  whose  piety  seems  at  war  with  rea- 
son, we  pay  it  little  respect.  We  honor 
religion  too  much  to  give  its  sacred 
name  to  a feverish,  forced,  fluctuating 
zeal,  which  has  little  power  over  the 
life. 

Another  important  branch  of  virtue 
we  believe  to  be  love  to  Christ.  The 
greatness  of  the  work  of  Jesus,  the  spirit 
with  which  he  executed  it,  and  the  suf- 
ferings which  he  bore  for  our  salvation, 
we  feel  to  be  strong  claims  on  our  grat- 
itude and  veneration.  We  see  in  nature 
no  beauty  to  be  compared  with  the  love- 
liness of  his  character,  nor  do  we  find  on 
earth  a benefactor  to  whom  we  owe  an 
equal  debt.  We  read  his  history  with  de- 
light, and  learn  from  it  the  perfection  of 
our  nature.  We  are  particularly  touched 
by  his  death,  which  was  endured  for  our 
redemption,  and  by  that  strength  of 
charity  which  triumphed  over  his  pains. 
His  resurrection  is  the  foundation  of 
our  hope  of  immortality.  His  interces- 
sion gives  us  boldness  to  draw  nigh  to 
the  throne  of  grace,  and  we  look  up  to 
heaven  with  new  desire  when  we  think 
that,  if  we  follow  him  here,  we  shall 
there  see  his  benignant  countenance, 
and  enjoy  his  friendship  for  ever. 

I need  not  express  to  you  our  views 
on  the  subject  of  the  benevolent  virtues. 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY. 


382 

We  attach  such  importance  to  these, 
that  we  are  sometimes  reproached  with 
exalting  them  above  piety.  We  regard 
the  spirit  of  love,  charity,  meekness, 
forgiveness,  liberality,  and  beneficence, 
as  the  badge  and  distinction  of  Chris- 
tians, as  the  brightest  image  we  can 
bear  of  God,  as  the  best  proof  of  piety. 
On  this  subject  I need  riot  and  cannot 
enlarge  ; but  there  is  one  branch  of  ben- 
evolence which  I ought  not  to  pass  over 
in  silence,  because  we  think  that  we  con- 
ceive of  it  more  highly'and  justly  than 
many  of  our  brethren.  I refer  to  the 
duty  of  candor,  charitable  judgment, 
especially  towards  those  who  differ  in  re- 
ligious opinion.  We  think  that  in  noth- 
ing have  Christians  so  widely  departed 
from  their  religion  as  in  this  particular. 
We  read  with  astonishment  and  horror 
the  history  of  the  church  ; and  some- 
times, when  we  look  back  on  the  fires  of 
persecution,  and  on  the  zeal  of  Chris- 
tians in  building  up  walls  of  separation, 
and  in  giving  up  one  another  to  per- 
dition, we  feel  as  if  we  were  reading  the 
records  of  an  infernal  rather  than  a 
heavenly  kingdom.  An  enemy  to  every 
religion,  if  asked  to  describe  a Christian, 
would,  with  some  show  of  reason,  de- 
pict him  as  an  idolater  of  his  own  distin- 
guishing opinions,  covered  with  badges 
of  party,  shutting  his  eyes  on  the  virtues 
and  his  ears  on  the  arguments  of  his 
opponents,  arrogating  all  excellence  to 
his  own  sect  and  all  saving  power  to  his 
own  creed,  sheltering  under  the  name  of 
pious  zeal  the  love  of  domination,  the 
conceit  of  infallibility,  and  the  spirit  of 
intolerance,  and  trampling  on  men’s 
rights  under  the  pretence  of  saving  their 
souls. 

We  can  hardly  conceive  of  a plainer 
obligation  on  beings  of  our  frail  and 
fallible  nature,  who  are  instructed  in  the 
duty  of  candid  judgment,  than  to  abstain 
from  condemning  men  of  apparent  con- 
scientiousness and  sincerity,  who  are 
chargeable  with  no  crime  but  that  of  dif- 
fering from  us  in  the  interpretation  of 
the  Scriptures,  and  differing,  too,  on 
topics  of  great  and  acknowledged  ob- 
scurity. We  are  astonished  at  the  hard- 
ihood of  those  who,  with  Christ’s  warn- 
ings sounding  in  their  ears,  take  on 
them  the  responsibility  of  making  creeds 
for  his  church,  and  cast  out  professors 
of  virtuous  lives  for  imagined  errors,  for 
the  guilt  of  thinking  for  themselves. 


We  know  that  zeal  for  truth  is  the  cover 
for  this  usurpation  of  Christ’s  prerog- 
ative ; but  we  think  that  zeal  for  truth, 
as  it  is  called,  is  very  suspicious,  except 
in  men  whose  capacities  and  advan- 
tages, whose  patient  deliberation,  and 
whose  improvements  in  humility,  mild- 
ness, and  candor,  give  them  a right  to 
hope  that  their  views  are  more  just  than 
those  of  their  neighbors.  Much  of  what 
passes  for  a zeal  for  truth  we  look  upon 
with  little  respect,  for  it  often  appears 
to  thrive  most  luxuriantly  where  other 
virtues  shoot  up  thinly  and  feebly  ; and 
we  have  no  gratitude  for  those  reformers 
who  would  force  upon  us  a doctrine 
which  has  not  sweetened  their  own 
tempers,  or  made  them  better  men  than 
their  neighbors. 

We  are  accustomed  to  think  much  of 
the  difficulties  attending  religious  in- 
quiries,— difficulties  springing  from  the 
slow  development  of  our  minds,  from 
the  power  of  early  impressions,  from 
the  state  of  society,  from  human  au- 
thority, from  the  general  neglect  of  the 
reasoning  powers,  from  the  want  of  just 
principles  of  criticism  and  of  important 
helps  in  interpreting  Scripture,  and 
from  various  other  causes.  We  find 
that  on  no  subject  have  men,  and  even 
good  men,  ingrafted  so  many  strange 
conceits,  wild  theories,  and  fictions  of 
fancy,  as  on  religion  ; and  remembering, 
as  we  do,  that  we  ourselves  are  sharers 
of  the  common  frailty,  we  dare  not  as- 
sume infallibility  in  the  treatment  of  our 
fellow-Christians,  or  encourage  in  com- 
mon Christians,  who  have  little  time  for 
investigation,  the  habit  of  denouncing 
and  contemning  other  denominations, 
perhaps  more  enlightened  and  virtuous 
than  their  own.  Charity,  forbearance,  a 
delight  in  the  virtues  of  different  sects,  a 
backwardness  to  censure  and  condemn, 
these  are  virtues  which,  however  poorly 
practised  by  us,  we  admire  and  recom- 
mend ; and  we  would  rather  join  ourselves 
to  the  church  in  which  they  abound,  than 
to  any  other  communion,  however  elated 
with  the  belief  of  its  own  orthodoxy, 
however  strict  in  guarding  its  creed, 
however  burning  with  zeal  against  im- 
agined error. 

I have  thus  given  the  distinguishing 
views  of  those  Christians  in  whose  names 
I have  spoken.  We  have  embraced  this 
system  not  hastily  or  lightly,  but  after 
much  deliberation  ; and  we  hold  it  fast, 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY.  3§3 


not  merely  because  we  believe  it  to 
be  true,  but  because  we  regard  it  as 
purifying  truth,  as  a doctrine  according 
to  godliness,  as  able  to  “ work  mightily  ” 
and  to  “ bring  forth  fruit  ” in  them  who 
believe.  That  we  wish  to  spread  it,  we 
have  no  desire  to  conceal  ; but  we  think 
that  we  wish  its  diffusion  because  we 
regard  it  as  more  friendly  to  practical 
piety  and  pure  morals  than  the  opposite 
doctrines,  because  it  gives  clearer  and 
nobler  views  of  duty,  and  stronger  mo- 
tives to  its  performance,  because  it 
recommends  religion  at  once  to  the  un- 
derstanding and  the  heart,  because  it 
asserts  the  lovely  and  venerable  attri- 
butes of  God,  because  it  tends  to  restore 
the  benevolent  spirit  of  Jesus  to  his  di- 
vided and  afflicted  church,  and  because 
it  cuts  off  every  hope  of  God’s  favor 
except  that  which  springs  from  practi- 
cal conformity  to  the  life  and  precepts 
of  Christ.  We  see  nothing  in  our  views 
to  give  offence  save  their  purity,  and  it 
is  their  purity  which  make^  us  seek  and 
hope  their  extension  through  the  world. 

My  friend  and  brother,  — You  are 
this  day  to  take  upon  you  important 
duties  ; to  be  clothed  with  an  office 
which  the  Son  of  God  did  not  disdain  ; 
to  devote  yourself  to  that  religion  which 
the  most  hallowed  lips  have  preached, 
and  the  most  precious  blood  sealed. 
We  trust  that  you  will  bring  to  this 
work  a willing  mind,  a firm  purpose,  a 
martyr’s  spirit,  a readiness  to  toil  and 
suffer  for  the  truth,  a devotion  of  your 
best  powers  to  the  interests  of  piety  and 
virtue.  I have  spoken  of  the  doctrines 
which  you  will  probably  preach  ; but  I 
do  not  mean  that  you  are  to  give  your- 
self to  controversy.  You  will  remem- 
ber that  good  practice  is  the  end  of 
preaching*  and  will  labor  to  make  your 
people  holy  livers  rather  than  skilful 
disputants.  Be  careful  lest  the  desire 
of  defending  what  you  deem  truth,  and 
of  repelling  reproach  and  misrepresen- 
tation, turn  you  aside  from  your  great 
business,  which  is  to  fix  in  men’s  minds 
a living  conviction  of  the  obligation, 
sublimity,  and  happiness  of  Christian 
virtue.  The  best  way  to  vindicate  your 
sentiments  is  to  show.,  in  your  preach- 
ing and  life,  their  intimate  connection 
with  Christian  morals,  with  a high  and 
delicate  sense  of  duty,  with  candor  to- 
wards your  opposers,  with  inflexible 
integrity,  and  with  an  habitual  rever- 


ence for  God.  If  any  light  can  pierce 
and  scatter  the  clouds  of  prejudice,  it  is 
that  of  a pure  example.  My  brother, 
may  your  life  preach  more  loudly  than 
your  lips  ! Be  to  this  people  a pattern 
of  all  good  works,  and  may  your  instruc- 
tions derive  authority  from  a well- 
grounded  belief  in  your  hearers  that 
you  speak  from  the  heart,  that  you 
preach  from  experience,  that  the  truth 
which  you  dispense  has  wrought  pow- 
erfully in  your  own  heart,  that  God,  and 
Jesus,  and  heaven,  are  not  merely  words 
on  your  lips,  but  most  affecting  realities 
to  your  mind,  and  springs  of  hope,  and 
consolation,  and  strength,  in  all  your 
trials  ! Thus  laboring,  may  you  reap 
abundantly,  and  have  a testimony  of 
your  faithfulness,  not  only  in  your  own 
conscience,  but  in  the  esteem,  l6ve,  virt- 
ues, and  improvements  of  your  people  ! 

To  all  who  hear  me  I would  say,  with 
the  Apostle,  Prove  all  things,  hold  fast 
that  which  is  good.  Do  not.  brethren, 
shrink  from  the  duty  of  searching  God’s 
word  for  yourselves,  through  fear  of  hu- 
man censure  and  denunciation.  Do  not 
think  that  you  may  innocently  follow 
the  opinions  which  prevail  around  you, 
without  investigation,  on  the  ground  that 
Christianity  is  now  so  purified  from  er- 
rors as  to  need  no  laborious  research. 
There  is  much  reason  to  believe  that 
Christianity  is  at  this  moment  dishon- 
ored by  gross  and  cherished  corruptions. 
If  you  remember  the  darkness  which 
hung  over  the  gospel  for  ages  : if  you 
consider  the  impure  union  which  still 
subsists  in  almost  every  Christian  coun- 
try between  the  church  and  state,  and 
which  enlists  men’s  selfishness  and  am- 
bition on  the  side  of  established  error ; 
if  you  recollect  in  what  degree  the  spirit 
of  intolerance  has  checked  free  inquiry, 
not  only  before  but  since  the  Reforma- 
tion ; you  will  see  that  Christianity  can- 
not have  freed  itself  from  all  the  human 
inventions  which  disfigured  it  under  the 
Papal  tyranny.  No.  Much  stubble  is 
yet  to  be  burned  ; much  rubbish  to  .be 
removed ; many  gaudy  decorations  which 
a false  taste  has  hung  around  Christian- 
ity must  be  swept  away  ; and  the  earth- 
born  fogs  which  have  long  shrouded  it 
must  be  scattered,  before  this  divine 
fabric  will  rise  before  us  in  its  native 
and  awful  majesty,  in  its  harmonious 
proportions,  in  its  mild  and  celestial 
splendors.  This  glorious  reformation 


Jc 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY 


384 

in  the  church,  we  hope,  under  God’s 
blessing,  from  the  progress  of  the  hu- 
man intellect,  from  the  moral  progress 
of  society,  from  the  consequent  decline 
of  prejudice  and  bigotry,  and,  though 
last  not  least,  from  the  subversion  of 
human  authority  in  matters  of  religion, 
from  the  fall  of  those  hierarchies,  and 
other  human  institutions,  by  which  the 
minds  of  individuals  are  oppressed  un- 
der the  weight  of  numbers,  and  a Papal 
dominion  is  perpetuated  in  the  Protes- 
tant church.  Our  earnest  prayer  to 
God  is,  that  He  will  overturn,  and  over- 


turn, and  overturn  the  strongholds  of 
spiritual  usurpation,  until  He  shall  come 
whose  right  it  is  to  rule  the  minds  of 
men  ; that  the  conspiracy  of  ages  against 
the  liberty  of  Christians  may  be  brought 
to  an  end  ; that  the  servile  assent  so 
long  yielded  to  human  creeds  may  give 
place  to  honest  and  devout  inquiry  into 
the  Scriptures ; and  that  Christianity, 
thus  purified  from  error,  may  put  forth 
its  almighty  energy,  and  prove  itself  , by 
its  ennobling  influence  on  the  mind,  to 
be  indeed  “ the  power  of  God  unto  sal- 
vation.” 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY  MOST  FAVOR- 
ABLE TO  PIETY: 

Discourse  at  the  Dedication  of  the  Second  Congregational  Unitarian 
Church , New  York,  1826. 


Mark  xii.  29,  30:  “And  Jesus  answered  him, 
The  first  of  all  the  commandments  is,  Hear,  O Israel  ; 
The  Lord  our  God  is  one  Lord.  And  thou  shalt  love 
the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  with  all  thy 
soul,  and  with  all  thy  mind,  and  with  all  thy  strength. 
This  is  the  first  commandment.” 

We  have  assembled  to  dedicate  this 
building  to  the  worship  of  the  only  liv- 
ing and  true  God,  and  to  the  teaching 
of  the  religion  of  his  son,  Jesus  Christ. 
By  this  act  we  do  not  expect  to  confer 
on  this  spot  of  ground  and  these  walls 
any  peculiar  sanctity  or  any  mysterious 
properties.  We  do  not  suppose  that,  in 
consequence  of  rites  now  performed, 
the  worship  offered  here  will  be  more 
acceptable  than  prayer  uttered  in  the 
closet,  or  breathed  from  the  soul  in  the 
midst  of  business  ; or  that  the  instruc- 
tions delivered  from  this  pulpit  will  be 
more  effectual  than  if  they  were  uttered 
in  a private  dwelling  or  the  open  air. 
By  dedication  we  understand  only  a 
solemn  expression  of  the  purpose  for 
which  this  building  is  reared,  joined 
with  prayer  to  him  who  alone  can  crown 
our  enterprise  with  success,  that  our 
design  may  be  accepted  and  fulfilled. 
For  this  religious  act  we  find,  indeed, 
no  precept  in  the  New  Testament,  and 
on  this  account  some  have  scrupled  as 


to  its  propriety.  But  we  are  not  among 
those  who  consider  the  written  word  as 
a statute-book,  by  the  letter  of  which 
every  step  in  life  must  be  governed. 
We  believe,  on  the  other  hand,  that 
one  of  the  great  excellences  of  Chris- 
tianity is  that  it  does  not  deal  in  mi- 
nute regulation,  but  that,  having  given 
broad  views  of  duty, . and  enjoined  a 
pure  and  disinterested  spirit,  it  leaves 
us  to  apply  these  rules  and  express  this 
spirit  according  to  the  promptings  of 
the  divine  monitor  within  us,  and  ac- 
cording to  the  claims  and  exigencies  of 
the  ever-varying  conditions  in  which  we 
are  placed.  We  believe,  too,  that  rev- 
elation is  not  intended  to  supersede 
God’s  other  modes  of  instruction  ; that 
it  is  not  intended  to  drown,  but  to  make 
more  audible,  the  voice  of  nature.  Now, 
nature  dictates  the  propriety  of  such  an 
act  as  we  are  this  day  assembled  to 
perform.  Nature  has  always  taught 
men,  on  the  completion  of  an  important 
structure,  designed  for  public  and  last- 
ing good,  to  solemnize  its  first  appro- 
priation to  the  purpose  for  which  it  was 
reared  by  some  special  service.  To  us 
there  is  a sacredness  in  this  moral  in- 
stinct, in  this  law  written  on  the  heart ; 


MOST  FAVORABLE  TO  PIETY. 


and  in  listening  reverently  to  . God’s 
dictates,  however  conveyed,  we  doubt 
not  that  we  shall  enjoy  his  acceptance 
and  blessing. 

I have  said  we  dedicate  this  building 
to  the  teaching  of  the  gospel  of  Christ. 
But  in  the  present  state  of  the  Christian 
church,  these  words  are  not  as  definite 
as  they  one  day  will  be.  This  gospel  is 
variously  interpreted.  It  is  preached 
in  various  forms.  Christendom  is  par- 
celled out  into  various  sects.  When, 
therefore,  we  see  a new  house  of  wor- 
ship reared,  the  question  immediately 
arises,  To  what  mode  of  teaching  Chris- 
tianity is  it  to  be  devoted  ? I need  not 
tell  you,  my  hearers,  that  this  house  has 
been  built  by  that  class  of  Christians 
who  are  called  Unitarians,  and  that  the 
gospel  will  here  be  taught  as  interpreted 
by  that  body  of  believers.  This  you  all 
know  ; but  perhaps  all  present  have  not 
attached  a very  precise  meaning  to  the 
word  by  which  our  particular  views  of 
Christianity  are  designated.  Unitari- 
anism  has  been  made  a term  of  so 
much  reproach,  and  has  been  uttered 
in  so  many  tones  of  alarm,  horror,  in- 
dignation, and  scorn,  that  to  many  it 
gives  only  a vague  impression  of  some- 
thing monstrous,  impious,  unutterably 
perilous.  To  such  I would  say,  that 
this  doctrine,  which  is  considered  by 
some  as  the  last  and  most  perfect  in- 
vention of  Satan,  the  consummation  of 
his  blasphemies,  the  most  cunning 
weapon  ever  forged  in  the  fires  of  hell, 
amounts  to  this,  — That  there  is  one 
God,  even  the  Father;  and  that  Jesus 
Christ  is  not  this  one  God,  but  his  son 
and  messenger,  who  derived  all  his 
powers  and  glories  from  the  Universal 
Parent,  and  who  came  into  the  world 
not  to  claim  supreme  homage  for  him- 
self, but  to  carry  up  the  soul  to  his 
Father  as  the  only  Divine  Person,  the 
only  Ultimate  Object  of  religious  wor- 
ship. To  us,  this  doctrine  seems  not 
to  have  sprung  from  hell,  but  to  have 
descended  from  the  throne  of  God,  and 
to  invite  and  attract  us  thither.  To  us, 
it  seems  to  come  from  the  Scriptures, 
with  a voice  loud  as  the  sound  of  many 
waters,  and  as  articulate  and  clear  as  if 
Jesus,  in  a bodily  form,  were  pronounc- 
ing it  distinctly  in  our  ears.  To  this 
doctrine,  and  to  Christianity  interpreted 
hi  consistency  with  it,  we  dedicate  this 
building. 


385 

That  we  desire  to  propagate  this  doc- 
trine, we  do  not  conceal.  It  is  a treas- 
ure which  we  wish  not  to  confine  to 
ourselves,  which  we  dare  not  lock  up  in 
our  own  breasts.  We  regard  it  as  given 
to  us  for  others,  as  well  as  for  ourselves. 
We  should  rejoice  to  spread  it  through 
this  great  city,  to  carry  it  into  every 
dwelling,  and  to  send  it  far  and  wide  to 
the  remotest  settlements  of  our  country. 
Am  I asked  why  we  wish  this  diffu- 
sion ? We  dare  not  say  that  we  are  in 
no  degree  influenced  by  sectarian  feel- 
ing ; for  we  see  it  raging  around  us,  and 
we  should  be  more  than  men  were  we 
wholly  to  escape  an  epidemic  passion. 
We  do  hope,  however,  that  our  main 
purpose  and  aim  is  not  sectarian,  but  to 
promote  a purer  and  nobler  piety  than 
now  prevails.  We  are  not  induced  to 
spread  our  opinions  by  the  mere  con- 
viction that  they  are  true  ; for  there  are 
many  truths,  historical,  metaphysical, 
scientific,  literary,  which  we  have  no 
anxiety  to  propagate.  We  regard  them 
as  the  highest,  most  important,  most 
efficient  truths,  and  therefore  demand- 
ing a firm  testimony  and  earnest  efforts 
to  make  them  known.  In  thus  speak- 
ing, we  do  not  mean  that  we  regard  our 
peculiar  views  as  essential  to  salvation. 
Far  from  us  be  this  spirit  of  exclusion, 
the  very  spirit  of  antichrist,  the  worst  of 
all  the  delusions  of  Popery  and  Protes- 
tantism. We  hold  nothing  to  be  essen- 
tial but  the  simple  and  supreme  dedica- 
tion of  the  mind,  heart,  and  life  to  God 
and  to  his  will.  This  inward  and  prac- 
tical devotedness  to  the  Supreme  Be- 
ing, we  are  assured,  is  attained  and 
accepted  under  all  the  forms  of  Chris- 
tianity. We  believe,  however,  that  it  is 
favored  by  that  truth  which  we  main- 
tain, as  by  no  other  system  of  faith. 
We  regard  Unitarianism  as  peculiarly 
the  friend  of  inward,  living,  practical 
religion.  For  this  we  value  it,  — for 
this  we  would  spread  it ; and  we  desire 
none  to  embrace  it  but  such  as  shall 
seek  and  derive  from  it  this  celestial 
influence. 

This  character  and  property  of  Uni- 
tarian Christianity,  its  fitness  to  promote 
true,  deep,  and  living  piety,  being  our 
chief  ground  of  attachment  to  it,  and 
our  chief  motive  for  dedicating  this 
house  to  its  inculcation,  I have  thought 
proper  to  make  this  the  topic  of  my 
present  discourse.  I do  not  propose  to 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY 


386 

prove  the  truth  of  Unitarianism  by  Script- 
ural authorities,  for  this  argument  would 
exceed  the  limits  of  a sermon,  but  to 
show  its  superior  tendency  to  form  an 
elevated  religious  character.  If,  how- 
ever, this  position  can  be  sustained,  I 
shall  have  contributed  no  weak  argument 
in  support  of  the  truth  of  our  views  ; 
for  the  chief  purpose  of  Christianity  un- 
doubtedly is  to  promote  piety,  to  bring 
us  to  God,  to  fill  our  souls  with  that 
Great  Being,  to  make  us  alive  to  him ; 
and  a religious  system  can  carry  no 
more  authentic  mark  of  a divine  origi- 
nal than  its  obvious,  direct,  and  pecul- 
iar adaptation  to  quicken  and  raise  the 
mind  to  its  Creator.  In  speaking  thus 
of  Unitarian  Christianity  as  promoting 
piety,  I ought  to  observe  that  I use  this 
word  in  its  proper  and  highest  sense.  I 
mean  not  every  thing  which  bears  the 
name  ot  piety,  for  under  this  title  super- 
stition, fanaticism,  and  formality  are 
walking  abroad  and  claiming  respect. 

I mean  not  an  anxious  frame  of  mind, 
not  abject  and  slavish  fear,  not  a dread 
of  hell,  not  a repetition  of  forms,  not 
church-going,  not  loud  profession,  not 
severe  censure  of  others’  irreligion  : but 
filial  love  and  reverence  towards  God, 
habitual  gratitude,  cheerful  trust,  ready 
obedience,  and,  though  last  not  least, 
an  imitation  of  the  ever-active  and  un- 
bounded benevolence  of  the  Creator. 

The  object  of  this  discourse  requires 
me  to  speak  with  great  freedom  of  dif- 
erent  systems  of  religion.  But  let  me 
not  be  misunderstood.  Let  not  the 
uncharitableness  which  I condemn  be 
lightly  laid  to  my  charge.  Let  it  be  re- 
membered that  I speak  only  of  systems, 
not  of  those  who  embrace  them.  In 
setting  forth  with  all  simplicity  what 
seem  to  me  the  good  or  bad  tendencies 
of  doctrines,  I have  not  a thought  of 
giving  standards  or  measures  by  which 
to  estimate  the  virtue  or  vice  of  their 
professors.  Nothing  would  be  more  un- 
just than  to  decide  on  men’s  characters 
from  their  peculiarities  of  faith  : and  the 
reason  is  plain.  Such  peculiarities  are 
not  the  only  causes  which  impress  and 
determine  the  mind.  Our  nature  is  ex- 
posed to  innumerable  other  influences. 
If,  indeed,  a man  were  to  know  nothing 
but  his  creed,  were  to  meet  with  no  hu- 
man beings  but  those  who  adopt  it,  were 
to  see  no  example  and  to  hear  no  conver- 
sation but  such  as  were  formed  by  it ; if 


his  creed  were  to  meet  him  everywhere, 
and  to  exclude  every  other  object  of 
thought,  — then  his  character  might  be 
expected  to  answer  to  it  with  great  pre- 
cision. But  our  Creator  has  not  shut  us 
up  in  so  narrow  a school.  The  mind  is 
exposed  to  an  infinite  variety  of  influ- 
ences, and  these  are  multiplying  with 
the  progress  of  society.  Education, 
friendship,  neighborhood,  public  opin- 
ion, the  state  of  society,  “ the  genius  of 
the  place  ” where  we  live,  books,  events, 
the  pleasures  and  business  of  life,  the 
outward  creation,  our  physical  tempera- 
ment, and  innumerable  other  causes,  are 
perpetually  pouring  in  upon  the  soul 
thoughts,  views,  and  emotions ; and  these 
influences  are  so  complicated,  so  pecul- 
iarly combined  in  the  case  of  every  in- 
dividual, and  so  modified  by  the  original 
susceptibilities  and  constitution  of  every 
mind,  that  on  no  subject  is  there  greater 
uncertainty  than  on  the  formation  of 
character.  To  determine  the  precise 
operation  of  a religious  opinion  amidst 
this  host  of  influences,  surpasses  human 
power.  A great  truth  may  be  complete- 
ly neutralized  by  the  countless  impres- 
sions and  excitements  which  the  mind 
receives  from  other  sources  ; and  so  a 
great  error  may  be  disarmed  of  much  of 
its  power  by  the  superior  energy  of  other 
and  better  views,  of  early  habits,  and  of 
virtuous  examples.  Nothing  is  more 
common  than  to  see  a doctrine  believed 
without  swaying  the  will.  Its  efficacy 
depends,  not  on  the  assent  of  the  intel- 
lect, but  on  the  place  which  it  occupies 
in  the  thoughts,  on  the  distinctness  and 
vividness  with  which  it  is  conceived,  on 
its  association  with  our  common  ideas, 
on  its  frequency  of  recurrence,  and 
on  its  command  of  the  attention,  with- 
out which  it  has  no  life.  According- 
ly, pernicious  opinions  are  not  seldom 
held  by  men  of  the  most  illustrious 
virtue.  I mean  not,  then,  in  commend- 
ing or  condemning  systems,  to  pass 
sentence  on  their  professors.  I know 
the  power  of  the  mind  to  select  from  a 
multifarious  system,  for  its  habitual  use, 
those  features  or  principles  which  are 
generous,  pure,  and  ennobling,  and  by 
these  to  sustain  its  spiritual  life  amidst 
the  nominal  profession  of  many  errors. 
I know  that  a creed  is  one  thing  as  writ- 
ten in  a book,  and  another  as  it  exists 
in  the  minds  of  its  advocates.  In  the 
book,  all  the  doctrines  appeal  in  equally 


MOST  FA  VO R ABLE  TO  PIETY. 


387 


strong  and  legible  lines.  In  the  mind, 
many  are  faintly  traced  and  seldom  re- 
curred to,  whilst  others  are  inscribed  as 
with  sunbeams,  and  are  the  chosen,  con- 
stant lights  of  the  soul.  Hence,  in  good 
men  of  opposing  denominations,  a real 
agreement  may  subsist  as  to  their  vital 
principles  of  faith  ; and  amidst  the  di- 
vision of  tongues  there  may  be  unity  of 
soul,  and  the  same  internal  worship  of 
God.  By  these  remarks,  I do  not  mean 
that  error  is  not  evil,  or  that  it  bears  no 
pernicious  fruit.  Its  tendencies  are  al- 
ways bad.  But  I mean  that  these  ten- 
dencies exert  themselves  amidst  so  many 
counteracting  influences  ; and  that  inju- 
rious opinions  so  often  lie  dead  through 
the  want  of  mixture  with  the  common 
thoughts,  through  the  mind’s  not  absorb- 
ing them,  and  changing  them  into  its 
own  substance,  that  the  highest  respect 
may  and  ought  to  be  cherished  for  men 
in  whose  creed  we  find  much  to  disap- 
prove. In  this  discourse  I shall  speak 
freely,  and  some  may  say  severely,  of 
Trinitarianism ; but  I love  and  honor 
not  a few  of  its  advocates  ; and  in  op- 
posing what  I deem  their  error,  I would 
on  no  account  detract  from  their  worth. 
After  these  remarks,  I hope  that  the 
language  of  earnest  discussion  and 
strong  conviction  will  not  be  construed 
into  the  want  of  that  charity  which  I ac- 
knowledge as  the  first  grace  of  our  re- 
ligion. 

I now  proceed  to  illustrate  and  prove 
the  superiority  of  Unitarian  Christianity, 
as  a means  of  promoting  a deep  and  no- 
ble piety. 

I.  Unitarianisn\  is  a system  most  fa- 
vorable to  piety,  because  it  presents  to  the 
mind  one,  and  only  one,  Infinite  Person, 
to  whom  supreme  homage  is  to  be  paid. 
It  does  not  weaken  the  energy  of  relig- 
ious sentiment  by  dividing  it  among 
various  objects.  It  collects  and  con- 
centrates the  soul  on  one  Father  of  un- 
bounded, undivided,  unrivalled  glory. 
To  him  it  teaches  the  mind  to  rise 
through  all  beings.  Around  him  it 
gathers  all  the  splendors  of  the  uni- 
verse. To  him  it  teaches  us  to  ascribe 
whatever  good  we  receive  or  behold,  the 
beauty  and  magnificence  of  nature,  the 
liberal  gifts  of  Providence,  the  capac- 
ities of  the  soul,  the  bonds  of  soci- 
ety, and  especially  the  riches  of  grace 
and  redemption,  the  mission,  and  pow- 
ers, and  beneficent  influences  of  Jesus 


Christ.  All  happiness  it  traces  up  to 
the  Father,  as  the  sole  source;  and  the 
mind,  which  these  views  have  pene- 
trated, through  this  intimate  association 
of  every  thing  exciting  and  exalting  in 
the  universe  with  one  Infinite  Parent, 
can  and  does  offer  itself  up  to  him  with 
the  intensest  and  profoundest  love  of 
which  human  nature  is  susceptible.  The 
Trinitarian,  indeed,  professes  to  believe 
in  one  God,  and  means  to  hold  fast  this 
truth.  But  three  persons,  having  dis- 
tinctive qualities  and  relations,  of  whom 
one  is  sent  and  another  the  sender,  one 
is  given  and  another  the  giver,  of  whom 
one  intercedes  and  another  hears  the 
intercession,  of  whom  one  takes  flesh 
and  another  never  becomes  incarnate,  — 
three  persons,  thus  discriminated,  are  as 
truly  three'  objects  of  the  mind  as  if  they 
were  acknowledged  to  be  separate  divin- 
ities ; and,  from  the  principles  of  our 
nature,  they  cannot  act  on  the  mind  as 
deeply  and  powerfully  as  one  Infinite 
Person,  to  whose  sole  goodness  all  hap- 
piness is  ascribed.  To  multiply  infinite 
objects  for  the  heart  is  to  distract  it. 
To  scatter  the  attention  among  three 
equal  persons  is  to  impair  the  power  of 
each.  The  more  strict  and  absolute  the 
unity  of  God,  the  more  easily  and  inti- 
mately all  the  impressions  and  emotions 
of  piety  flow  together,  and  are  condensed 
into  one  glowing  thought,  one  thrilling 
love.  No  language  can  express  the  ab- 
sorbing energy  of  the  thought  of  one 
Infinite  Father.  When  vitally  implanted 
in  the  soul,  it  grows  and  gains  strength 
for  ever.  It  enriches  itself  by  every  new 
view  of  God’s  word  and  works  ; gathers 
tribute  from  all  regions  and  all  ages  ; 
and  attracts  into  itself  all  the  rays  of 
beauty,  glory,  and  joy,  in  the  material 
and  spiritual  creation. 

My  hearers,  as  you  would  feel  the  full 
influence  of  God  upon  your  souls,  guard 
sacredly,  keep  unobscured  and  unsul- 
lied, that  fundamental  and  glorious  truth, 
that  there  is  one,  and  only  one,  Almighty 
Agent  in  the  universe,  — one  Infinite 
P'ather.  Let  this  truth  dwell  in  me  in 
its  uncorrupted  simplicity,  and  I have 
the  spring  and  nutriment  of  an  ever- 
growing piety.  I have  an  object  for  my 
mind  towards  which  all  things  bear  me. 
I know  whither  to  go  in  all  trial,  whom 
to  bless  in  all  joy,  whom  to  adore  in  all 
I behold.  But  let  three  persons  claim 
from  me  supreme  homage,  and  claim  it 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY 


388 

on  different  grounds,  one  for  sending 
and  another  for  coming  to  my  relief, 
and  I am  divided,  distracted,  perplexed. 
My  frail  intellect  is  overborne.  Instead 
of  one  Father,  on  whose  arm  I can  rest, 
my  mind  is  torn  from  object  to  object, 
and  I tremble  lest,  among  so  many 
claimants  of  supreme  love,  I should 
withhold  from  one  or  another  his  due. 

II.  Unitarianism  is  the  system  most 
favorable  to  piety,  because  it  holds  forth 
and  preserves  inviolate  the  spirituality 
of  God.  “ God  is  a spirit,  and  they  that 
worship  him  must  worship  him  in  spirit 
and  in  truth.”  It  is  of  great  importance 
to  the  progress  and  elevation  of  the 
religious  principle  that  we  should  re- 
fine more  and  more  our  conceptions 
of  God ; that  we  should  separate  from 
him  all  material  properties,  -and  what- 
ever is  limited  or  imperfect  in  our  own 
nature ; that  we  should  regard  him 
as  a pure  intelligence,  an  unmixed  and 
infinite  Mind.  When  it  pleased  God  to 
select  the  Jewish  people  and  place  them 
under  miraculous  interpositions,  one  of 
the  first  precepts  given  them  was,  that 
they  should  not  represent  God  under 
any  bodily  form,  any  graven  image,  or 
the  likeness  of  any  creature.  Next 
came  Christianity,  which  had  this  as 
one  of  its  great  objects,  to  render  relig- 
ion still  more  spiritual,  by  abolishing 
the  ceremonial  and  outward  worship  of 
former  times,  and  by  discarding  those 
grosser  modes  of  describing  God  through 
which  the  ancient  prophets  had  sought 
to  impress  an  unrefined  people. 

Now,  Unitarianism  concurs  with  this 
sublime  moral  purpose  of  God.  It  as- 
serts his  spirituality.  It  approaches 
him  under  no  bodily  form,  but  as  a 
pure  spirit,  as  the  infinite  and  the  uni- 
versal Mind.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is 
the  direct  influence  of  Trinitarianism  to 
materialize  men’s  conceptions  of  God ; 
and,  in  truth,  this  system  is  a relapse 
into  the  error  of  the  rudest  and  earliest 
ages,  into  the  worship  of  a corporeal 
God.  Its  leading  feature  is  the  doc- 
trine of  a God  clothed  with  a body,  and 
acting  and  speaking  through  a material 
frame,  — of  the  Infinite  Divinity  dying 
on  a cross  ; a doctrine  which,  in  earthli- 
ness  reminds  us  of  the  mythology  of  the 
rudest  pagans,  and  which  a pious  Jew, 
in  the  twilight  of  the  Mosaic  religion, 
would  have  shrunk  from  with  horror. 
It  seems  to  me  no  small  objection  to 


the  Trinity,  that  it  supposes  God  to  take 
a body  in  the  later  and  more  improved 
ages  of  the  world,  when  it  is  plain  that 
such  a manifestation,  if  needed  at  all, 
was  peculiarly  required  in  the  infancy 
of  the  race.  The  effect  of  such  a sys- 
tem in  debasing  the  idea  of  God,  in  as- 
sociating with  the  Divinity  human  pas- 
sions and  infirmities,  is  too  obvious  to 
need  much  elucidation.  On  the  suppo- 
sition that  the  second  person  of  the 
Trinity  became  incarnate,  God  may  be 
said  to  be  a material  being,  on  the  same 
general  ground  on  which  this  is  affirmed 
of  man  ; for  man  is  material  only  by  the 
union  of  the  mind  with  the  body ; and 
the  very  meaning  of  incarnation  is  that 
God  took  a body,  through  which  he 
acted  and  spoke,  as  the  human  soul 
operates  through  its  corporeal  organs. 
Every  bodily  affection  may  thus  be  as- 
cribed to  God.  Accordingly  the  Trini- 
tarian, in  his  most  solemn  act  of  adora- 
tion, is  heard  to  pray  in  these  appalling 
words  : “ Good  Lord,  deliver  us  ; by  the 
mystery  of  thy  holy  incarnation,  by  thy 
holy  nativity  and  circumcision,  by  thy 
baptism,  fasting,  and  temptation,  by 
thine  agony  and  bloody  sweat,  by  thy 
cross  and  passion,  good  Lord,  deliver 
us.”  Now  I ask  you  to  judge,  from  the 
principles  of  human  nature,  whether  to 
worshippers,  who  adore  their  God  for 
his  wounds  and  tears,  his  agony,  and 
blood,  and  sweat,  the  ideas  of  corporeal 
existence  and  human  suffering  will  not 
predominate  over  the  conceptions  of  a 
purely  spiritual  essence ; whether  the 
mind,  in  clinging  to  the  man,  will  not 
lose  the  God  ; whether  a surer  method 
for  depressing  and  adulterating  the  pure 
thought  of  the  Divinity  could  have  been 
devised.  That  the  Trinitarian  is  un- 
conscious of  this  influence  of  his  faith, 
I know,  nor  do  I charge  it  on  him  as  a 
crime.  Still  it  exists,  and  cannot  be  too 
much  deplored. 

The  Roman  Catholics,  true  to  human 
nature  and  their  creed,  have  sought  by 
painting  and  statuary  to  bring  their 
imagined  God  before  their  eyes  ; and 
have  thus  obtained  almost  as  vivid  im- 
pressions of  him  as  if  they  had  lived 
with  him  on  the  earth.  The  Protestant 
condemns  them  for  using  these  simili- 
tudes and  representations  in  their  wor- 
ship ; but,  if  a Trinitarian,  he  does  so  to 
his  own  condemnation.  For  if,  as  he 
believes,  it  was  once  a duty  to  bow  in 


MOST  FAVORABLE  TO  PIETY, 


adoration  before  the  living  body  of  his 
incarnate  God,  what  possible  guilt  can 
there  be  in  worshipping  before  the  pict- 
ured or  sculptured  memorial  of  the  same 
being  ? Christ’s  body  may  as  truly  be 
represented  by  the  artist  as  any  other 
human  form  ; and  its  image  may  be  used 
as  effectually  and  properly  as  that  of  an 
ancient  sage  or  hero,  to  recall  him  with 
vividness  to  the  mind.  Is  it  said  that 
God  has  expressly  forbidden  the  use  of 
images  in  our  worship  ? But  why  was 
that  prohibition  laid  on  the  Jews  ? For 
this  express  reason,  that  God  had  not 
presented  himself  to  them  in  any  form 
which  admitted  of  representation.  Hear 
the  language  of  Moses : “ Take  good 
heed  lest  ye  make  you  a graven  image, 
for  ye  saw  no  manner  of  similitude  on 
the  day  that  the  Lord  spake  unto  you  in 
Horeb  out  of  the  midst  of  the  fire.”  * 
If,  since  that  period,  God  has  taken  a 
body,  then  the  reason  of  the  prohibition 
has  ceased ; and,  if  he  took  a body, 
among  other  purposes,  that  He  might 
assist  the  weakness  of  the  intellect, 
which  needs  a material  form,  then  a 
statue,  which  lends  so  great  an  aid  to 
the  conception  of  an  absent  friend,  is  not 
only  justified,  but  seems  to  be  required. 

This  materializing  and  embodying  of 
the  Supreme  Being,  which  is  the  essence 
of  Trinitarianism,  cannot  but  be  adverse 
to  a growing  and  exalted  piety.  Hu- 
man and  divine  properties,  being  con- 
founded in  one  being,  lose  their  distinct- 
ness. The  splendors  of  the  Godhead  are 
dimmed.  The  worshippers  of  an  incar- 
nate Deity,  through  the  frailty  of  their 
nature,  are  strongly  tempted  to  fasten 
chiefly  on  his  human  attributes  ; and 
their  devotion,  instead  of  rising  to  the 
Infinite  God,  and  taking  the  peculiar 
character  which  infinity  inspires,  be- 
comes rather  a human  affection,  bor- 
rowing much  of  its  fervor  from  the  ideas 
of  suffering,  blood,  and  death.  It  is 
indeed  possible  that  this  God-man  (to 
use  the  strange  phraseology  of  Trin- 
itarians) may  excite  the  mind  more 
easily  than  a purely  spiritual  divinity ; 
just  as  a tragedy,  addressed  to  the  eye 
and  ear,  will  interest  the  multitude  more 
than  the  contemplation  of  the  most 
exalted  character.  But  the  emotions 
which  are  the  most  easily  roused,  are 

* Deut.  iv.  15,  16. — The  arrangement  of  the  text 
is  a little  changed,  to  put  the  reader  immediately  in 
possession  of  the  meaning. 


389 

not  the  profoundest  or  most  enduring. 
This  human  love,  inspired  by  a human 
God,  though  at  first  more  fervid,  cannot 
grow  and  spread  through  the  soul,  like 
the  reverential  attachment  which  an 
infinite,  spiritual  Father  awakens.  Re- 
fined conceptions  of  God,  though  more 
slowly  attained,  have  a more  quickening 
and  all-pervading  energy,  and  admit  of 
perpetual  accessions  of  brightness,  life, 
and  strength. 

True,  we  shall  be  told  that  Trinita- 
rianism has  converted  only  one  of  its 
three  persons  into  a human  deity,  and 
that  the  other  two  remain  purely  spir- 
itual beings.  But  who  does  not  know 
that  man  will  attach  himself  most  strong- 
ly to  the  God  who  has  become  a man  ? 
Is  not  this  even  a duty,  if  the  Divinity 
has  taken  a body  to  place  himself  within 
the  reach  of  human  comprehension  and 
sympathy  ? That  the  Trinitarian’s  views 
of  the  Divinity  will  be  colored  more  by 
his  visible,  tangible,  corporeal  God,  than 
by  those  persons  of  the  Trinity  who 
remain  comparatively  hidden  in  their 
invisible  and  spiritual  essence,  is  so 
accordant  with  the  principles  of  our  nat- 
ure as  to  need  no  labored  proof. 

My  friends,  hold  fast  the  doctrine  of  a 
purely  spiritual  Divinity.  It  is  one  of 
the  great  supports  and  instruments  of  a 
vital  piety.  It  brings  God  near  as  no 
other  doctrine  can.  One  of  the  leading 
purposes  of  Christianity  is  to  give  us  an 
ever-growing  sense  of  God’s  immediate 
presence,  — a conciousness  of  him  in 
our  souls.  Now,  just  as  far  as  corporeal 
or  limited  attributes  enter  into  our  con- 
ception of  him,  we  remove  him  from  us. 
He  becomes  an  outward,  distant  being, 
instead  of  being  viewed  and  felt  as  dwell- 
ing in  the  soul  itself.  It  is  an  unspeak- 
able benefit  of  the  doctrine  of  a purely 
spiritual  God,  that  He  can  be  regarded 
as  inhabiting,  filling  our  spiritual  nature  ; 
and,  through  this  union  with  our  minds, 
He  can  and  does  become  the  object  of  an 
intimacy  and  friendship  such  as  no  em- 
bodied being  can  call  forth. 

III.  Unitarianism  is  the  system  most 
favorable  to  piety,  because  it  presents  a 
distinct  and  intelligible  object  of  wor- 
ship,— a Being  whose  nature,  whilst 
inexpressibly  sublime,  is  yet  simple  and 
suited  to  human  apprehension.  An  Infi- 
nite Father  is  the  most  exalted  of  all 
conceptions  and  yet  the  least  perplex- 
ing. It  involves  no  incongruous  ideas. 


390 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY 


It  is  illustrated  by  analogies  from  our 
own  nature.  It  coincides  with  that 
fundamental  law  of  the  intellect  through 
which  we  demand  a cause  proportioned 
to  effects.  It  is  also  as  interesting  as  it 
is  rational ; so  that  it  is  peculiarly  con- 
genial with  the  improved  mind.  The 
sublime  simplicity  of  God,  as  He  is 
taught  in  Unitarianism,  by  relieving  the 
understanding  from  perplexity,  and  by 
placing  him  within  the  reach  of  thought 
and  affection,  gives  him  peculiar  power 
over  the  soul.  Trinitarianism,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  a riddle.  Men  call  it  a 
mystery ; but  it  is  mysterious,  not  like 
the  great  truths  of  religion,  by  its  vast- 
ness and  grandeur,  but  by  the  irrecon- 
cilable ideas  which  it  involves.  One 
God,  consisting  of  three  persons  or 
agents,  is  so  strange  a being,  so  unlike 
our  own  minds,  and  all  others  with 
which  we  hold  intercourse,  — is  so  misty, 
so  incongruous,  so  contradictory,  that 
He  cannot  be  apprehended  with  that 
distinctness  and  that  feeling  of  reality 
which  belong  to  the  opposite  system. 
Such  a heterogeneous  being,  who  is  at 
the  same  moment  one  and  many ; who 
includes  in  his  own  nature  the  relations 
of  Father  and  Son,  or,  in  other  words,  is 
Father  and  Son  to  himself  ; who,  in  one 
of  his  persons,  is  at  the  same  moment 
the  Supreme  God  and  a mortal  man, 
omniscient  and  ignorant,  almighty  and 
impotent ; such  a being  is  certainly  the 
most  puzzling  and  distracting  object 
ever  presented  to  human  thought.  Trin- 
itarianism, instead  of  teaching  an  intel- 
ligible God,  offers  to  the  mind  a strange 
compound  of  hostile  attributes,  bearing 
plain  marks  of  those  ages  of  darkness 
when  Christianity  shed  but  a faint  ray, 
and  the  diseased  fancy  teemed  with 
prodigies  and  unnatural  creations.  In 
contemplating  a being  who  presents  such 
different  and  inconsistent  aspects,  the 
mind  finds  nothing  to  rest  upon  ; and, 
instead  of  receiving  distinct  and  har- 
monious impressions,  is  disturbed  by 
shifting,  unsettled  images.  To  commune 
with  such  a being  must  be  as  hard  as  to 
converse  with  a man  of  three  different 
countenances,  speaking  with  three  differ- 
ent tongues.  The  believer  in  this  sys- 
tem must  forget  it  when  he  prays,  or  he 
could  find  no  repose  in  devotion.  Who 
can  compare  it,  in  distinctness,  reality, 
and  power,  with  the  simple  doctrine  of 
one  Infinite  Father  ? 


IV.  Unitarianism  promotes  a fervent 
and  enlightened  piety  by  asserting  the 
absolute  and  unbounded  perfection  of 
God’s  character.  This  is  the  highest 
service  which  can  be  rendered  to  man- 
kind. Just  and  generous  conceptions  of 
the  Divinity  are  the  soul’s  true  wealth. 
To  spread  these  is  to  contribute  more 
effectually  than  by  any  other  agency  to 
the  progress  and  happiness  of  the  intel- 
ligent creation.  To  obscure  God’s  glory 
is  to  do  greater  wrong  than  to  blot  out 
the  sun.  The  character  and  influence 
of  a religion  must  answer  to  the  views 
which  it  gives  of  the  Divinity  ; and  there 
is  a plain  tendency  in  that  system  which 
manifests  the  divine  perfections  most 
resplendently  to  awaken  the  sublimest 
and  most  blessed  piety. 

Now,  Trinitarianism  has  a fatal  ten- 
dency to  degrade  the  character  of  the 
Supreme  Being,  though  its  advocates,  I 
am  sure,  intend  no  such  wrong.  By 
multiplying  divine  persons,  it  takes 
from  each  the  glory  of  independent, 
all-sufficient,  absolute  perfection.  This 
may  be  shown  in  various  particulars. 
And,  in  the  first  place,  the  very  idea 
that  three  persons  in  the  Divinity  are  in 
any  degree  important,  implies  and  in- 
volves the  imperfection  of  each  ; for  it 
is  plain  that  if  one  divine  person  pos- 
sesses all  possible  power,  wisdom,  love, 
and  happiness,  nothing  will  be  gained 
to  himself  or  to  the  creation  by  join- 
ing with  him  two,  or  two  hundred  other 
persons.  To  say  that  he  needs  others 
for  any  purpose  or  in  any  degree,  is  to 
strip  him  of  independent  and  all-suffi- 
cient majesty.  If  our  Father  in  heaven, 
the  God  and  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  is  not  of  himself  sufficient  to  all 
the  wants  of  his  creation  ; if,  by  his 
union  with  other  persons,  he  can  ac- 
complish any  good  to  which  he  is  not 
of  himself  equal ; or  if  he  thus  acquires 
a claim  to  the  least  degree  of  trust  or 
hope,  to  which  he  is  not  of  himself  en- 
titled by  his  own  independent  attributes  ; 
then  it  is  plain  he  is  not  a being  of  in- 
finite and  absolute  perfection.  Now, 
Trinitarianism  teaches  that  the  highest 
good  accrues  to  the  human  race  from 
the  existence  of  three  divine  persons, 
sustaining  different  offices  and  relations 
to  the  world ; and  it  regards  the  Unita- 
rian as  subverting  the  foundation  of 
human  hope,  by  asserting  that  the  God 
and  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  is  alone 


MOST  FAVORABLE  TO  PIETY. 


391 


and  singly  God.  Thus  it  derogates 
from  his  infinite  glory. 

In  the  next  place,  Trinitarianism  de- 
grades the  character  of  the  Supreme 
Being,  by  laying  its  disciples  under  the 
necessity  of  making  such  a distribution 
of  offices  and  relations  among  the  three 
persons  as  will  serve  to  designate  and 
distinguish  them  ; for  in  this  way  it  in- 
terferes with  the  sublime  conceptions  of 
one  Infinite  Person,  in  whom  all  glories 
are  concentred.  If  we  are  required  to 
worship  three  persons,  we  must  view 
them  in  different  lights,  or  they  will  be 
mere  repetitions  of  each  other,  mere 
names  and  sounds,  presenting  no  ob- 
jects, conveying  no  meaning  to  the 
mind.  Some  appropriate  character, 
some  peculiar  acts,  feelings,  and  rela- 
tions, must  be  ascribed  to  each.  In 
other  words,  the  glory  of  all  must  be 
shorn,  that  some  special  distinguishing 
lustre  may  be  thrown  on  each.  Accord- 
ingly, creation  is  associated  peculiarly 
with  the  conception  of  the  Father  ; sat- 
isfaction for  human  guilt  with  that  of 
the  Son  ; whilst  sanctification,  the  no- 
blest work  of  all,  is  given  to  the  Holy 
Spirit  as  his  more  ’particular  work.  By 
a still  more  fatal  distribution,  the  work 
of  justice,  the  office  of  vindicating  the 
rights  of  the  Divinity,  falls  peculiarly  to 
the  Father,  whilst  the  loveliness  of  in- 
terposing mercy  clothes  peculiarly  the 
person  of  the  Son.  By  this  unhappy 
influence  of  Trinitarianism,  from  which 
common  minds  at  least  cannot  escape, 
the  splendors  of  the  Godhead,  being 
scattered  among  three  objects,  instead 
of  being  united  in  one  Infinite  Father, 
are  dimmed ; and  he  whose  mind  is 
thoroughly  and  practically  possessed  by 
this  system,  can  hardly  conceive  the  ef- 
fulgence of  glory  in  which  the  one  God 
offers  himself  to  a pious  believer  in  his 
strict  unity. 

But  the  worst  has  not  been  told.  I 
observe,  then,  in  the  third  place,  that  if 
three  divine  persons  are  believed  in, 
such  an  administration  or  government  of 
the  world  must  be  ascribed  to  them  as 
will  furnish  them  with  a sphere  of  oper- 
ation. No  man  will  admit  three  persons 
into  his  creed,  without  finding  a use  for 
them.  Now,  it  is  an  obvious  remark, 
that  a system  of  the  universe  which  in- 
volves and  demands  more  than  one  Infi- 
nite Agent,  must  be  wild,  extravagant, 
and  unworthy  the  perfect  God  ; because 


there  is  no  possible  or  conceivable  good 
to  which  such  an  Agent  is  not  adequate. 
Accordingly  we  find  Trinitarianism  con- 
necting itself  with  a scheme  of  admin- 
istration exceedingly  derogatory  to  the 
divine  character.  It  teaches  that  the 
Infinite  Father  saw  fit  to  put  into 
the  hands  of  our  first  parents  the 
character  and  condition  of  their  whole 
progeny ; and  that,  through  one  act  of 
disobedience,  the  whole  race  bring  with 
them  into  being  a corrupt  nature,  or  are 
born  depraved.  It  teaches  that  the  of- 
fences of  a short  life,  though  begun 
and  spent  under  this  disastrous  influ- 
ence, merit  endless  punishment,  and  that 
God’s  law  threatens  this  infinite  pen- 
alty ; and  that  man  is  thus  burdened 
with  a guilt  which  no  sufferings  of  the 
created  universe  can  expiate,  which 
nothing  but  the  sufferings  of  an  Infi- 
nite Being  can  purge  away.  In  this  con- 
dition of  human  nature,  Trinitarianism 
finds  a sphere  of  action  for  its  different 
persons.  I am  aware  that  some  Trini- 
tarians. on  hearing  this  statement  of 
their  system,  may  reproach  me  with  as- 
cribing to  them  the  errors  of  Calvinism, 
— a system  which  they  abhor  as  much 
as  ourselves.  But  none  of  the  peculiar- 
ities of  Calvinism  enter  into  this  expo- 
sition. I have  given  what  I understand 
to  be  the  leading  features  of  Trinitarian- 
ism all  the  world  over  ; and  the  benevo- 
lent professors  of  that  faith  who  recoil 
from  this  statement  must  blame  not  the 
preacher,  but  the  creeds  and  establish- 
ments by  which  these  doctrines  are 
diffused.  For  ourselves,  we  look  with 
horror  and  grief  on  the  views  of  God’s 
government  which  are  naturally  and 
intimately  united  with  Trinitarianism. 
They  take  from  us  our  Father  in  heaven, 
and  substitute  a stern  and  unjust  lord. 
Our  filial  love  and  reverence  rise  up 
against  them.  We  say  to  the  Trinita- 
rian, touch  any  thing  but  the  perfections 
of  God.  Cast  no  stain  on  that  spotless 
purity  and  loveliness.  We  can  endure 
any  errors  but  those  which  subvert  or 
unsettle  the  conviction  of  God’s  pater- 
nal goodness.  Urge  not  upon  us  a sys- 
tem which  makes  existence  a curse,  and 
wraps  the  universe  in  gloom.  Leave  us 
the  cheerful  light,  the  free  and  healthful 
atmosphere  of  a liberal  and  rational 
faith  ; the  ennobling  and  consoling  in- 
fluences of  the  doctrine,  which  nature 
and  revelation  in  blessed  concord  teach 


392 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY 


us,  of  one  Father  of  unbounded  and 
inexhaustible  love. 

V.  Unitarianism  is  peculiarly  favor- 
able to  piety,  because  it  accords  with 
nature,  with  the  world  around  and  the 
world  within  us  ; and  through  this  ac- 
cordance it  gives  aid  to  nature,  and  re- 
ceives aid  from  it,  in  impressing  the 
mind  with  God.  We  live  in  the  midst 
of  a glorious  universe,  which  was  meant 
to  be  a witness  and  a preacher  of  the  Di- 
vinity ; and  a revelation  from  God  may 
be  expected  to  be  in  harmony  with  this 
system,  and  to  carry  on  a common  min- 
istry with  it  in  lifting  the  soul  to  God. 
Now,  Unitarianism  is  in  accordance 
with  nature.  It  teaches  one  Father, 
and  so  does  creation,  the  more  it  is  ex- 
plored. Philosophy,  in  proportion  as  it 
extends  its  views  of  the  universe,  sees 
in  it,  more  and  more,  a sublime  and 
beautiful  unity,  and  multiplies  proofs 
that  all  things  have  sprung  from  one  in- 
telligence, one  power,  one  love.  The 
whole  outward  creation  proclaims  to  the 
Unitarian  the  truth  in  which  he  delights. 
So  does  his  own  soul.  But  neither  nat- 
ure nor  the  soul  bears  one  trace  of  three 
divine  persons.  Nature  is  no  Trinita- 
rian. It  gives  not  a hint,  not  a glimpse 
of  a tri-personal  author.  Trinitarianism 
is  a confined  system,  shut  up  in  a few 
texts,  a few  written  lines,  where  many 
of  the  wisest  minds  have  failed  to  dis- 
cover it.  It  is  not  inscribed  on  the 
heavens  and  the  earth,  not  borne  on 
every  wind,  not  resounding  and  re-echo- 
ing through  the  universe.  The  sun  and 
stars  say  nothing  of  a God  of  three 
persons.  They  all  speak  of  the  one 
Father  whom  we  adore.  To  our  ears, 
one  and  the  same  voice  comes  from 
God’s  word  and  works,  — a full  and 
swelling  strain,  growing  clearer,  louder, 
more  thrilling  as  we  listen,  and  with  one 
blessed  influence  lifting  up  our  souls  to 
the  Almighty  Father. 

This  accordance  between  nature  and 
revelation  increases  the  power  of  both 
over  the  mind.  Concurring  as  they  do 
in  one  impression,  they  make  that  im- 
pression deeper.  To  men  of  reflection, 
the  conviction  of  the  reality  of  religion 
is  exceedingly  heightened  by  a percep- 
tion of  harmony  in  the  views  of  it  which 
they  derive  from  various  sources.  Rev- 
elation is  never  received  with  so  intimate 
a persuasion  of  its  truth  as  when  it  is 
seen  to  conspire  to  the  same  ends  and 


impressions  for  which  all  other  things 
are  made.  It  is  no  small  objection  to 
Trinitarianism  that  it  is  an  insulated 
doctrine,  that  it  reveals  a God  whom 
we  meet  nowhere  in  the  universe.  Three 
divine  persons,  I repeat  it,  are  found 
only  in  a few  texts,  and  those  so  dark 
that  the  gifted  minds  of  Milton,  Newton, 
and  Locke  could  not  find  them  there. 
Nature  gives  them  not  a whisper  of  evi- 
dence. And  can  they  be  as  real  and 
powerful  to  the  mind  as  that  one  Father 
whom  the  general  strain  and  common 
voice  of  Scripture,  and  the  universal 
voice  of  nature,  call  us  to  adore  ? 

VI.  Unitarianism  favors  piety  by 
opening  the  mind  to  new  and  ever-en- 
larging views  of  God.  Teaching,  as  it 
does,  the  same  God  with  nature,  it 
leads  us  to  seek  him  in  nature.  It  does 
not  shut  us  up  in  the  written  word, 
precious  as  that  manifestation  of  the 
Divinity  is.  It  considers  revelation, 
not  as  independent  of  his  other  means 
of  instruction ; not  as  a separate 
agent ; but  as  a part  of  the  great 
system  of  God  for  enlightening  and 
elevating  the  human  soul ; as  inti- 
mately joined  with  creation  and  prov- 
idence, and  intended  to  concur  with 
them ; and  as  given  to  assist  us  in  read- 
ing the  volume  of  the  universe.  Thus 
Unitarianism,  where  its  genuine  influ- 
ence is  experienced,  tends  to  enrich  and 
fertilize  the  mind ; opens  it  to  new  lights, 
wherever  they  spring  up  ; and,  by  com- 
bining, makes  more  efficient  the  means 
of  religious  knowledge.  Trinitarianism, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  a system  which 
tends  to  confine  the  mind ; to  shut  it  up 
in  what  is  written  ; to  diminish  its  inter- 
est in  the  universe  : and  to  disincline  it 
to  bright  and  enlarged  views  of  God’s 
works.  This  effect  will  be  explained, 
in  the  first  place,  if  we  consider  that  the 
peculiarities  of  Trinitarianism  differ  so 
much  from  the  teachings  of  the  universe, 
that  he  who  attaches  himself  to  the  one 
will  be  in  danger  of  losing  his  interest 
in  the  other.  The  ideas  of  three  divine 
persons,  of  God  clothing  himself  in 
flesh,  of  the  infinite  Creator  saving  the 
guilty  by  transferring  their  punishment 
to  an  innocent  being,  — these  ideas  can- 
not easily  be  made  to  coalesce  in  the 
mind  with  that  which  nature  gives  of 
one  Almighty  Father  and  Unbounded 
Spirit,  whom  no  worlds  can  contain,  and 
whose  vicegerent  in  the  human  breast 


MOST  FAVORABLE  TO  PIETY. 


393 


pronounces  it  a crime  to  lay  the  penal- 
ties of  vice  on  the  pure  and  unoffend- 
ing. 

But  Trinitarianism  has  a still  more 
positive  influence  in  shutting  the  mind 
against  improving  views  from  the  uni- 
verse. It  tends  to  throw  gloom  over 
God’s  works.  Imagining  that  Christ  is 
to  be  exalted  by  giving  him  an  exclusive 
agency  in  enlightening  and  recovering 
mankind,  it  is  tempted  to  disparage  other 
lights  and  influences  ; and,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  magnifying  his  salvation,  it  in- 
clines to  exaggerate  the  darkness  and 
desperateness  of  man’s  present  condi- 
tion. The  mind,  thus  impressed,  nat- 
urally leans  to  those  views  of  nature  and 
of  society  which  will  strengthen  the 
ideas  of  desolation  and  guilt.  It  is 
tempted  to  aggravate  the  miseries  of 
life,  and  to  see  in  them  only  the  marks 
of  divine  displeasure  and  punishing  jus- 
tice ; and  overlooks  their  obvious  fitness 
and  design  to  awaken  our  powers,  exer- 
cise our  virtues,  and  strengthen  our  so- 
cial ties.  In  like  manner  it  exaggerates 
the  sins  of  men,  that  the  need  of  an  in- 
finite atonement  may  be  maintained. 
Some  of  the  most  affecting  tokens  of 
God’s  love  within  and  around  us  are  ob- 
scured by  this  gloomy  theology.  The 
glorious  faculties  of  the  soul,  its  high 
aspirations,  its  sensibility  to  the  great 
and  good  in  character,  its  sympathy  with 
disinterested  and  suffering  virtue,  its  be- 
nevolent and  religious  instincts,  its  thirst 
for  a happiness  not  found  on  earth  ; these 
are  overlooked  or  thrown  into  the  shade, 
that  they  may  not  disturb  the  persua- 
sion of  man’s  natural  corruption.  In- 
genuity is  employed  to  disparage  what 
is  interesting  in  the  human  character. 
Whilst  the  bursts  of  passion  in  the  new- 
born child  are  gravely  urged  as  indica- 
tions of  a native,  rooted  corruption ; its 
bursts  of  affection,  its  sweet  smile,  its 
innocent  and  irrepressible  joy,  its  love- 
liness and  beauty,  are  not  listened 
to,  though  they  plead  more  eloquently 
its  alliance  with  higher  natures.  The 
sacred  and  tender  affections  of  home  ; 
the  unwearied  watchings  and  cheerful 
sacrifices  of  parents  ; the  reverential, 
grateful  assiduity  of  children,  smoothing 
an  aged  father  s or  mothers  descent  to 
the  grave  ; woman’s  love,  stronger  than 
death  ; the  friendship  of  brothers  and 
sisters ; the  anxious  affection  which 
tends  around  the  bed  of  sickness,  the 


subdued  voice,  which  breathes  comfort 
into  the  mourner’s  heart;  all  the  endear- 
ing offices  which  shed  a serene  light 
through  our  dwellings  ; — these  are  ex- 
plained away  by  the  thorough  advocates 
of  this  system,  so  as  to  include  no 
real  virtue,  so  as  to  consist  with  a 
natural  aversion  to  goodness.  Even  the 
higher  efforts  of  disinterested  benevo- 
lence, and  the  most  unaffected  expres- 
sions of  piety,  if  not  connected  with 
what  is  called  “ the  true  faith,”  are,  by 
the  most  rigid  disciples  of  the  doctrine 
which  I oppose,  resolved  into  the  pas- 
sion for  distinction,  or  some  other  work- 
ing of  “ unsanctified  nature.”  Thus, 
Trinitarianism  and  its  kindred  doctrines 
have  a tendency  to  veil  God’s  goodness, 
to  sully  his  fairest  works,  to  dim  the 
lustre  of  those  innocent  and  pure  affec- 
tions which  a divine  breath  kindles  in 
the  soul,  to  blight  the  beauty  and  fresh- 
ness of  creation,  and  in  this  way  to  con- 
sume the  very  nutriment  of  piety.  We 
know,  and  rejoice  to  know,  that  in  mul- 
titudes this  tendency  is  counteracted  by 
a cheerful  temperament,  a benevolent 
nature,  and  a strength  of  gratitude  which 
bursts  the  shackles  of  a melancholy  sys- 
tem. But  from  the  nature  of  the  doc- 
trine, the  tendency  exists  and  is  strong  ; 
and  an  impartial  observer  will  often  dis- 
cern it  resulting  in  gloomy,  depressing 
views  of  life  and  the  universe. 

Trinitarianism,  by  thus  tending  to 
exclude  bright  and  enlarged  views  of 
the  creation,  seems  to  me  not  only  to 
chill  the  heart,  but  to  injure  the  under- 
standing, as  far  as  moral  and  religious 
truth  is  concerned.  It  does  not  send 
the  mind  far  and  wide  for  new  and  ele- 
vating objects  ; and  we  have  here  one 
explanation  of  the  barrenness  and  fee- 
bleness by  which  theological  writings 
are  so  generally  marked.  It  is  not 
wonderful  that  the  prevalent  theology 
should  want  vitality  and  enlargement 
of  thought,  for  it  does  not  accord  with 
the  perfections  of  God  and  the  spirit  of 
the  universe.  It  has  not  its  root  in 
eternal  truth  ; but  is  a narrow,  techni- 
cal, artificial  system,  the  fabrication  of 
unrefined  ages,  and  consequently  in- 
capable of  being  blended  with  the  new 
lights  which  are  spreading  over  the  most 
interesting  subjects,  and  of  being  incor- 
porated with  the  results  and  anticipa- 
tions of  original  and  progressive  minds. 
It  stands  apart  in  the  mind,  instead  of 


394 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY 


seizing  upon  new  truths,  and  converting 
them  into  its  own  nutriment.  With  few 
exceptions,  the  Trinitarian  theology  of 
the  present  day  is  greatly  deficient  in 
freshness  of  thought,  and  in  power  to 
awaken  the  interest  and  to  meet  the 
intellectual  and  spiritual  wants  of  think- 
ing men.  I see,  indeed,  superior  minds 
and  great  minds  among  the  adherents 
of  the  prevalent  system  ; but  they  seem 
to  me  to  move  in  chains,  and  to  fulfil 
poorly  their  high  function  of  adding  to 
the  wealth  of  the  human  intellect.  In 
theological  discussion,  they  remind  me 
more  of  Samson  grinding  in  the  narrow 
mill  of  the  Philistines,  than  of  that 
undaunted  champion  achieving  victories 
for  God's  people,  and  enlarging  the 
bounds  of  their  inheritance.  Now,  a 
system  which  has  a tendency  to  confine 
the  mind,  and  to  impair  its  sensibility 
to  the  manifestations  of  God  in  the 
universe,  is  so  far  unfriendly  to  piety, 
to  a bright,  joyous,  hopeful,  ever-grow- 
ing love  of  the  Creator.  It  tends  to 
generate  and  nourish  a religion  of  a 
melancholy  tone,  such,  I apprehend, 
as  now  predominates  in  the  Christian 
world. 

VII.  Unitarianism  promotes  piety,  by 
the  high  place  which  it  assigns  to  pi- 
ety in  the  character  and  work  of  Jesus 
Christ.  What  is  it  which  the  Unitarian 
regards  as  the  chief  glory  of  the  char- 
acter of  Christ  ? I answer,  his  filial 
devotion,  the  entireness  with  which  he 
surrendered  himself  to  the  will  and 
benevolent  purposes  of  God.  The  piety 
of  Jesus,  which,  on  the  supposition  of 
his  Supreme  Divinity,  is  a subordinate 
and  incongruous,  is,  to  us,  his  promi- 
nent and  crowning  attribute.  We  place 
his  “ oneness  with  God,”  not  in  an  unin- 
telligible unity  of  essence,  but  in  unity 
of  mind  and  heart,  in  the  strength  of 
his  love,  through  which  he  renounced 
every  separate  interest,  and  identified 
himself  with  his  Father’s  designs.  In 
other  words,  filial*  piety,  the  consecra- 
tion of  his  whole  being  to  the  benevo- 
lent will  of  his  Father,  this  is  the  mild 
glory  in  which  he  always  offers  himself 
to  our  minds  ; and,  of  consequence,  all 
our  sympathies  with  him,  all  our  love 
and  veneration  towards  him,  are  so 
many  forms  of  delight  in  a pious  char- 
acter, and  our  whole  knowledge  of  him 
incites  us  to  a like  surrender  of  our 
whole  nature  and  existence  to  God. 


In  the  next  place, Unitarianism  teaches 
that  the  highest  work  or  office  of  Christ 
is  to  call  forth  and  strengthen  piety  in 
the  human  breast ; and  thus  it  sets  before 
us  this  character  as  the  chief  acquisition 
and  end  of  our  being.  To  us,  the  great 
glory  of  Christ’s  mission  consists  in  the 
power  with  which  he  “reveals  the  Fa- 
ther,” and  establishes  the  “ kingdom  or 
reign  of  God  within  ” the  soul.  By  the 
crown  which  he  wears,  we  understand 
the  eminence  which  he  enjoys  in  the 
most  beneficent  work  in  the  universe, 
that  of  bringing  back  the  lost  mind  to 
the  knowledge,  love,  and  likeness  of  its 
Creator.  With  these  views  of  Christ’s 
office,  nothing  can  seem  to  us  so  impor- 
tant as  an  enlightened  and  profound 
piety,  and  we  are  quickened  to  seek  it 
as  the  perfection  and  happiness  to  which 
nature  and  redemption  jointly  summon 
us. 

Now,  we  maintain  that  Trinitarianism 
obscures  and  weakens  these  views  of 
Christ’s  character  and  work ; and  this 
it  does  by  insisting  perpetually  on  others 
of  an  incongruous,  discordant  nature. 
It  diminishes  the  power  of  his  piety. 
Making  him,  as  it  does,  the  Supreme 
Being,  and  placing  him  as  an  equal  on 
his  Father’s  throne,  it  turns  the  mind 
from  him  as  the  meekest  worshipper  of 
God  ; throws  into  the  shade,  as  of  very 
inferior  worth,  his  self-denying  obedi- 
ence ; and  gives  us  other  grounds  for 
revering  him  than  his  entire  homage, 
his  fervent  love,  his  cheerful  self-sacri- 
fice to  the  Universal  Parent.  There  is 
a plain  incongruity  in  the  belief  of  his 
Supreme  Godhead  with  the  ideas  of 
filial  piety  and  exemplary  devotion.  The 
mind,  which  has  been  taught  to  regard 
him  as  of  equal  majesty  and  authority 
with  the  Father,  cannot  easily  feel  the 
power  of  his  character  as  the  affection- 
ate son,  whose  meat  it  was  to  do  his 
Father’s  will.  The  mind,  accustomed 
to  make  him  the  ultimate  object  of 
worship,  cannot  easily  recognize  in  him 
the  pattern  of  that  worship,  the  guide 
to  the  Most  High.  The  characters  are 
incongruous,  and  their  union  perplexing, 
so  that  neither  exerts  its  full  energy  on 
the  mind. 

Trinitarianism  also  exhibits  the  work 
as  well  as  character  of  Christ  in  lights 
less  favorable  to  piety.  It  does  not 
make  the  promotion  of  piety  his  chief 
I end.  It  teaches  that  the  highest  pur- 


MOST  FA  VO R ABLE  TO  PIETY, 


395 


pose  of  his  mission  was  to  reconcile 
God  to  man,  not  man  to  God.  It 
teaches  that  the  most  formidable  ob- 
stacle to  human  happiness  lies  in  the 
claims  and  threatenings  of  divine  jus- 
tice. Hence  it  leads  men  to  prize  Christ 
more  for  answering  these  claims,  and 
averting  these  threatenings,  than  for 
awakening  in  the  human  soul  senti- 
ments of  love  towards  its  Father  in 
heaven.  Accordingly,  multitudes  seem 
to  prize  pardon  more  than  piety,  and 
think  it  a greater  boon  to'  escape, 
through  Christ’s  sufferings,  the  tire  of 
hell,  than  to  receive,  through  his  influ- 
ence, the  spirit  of  heaven,  the  spirit  of 
devotion.  Is  such  a system  propitious 
to  a generous  and  ever-growing  piety  ? 

If  I may  be  allowed  a short  digres- 
sion, I would  conclude  this  head  with 
the  general  observation,  that  we  deem 
our  views  of  Jesus  Christ  more  inter- 
esting than  those  of  Trinitarianism. 
We  feel  that  we  should  lose  much  by 
exchanging  the  distinct  character  and 
mild  radiance  with  which  he  offers  him- 
self to  our  minds  for  the  confused  and 
irreconcilable  glories  with  which  that 
system  labors  to  invest  him.  Accord- 
ing to  Unitarianism,  he  is  a being  who 
may  be  understood,  for  he  is  one  mind, 
one  conscious  nature.  According  to 
the  opposite  faith,  he  is  an  inconceiv- 
able compound  of  two  most  dissimilar 
minds,  joining  in  one  person  a finite  and 
infinite  nature,  a soul  weak  and  igno- 
rant, and  a soul  almighty  and  omni- 
scient. And  is  such  a being  a proper 
object  for  human  thought  and  affection  ? 
I add,  as  another  important  considera- 
tion, that  to  us  Jesus,  instead  of  being 
the  second  of  three  obscure,  unintelligi- 
ble persons,  is  first  and  pre-eminent  in 
the  sphere  in  which  he  acts,  and  is  thus 
the  object  of  a distinct  attachment, 
which  he  shares  with  no  equals  or  ri- 
vals. To  us,  he  is  first  of  the  sons  of 
God,  the  Son  by  peculiar  nearness  and 
likeness  to  the  F'ather.  He  is  first  of  all 
the  ministers  of  God’s  mercy  and  be- 
neficence, and  through  him  the  largest 
stream  of  bounty  flows  to  the  crea- 
tion. He  is  first  in  God’s  favor  and 
love,  the  most  accepted  of  worshippers, 
the  most  prevalent  of  intercessors.  In 
this  mighty  universe,  framed  to  be  a 
mirror  of  its  Author,  we  turn  to  Jesus 
as  the  brightest  image  of  God,  and 
gratefully  yield  him  a place  in  our  souls, 


second  only  to  the  Infinite  Father,  to 
whom  he  himself  directs  our  supreme 
affection. 

VIII.  I now  proceed  to  a great  topic. 
Unitarianism  promotes  piety  by  meeting 
the  wants  of  man  as  a sinner.  The 
wants  of  the  sinner  may  be  expressed 
almost  in  one  word.  He  wants  assur- 
ances of  mercy  in  his  Creator.  He  wants 
pledges  that  God  is  love  in  its  purest 
form,  that  is,  that  He  has  a goodness 
so  disinterested,  free,  full,  strong,  and 
immutable,  that  the  ingratitude  and  dis- 
obedience of  his  creatures  cannot  over- 
come it.  This  unconquerable  love,  which 
in  Scripture  is  denominated  grace,  and 
which  waits  not  for  merit  to  call  it  forth, 
but  flows  out  to  the  most  guilty,  is  the 
sinner’s  only  hope,  and  it  is  fitted  to 
call  forth  the  most  devoted  gratitude. 
Now,  this  grace  or  mercy  of  God,  which 
seeks  the  lost,  and  receives  and  blesses 
the  returning  child,  is  proclaimed  by  that 
faith  which  we  advocate  with  a clearness 
and  energy  which  cannot  be  surpassed. 
Unitarianism  will  not  listen  for  a moment 
to  the  common  errors  by  which  this 
bright  attribute  is  obscured.  It  will  not 
hear  of  a vindictive  wrath  in  God  which 
must  be  quenched  by  blood ; or  of  a 
justice  which  binds  his  mercy  with  an 
iron  chain  until  its  demands  are  satisfied 
to  the  full.  It  will  not  hear  that  God 
needs  any  foreign  influence  to  awaken 
his  mercy,  but  teaches  that  the  yearn- 
ings of  the  tenderest  human  parent 
towards  a lost  child  are  but  a faint  image 
of  God’s  deep  and  overflowing  compas- 
sion towards  erring  man.  This  essential 
and  unchangeable  propensity  of  the  Di- 
vine Mind  to  forgiveness,  the  Unitarian 
beholds  shining  forth  through  the  whole 
word  of  God,  and  especially  in  the  mission 
and  revelation  of  Jesus  Christ,  who  lived 
and  died  to  make  manifest  the  inex- 
haustible plenitude  of  divine  grace  ; and, 
aided  by  revelation,  he  sees  this  attribute 
of  God  everywhere,  both  around  him 
and  within  him.  He  sees  it  in  the  sun 
which  shines,  and  the  rain  which  de- 
scends on  the  evil  and  unthankful ; in 
the  peace  which  returns  to  the  mind  in 
proportion  to  its  return  to  God  and  duty ; 
in  the  sentiment  of  compassion  which 
springs  up  spontaneously  in  the  human 
breast  towards  the  fallen  and  lost ; and 
in  the  moral  instinct  which  teaches  us 
to  cherish  this  compassion  as  a sacred 
principle,  as  an  emanation  of  God’s  in- 


396  UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY 


finite  love.  In  truth,  Unitarianism  as- 
serts so  strongly  the  mercy  of  God,  that 
the  reproach  thrown  upon  it  is  that  it 
takes  from  the  sinner  the  dread  of  pun- 
ishment, — a reproach  wholly  without 
foundation  ; for  our  system  teaches  that 
God’s  mercy  is  not  an  instinctive  tender- 
ness, which  cannot  inflict  pain,  but  an 
all-wise  love,  which  desires  the  true  and 
lasting  good  of  its  object,  and  conse- 
quently desires  first  for  the  sinner  that 
restoration  to  purity  without  which 
shame,  and  suffering,  and  exile  from 
God  and  heaven  are  of  necessity  and 
unalterably  his  doom.  Thus  Unitari- 
anism holds  forth  God’s  grace  and  for- 
giving goodness  most  resplendently ; 
and,  by  this  manifestation  of  him,  it 
tends  to  awaken  a tender  and  confiding 
piety  ; an  ingenuous  love,  which  mourns 
that  it  has  offended  ; an  ingenuous  aver- 
sion to  sin,  not  because  sin  brings  pun- 
ishment, but  because  it  separates  the 
mind  from  this  merciful  Father. 

Now  we  object  to  Trinitarianism,  that 
it  obscures  the  mercy  of  God.  It  does 
so  in  various  ways.  We  have  already 
seen  that  it  gives  such  views  of  God’s 
government,  that  we  can  hardly  conceive 
of  this  attribute  as  entering  into  his 
character.  Mercy  to  the  sinner  is  the 
principle  of  love  or  benevolence  in  its 
highest  form ; and  surely  this  cannot  be 
expected  from  a being  who  brings  us 
into  existence  burdened  with  hereditary 
guilt,  and  who  threatens  with  endless 
punishment  and  woe  the  heirs  of  so  frail 
and  feeble  a nature.  With  such  a Cre- 
ator the  idea  of  mercy  cannot  coalesce  ; 
and  I will  say  more,  that  under  such  a 
government  man  would  need  no  mercy ; 
for  he  would  owe  no  allegiance  to  such 
a Maker,  and  could  not,  of  course,  con- 
tract the  guilt  of  violating  it ; and,  with- 
out guilt,  no  grace  or  pardon  would  be 
wanted.  The  severity  of  this  system 
would  place  him  on  the  ground  of  an 
injured  being.  The  wrong  would  lie  on 
the  side  of  the  Creator. 

In  the  next  place,  Trinitarianism  ob- 
scures God’s  mercy  by  the  manner  in 
which  it  supposes  pardon  to  be  com- 
municated. It  teaches  that  God  remits 
the  punishment  of  the  offender  in  con- 
sequence of  receiving  an  equivalent  from 
an  innocent  person  ; that  the  sufferings 
of  the  sinner  are  removed  by  a full  satis- 
faction made  to  divine  justice  in  the 
sufferings  of  a substitute.  And  is  this 


■it 

u the  quality  of  mercy  ” ? What  means 
forgiveness,  but  the  reception  of  the 
returning  child  through  the  strength  of 
parental  love  ? This  doctrine  invests 
the  Saviour  with  a claim  of  merit,  with 
a right  to  the  remission  of  the  sins  of 
his  followers  ; and  represents  God’s  re- 
ception of  the  penitent  as  a recompense 
due  to  the  worth  of  his  Son.  And  is 
mercy,  which  means  free  and  undeserved 
love,  made  more  manifest,  more  resplen- 
dent, by  the  introduction  of  merit  and 
right  as  the  ground  of  our  salvation? 
Could  a surer  expedient  be  invented  for 
obscuring  its  freeness,  and  for  turning 
the  sinner’s  gratitude  from  the  sovereign 
who  demands,  to  the  sufferer  who  offers, 
full  satisfaction  for  his  guilt  ? 

I know  it  is  said  that  Trinitarian- 
ism magnifies  God’s  mercy,  because  it 
teaches  that  He  himself  provided  the 
substitute  for  the  guilty.  But  I reply, 
that  the  work  here  ascribed  to  mercy  is 
not  the  most  appropriate,  nor  most  fitted 
to  manifest  it  and  impress  it  on  the  heart. 
This  may  be  made  apparent  by  familiar 
illustrations.  Suppose  that  a creditor, 
through  compassion  to  certain  debtors, 
should  persuade  a benevolent  and  opulent 
man  to  pay  him  in  their  stead.  Would 
not  the  debtors  see  a greater  mercy,  and 
feel  a weightier  obligation,  if  they  were 
to  receive  a free,  gratuitous  release  ? 
And  will  not  their  chief  gratitude  stray 
beyond  the  creditor  to  the  benevolent 
substitute  ? Or,  suppose  that  a parent, 
unwilling  to  inflict  a penalty  on  a dis- 
obedient but  feeble  child,  should  per- 
suade a stronger  child  to  bear  it.  Would 
not  the  offender  see  a more  touching 
mercy  in  a free  forgiveness,  springing 
immediately  from  a parent’s  heart,  than 
in  this  circuitous  remission  ? And  will 
he  not  be  tempted  to  turn  with  his 
strongest  love  to  the  generous  sufferer  ? 
In  this  process  of  substitution,  of  which 
Trinitarianism  boasts  so  loudly,  the 
mercy  of  God  becomes  complicated 
with  the  rights  and  merits  of  the  sub- 
stitute, and  is  a more  distant  cause  of 
our  salvation.  These  rights  and  merits 
are  nearer,  more  visible,  and  more  than 
divide  the  glory  with  grace  and  mercy 
in  our  rescue.  They  turn  the  mind  from 
Divine  Goodness,  as  the  only  spring  of 
its  happiness  and  only  rock  of  its  hope. 
Now  this  is  to  deprive  piety  of  one  of 
its  chief  means  of  growth  and  joy. 
Nothing  should  stand  between  the  soul 


MOST  FA  VORABLE  TO  PIETY. 


397 


and  God’s  mercy.  Nothing  should  share 
with  mercy  the  work  of  our  salvation. 
Christ’s  intercession  should  ever  be  re- 
garded as  an  application  to  love  and 
mercy,  not  as  a demand  of  justice,  not 
as  a claim  of  merit.  I grieve  to  say  that 
Christ,  as  now  viewed  by  multitudes, 
hides  the  lustre  of  that  very  attribute 
which  it  is  his  great  purpose  to  display. 
I fear  that,  to  many,  Jesus  wears  the 
glory  of  a more  winning,  tender  mercy 
than  his  Father,  and  that  he  is  regarded 
as  the  sinner’s  chief  resource.  Is  this 
the  way  to  invigorate  piety  ? 

Trinitarians  imagine  that  there  is  one 
view  of  their  system  peculiarly  fitted  to 
give  peace  and  hope  to  the  sinner,  and 
consequently  to  promote  gratitude  and 
love.  It  is  this.  They  say,  it  provides 
an  infinite  substitute  for  the  sinner, 
than  which  nothing  can  give  greater  re- 
lief to  the  burdened  conscience.  Jesus, 
being  the  second  person  of  the  Trinity, 
was  able  to  make  infinite  satisfaction  for 
sin  ; and  what,  they  ask,  in  Unitarian- 
ism,  can  compare  with  this  ? I have 
time  only  for  two  brief  replies.  And 
first,  this  doctrine  of  an  infinite  satisfac- 
tion, or,  as  it  is  improperly  called,  of  an 
infinite  atonerhent,  subverts,  instead  of 
building  up,  hope  ; because  it  argues 
infinite  severity  in  the  government  which 
requires  it.  Did  I believe,  what  Trin- 
itarianism  teaches,  that  not  the  least 
transgression,  not  even  the  first  sin  of 
the  dawning  mind  of  the  child,  could  be 
remitted  without  an  infinite  expiation,  I 
should  feel  myself  living  under  a legisla- 
tion unspeakably  dreadful,  under  laws 
written,  like  Draco’s,  in  blood  ; and,  in- 
stead of  thanking  the  Sovereign  for  pro- 
viding an  infinite  substitute,  I should 
shudder  at  the  attributes  which  render 
this  expedient  necessary.  Ij  is  com- 
monly said  that  an  infinite  atonement  is 
needed  to  make  due  and  deep  impres- 
sions of  the  evil  of  sin.  But  He  who 
framed  all  souls,  and  gave  them  their 
susceptibilities,  ought  not  to  be  thought 
so  wanting  in  goodness  and  wisdom  as 
to  have  constituted  a universe  which 
demands  so  dreadful  and  degrading  a 
method  of  enforcing  obedience  as  the 
penal  sufferings  of  a God.  This  doc- 
trine, of  an  infinite  substitute  suffering 
the  penalty  of  sin,  to  manifest  God’s 
wrath  against  sin,  and  thus  to  support 
his  government,  is,  I fear,  so  familiar  to 
us  all,  that  its  severe  character  is  over- 


looked. Let  me,  then,  set  it  before  you 
in  new  terms,  and  by  a new  illustration  ; 
and  if,  in  so  doing,  I may  wound  the 
feelings  of  some  who  hear  me,  I beg 
them  to  believe  that  I do  it  with  pain, 
and  from  no  impulse  but  a desire  to 
serve  the  cause  of  truth.  Suppose, 
then,  that  a teacher  should  come  among 
you,  and  should  tell  you  that  the  Cre- 
ator, in  order  to  pardon  his  own  chil- 
dren, had  erected  a gallows  in  the  centre 
of  the  universe,  and  had  publicly  ex- 
ecuted upon  it,  in  room  of  the  offenders, 
an  Infinite  Being,  the  partaker  of  his 
own  Supreme  Divinity  ; suppose  him  to 
declare  that  this  execution  was  appoint- 
ed as  a most  conspicuous  and  terrible 
manifestation  of  God’s  justice,  and  of 
the  infinite  woe  denounced  by  his  law ; 
and  suppose  him  to  add  that  all  beings 
in  heaven  and  earth  are  required  to  fix 
their  eyes  on  this  fearful  sight,  as  the 
most  powerful  enforcement  of  obedience 
and  virtue.  Would  you  not  tell  him 
that  he  calumniated  his  Maker  ? Would 
you  not  say  to  him,  that  this  central 
gallows  threw  gloom  over  the  universe  ; 
that  the  spirit  of  a government  whose 
very  acts  of  pardon  were  written  in  such 
blood  was  terror,  not  paternal  love  ; and 
that  the  obedience  which  needed  to  be 
upheld  by  this  horrid  spectacle  was 
nothing  worth  ? Would  you  not  say  to 
him,  that  even  you,  in  this  infancy  and 
imperfection  of  your  being,  were  capa- 
ble of  being  wrought  upon  by  nobler 
motives,  and  of  hating  sin  through  more 
generous  views  ; and  that,  much  more, 
the  angels,  those  pure  flames  of  love, 
need  not  the  gallows  and  an  executed 
God  to  confirm  their  loyalty?  You 
would  all  so  feel  at  such  teaching  as  I 
have  supposed  ; and  yet  how  does  this 
differ  from  the  popular  doctrine  of  atone- 
ment ? According  to  this  doctrine,  we 
have  an  Infinite  Being  sentenced  to 
suffer,  as  a substitute,  the  death  of  the 
cross,  a punishment  more  ignominious 
and  agonizing  than  the  gallows,  a pun- 
ishment reserved  for  slaves  and  the 
vilest  malefactors  ; and  he  suffers  this 
punishment  that  he  may  show  forth  the 
terrors  of  God’s  law,  and  strike  a dread 
of  sin  through  the  universe.  I am  in- 
deed aware  that  multitudes  who  profess 
this  doctrine  are  not  accustomed  to 
bring  it  to  their  minds  distinctly  in  this 
light ; that  they  do  not  ordinarily  regard 
the  death  of  Christ  as  a criminal  execu- 


UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY 


393 

tion,  as  an  infinitely  dreadful  infliction 
of  justice,  as  intended  to  show  that,  with- 
out an  infinite  satisfaction,  they  must 
hope  nothing  from  God.  Their  minds 
turn,  by  a generous  instinct,  from  these 
appalling  views,  to  the  love,  the  disin- 
terestedness, the  moral  grandeur  and 
beauty  of  the  sufferer ; and  through 
such  thoughts  they  make  the  cross  a 
source  of  peace,  gratitude,  love,  and 
hope ; thus  affording  a delightful  ex- 
emplification of  the  power  of  the  human 
mind  to  attach  itself  to  what  is  good 
and  purifying  in  the  most  irrational  sys- 
tem. Not  a few  may  shudder  at  the 
illustration  which  I have  here  given ; 
but  in  what  respects  it  is  unjust  to  the 
popular  doctrine  of  atonement,  I can- 
not discern.  I grieve  to  shock  sincere 
Christians,  of  whatever  name ; but  I 
grieve  more  for  the  corruption  of  our 
common  faith,  which  I have  now  felt 
myself  bound  to  expose. 

I have  a second  objection  to  this 
doctrine  of  infinite  atonement.  When 
examined  minutely,  and  freed  from  am- 
biguous language,  it  vanishes  into  air. 
It  is  wholly  delusion.  The  Trinitarian 
tells  me  that,  according  to  his  system, 
we  have  an  infinite  substitute  ; that  the 
Infinite  God  was  pleased  to  bear  our 
punishment,  and  consequently  that  par- 
don is  made  sure.  But  I ask  him,  Do  I 
understand  you  ? Do  you  mean,  that 
the  Great  God,  who  never  changes, 
whose  happiness  is  the  same  yesterday, 
to-day,  and  for  ever,  that  this  Eternal 
Being  really  bore  the  penalty  of  my 
sins,  — really  suffered  and  died  ? Every 
pious  man,  when  pressed  by  this  ques- 
tion, answers,  No.  What,  then,  does 
the  doctrine  of  infinite  atonement  mean  ? 
Why,  this  ; that  God  took  into  union 
with  himself  our  nature,  that  is,  a hu- 
man body  and  soul ; and  these  bore 
the  suffering  for  our  sins  ; and,  through 
his  union  with  these,  God  may  be  said 
to  have  borne  it  himself.  Thus,  this 
vaunted  system  goes  out  — in  words. 
The  infinite  victim  proves  to  be  frail 
man,  and  God’s  share  in  the  sacrifice  is 
a mere  fiction.  I ask  with  solemnity, 
Can  this  doctrine  give  one  moment  s 
ease  to  the  conscience  of  an  unbiassed, 
thinking  man?  Does  it  not  unsettle  all 
hfcpe,  by  making  the  whole  religion  sus- 
picious and  unsure  ? I am  compelled 
to  say  that  I see  in  it  no  impression  of 
majesty,  or  wisdom,  or  love,  nothing 


worthy  of  a God  ; and  when  I compare 
it  with  that  nobler  faith  which  directs 
our  eyes  and  hearts  to  God’s  essential 
mercy,  as  our  only  hope,  I am  amazed 
that  any  should  ascribe  to  it  superior 
efficacy,  as  a religion  for  sinners,  as  a 
means  of  filling  the  soul  with  pious  trust 
and  love.  I know,  indeed,  that  some 
will  say  that,  in  giving  up  an  infinite 
atonement,  I deprive  myself  of  all  hope 
of  divine  favor.  To  such  I would  say, 
You  do  wrong  to  God’s  mercy.  On 
that  mercy  I cast  myself  without  a fear. 

I indeed  desire  Christ  to  intercede  for 
me.  I regard  his  relation  to  me  as  God’s 
kindest  appointment.  Through  him, 
“ grace  and  truth  come”  to  me  from 
heaven,  and  I look  forward  to  his  friend- 
ship as  among  the  highest  blessings  of 
my  whole  future  being.  But  I cannot 
and  dare  not  ask  him  to  offer  an  infinite 
satisfaction  for  my  sins  ; to  appease  the 
wrath  of  God ; to  reconcile  the  Univer- 
sal Father  to  his  own  offspring  ; to  open 
to  me  those  arms  of  divine  mercy  which 
have  encircled  and  borne  me  from  the 
first  moment  of  my  being.  The  essen- 
tial and  unbounded  mercy  of  my  Creator 
is  the  foundation  of  my  hope,  and  a 
broader  and  surer  the  universe  cannot 
give  me. 

IX.  I now  proceed  to  the  last  consid- 
eration which  the  limits  of  this  discourse 
will  permit  me  to  urge.  It  has  been 
more  than  once  suggested,  but  deserves 
to  be  distinctly  stated.  I observe,  then, 
that  Unitarianism  promotes  piety  be- 
cause it  is  a rational  religion.  By  this 
I do  not  mean  that  its  truths  can  be 
fully  comprehended  ; for  there  is  not  an 
object  in  nature  or  religion  which  has 
not  innumerable  connections  and  rela- 
tions beyond  our  grasp  of  thought.  I 
mean  that  its  doctrines  are  consistent 
with  one  another,  and  with  all  estab- 
lished truth.  Unitarianism  is  in  har- 
mony with  the  great  and  clear  principles 
of  revelation  ; with  the  laws  and  powers 
of  human  nature  ; with  the  dictates  of 
the  moral  sense  ; with  the  noblest  in- 
stincts and  highest  aspirations  of  the 
soul ; and  with  the  lights  which  the 
universe  throws  on  the  character  of  its 
Author.  We  can  hold  this  doctrine  with- 
out self-contradiction,  without  rebelling 
against  our  rational  and  moral  powers, 
without  putting  to  silence  the  divine 
monitor  in  the  breast.  And  this  is  an 
unspeakable  benefit ; for  a religion  thus 


MOST  FAVORABLE  TO  PIETY. 


399 


coincident  with  reason,  conscience,  and 
our  whole  spiritual  being,  has  the  foun- 
dations of  universal  empire  in  the  breast ; 
and  the  heart,  finding  no  resistance  in 
the  intellect,  yields  itself  wholly,  cheer- 
fully, without  doubts  or  misgivings,  to 
the  love  of  its  Creator. 

To  Trinitarianism  we  object,  what  has 
always  been  objected  t<5  it,  that  it  con- 
tradicts and  degrades  reason,  and  thus 
exposes  the  mind  to  the  worst  delusions. 
Some  of  its  advocates,  more  courageous 
than  prudent,  have  even  recommended 
“the  prostration  of  the  understanding,” 
as  preparatory  to  its  reception.  Its 
chief  doctrine  is  an  outrage  on  our 
rational  nature.  Its  three  persons  who 
constitute  its  God  must  either  be  frittered 
away  into  three  unmeaning  distinctions, 
into  sounds  signifying  nothing ; or  they 
are  three  conscious  agents,  who  cannot, 
by  any  human  art  or  metaphysical  device, 
be  made  to  coalesce  into  one  being ; 
who  cannot  be  really  viewed  as  one 
mind,  having  one  consciousness  and  one 
will.  Now  a religious  system,  the  car- 
dinal principle  of  which  offends  the 
understanding,  very  naturally  conforms 
itself  throughout  to  this  prominent  feat- 
ure, and  becomes  prevalently  irrational. 
He  who  is  compelled  to  defend  his  faith, 
in  any  particular,  by  the  plea  that  hu- 
man reason  is  so  depraved  through  the 
fall  as  to  be  an  inadequate  judge  of 
religion,  and  that  God  is  honored  by 
our  reception  of  what  shocks  the  intel- 
lect, seems  to  have  no  defence  left 
against  accumulated  absurdities.  Ac- 
cording to  these  principles,  the  fanatic 
who  exclaimed,  “ I believe,  because  it  is 
impossible,”  had  a fair  title  to  canon- 
ization. Reason  is  too  godlike  a faculty 
to  be  insulted  with  impunity.  Accord- 
ingly, Trinitarianism,  as  we  have  seen, 
links  itself  with  several  degradingerrors  ; 
and  its  most  natural  alliance  is  with 
Calvinism,  that  cruel  faith,  which,  strip- 
ping God  of  mercy  and  man  of  power, 
has  made  Christianity  an  instrument  of 
torture  to  the  timid,  and  an  object  of 
doubt  or  scorn  to  hardier  spirits.  I 
repeat  it,  a doctrine  which  violates  rea- 
son like  the  Trinity,  prepares  its  advo- 
cates, in  proportion  as  it  is  incorporated 
into  the  mind,  for  worse  and  worse  de- 
lusions. It  breaks  down  the  distinc- 
tions and  barriers  between  truth  and 
falsehood.  It  creates  a diseased  taste 
for  prodigies,  fictions,  and  exaggerations, 


for  startling  mysteries,  and  wild  dreams 
of  enthusiasm.  It  destroys  the  relish 
for  the  simple,  chaste,  serene  beauties 
of  truth.  Especially  when  the  prostra- 
tion of  understanding  is  taught  as  an 
act  of  piety,  we  cannot  wonder  that  the 
grossest  superstitions  should  be  de- 
voured, and  that  the  credulity  of  the 
multitude  should  keep  pace  with  the 
forgeries  of  imposture  and  fanaticism. 
The  history  of  the  church  is  the  best 
comment  on  the  effects  of  divorcing 
reason  from  religion  ; and  if  the  pres- 
ent age  is  disburdened  of  many  of  the 
superstitions  under  which  Christianity 
and  human  nature  groaned  for  ages,  it 
owes  its  relief  in  no  small  degree  to  the 
reinstating  of  reason  in  her  long- violated 
rights. 

The  injury  to  religion  from  irrational 
doctrines,  when  thoroughly  believed,  is 
immense.  The  human  soul  has  a unity. 
Its  various  faculties  are  adapted  to  one 
another.  One  life  pervades  it ; and  its 
beauty,  strength,  and  growth  depend  on 
nothing  so  much  as  on  the  harmony  and 
joint  action  of  all  its  principles.  To 
wound  and  degrade  it  in  any  of  its  pow- 
ers, and  especially  in  the  noble  and  dis- 
tinguishing power  of  reason,  is  to  inflict 
on  it  universal  injury.  No  notion  is 
more  false  than  that  the  heart  is  to 
thrive  by  dwarfing  the  intellect  ; that 
perplexing  doctrines  are  the  best  food  of 
piety  ; that  religion  flourishes  most  lux- 
uriantly in  mist  and  darkness.  Reason 
was  given  for  God  as  its  great  object  ; 
and  for  him  it  should  be  kept  sacred, 
invigorated,  clarified,  protected  from  hu- 
man usurpation,  and  inspired  with  a 
meek  self-reverence. 

The  soul  never  acts  so  effectually  or 
joyfully  as  when  all  its  powers  and  af- 
fections conspire  ; as  when  thought  and 
feeling,  reason  and  sensibility,  are  called 
forth  together  by  one  great  and  kindling 
object.  It  will  never  devote  itself  to 
God  with  its  whole  energy  whilst  its 
guiding  faculty  sees  in  him  a being  to 
shock  and  confound  it.  We  want  a 
harmony  in  our  inward  nature.  We 
want  a piety  which  will  join  light  and 
fervor,  and  on  which  the  intellectual 
power  will  look  benignantly.  We  want 
religion  to  be  so  exhibited  that,  in  the 
clearest  moments  of  the  intellect,  its 
signatures  of  truth  will  grow  brighter ; 
that,  instead  of  tottering,  it  will  gather 
strength  and  stability  from  the  progress 


400  UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY  MOST  FA  VORABLE  TO  PIETY. 


of  the  human  mind.  These  wants  we 
believe  to  be  met  by  Unitarian  Christi- 
anity, and  therefore  we  prize  it  as  the 
best  friend  of  piety. 

I have  thus  stated  the  chief  grounds 
on  which  I rest  the  claim  of  Unitarian- 
ism  to  the  honor  of  promoting  an  en- 
lightened, profound,  and  happy  piety. 

Am  I now  asked,  why  we  prize  our 
system,  and  why  we  build  churches  for 
its  inculcation  ? If  I may  be  allowed  to 
express  myself  in  the  name  of  conscien- 
tious Unitarians,  who  apply  their  doc- 
trine to  their  own  hearts  and  lives,  I 
would  reply  thus : We  prize  and  would 
spread  our  views,  because  we  believe 
that  they  reveal  God  to  us  in  greater 
glory,  and  bring  us  nearer  to  him,  than 
any  other.  We  are  conscious  of  a deep 
want,  which  the  creation  cannot  supply, 
— the  want  of  a perfect  Being,  on  whom 
the  strength  of  our  love  may  be  cen- 
tred, and  of  an  Almighty  Father,  in 
whom  our  weaknesses,  imperfections, 
and  sorrows  may  find  resource  ; and 
such  a Being  and  Father  Unitarian 
Christianity  sets  before  us.  For  this 
we  prize  it  above  all  price.  We  can 
part  with  every  other  good.  We  can 
endure  the  darkening  of  life’s  fairest 
prospects.  But  this  bright,  consoling 
doctrine  of  one  God,  even  the  Father, 
is  dearer  than  life,  and  we  cannot 
let  it  go.  Through  this  faith,  every 
thing  grows  brighter  to  our  view.  Born 
of  such  a Parent,  we  esteem  our  exist- 
ence an  inestimable  gift.  We  meet 
everywhere  our  Father,  and  his  presence 
is  as  a sun  shining  on  our  path.  We 
see  him  in  his  works,  and  hear  his  praise 
rising  from  every  spot  which  we  tread. 
We  feel  him  near  in  our  solitudes,  and 
sometimes  enjoy  communion  with  him 
more  tender  than  human  friendship. 
We  see  him  in  our  duties,  and  perform 
them  more  gladly,  because  they  are  the 
best  tribute  we  can  offer  our  Heavenly 
Benefactor.  Even  the  consciousness  of 
sin,  mournful  as  it  is,  does  not  subvert 
our  peace  ; for,  in  the  mercy  of  God,  as 
made  manifest  in  Jesus  Christ,  we  see 
an  inexhaustible  fountain  of  strength, 
purity,  and  pardon,  for  all  who,  in  fil- 
ial reliance,  seek  these  heavenly  gifts. 
Through  this  faith,  we  are  conscious  of 
a new  benevolence  springing  up  to  our 
fellow-creatures,  purer  and  more  en- 
larged than  natural  affection.  Towards 
all  mankind  we  see  a rich  and  free  love 


flowing  from  the  common  Parent,  and, 
touched  by  this  love,  we  are  the  friends 
of  all.  We  compassionate  the  most 
guilty,  and  would  win  them  back  to 
God.  Through  this  faith,  we  receive 
the  happiness  of  an  ever-enlarging  hope. 
There  is  no  good  too  vast  for  us  to  an- 
ticipate for  the  universe  or  for  ourselves, 
from  such  a Father  as  we  believe  in. 
We  hope  from  him,  what  we  deem  his 
greatest  gift,  even  the  gift  of  his  own 
Spirit,  and  the  happiness  of  advancing 
for  ever  in  truth  and  virtue,  in  power 
and  love,  in  union  of  mind  with  the  Fa- 
ther and  the  Son.  We  are  told,  indeed, 
that  our  faith  will  not  prove  an  anchor 
in  the  last  hour.  But  we  have  known 
those  whose  departure  it  has  bright- 
ened ; and  our  experience  of  its  power, 
in  trial  and  peril,  has  proved  it  to  be 
equal  to  all  the  wants  of  human  nature. 
We  doubt  not  that,  to  its  sincere  follow- 
ers, death  will  be  a transition  to  the 
calm,  pure,  joyful  mansions  prepared  by 
Christ  for  his  disciples.  There  we  ex- 
pect to  meet  that  great  and  good  Deliv- 
erer. With  the  eye  of  faith,  we  already 
see  him  looking  round  him  with  celestial 
love  on  all  of  every  name  who  have  im- 
bibed his  spirit.  His  spirit ; his  loyal  and 
entire  devotion  to  the  will  of  his  Heav- 
enly Father;  his  universal,  unconquer- 
able benevolence,  through  which  he 
freely  gave  from  his  pierced  side  his 
blood,  his  life  for  the  salvation  of  the 
world  ; this  divine  love,  and  not  creeds, 
and  names,  and  forms,  will  then  be 
found  to  attract  his  supreme  regard. 
This  spirit  we  trust  to  see  in  multitudes 
of  every  sect  and  name  ; and  we  trust, 
too,  that  they  who  now  reproach  us  will 
at  that  day  recognize,  in  the  dreaded 
Unitarian,  this  only  badge  of  Christ, 
and  will  bid  him  welcome  to  the  joy  of 
our  common  Lord.  I have  thus  stated 
the  views  with  which  we  have  reared 
this  building.  We  desire  to  glorify 
God,  to  promote  a purer,  nobler,  hap- 
pier piety.  Even  if  we  err  in  doctrine, 
we  think  that  these  motives  should 
shield  us  from  reproach  ; should  disarm 
that  intolerance  which  would  exclude  us 
from  the  church  on  earth,  and  from  our 
Fathers  house  in  heaven. 

We  end,  as  we  began,  by  offering  up 
this  building  to  the  Only  Living  and 
True  God.  We  have  erected  it  amidst 
our  private  habitations,  as  a remem- 
brancer of  our  Creator.  We  have 


OBJECTIONS  TO  UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY  CONSIDERED . 401 


reared  it  in  this  busy  city,  as  a retreat 
for  pious  meditation  and  prayer.  We 
dedicate  it  to  the  King  and  Father  Eter- 
nal, the  King  of  kings  and  Lord  of 
lords.  We  dedicate  it  to  his  Unity,  to 
his  unrivalled  and  undivided  Majesty. 
We  dedicate  it  to  the  praise  of  his  free, 
unbought,  unmerited  grace.  We  dedi- 
cate it  to  Jesus  Christ,  to  the  memory 
of  his  love,  to  the  celebration  of  his  di- 
vine virtue,  to  the  preaching  of  that 
truth  which  he  sealed  with  blood.  We 
dedicate  it  to  the  Holy  Spirit,  to  the 
sanctifying  influence  of  God,  to  those 
celestial  emanations  of  light  and  strength 
which  visit  and  refresh  the  devout  mind. 
We  dedicate  it  to  prayers  and  praises 
which,  we  trust,  will  be  continued  and 
perfected  in  heaven.  We  dedicate  it 
to  social  worship,  to  Christian  inter- 
course, to  the  communion  of  saints. 
We  dedicate  it  to  the  cause  of  pure 
morals,  of  public  order,  of  temperance, 
uprightness,  and  general  good-will.  We 
dedicate  it  to  Christian  admonition,  to 


those  warnings,  remonstrances,  and  ear- 
nest and  tender  persuasions,  by  which 
the  sinner  may  be  arrested  and  brought 
back  to  God.  We  dedicate  it  to  Chris- 
tian consolation,  to  those  truths  which 
assuage  sorrow,  animate  penitence,  and 
lighten  the  load  of  human  anxiety  and 
fear.  We  dedicate  it  to  the  doctrine  of 
immortality,  to  sublime  and  joyful  hopes 
which  reach  beyond  the  grave.  In  a 
word,  we  dedicate  it  to  the  great  work 
of  perfecting  the  human  soul,  and  fit- 
ting it  for  nearer  approach  to  its  Au- 
thor. Here  may  heart  meet  heart  ! 
Here  may  man  meet  God  ! From  this 
place  may  the  song  of  praise,  the  as- 
cription of  gratitude,  the  sigh  of  peni- 
tence, the  prayer  for  grace,  and  the  holy 
resolve,  ascend  as  fragrant  incense  to 
heaven ; and,  through  many  genera- 
tions, may  parents  bequeath  to  their 
children  this  house,  as  a sacred  spot, 
where  God  had  “ lifted  upon  them  his 
countenance,”  and  given  them  pledges 
of  his  everlasting  love  ! 


OBJECTIONS  TO  UNITARIAN  CHRISTIANITY 
CONSIDERED. 

1819. 


It  is  due  to  truth,  and  a just  deference 
to  our  fellow-Christians,  to  take  notice 
of  objections  which  are  currently  made 
to  our  particular  views  of  religion  ; nor 
ought  we  to  dismiss  such  objections  as 
unworthy  of  attention  on  account  of 
their  supposed  lightness  ; because  what 
is  light  to  us  may  weigh  much  with  our 
neighbor,  and  truth  may  suffer  from 
obstructions  which  a few  explanations 
might  remove.  It  is  to  be  feared  that 
those  Christians  who  are  called  Uni- 
tarian have  been  wanting  in  this  duty. 
Whilst  they  have  met  the  labored  argu- 
ments of  their  opponents  fully  and  fairly, 
they  have  overlooked  the  loose,  vague, 
indefinite  objections  which  float  through 
the  community,  and  operate  more  on 
common  minds  than  formal  reasoning. 
On  some  of  these  objections  remarks 
will  now  be  offered  ; and  it  is  hoped 


that  our  plainness  of  speech  will  not  be 
construed  into  severity,  nor  our  strict- 
ures on  different  systems  be  ascribed  to 
a desire  of  retaliation.  It  cannot  be  ex- 
pected that  we  shall  repel  with  indiffer- 
ence what  seem  to  us  reproaches  on 
some  of  the  most  important  and  consol- 
ing views  of  Christianity.  - Believing 
that  the  truths  which  through  God’s 
good  providence  we  are  called  to  main- 
tain are  necessary  to  the  vindication  of 
the  divine  character,  and  to  the  preva- 
lence of  a more  enlightened  and  exalted 
piety,  we  are  bound  to  assert  them  ear- 
nestly, and  to  speak  freely  of  the  op- 
posite errors  which  now  disfigure  Chris- 
tianity. What,  then,  are  the  principal 
objections  to  Unitarian  Christianity? 

1.  It  is  objected  to  us,  that  we  deny 
the  divinity  of  Jesus  Christ.  Now  what 
does  this  objection  mean  ? What  are 


402 


OBJECTIONS  TO  UNITARIAN 


we  to  understand  by  the  divinity  of 
Christ  ? In  the  sense  in  which  many 
Christians,  and  perhaps  a majority,  in- 
terpret it,  we  do  not  deny  it,  but  believe 
it  as  firmly  as  themselves.  We  believe 
firmly  in  the  divinity  of  Christ’s  mission 
and  office,  that  he  spoke  with  divine  au- 
thority, and  was  a bright  image  of  the  di- 
vine perfections.  We  believe  that  God 
dwelt  in  him,  manifested  himself  through 
him,  taught  men  by  him,  and  communi- 
cated to  him  his  spirit  without  measure. 
We  believe  that  Jesus  Christ  was  the 
most  glorious  display,  expression,  and  re- 
presentative of  God  to  mankind,  so  that 
in  seeing  and  knowing  him,  we  see  and 
know  the  invisible  Father  ; so  that  when 
Christ  came,  God  visited  the  world  and 
dwelt  with  men  more  conspicuously  than 
at  any  former  period.  In  Christ’s  words 
we  hear  God  speaking ; in  his  miracles 
we  behold  God  acting  ; in  his  character 
and  life  we  see  an  unsullied  image  of 
God’s  purity  and  love.  We  believe, 
then,  in  the  divinity  of  Christ,  as  this 
term  is  often  and  properly  used.  How, 
then,  it  may  be  asked,  do  we  differ  from 
other  Christians  ? We  differ  in  this 
important  respect.  Whilst  we  honor 
Christ  as  the  Son,  representative,  and 
image  of  the  Supreme  God,  we  do  not 
believe  him  to  be  the  Supreme  God  him- 
self. We  maintain  that  Christ  and  God 
are  distinct  beings , two  beings,  not  one 
and  the  same  being.  On  this  point  a 
little  repetition  may  be  pardoned,  for 
many  good  Christians,  after  the  contro- 
versies of  ages,  misunderstand  the  pre- 
cise difference  between  us  and  them- 
selves. Trinitarianism  teaches  that  Jesus 
Christ  is  the  supreme  and  infinite  God, 
and  that  he  and  his  Father  are  not  only 
one  in  affection,  counsel,  and  will,  but 
are  strictly  and  literally  one  and  the 
same  being.  Now  to  us  this  doctrine  is 
most  unscriptural  and  irrational.  We 
say  that  the  Son  cannot  be  the  same 
being  with  his  own  Father  ; that  he,  who 
was  sent  into  the  world  to  save  it,  can- 
not be  the  living  God  who  sent  him.  The 
language  of  Jesus  is  explicit  and  un- 
qualified. “ I came  not  to  do  mine  own 
will.”  — “I  came  not  from  myself.”  — 
“ I came  from  God.”  Now  we  affirm, 
and  this  is  our  chief  heresy,  that  Jesus 
was  not  and  could  not  be  the  God  from 
whom  he  came,  but  was  another  being ; 
and  it  amazes  us  that  any  can  resist 
this  simple  truth.  The  doctrine  that 


Jesus,  who  was  born  at  Bethlehem  ; who 
ate  and  drank  and  slept ; who  suffered 
and  was  crucified  ; who  came  from  God  ; 
who  prayed  to  God  ; who  did  God’s  will ; 
and  who  said,  on  leaving  the  world,  “ I 
ascend  to  my  Father  and  your  Father, 
to  my  God  and  your  God  ; ” the  doctrine 
that  this  Jesus  was  the  supreme  God 
himself,  and  the  same  being  with  his 
Father,  this  seems  to  us  a contradiction 
to  reason  and  Scripture  so  flagrant,  that 
the  simple  statement  of  it  is  a sufficient 
refutation.  We  are  often  charged  with 
degrading  Christ ; but  if  this  reproach 
belong  to  any  Christians,  it  falls,  we  fear, 
on  those  who  accuse  him  of  teaching  a 
doctrine  so  contradictory,  and  so  sub- 
versive of  the  supremacy  of  our  Heav- 
enly Father.  Certainly  our  humble  and 
devout  Master  has  given  no  ground  for 
this  accusation.  He  always  expressed 
towards  God  the  reverence  of  a son. 
He  habitually  distinguished  himself  from 
God.  He  referred  to  God  all  his  powers. 
He  said,  without  limitation  or  reserve, 
“ The  Father  is  greater  than  I.”  — “ Of 
myself  I can  do  nothing.”  If  to  repre- 
sent Christ  as  a being  distinct  from  God, 
and  as  inferior  to  him,  be  to  degrade 
him,  then  let  our  opponents  lay  the 
guilt  where  it  belongs,  not  on  us,  but  on 
our  Master,  whose  language  we  borrow, 
in  whose  very  words  we  express  our 
sentiments,  whose  words  we  dare  not  trifle 
with  and  force  from  their  plain  sense. 
Our  limits  will  not  allow  us  to  say  more  ; 
but  we  ask  common  Christians,  who 
have  taken  their  opinions  from  the  Bible 
rather  than  from  human  systems,  to  look 
honestly  into  their  own  minds,  and  to 
answer  frankly,  whether  they  have  not 
understood  and  believed  Christ’s  divin- 
ity in  the  sense  maintained  by  us,  rather 
than  in  that  for  which  the  Trinitarians 
contend. 

2.  We  proceed  to  another  objection, 
and  one  which  probably  weighs  more 
with  multitudes  than  any  other.  It  is 
this,  that  our  doctrine  respecting  Christ 
takes  from  the  sinner  the  only  ground 
of  hope.  It  is  said  by  our  opponents, 
“We  and  all  men  are  sinners  by  our 
very  nature,  and  infinitely  guilty  before 
God.  The  sword  of  divine  justice  hangs 
over  us,  and  hell  opens  beneath  us  ; and 
where  shall  we  find  a refuge  but  in  an 
infinite  Saviour  ? We  want  an  infinite 
atonement ; and  in  depriving  us  of  this 
you  rob  us  of  our  hope,  you  tear  from 


CHRISTIANITY  CONSIDERED . 


403 


the  Scriptures  the  only  doctrine  which 
meets  our  wants.  We  may  burn  our 
Bibles  if  your  interpretation  be  true, 
for  our  case  is  desperate  ; we  are  lost 
for  ever.”  In  such  warm  and  wild  lan- 
guage, altogether  unwarranted  by  Script- 
ure, yet  exceedingly  fitted  to  work  on 
common  and  terror-stricken  minds,  our 
doctrine  is  constantly  assailed. 

Now  to  this  declamation,  for  such  we 
esteem  it,  we  oppose  one  plain  request. 
Show  us,  we  say,  a single  passage  in 
the  Bible,  in  which  we  are  told  that  the 
sin  of  man  is  infinite,  and  needs  an  in- 
finite atonement.  We  .find  not  one. 
Not  even  a whisper  of  this  doctrine 
comes  to  us  from  the  sacred  writers. 
Let  us  stop  a moment  and  weigh  this 
doctrine.  It  teaches  us  that  man,  al- 
though created  by  God  a frail,  erring, 
and  imperfect  being,  and  even  created 
with  an  irresistible  propensity  to  sin,  is 
yet  regarded  by  the  Creator  as  an  infi- 
nite offender,  meriting  infinite  punish- 
ment for  his  earliest  transgressions  ; 
and  that  he  is  doomed  to  endless  tor- 
ment, unless  an  infinite  Saviour  appear 
for  his  rescue  ! How  can  any  one,  we 
ask,  charge  on  our  benevolent  and  right- 
eous Parent  such  a government  of  his 
creatures  ? We  maintain  that  man  is 
not  created  in  a condition  which  makes 
an  infinite  atonement  necessary  ; nor  do 
we  believe  that  any  creature  can  fall 
into  a condition  from  which  God  may 
not  deliver  him  without  this  rigid  expe- 
dient. Surely,  if  an  infinite  satisfaction 
to  justice  were  indispensable  to  our 
salvation,  if  God  took  on  him  human 
nature  for  the  very  purpose  of  offering 
it,  and  if  this  fact  constitute  the  peculiar 
glory,  the  life  and  essence,  and  the  sav- 
ing efficacy  of  the  gospel,  we  must  find 
it  expressed  clearly,  definitely,  in  at 
least  one  passage  in  the  Bible.  But 
not  one,  we  repeat  it,  can  be  found 
there.  We  maintain,  further,  that  this 
doctrine  of  God  becoming  a victim  and 
sacrifice  for  his  own  rebellious  subjects, 
is  as  irrational  as  it  is  unscriptural. 
We  have  always  supposed  that  atone- 
ment, if  necessary,  was  to  be  made  /#, 
not  by,  the  sovereign  who  has  been 
offended  ; and  we  cannot  conceive  a 
more  unlikely  method  of  vindicating  his 
authority,  than  that  he  himself  should 
bear  the  punishment  which  is  due  to 
transgressors  of  his  laws.  We  have 
another  objection.  If  an  infinite  atone- 


ment be  necessary,  and  if,  consequently, 
none  but  God  can  make  it,  we  see  not 
but  that  God  must  become  a sufferer, 
must  take  upon  himself  our  pain  and 
woe,  — a thought  from  which  a pious 
mind  shrinks  with  horror.  To  escape 
this  difficulty,  we  are  told  that  Christ 
suffered  as  man,  not  as  God;  but  if 
man  only  suffered,  if  only  a human  and 
finite  mind  suffered,  if  Christ,  as  God, 
was  perfectly  happy  on  the  cross,  and 
bore  only  a short  and  limited  pain  in 
his  human  nature,  where,  we  ask,  was 
the  infinite  atonement  ? Where  is  the 
boasted  hope  which  this  doctrine  is 
said  to  give  to  the  sinner  ? 

The  objection  that  there  is  no  hope 
for  the  sinner  unless  Christ  be  the  in- 
finite God,  amazes  us.  Surely,  if  we 
have  a Father  in  heaven,  of  infinite 
goodness  and  power,  we  need  no  other 
infinite  person  to  save  us.  The  com- 
mon doctrine  disparages  and  dishonors 
the  only  true  God,  our  Father,  as  if, 
without  the  help  of  a second  and  a 
third  divinity,  equal  to  himself,  He 
could  not  restore  his  frail  creature,  man. 
We  have  not  the  courage  of  our  breth- 
ren. With  the  Scriptures  in  our  hands, 
with  the  solemn  attestations  which  they 
contain  to  the  divine  Unity,  and  to 
Christ’s  dependence,  we  dare  not  give 
to  the  God  and  Father  of  Jesus  an  equal 
or  rival  in  the  glory  of  originating  our 
redemption,  or  of  accomplishing  it  by 
underived  and  infinite  power.  Are  we 
asked,  as  we  sometimes  are,  what  is  our 
hope  if  Christ  be  not  the  supreme  God  ? 
We  answer,  it  is  the  boundless  and  al- 
mighty goodness  of  his  Father  and  our 
Father,  — a goodness  which  cannot  re- 
quire an  infinite  atonement  for  the  sins 
of  a frail  and  limited  creature.  God’s 
essential  and  unchangeable  mercy,  not 
Christ’s  infinity,  is  the  Scriptural  foun- 
dation of  a sinner’s  hope.  In  the  Script- 
ures, our  Heavenly  Father  is  always 
represented  as  the  sole  original,  spring, 
and  first  cause  of  our  salvation  ; and 
let  no  one  presume  to  divide  his  glory 
with  another.  That  Jesus,  came  to  save 
us,  we  owe  entirely  to  the  Father’s  be- 
nevolent appointment.  That  Jesus  is 
perfectly  adequate  to  the  work  of  our 
salvation  is  to  be  believed,  not  because 
he  is  himself  the  supreme  God,  but 
because  the  supreme  and  unerring  God 
selected,  commissioned,  and  empowered 
him  for  this  office.  That  his  death  is 


404 


OBJECTIONS  TO  UNITARIAN 


an  important  means  of  our  salvation, 
we  gratefully  acknowledge  ; but  ascribe 
its  efficacy  to  the  merciful  disposition 
of  God  towards  the  human  race.  To 
build  the  hope  of  pardon  on  the  inde- 
pendent and  infinite  sufficiency  of  Jesus 
Christ,  is  to  build  on  an  unscriptural 
and  false  foundation  ; for  Jesus  teaches 
us  that  of  himself  he  can  do  nothing ; 
that  all  power  is  given  to  him  by  his 
Father;  and  that  he  is  a proper  object 
of  trust,  because  he  came  not  of  him- 
self, or  to  do  his  own  will,  but  because 
the  Father  sent  him.  We  indeed  lean 
on  Christ,  but  it  is  because  he  is  “a 
corner-stone,  chosen  by  God  and  laid 
by  God  in  Zion.”  God’s  forgiving  love, 
declared  to  mankind  by  Jesus  Christ, 
and  exercised  through  him,  is  the  foun- 
dation of  hope  to  the  penitent  on  which 
we  primarily  rest,  and  a firmer  the  uni- 
verse cannot  furnish  us. 

3.  We  now  proceed  to  another  objec- 
tion. We  are  charged  with  expecting 
to  be  saved  by  works,  and  not  by  grace. 
This  charge  may  be  easily  despatched, 
and  a more  groundless  one  cannot  easily 
be  imagined.  We  indeed  attach  great 
importance  to  Christian  works,  or  Chris- 
tian obedience,  believing  that  a practice 
or  life  conformed  to  the  precepts  and 
example  of  Jesus  is  the  great  end  for 
which  faith  in  him  is  required,  and  is 
the  great  condition  on  which  everlasting 
life  is  bestowed.  We  are  accustomed 
to  speak  highly  of  the  virtues  and  im- 
provements of  a true  Christian,  reject- 
ing with  abhorrence  the  idea  that  they 
are  no  better  than  the  outward  Jewish 
righteousness,  which  the  Prophet  called 
“filthy  rags  ; ” and  maintaining  with  the 
Apostle  that  they  are,  “ in  the  sight  of 
God,  of  great  price.”  We  believe  that 
holiness  or  virtue  is  the  very  image  of 
God  in  the  human  soul,  — a ray  of  his 
brightness,  the  best  gift  which  He  com- 
municates to  his  creatures,  the  highest 
benefit  which  Christ  came  to  confer, 
the  only  important  and  lasting  distinc- 
tion between  man  and  man.  Still,  we 
always  and  earnestly  maintain  that  no 
human  virtue,  no  human  obedience,  can 
give  a legal  claim,  a right  by  merit,  to 
the  life  and  immortality  brought  to  light 
by  Christ.  We  see  and  mourn  over 
the  deficiencies,  broken  resolutions,  and 
mixed  motives  of  the  best  men.  We 
always  affirm  that  God’s  grace,  benig- 
nity, free  kindness,  is  needed  by  the 


most  advanced  Christians,  and  that  to 
this  alone  we  owe  the  promise  in  the 
gospel,  of  full  remission  and  everlasting 
happiness  to  the  penitent.  None  speak 
of  mercy  more  constantly  than  we.  One 
of  our  distinctions  is,  that  we  magnify 
this  lovely  attribute  of  the  Deity.  So 
accustomed  are  we  to  insist  on  the 
infinity  of  God’s  grace  and  mercy,  that 
our  adversaries  often  charge  us  with 
forgetting  his  justice  ; and  yet  it  is  ob- 
jected to  us  that,  renouncing  grace,  we 
appeal  to  justice,  and  build  our  hope  on 
the  abundance  of  our  merit ! 

4.  We  now  proceed  to  another  objec- 
tion often  urged  against  our  views,  or 
rather  against  those  who  preach  them  ; 
and  it  is  this,  that  we  preach  morality. 
To  meet  this  objection,  we  beg  to  know 
what  is  intended  by  morality.  Are  we 
to  understand  by  it,  what  it  properly 
signifies,  our  whole  duty,  however  made 
known  to  us,  whether  by  nature  or  rev- 
elation ? Does  it  mean  the  whole  ex- 
tent of  those  obligations  which  belong 
to  us  as  moral  beings  ? Does  it  mean 
that  “ sober,  righteous,  godly  life,” 
which  our  moral  Governor  has  pre- 
scribed to  us  by  his  Son,  as  the  great 
preparation  for  heaven  ? If  this  be 
morality,  we  cheerfully  plead  guilty  to 
the  charge  of  preaching  it,  and  of  labor- 
ing chiefly  and  constantly  to  enforce  it ; 
and  believing,  as  we  do,  that  all  the 
doctrines,  precepts,  threatenings,  and 
promises  of  the  gospel  are  revealed  for 
no  other  end  than  to  make  men  moral, 
in  this  true  and  generous  sense,  we  hope 
to  continue  to  merit  this  reproach. 

We  fear,  however,  that  this  is  not 
the  meaning  of  the  morality  which  is 
said  to  be  the  burden  of  our  preaching. 
Some,  at  least,  who  thus  reproach  us, 
mean  that  we  are  accustomed  to  enjoin 
only  a worldly  and  social  morality,  con- 
sisting in  common  honesty,  common 
kindness,  and  freedom  from  gross 
vices  ; neglecting  to  inculcate  inward 
purity,  devotion,  heavenly-mindedness, 
and  love  to  Jesus  Christ.  We  hope 
that  the  persons  who  thus  accuse  us 
speak  from  rumor,  and  have  never 
heard  our  instructions  for  themselves  ; 
for  the  charge  is  false  ; and  no  one  who 
ever  sat  under  our  ministry  can  urge  it 
without  branding  himself  a slanderer. 
The  first  and  great  commandment, 
which  is  to  love  God  supremely,  is 
recognized  and  enforced  habitually  in 


CHRISTIANITY  CONSIDERED . 


405 


our  preaching ; and  our  obligations  to 
Jesus  Christ,  the  friend  who  died  for 
us,  are  urged,  we  hope,  not  wholly  with- 
out tenderness  and  effect. 

It  is  but  justice,  however,  to  observe 
of  many,  that  when  they  reproach  us 
with  moral  preaching,  they  do  not  mean 
that  we  teach  only  outward  decencies, 
but  that  we  do  not  inculcate  certain 
favorite  doctrines,  which  are  to  them 
the  very  marrow  and  richness  of  the 
gospel.  When  such  persons  hear  a 
sermon,  be  the  subject  what  it  may, 

which  is  not  seasoned  with  recogni- 

^lionsof  the  Trinity,  total  depravity,  and 
similar  articles  of  faith,  they  call  it 
moral.  According  to  this  strange  and 
unwarrantable  use  of  the  term,  we  re- 
joice to  say  that  we  are  “ moral  preach- 
ers ; ” and  it  comforts  us  that  we  have 
for  our  pattern  “ him  who  spake  as 
man  never  spake,”  and  who,  in  his  long- 
est discourse,  has  dropped  not  a word 
about  a Trinity,  or  inborn  corruption, 
or  special  and  electing  grace  ; and,  still 
more,  we  seriously  doubt  whether  our 
preaching  could  with  propriety  be  called 
moral,  did  we  urge  these  doctrines, 
especially  the  two  last ; for,  however 
warmly  they  may  be  defended  by  honest 
men,  they  seem  to  us  to  border  on  im- 
morality ; that  is,  to  dishonor  God,  to 
weaken  the  sense  of  responsibility,  to 
break  the  spirit,  and  to  loosen  the  re- 
straints on  guilty  passion. 

5.  Another  objection  urged  against 
us  is,  that  our  system  does  not  produce 
as  much  zeal,  seriousness,  and  piety  as 
other  views  of  religion.  The  objection 
it  is  difficult  to  repel,  except  by  language 
which  will  seem  to  be  a boasting  of 
ourselves.  When  expressed  in  plain 
language,  it  amounts  to  this : “We 
Trinitarians  and  Calvinists  are  better 
and  more  pious  than  you  Unitarians, 
and  consequently  our  system  is  more 
Scriptural  than  yours.”  Now,  asser- 
tions of  this  kind  do  not  strike  us  as 
very  modest  and  humble,  and  we  be- 
lieve that  truth  does  not  require  us  to 
defend  it  by  setting  up  our  piety  above 
that  of  our  neighbors.  This,  however, 
we  would  say,  that  if  our  zeal  and  de- 
votion are  faint,  the  fault  is  our  own, 
not  that  of  our  doctrine.  We  are  sure 
that  our  views  of  the  Supreme  Being 
are  incomparably  more  affecting  and 
attractive  than  those  which  we  oppose. 
It  is  the  great  excellence  of  our  system, 


that  it  exalts  God,  vindicates  his  paren- 
tal attributes,  and  appeals  powerfully  to 
the  ingenuous  principles  of  love,  grati- 
tude, and  veneration ; and  when  we 
compare  it  with  the  doctrines  which 
are  spread  around  us  we  feel  that  of 
all  men  we  are  most  inexcusable,  if  a 
filial  piety  do  not  spring  up  and  grow 
strong  in  our  hearts. 

Perhaps  it  may  not  be  difficult  to 
suggest  some  causes  for  the  charge  that 
our  views  do  not  favor  seriousness  and 
zeal.  One  reason  probably  is,  that  we 
interpret  with  much  rigor  those  precepts 
of  Christ  which  forbid  ostentation,  and 
enjoin  modesty  and  retirement  in  devo- 
tion. We  dread  a showy  religion.  We 
are  disgusted  with  pretensions  to  supe- 
rior sanctity,  — that  stale  and  vulgar 
way  of  building  up  a sect.  We  believe 
that  true  religion  speaks  in  actions  more 
than  in  words,  and  manifests  itself 
chiefly  in  the  common  temper  and  life  ; 
in  giving  up  the  passions  to  God’s  au- 
thority, in  inflexible  uprightness  and 
truth,  in  active  and  modest  charity,  in 
candid  judgment,  and  in  patience  under 
trials  and  injuries.  We  think  it  no  part 
of  piety  to  publish  its  fervors,  but  pre- 
fer a delicacy  in  regard  to  these  secrets 
of  the  soul ; and  hence,  to  those  per- 
sons who  think  religion  is  to  be  worn 
conspicuously  and  spoken  of  passion- 
ately, we  may  seem  cold  and  dead, 
when  perhaps,  were  the  heart  uncovered, 
it  might  be  seen  to  be  “ alive  to  God  ” 
as  truly  as  their  own. 

Again,  it  is  one  of  our  principles, 
flowing  necessarily  from  our  views  of 
God,  that  religion  is  cheerful ; that 
where  its  natural  tendency  is  not  ob- 
structed by  false  theology,  or  a melan- 
choly temperament,  it  opens  the  heart 
to  every  pure  and  innocent  pleasure. 
We  do  not  think  that  piety  disfigures 
its  face,  or  wraps  itself  in  a funeral  pall 
as  its  appropriate  garb.  Now,  too 
many  conceive  of  religion  as  something 
gloomy,  and  never  to  be  named  but 
with  an  altered  tone  and  countenance  ; 
and  where  they  miss  these  imagined 
signs  of  piety,  they  can  hardly  believe 
that  a sense  of  God  dwells  in  the  heart. 

Another  cause  of  the  error  in  ques- 
tion we  believe  to  be  this.  Our  relig- 
ious system  excludes,  or  at  least  does 
not  favor,  those  overwhelming  terrors 
and  transports  which  many  think  essen- 
tial to  piety.  We  do  not  believe  in 


OBJECTIONS  TO  UNITARIAN 


406 

shaking  and  disordering  men’s  under- 
standings, by  excessive  fear,  as  a prep- 
aration for  supernatural  grace  and  im- 
mediate conversion.  This  we  regard  as 
a dreadful  corruption  and  degradation 
of  religion.  Religion,  we  believe,  is  a 
gradual  and  rational  work,  beginning 
sometimes  in  sudden  impressions,  but 
confirmed  by  reflection,  growing  by  the 
regular  use  of  Christian  means,  and  ad- 
vancing silently  to  perfection.  Now, 
because  we  specify  no  time  when  we  were 
overpowered  and  created  anew  by  irre- 
sistible impulse  ; because  we  relate  no 
agonies  of  despair  succeeded  by  mirac- 
ulous light  and  joy,  we  are  thought  by 
some  to  be  strangers  to  piety  ; — how 
reasonably,  let  the  judicious  determine 

Once  more  ; we  are  thought  to  want 
zeal,  because  our  principles  forbid  us  to 
use  many  methods  for  spreading  them, 
which  are  common  with  other  Chris- 
tians. Whilst  we  value  highly  our  pe- 
culiar views,  and  look  to  them  for  the 
best  fruits  of  piety,  we  still  consider 
ourselves  as  bound  to  think  charitably 
of  those  who  doubt  or  deny  them  ; and 
with  this  conviction,  we  cannot  enforce 
them  with  that  vehemence,  positiveness, 
and  style  of  menace,  which  constitute 
much  of  the  zeal  of  certain  denomina- 
tions ; — and  we  freely  confess  that  we 
would  on  no  account  exchange  our 
charity  for  their  zeal  ; and  we  trust  that 
the  time  is  near  when  he  who  holds 
what  he  deems  truth  with  lenity  and 
forbearance,  will  be  accounted  more 
pious  than  he  who  compasseth  sea  and 
land  to  make  proselytes  to  his  sect,  and 
“ shuts  the  gates  of  mercy  ” on  all  who 
will  not  bow  their  understandings  to 
his  creed.  We  fear  that  in  these  re- 
marks we  may  have  been  unconsciously 
betrayed  into  a self-exalting  spirit. 
Nothing  could  have  drawn  them  from 
us  but  the  fact  that  a very  common 
method  of  opposing  our  sentiments  is 
to  decry  the  piety  of  those  who  adopt 
them.  After  all,  we  mean  not  to  deny 
our  great  deficiencies.  We  have  noth- 
ing to  boast  before  God,  although  the 
cause  of  truth  forbids  us  to  submit  to 
the  censoriousness  of  our  brethren. 

6.  Another  objection  to  our  views  is, 
that  they  lead  to  a rejection  of  revela- 
tion. Unitarianism  has  been  called  “a 
half-way  house  to  infidelity.”  Now,  to 
this  abjection  we  need  not  oppose  gen- 
eral reasonings.  We  will  state  a plain 


fact.  It  is  this.  A large  proportion  of 
the  most  able  and  illustrious  defenders 
of  the  truth  of  Christianity  have  been 
Unitarians ; and  our  religion  has  re- 
ceived from  them,  to  say  the  least,  as 
important  service  in  its  conflicts  with 
infidelity  as  from  any  class  of  Christians 
whatever.  From  the  long  catalogue  of 
advocates  of  Christianity  among  Unita- 
rians, we  can  select  now  but  a few  ; but 
these  few  are  a host.  The  name  of  John 
Locke  is  familiar  to  every  scholar.  He 
rendered  distinguished  service  to  the 
philosophy  of  the  human  mind  ; nor  is 
this  his  highest  praise.  His  writings  on 
government  and  toleration  contributed 
more  than  those  of  any  other  individual 
to  the  diffusion  of  free  and  generous  sen- 
timents through  Europe  and  America ; 
and  perhaps  Bishop  Watson  was  not 
guilty  of  great  exaggeration  when  he 
said,  “ This  great  man  has  done  more 
for  the  establishment  of  pure  Christian- 
ity than  any  author  I am  acquainted 
with.”  He  was  a laborious  and  suc- 
cessful student  of  the  Scriptures.  His 
works  on  the  “ Epistles  of  Paul,”  and  on 
the  “ Reasonableness  of  Christianity,” 
formed  an  era  in  sacred  literature  ; and 
he  has  the  honor  of  having  shed  a new 
and  bright  light  on  the  darkest  parts  of 
the  New  Testament,  and  in  general  on 
the  Christian  system.  Now  Locke,  be 
it  remembered,  was  a Unitarian.  We 
pass  to  another  intellectual  prodigy,  — 
to  Newton,  a name  which  every  man  of 
learning  pronounces  with  reverence  ; for 
it  reminds  him  of  faculties  so  exalted 
above  those  of  ordinary  men,  that  they 
seem  designed  to  help  our  conceptions 
of  superior  orders  of  being.  This  great 
man,  who  gained  by  intuition  what  others 
reap  from  laborious  research,  after  ex- 
ploring the  laws  of  the  universe,  turned 
for  light  and  hope  to  the  Bible  ; and 
although  his  theological  works  cannot 
be  compared  with  Locke’s,  yet  in  his 
illustrations  of  the  prophecies,  and  of 
Scripture  chronology,  and  in  his  criti- 
cisms on  two  doubtful  passages,*  which 
are  among  the  chief  supports  of  the 
doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  he  is  considered 
as  having  rendered  valuable  services  to 
the  Christian  cause.  Newton,  too,  was 
a Unitarian.  We  are  not  accustomed 
to  boast  of  men,  or  to  prop  our  faith  by 
great  names  ; for  Christ,  and  he  only,  is 
our  Master ; but  it  is  with  pleasure  that 

* 1 John  v.  7 ; 1 Tim.  iii.  16. 


CHRISTIANITY  CONSIDERED . 


407 


we  find  in  our  ranks  the  most  gifted, 
sagacious,  and  exalted  minds  ; and  we 
cannot  but  smile  when  we  sometimes 
hear  from  men  and  women  of  very  lim- 
ited culture,  and  with  no  advantages  for 
enlarged  inquiry,  reproachful  and  con- 
temptuous remarks  on  a doctrine  which 
the  vast  intelligence  of  Locke  and  New- 
ton, after  much  study  of  the  Scriptures, 
and  in  opposition  to  a prejudiced  and 
intolerant  age,  received  as  the  truth  of 
God.  It  is  proper  to  state  that  doubts 
have  lately  been  raised  as  to  the  relig- 
ious opinions  of  Locke  and  Newton, 
and  for  a very  obvious  reason.  In  these 
times  of  growing  light,  their  names  have 
been  found  too  useful  to  the  Unitarian 
cause.  But  the  long  and  general  belief 
of  the  Unitarianism  of  these  illustrious 
men  can  hardly  be  accounted  for,  but 
by  admitting  the  fact ; and  we  know  of 
no  serious  attempts  to  set  aside  the 
proofs  on  which  this  belief  is  founded. 

We  pass  to  another  writer,  who  was 
one  of  the  brightest  ornaments  of  the 
Church  of  England  and  of  the  age  in 
which  he  lived,  Dr.  Samuel  Clarke.  In 
classical  literature,  and  in  metaphysical 
speculation,  Dr.  Clarke  has  a reputation 
which  needs  no  tribute  at  our  hands. 
His  sermons  are  an  invaluable  repository 
of  Scriptural  criticism  ; and  his  work  on 
the  evidences  of  natural  and  revealed 
religion  has  ever  been  considered  as 
one  of  the  ablest  vindications  of  our 
common  faith.  This  great  man  was  a 
Unitarian.  He  believed  firmly  that  Je- 
sus was  a distinct  being  from  his  Father, 
and  a derived  and  dependent  being ; 
and  he  desired  to  bring  the  liturgy  of 
his  church  into  a correspondence  with 
these  doctrines. 

To  those  who  are  acquainted  with  the 
memorable  infidel  controversy  in  the 
early  part  of  the  last  century,  excited 
by  the  writings  of  Bolingbroke,  Tindal, 
Morgan,  Collins,  and  Chubb,  it  will  be 
unnecessary  to  speak  of  the  zeal  and 
power  with  which  the  Christian  cause 
was  maintained  by  learned  Unitarians. 
But  we  must  pass  over  these,  to  recall 
a man  whose  memory  is  precious  to 
enlightened  believers  ; we  mean  Lard- 
ner,  that  most  patient  and  successful 
advocate  of  Christianity  ; who  has  writ- 
ten, we  believe,  more  largely  than  any 
other  author  on  the  evidences  of  the 
gospel ; from  whose  works  later  authors 
have  drawn  as  from  a treasure-house ; 


and  whose  purity  and  mildness  have  dis- 
armed the  severity  and  conciliated  the 
respect  of  men  of  very  different  views 
from  his  own.  Lardner  was  a Unitarian. 
Next  to  Lardner,  the  most  laborious 
advocate  of  Christianity  against  the  at- 
tacks of  infidels,  in  our  own  day,  was 
Priestley ; and  whatever  we  may  think 
of  some  of  his  opinions,  we  believe  that 
none  of  his  opposers  ever  questioned  the 
importance  of  his  vindications  of  our 
common  faith.  We  certainly  do  not  say 
too  much,  when  we  affirm  that  Unitarians 
have  not  been  surpassed  by  any  denom- 
ination in  zealous,  substantial  service  to 
the  Christian  cause.  Yet  we  are  told 
that  Unitarianism  leads  to  infidelity ! 
We  are  reproached  with  defection  from 
that  religion,  round  which  we  have  gath- 
ered in  the  day  of  its  danger,  and  from 
which,  we  trust,  persecution  and  death 
cannot  divorce  us. 

It  is,  indeed,  said  that  instances  have 
occurred  of  persons  who,  having  given 
up  the  Trinitarian  doctrine,  have  not 
stopped  there,  but  have  resigned  one 
part  of  Christianity  after  another,  until 
they  have  become  thorough  infidels. 
To  this  we  answer,  that  such  instances 
we  have  never  known  ; but  that  such 
should  occur  is  not  improbable,  and  is 
what  we  should  even  expect ; for  it  is 
natural  that  when  the  mind  has  detected 
one  error  in  its  creed,  it  should  distrust 
every  other  article,  and  should  exchange 
its  blind  and  hereditary  assent  for  a 
sweeping  scepticism.  We  have  exam- 
ples of  this  truth  at  the  present  moment, 
both  in  France  and  Spain,  where  multi- 
tudes have  proceeded  from  rejecting 
Popery  to  absolute  Atheism.  Now,  who 
of  us  will  argue  that  the  Catholic  faith 
is  true,  because  multitudes  who  relin- 
quished it  have  also  cast  away  every 
religious  principle  and  restraint ; and  if 
the  argument  be  not  sound  on  the  side 
of  Popery,  how  can  it  be  pressed  into 
the  service  of  Trinitarianism  ? The  fact 
is,  that  false  and  absurd  doctrines,  when 
exposed,  have  a natural  tendency  to  be- 
get scepticism  in  those  who  received 
them  without  reflection.  None  are  so 
likely  to  believe  too  little  as  those  who 
have  begun  with  believing  too  much  ; 
and  hence  we  charge  upon  Trinitarian- 
ism whatever  tendency  may  exist  in 
those  who  forsake  it,  to  sink  gradually 
into  infidelity. 

Unitarianism  does  not  lead  to  infi- 


408 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP . 


delity.  On  the  contrary,  its  excellence 
is  that  it  fortifies  faith.  Unitarianism 
is  Christianity  stripped  of  those  corrupt 
additions  which  shock  reason  and  our 
moral  feelings.  It  is  a rational  and 
amiable  system,  against  which  no  man’s 
understanding,  or  conscience,  or  charity, 
or  piety  revolts.  Can  the  same  be  said 
of  that  system  which  teaches  the  doc- 
trines of  three  equal  persons  in  one  God, 
of  natural  and  total  depravity,  of  infinite 
atonement,  of  special  and  electing  grace, 
and  of  the  everlasting  misery  of  the  non- 
elected  part  of  mankind  ? We  believe 
that  unless  Christianity  be  purified  from 
these  corruptions,  it  will  not  be  able  to 
bear  the  unsparing  scrutiny  to  which  the 
progress  of  society  is  exposing  it.  We 
believe  that  it  must  be  reformed,  or 
intelligent  men  will  abandon  it.  As  the 
friends  of  Christianity,  and  the  foes  of 
infidelity,  we  are  therefore  solicitous  to 
diffuse  what  seem  to  us  nobler  and  juster 
views  of  this  divine  system. 

7.  It  was  our  purpose  to  consider  one 
more  objection  to  our  views  ; namely, 
that  they  give  no  consolation  in  sickness 
and  death.  But  we  have  only  time  to 
express  amazement  at  such  a charge. 
What ! a system  which  insists  with  a 
peculiar  energy  on  the  pardoning  mercy 
of  God,  on  his  universal  and  parental 
love,  and  on  the  doctrine  of  a resurrec- 
tion and  immortality,  — such  a system 
unable  to  give  comfort ! It  unlocks  in- 
finite springs  of  consolation  and  joy,  and 
gives  to  him  who  practically  receives  it 
a living,  overflowing,  and  unspeakable 
hope.  Its  power  to  sustain  the  soul  in 
death  has  been  often  tried ; and  did  we 
believe  dying  men  to  be  inspired,  or  that 
peace  and  hope  in  the  last  hours  were 
God’s  seal  to  the  truth  of  doctrines,  we 
should  be  able  to  settle  at  once  the  con- 
troversy about  Unitarianism.  A striking 


example  of  the  power  of  this  system  in 
disarming  death  was  lately  given  by  a 
young  minister  in  a neighboring  town,* 
known  to  many  of  our  readers,  and 
singularly  endeared  to  his  friends  by 
eminent  Christian  virtue.  He  was  smit- 
ten by  sickness  in  the  midst  of  a useful 
and  happy  life,  and  sunk  slowly  to  the 
grave.  His  religion  — and  it  was  that 
which  has  now  been  defended  — gave 
habitual  peace  to  his  mind,  and  spread 
a sweet  smile  over  his  pale  countenance. 
He  retained  his  faculties  to  his  last  hour ; 
and  when  death  came,  having  left  pious 
counsel  to  the  younger  members  of  his 
family,  and  expressions  of  gratitude  to 
his  parents,  he  breathed  out  life  in  the 
language  of  Jesus,  — “ Father,  into  thy 
hands  I commend  my  spirit.”  Such  was 
the  end  of  one  who  held,  with  an  un- 
wavering faith,  the  great  principles  which 
we  have  here  advanced ; and  yet  our 
doctrine  has  no  consolation,  we  are  told, 
for  sickness  and  death  ! 

We  have  thus  endeavored  to  meet  ob- 
jections commonly  urged  against  our 
views  of  religion  ; and  we  have  done  this, 
not  to  build  up  a party,  but  to  promote 
views  of  Christianity  which  seem  to  us 
particularly  suited  to  strengthen  men’s 
faith  in  it,  and  to  make  it  fruitful  of  good 
works  and  holy  lives.  Christian  virtue, 
Christian  holiness,  love  to  God  and  man, 
these  are  all  which  we  think  worth  con- 
tending for  ; and  these  we  believe  to  be 
intimately  connected  with  the  system 
now  maintained.  If  in  this  we  err,  may 
God  discover  our  error,  and  disappoint 
our  efforts  ! We  ask  no  success  but 
what  He  may  approve,  — no  proselytes 
but  such  as  will  be  made  better,  purer, 
happier  by  the  adoption  of  our  views. 

* Rev.  John  E.  Abbot,  of  Salem.  This  tract  was 
first  published  in  1819  in  the  Christian  Disciple.” 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP: 


Discourse  at  the  Dedication  of  the  Unitarian  Congregational  Church , 
Newport , Rhode  Island \ July  27,  1836. 


John  iv.  23,  24:  “ The  hour  cometh,  and  now  is, 
when  the  true  worshippers  shall  worship  the  Father  in 
spirit  and  in  truth  ; for  the  Father  seeketh  such  to 
worship  him  God  is  a Spirit ; and  they  that  worship 
him  must  worship  him  in  spirit  and  in  truth.” 

The  dedication  of  an  edifice  to  the 


worship  of  God  is  a proper  subject  of 
gratitude  and  joy.  Even  if  the  conse- 
cration be  made  by  Christians  from 
whom  we  differ  in  opinion,  we  should 
still  find  satisfaction  in  the  service.  We 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP . 


409 


should  desire  that  our  neighbors,  whose 
convictions  of  truth  and  duty  require 
them  to  separate  from  us  in  religious 
services,  should  enjoy  the  same  accom- 
modations with  ourselves  ; and  it  should 
comfort  us  to  think  that  Christianity  is 
so  eminently  “the  power  of  God  unto 
salvation,”  its  great  truths  so  plain  and 
so  quickening,  that  among  all  sects  ac- 
knowledging Christ  and  consulting  his 
word,  its  purifying  influences,  however 
counteracted  by  erroneous  views,  will 
more  or  less  be  felt.  We  should  rejoice 
to  think  that  God  can  be  monopolized 
by  no  party  ; that  his  spirit  is  a universal 
presence  ; that  religion,  having  its  root 
in  the  soul  of  man,  can  live  and  flour- 
ish amidst  many  errors  ; that  truth  and 
goodness  can  no  more  be  confined  to  a 
single  church  than  the  light  of  the  sun 
can  be  shut  up  in  a private  dwelling ; 
that  amidst  all  the  diversities  of  forms, 
names,  and  creeds,  acceptable  worship 
may  be  offered  to  God,  and  the  soul 
ascend  to  heaven. 

It  is  the  custom  of  our  times  to  erect 
beautiful  structures  for  the  purposes  of 
the  present  life,  for  legislation,  for  litera- 
ture, for  the  arts.  But  important  as 
these  interests  are,  they  are  not  the  no- 
blest. Man’s  highest  relations  are  not 
political,  earthly,  human.  His  whole 
nature  is  not  exhausted  in  studying  and 
subduing  outward  nature,  in  establish- 
ing outward  order,  in  storing  the  mind 
with  knowledge  which  may  adorn  and 
comfort  his  outward  life.  He  has  wants 
too  deep,  and  powers  and  affections  too 
large,  for  the  outward  world.  He  comes 
from  God.  His  closest  connection  is 
with  God ; and  he  can  find  life  and 
peace  only  in  the  knowledge  of  his  Cre- 
ator. Man’s  glory  or  true  end  is  not 
revealed  to  us  in  the  most  magnificent 
structure  which  the  architect  ever  reared 
for  earthly  uses.  An  humble  spire  point- 
ing heavenward  from  an  obscure  church 
speaks  of  man’s  nature,  man’s  dignity, 
man’s  destiny,  more  eloquently  than  all 
the  columns  and  arches  of  Greece  and 
Rome,  the  mausoleums  of  Asia,  or  the 
pyramids  of  Egypt.  Is  it  not  meet, 
then,  to  be  grateful  and  joyful  when  a 
house  is  set  apart  to  the  worship  of 
God? 

This  edifice  where  we  now  meet  is 
not  indeed  wholly  new.  Its  frame  is 
4 older  than  the  oldest  of  us.  But  so 
V great  are  the  changes  which  it  has  un- 


dergone, that,  were  they  who  laid  its 
foundation  to  revisit  the  earth,  they 
would  trace  hardly  a feature  of  their 
work  ; and  as  it  is  now  entered  by  a 
new  religious  congregation,  there  is  a 
fitness  in  the  present  solemnity  by  which 
we  dedicate  it  to  the  worship  of  God. 
My  purpose  in  this  discourse  is  to  show 
that  we  should  enter  this  edifice  with 
gratitude  and  joy;  first,  because  it  is 
dedicated  to  worship  in  the  most  general 
sense  of  that  term  ; and,  in  the  second 
place,  on  account  of  the  particular  wor- 
ship to  which  it  is  set  apart.  I shall 
close  with  some  remarks  of  a personal 
and  local  character,  which  may  be  al- 
lowed to  one  who  was  born  and  brought 
up  on  this  island,  whose  heart  swells 
with  local  attachment,  and  whose  mem- 
ory is  crowded  with  past  years,  as  he 
stands,  after  a long  absence,  within 
these  walls  where  he  sat  in  his  child- 
hood, and  where  some  of  his  earliest 
impressions  were  received. 

I.  We  ought  to  enter  this  house  with 
gratitude  and  joy,  for  it  is  dedicated  to 
worship.  Its  end  is,  that  men  should 
meet  within  its  walls  to  pay  religious 
homage  ; to  express  and  strengthen 
pious  veneration,  love,  thankfulness, 
and  confidence ; to  seek  and  receive 
pure  influences  from  above ; to  learn 
the  will  of  God ; and  to  consecrate 
themselves  to  the  virtue  in  which  He 
delights.  This  edifice  is  reared  to  the 
glory  of  God,  reared  like  the  universe 
to  echo  with  his  praise,  to  be  a monu- 
ment to  his  being,  perfection,  and  do- 
minion. Worship  is  man’s  highest  end, 
for  it  is  the  employment  of  his  highest 
faculties  and  affections  on  the  sublimest 
object.  We  have  much  for  which  to 
thank  God,  but  for  nothing  so  much  as 
for  the  power  of  knowing  and  adoring 
himself.  This  creation  is  a glorious 
spectacle  ; but  there  is  a more  glorious 
existence  for  our  minds  and  hearts,  and 
that  is  the  Creator.  There  is  something 
divine  in  the  faculties  by  which  we  study 
the  visible  world,  and  subject  it  to  our 
wills,  comfort,  enjoyment.  But  it  is  a 
diviner  faculty  by  which  we  penetrate 
beyond  the  visible,  free  ourselves  of  the 
finite  and  the  mutable,  and  ascend  to 
the  Infinite  and  the  Eternal.  It  is  good 
to  make  earth  and  ocean,  winds  and 
flames,  sun  and  stars,  tributary  to  out 
present  well-being.  How  much  better 
to  make  them  ministers  to  our  spiritual 


4io 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP. 


wants,  teachers  of  heavenly  truth,  guides 
to  a more  glorious  Being  than  them- 
selves, bonds  of  union  between  man 
and  his  Maker  ! 

There  have  been  those  who  have 
sought  to  disparage  worship,  by  repre- 
senting it  as  an  arbitrary,  unnatural  ser- 
vice, a human  contrivance,  an  invention 
for  selfish  ends.  Had  I time,  I should 
be  glad  to  disprove  this  sophistry  by 
laying  open  to  you  human  nature,  and 
showing  the  deep  foundation  laid  in  all 
its  principles  and  wants  for  religion ; 
but  I can  meet  the  objection  only  by  a 
few  remarks  drawn  from  history.  There 
have  been,  indeed,  periods  of  history  in 
which  the  influence  of  the  religious  prin- 
ciple seems  to  have  been  overwhelmed  ; 
but  in  this  it  agrees  with  other  great 
principles  of  our  nature,  which  in  cer- 
tain stages  of  the  race  disappear.  There 
are  certain  conditions  of  society  in  which 
the  desire  of  knowledge  seems  almost 
extinct  among  men,  and  they  abandon 
themselves  for  centuries  to  brutish  ig- 
norance. There  are  communities  in 
which  the  natural  desire  of  reaching  a 
better  lot  gives  not  a sign  of  its  exist- 
ence, and  society  remains  stationary  for 
ages.  There  are  some  in  which  even 
the  parental  affection  is  so  far  dead,  that 
the  new-born  child  is  cast  into  the  stream 
or  exposed  to  the  storm.  So  the  relig- 
ious principle  is  in  some  periods  hardly 
to  be  discerned ; but  it  is  never  lost. 
No  principle  is  more  universally  mani- 
fested. In  the  darkest  ages  there  are 
some  recognitions  of  a superior  power. 
Man  feels  that  there  is  a being  above 
himself,  and  he  clothes  that  being  in 
what  to  his  rude  conception  is  great 
and  venerable.  In  countries  where  ar- 
chitecture was  unknown,  men  chose  the 
solemn  wood  or  the  mountain  top  for 
worship  ; and  when  this  art  appeared  its 
monuments  were  temples  to  God.  Be- 
fore the  invention  of  letters,  hymns  were 
composed  to  the  Divinity;  and  music, 
we  have  reason  to  think,  was  the  off- 
spring of  religion.  Music  in  its  infancy 
was  the  breathing  of  man’s  fears,  wants, 
hopes,  thanks,  praises,  to  an  unseen 
power.  You  tell  me,  my  sceptical  friend, 
that  religion  is  the  contrivance  of  the 
priest.  How  came  the  priest  into  be- 
ing ? What  gave  him  his  power  ? Why 
was  it  that  the  ancient  legislator  pro- 
fessed to  receive  his  laws  from  the 
gods  ? The  fact  is  a striking  one,  that 


the  earliest  guides  and  leaders  of  the 
human  race  looked  to  the  heavens  for 
security  and  strength  to  earthly  institu- 
tions, that  they  were  compelled  to  speak 
to  men  in  a higher  name  than  man’s. 
Religion  was  an  earlier  bond  and  a 
deeper  foundation  of  society  than  gov- 
ernment. It  was  the  root  of  civilization. 
It  has  founded  the  mightiest  empires  ; 
and  yet  men  question  whether  religion 
be  an  element,  a principle  of  human 
nature  ! 

In  the  earliest  ages,  before  the  dawn 
of  science,  man  recognized  an  immediate 
interference  of  the  Divinity  in  whatever 
powerfully  struck  his  senses.  To  the 
savage,  the  thunder  was  literally  God’s 
voice,  the  lightning  his  arrow,  the  whirl- 
wind his  breath.  Every  unusual  event 
was  a miracle,  a prodigy,  a promise  of 
good,  or  a menace  of  evil  from  heaven. 
These  rude  notions  have  faded  before 
the  light  of  science,  which  reveals  fixed 
laws,  a stated  order  of  nature.  But  in 
these  laws,  this  order,  the  religious  prin- 
ciple now  finds  confirmations  of  God, 
infinitely  more  numerous  and  powerful 
than  the  savage  found  in  his  prodigies. 
In  this  age  of  the  world  there  is  a voice 
louder  than  thunder  and  whirlwinds,  at- 
testing the  Divinity ; the  voice  of  the 
wisely  interpreted  works  of  God,  every- 
where proclaiming  wisdom  unsearchable, 
harmony  unbroken,  and  a benevolent 
purpose  in  what  to  ages  of  ignorance 
seemed  ministers  of  wrath.  In  the 
present,  above  all  times,  worship  may 
be  said  to  have  its  foundation  in  our 
nature  ; for  by  the  improvements  of  this 
nature,  we  have  placed  ourselves  nearer 
to  God  as  revealed  in  his  universe.  The 
clouds  which  once  hung  over  the  crea- 
tion are  scattered.  The  heavens,  the 
earth,  the  plant,  the  human  frame,  now 
that  they  are  explored  by  science,  speak 
of  God  as  they  never  did  before.  His 
handwriting  is  brought  out  where  former 
ages  saw  but  a blank.  Nor  is  it  only  by 
the  progress  of  science  that  the  founda- 
tion of  religion  is  made  broader  and 
deeper.  The  progress  of  the  arts,  in 
teaching  us  the  beneficent  uses  to  which 
God’s  works  may  be  applied,  in  extract- 
ing from  them  new  comforts,  and  in 
diminishing  or  alleviating  human  suffer- 
ing, has  furnished  new  testimonies  to 
the  goodness  of  the  Creator.  Still  more, 
the  progress  of  society  has  given  new 
power  and  delicacy  to  the  sense  of 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP . 


beauty  in  human  nature,  and  in  conse- 
quence of  this  the  creation  of  God  has 
become  a far  more  attractive,  lovely,  and 
magnificent  work  than  men  looked  on 
in  earlier  times.  Above  all,  the  moral 
susceptibilities  and  wants,  the  deeper 
and  more  refined  feelings,  which  unfold 
themselves  in  the  course  of  human  im- 
provement, are  so  many  new  capacities 
and  demands  for  religion.  Our  nature 
is  perpetually  developing  new  senses 
for  the  perception  and  enjoyment  of 
God.  The  human  race,  as  it  advances, 
does  not  leave  religion  behind  it,  as  it 
leaves  the  shelter  of  caves  and  forests  ; 
does  not  outgrow  faith,  does  not  see  it 
fading  like  the  mist  before  its  rising  in- 
telligence. On  the  contrary,  religion 
opens  before  the  improved  mind  in  new 
grandeur.  God,  whom  uncivilized  man 
had  narrowed  into  a local  and  tutelar 
deity,  rises  with  every  advance  of  knowl- 
edge to  a loftier  throne,  and  is  seen  to 
sway  a mightier  sceptre.  The  soul,  in 
proportion  as  it  enlarges  its  faculties 
and  refines  its  affections,  possesses  and 
discerns  within  itself  a more  and  more 
glorious  type  of  the  Divinity,  learns  his 
spirituality  in  its  own  spiritual  powers, 
and  offers  him  a profounder  and  more  in- 
ward worship.  Thus  deep  is  the  founda- 
tion of  worship  in  human  nature.  Men 
may  assail  it,  may  reason  against  it ; 
but  sooner  can  the  laws  of  the  outward 
universe  be  repealed  by  human  will, 
sooner  can  the  sun  be  plucked  from  his 
sphere,  than  the  idea  of  God  can  be 
erased  from  the  human  spirit,  and  his 
worship  banished  from  the  earth.  All 
other  wants  of  man  are  superficial.  His 
animal  wants  are  but  for  a day,  and  are 
to  cease  with  the  body.  The  profound- 
est  of  all  human  wants  is  the  want  of 
God.  Mind,  spirit,  must  tend  to  its 
source.  It  cannot  find  happiness  but 
in  the  perfect  Mind,  the  Infinite  Spirit. 
Worship  has  survived  all  revolutions. 
Corrupted,  dishonored,  opposed,  it  yet 
lives.  It  is  immortal  as  its  Object,  im- 
mortal as  the  soul  from  which  it  ascends. 

Let  us  rejoice,  then,  in  this  house.  It 
is  dedicated  to  worship  ; it  can  have  no 
higher  use.  The  heaven  of  heavens  has 
no  higher  service  or  joy.  The  universe 
has  no  higher  work.  Its  chief  office  is 
to  speak  of  God.  The  sun,  in  awaken- 
ing innumerable  forms  of  animal  and 
vegetable  life,  exerts  no  influence  to  be 
compared  with  what  it  puts  forth  in 


411 

kindling  the  human  soul  into  piety,  in 
being  a type,  representative,  preacher  of 
the  glory  of  God. 

II.  I have  now  spoken  of  worship  in 
the  most  general  sense.  I have  said 
that  this  house,  considered  as  separated 
to  the  adoration  of  God,  should  be  en- 
tered joyfully  and  gratefully,  without 
stopping  to  inquire  under  what  partic- 
ular views  or  forms  God  is  here  to  be 
adored.  I now  proceed  to  observe,  that 
when  we  consider  the  particular  wor- 
ship which  is  here  to  be  offered,  this 
occasion  ought  to  awaken  pious  joy.  I 
need  not  tell  you,  that  whilst  the  relig- 
ious principle  is  a part  of  man’s  nature, 
it  is  not  always  developed  and  manifested 
under  the  same  forms.  Men,  agreeing 
in  the  recognition  of  a Divinity,  have 
not  agreed  as  to  the  service  He  may  ac- 
cept. Indeed  it  seems  inevitable  that 
men,  who  differ  in  judgment  on  all  sub- 
jects of  thought,  should  form  different 
apprehensions  of  the  invisible,  infinite, 
and  mysterious  God,  and  of  the  methods 
of  adoring  him.  Uniformity  of  opinion 
is  to  be  found  nowhere,  and  ought  to  be 
expected  least  of  all  in  religion.  Who, 
that  considers  the  vast,  the  indescrib- 
able diversity  in  men’s  capacities  and 
means  of  improvement,  in  the  discipline 
to  which  they  are  subjected,  in  the 
schools  in  which  they  are  trained,  in 
the  outward  vicissitudes  and  inward  con- 
flicts through  which  they  pass,  can 
expect  them  to  arrive  at  the  same  con- 
clusions in  regard  to  their  origin  and 
destiny,  in  regard  to  the  Being  from 
whom  they  sprang,  and  the  world  toward 
which  they  tend.  Accordingly,  religion 
has  taken  innumerable  forms,  and  some, 
it  must  be  acknowledged,  most  unwor- 
thy of  its  objects.  The  great  idea  of 
God  has  been  seized  upon  by  men’s 
selfish  desires,  hopes,  and  fears,  and 
often  so  obscured  that  little  of  its  puri- 
fying power  has  remained.  Man,  full  of 
wants,  conscious  of  guilt,  exposed  to 
suffering,  and  peculiarly  struck  by  the 
more  awful  phenomena  of  nature,  has 
been  terror-smitten  before  the  unseen, 
irresistible  power  with  which  he  has  felt 
himself  encompassed.  Hence,  to  ap- 
pease his  wrath  and  to  secure  his  par- 
tial regards  has  been  the  great  object  of 
worship.  Hence,  worship  has  been  so 
often  a pompous  machinery,  a tribute  of 
obsequious  adulation,  an  accumulation 
of  gifts  and  victims.  Hence,  worship 


412 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP. 


has  been  the  effort  of  nations  and  indi- 
viduals to  bend  the  Almighty  to  their 
particular  interests  and  purposes,  and 
not  the  reverential,  grateful,  joyful,  filial 
lifting  up  of  the  soul  to  Infinite  Great- 
ness, Goodness,  Rectitude,  and  Purity. 
Even  under  Christianity  human  infirm- 
ity has  disfigured  the  thought  of  God. 
Worship  has  been  debased,  by  fear  and 
selfishness,  into  a means  of  propitiating 
wrath,  calming  fear,  and  securing  future 
enjoyment.  All  sects  have  carried  their 
imperfection  into  their  religion.  None 
of  us  can  boast  of  exemption  from  the 
common  frailty.  That  this  house  is  to 
be  set  apart  to  a perfect,  spotless,  un- 
erring worship,  none  of  us  are  so  pre- 
sumptuous as  to  hope.  But  I believe 
that  in  the  progress  of  society  and  Chris- 
tianity, higher  and  purer  conceptions  of 
the  Divinity  have  been  unfolded  ; and  I 
cannot  but  believe  that  the  views  of 
God  and  of  his  worship  to  which  this 
house  is  now  consecrated,  are  so  far 
enlightened,  enlarged,  purified,  as  to 
justify  us  in  entering  its  walls  with 
great  thankfulness  and  joy. 

This  house  is  not  reared  to  perpetuate 
the  superstitions  of  past  ages  nor  of  the 
present  age.  It  is  not  reared  to  doom 
the  worshipper  to  continual  repetition 
of  his  own  or  other  delusions.  It  is 
reared  for  the  progress  of  truth,  reared 
in  the  faith  that  the  church  is  destined 
to  new  light  and  new  purity,  reared  in 
the  anticipation  of  a happier,  holier  age. 
As  I look  round,  I am  met  by  none  of 
the  representations  of  the  Divinity  which 
degraded  the  ancient  temples.  My  eyes 
light  on  no  image  of  wood  or  stone,  on 
no  efforts  of  art  to  embody  to  the  eye 
the  invisible  Spirit.  As  I look  round, 
I am  met  by  none  of  the  forms  which 
Providence,  in  accommodation  to  a rude 
stage  of  society,  allowed  to  the  Jewish 
people.  No  altar  sends  up  here  the 
smoke  of  incense  or  victims.  No  priest- 
hood, gorgeously  arrayed,  presents  to 
God  the  material  offerings  of  man.  Nor 
are  my  eyes  pained  by  cumbersome  cer- 
emonies, by  which  in  later  ages  Chris- 
tianity was  overlaid,  and  almost  over- 
whelmed. No  childish  pomps,  borrowed 
from  Judaism  and  Heathenism,  obscure 
here  the  simple  majesty,  the  sublime 
spiritual  purpose  of  Christianity.  Nor 
is  this  house  reared  for  the  promulgation 
of  doctrines  which  tend  to  perpetuate 
the  old  servility  with  which  God  was 


approached,  to  make  man  abject  in  the 
sight  of  his  Maker,  to  palsy  him  with 
terror,  to  prostrate  his  reason.  This 
house  is  reared  to  assist  the  worshipper 
in  conceiving  and  offering  more  and 
more  perfectly  the  worship  described  in 
the  text,  the  worship  of  the  Father  in 
spirit  and  in  truth.  On  this  topic,  on 
the  nature  of  the  worship  to  be  offered 
in  this  house,  I have  many  reflections 
to  offer.  My  illustrations  may  be  re- 
duced to  the  following  heads  : — This 
house  is  reared,  first,  for  the  worship  of 
one  Infinite  Person,  and  one  only  ; of 
him  whom  Jesus  always  distinguished 
and  addressed  as  the  Father,  "in  the 
next  place,  it  is  erected  for  the  worship 
of  God  under  the  special  character  of 
Father,  that  is,  of  a Parental  Divinity. 
In  the  last  place,  it  is  set  apart  to  the 
worship  of  him  in  spirit  and  in  truth. 

First,  you  have  prepared  this  edifice 
that  here  you  may  worship  one  Infinite 
Person,  even  him  and  him  only  whom 
Jesus  continually  calls  the  Father.  One 
would  think  that  on  this  point  there 
could  be  no  difference  among  Chris- 
tians. One  would  think  that  Jesus  had 
placed  the  Object  of  Christian  worship 
beyond  all  dispute.  It  is  hard  to  con- 
ceive more  solemn,  more  definite  lan- 
guage than  he  has  used.  “ The  hour 
cometh  and  now  is,  when  the  true  wor- 
shippers shall  worship  the  Father  in 
spirit  and  in  truth,  for  the  Father  seek- 
eth  such  to  worship  him.”  Yet  it  is 
well  known  that  very  many  Christians 
deny  that  one  person,  the  Father,  is  the 
only  proper  object  of  supreme  worship. 
They  maintain  that  two  other  persons, 
the  Son  and  the  Holy  Spirit,  are  to  be 
joined  with  him  in  our  adoration,  and 
that  the  most  important  distinction  of 
the  Christian  religion  is  the  worship  of 
God  in  three  persons.  Against  this  hu- 
man exposition  of  Christianity  we  ear- 
nestly protest.  Whilst  we  recognize 
with  joy  the  sincerity  and  piety  of  those 
who  adopt  it,  we  maintain  that  this  gross 
departure  from  the  simplicity  and  purity 
of  our  faith  is  fraught  with  evil  to  the 
individual  and  the  church.  This  house 
is  reared  to  be  a monument  to  the  proper 
unity  of  God.  We  worship  the  Father. 

All  the  grounds  of  this  peculiarity  of 
our  worship  cannot  of  course  be.  ex- 
pounded in  the  limits  of  a discourse, 
nor  indeed  do  we  deem  any  labored  ex- 
position necessary.  We  start  from  a 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP. 


413 


plain  principle.  We  affirm  that  if  any 
point  in  a religious  system  must  be 
brought  out  explicitly,  must  not  be  left 
to  inference,  but  set  forth  in  simple,  di- 
rect, authoritative  language,  it  is  the 
object  of  worship.  On  this  point  we 
should  expect  peculiar  explicitness,  if  a 
revelation  should  be  communicated  for 
the  purpose  of  giving  a new  direction  to 
men’s  minds  in  this  particular.  Now, 
among  Jews  and  Gentiles,  the  worship 
of  three  infinite  persons,  one  of  whom 
was  clothed  with  a human  form,  was  un- 
known ; and,  of  consequence,  if  this 
strange,  mighty  innovation  had  been  in- 
tended by  Jesus,  and  had  constituted 
the  most  striking  peculiarity  of  his  sys- 
tem, it  must  have  been  announced  with 
all  possible  clearness  and  strength.  Be 
it  then  remembered  that  Jesus,  in  a sol- 
emn description  of  the  true  worship 
which  he  was  to  introduce,  made  not  an 
allusion  to  this  peculiarity,  but  declared, 
as  the  characteristic  to  the  true  wor- 
shippers, that  they  should  worship  the 
Father  in  spirit  and  in  truth.  Be  it  also 
remembered  that  Jesus  never  enjoined 
the  worship  of  three  persons,  Father, 
Son,  and  Holy  Spirit.  Not  one  injunc- 
tion to  this  effect  can  be  found  in  the 
Gospel  or  in  the  writings  of  the  Apos- 
tles. This  strange  worship  rests  on 
inference  alone.  “ The  true  worship- 
pers,” says  the  text,  “ shall  worship 
the  Father.”  When  his  disciples  came 
to  him  to  be  instructed  in  prayer,  he 
taught  them  to  say,  Our  Father.  In  his 
last  affectionate  discourse,  he  again  and 
again  taught  his  disciples  to  pray  to  the 
Father  in  his  name.  This  dying  injunc- 
tion, so  often  and  so  tenderly  repeated, 
should  not  for  slight  reasons  be  ex- 
plained away.  Still  more,  just  before 
his  death,  Jesus  himself,  in  presence  of 
his  disciples,  prayed  to  the  Father,  and 
prayed  in  this  language  : Father,  This 
is  life  eternal,  that  they  (i.  e .,  men) 
should  know  thee,  the  only  true  God, 
and  Jesus  Christ,  whom  thou  hast  se?it. 

To  these  remarks  it  is  common  to  re- 
ply that  we  read  in  the  New  Testament 
that  Jesus  was  again  and  again  wor- 
shipped, and  that  in  admitting  this  he 
manifested  himself  to  be  the  object  of 
religious  adoration.  It  is  wonderful 
that  this  fallacy,  so  often  exposed, 
should  be  still  repeated.  Jesus  indeed 
received  worship  or  homage,  but  this 
was  not  offered  as  adoration  to  the  In- 


finite God ; it  was  the  homage  which, 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  age  and 
of  the  eastern  world,  was  paid  to  men 
invested  with  great  authority,  whether 
in  civil  or  religious  concerns.  Whoever 
has  studied  the  Scriptures  with  the  least 
discernment  must  know  that  the  word 
worship  is  used  in  two  different  senses, 
to  express,  first,  the  adoration  due  to  the 
Infinite  Creator,  and  secondly,  the  rev- 
erence which  was  due  to  sovereigns  and 
prophets,  and  which  of  course  belonged 
peculiarly  to  the  most  illustrious  repre- 
sentative of  God,  to  his  beloved  Son. 
Whoever  understands  the  import  of  the 
English  language  in  the  time  when  our 
translation  was  made,  must  know  that 
the  word  was  then  used  to  express  the 
homage  paid  to  human  superiors,  as  well 
as  the  supreme  reverence  belonging  to 
God  alone.  Let  not  an  ambiguous  word 
darken  the  truth.  We  are  sure  that  the 
worship  paid  to  Christ  during  his  public 
ministry  was  rendered  to  him  as  a divine 
messenger,  and  not  as  God ; for,  in  the 
first  place,  it  was  offered  before  his 
teachings  had  been  sufficiently  full  and 
distinct  to  reveal  the  mystery  of  his 
nature,  supposing  it  to  have  been  di- 
vine. We  pronounce  it  not  merely 
improbable,  but  impossible,  that  Jesus, 
a poor  man,  a mechanic  from  Galilee, 
at  the  beginning  of  his  mission,  when 
his  chosen  disciples  were  waiting  for 
his  manifestation  as  an  earthly  prince, 
should  have  been  adored  as  the  ever- 
lasting, invisible  God.  Again,  the  titles 
given  him  by  those  who  worshipped 
him,  such  as  Good  Teacher,  Son  of 
David,  Son  of  God,  show  us  that  the 
thought  of  adoring  him  as  the  self- 
existent,  infinite  Divinity,  had  no  place 
in  their  minds.  But  there  is  one  con- 
sideration which  sets  this  point  at  rest. 
The  worship  paid  to  Jesus  during  his 
ministry  was  offered  him  in  public,  in 
sight  of  the  Jewish  people.  Now,  to 
the  Jews  no  crime  was  so  flagrant  as 
the  paying  of  divine  homage  to  a human 
being,  such  as  they  esteemed  Jesus  to 
be.  Of  consequence,  had  they  seen  in 
the  marks  of  honor  yielded  to  Jesus 
even  an  approach  to  this  adoration,  their 
exasperation  would  have  burst  forth  in 
immediate  overwhelming  violence  on 
the  supposed  impiety.  The  fact  that 
they  witnessed  the  frequent  prostration 
of  men  before  Jesus,  or  what  is  called 
the  worship  of  him,  without  once  charg- 


414 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP. 


ing  it  as  a crime,  is  a demonstration  that 
the  act  was  in  no  respect  a recognition 
of  him  as  the  Supreme  God. 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  the  pas- 
sages which  are  announced  as  the 
strongest  proofs  of  the  divine  worship 
of  Christ  directly  disprove  the  doctrine, 
if  the  connection  be  regarded.  One  of 
these  texts  is  the  declaration  of  Jesus 
that  we  must  “ honor  the  Son  even  as 
we  honor  the  Father.”  Hear  the  whole 
passage:  “ The  Father  hath  give?i  all 
judgment  to  the  Son,  that  all  men  should 
honor  the  Son,  as  they  honor  the  Father. 
He  that  honoreth  not  the  Son,  honoreth 
not  the  Father  who  sent  him.”  * You 
observe,  that  it  is  not  the  supreme  un- 
derived divinity  of  Christ,  but  the  power 
given  him  by  his  Father,  which  is  here 
expressly  declared  to  be  the  foundation 
of  the  honor  challenged  for  him,  and 
that  we  are  called  to  honor  him,  as  sent 
by  God.  Another  passage  much  relied 
on  is  the  declaration  of  Paul,  that  “at 
the  name  of  Jesus  every  knee  should 
bow  and  every  tongue  acknowledge  him 
Lord.”  Read  the  whole  text : “ God 
hath  highly  exalted  him,  and  given  him 
a name  above  every  name,  that  in  the 
name  of  Jesus  every  knee  should  bow, 
of  things  in  heaven,  and  things  in  earth, 
and  things  under  the  earth  ; and  that 
every  tongue  should  confess  that  Jesus 
Christ  is  Lord,  to  the  glory  of  God 
the  Father.”  f Could  language  express 
more  clearly  the  distinct,  derived,  and 
dependent  nature  of  Jesus  Christ,  or 
teach  that  the  worship  due  him  is  sub- 
ordinate, having  for  its  foundation  the 
dignity  conferred  on  him  by  God,  and 
terminating  on  the  Father  as  its  supreme 
object  ?% 

This  house,  then,  is  erected  to  the 
supreme  worship  of  the  Father,  to  the 
recognition  of  the  Father  only  as  the 
self-existent,  Infinite  God.  Homage  will 
here  be  paid  to  Jesus  Christ,  and,  I 
trust,  a far  more  profound  and  affec- 
tionate homage  than  he  received  on 
earth,  when  his  spiritual  character  and 
the  true  purposes  of  his  mission  were 
almost  unknown.  But  we  shall  honor 
him  as  the  Son,  the  brightest  image,  the 
sent  of  God,  not  as  God  himself.  We 
shall  honor  him  as  exalted  above  every 
name  or  dignity  in  heaven  or  earth,  but 
as  exalted  by  God  for  his  obedience  unto 

* John  v.  22,  23.  t Philippians  ii.  9. 

$ See  author’s  note  (A)  at  end  of  this  discourse. 


death.  We  shall  honor  him  as  clothed 
with  power  to  give  life,  and  judge,  but 
shall  remember  that  the  Father  hath 
given  all  judgment  and  quickening  en- 
ergy to  the  Son.  We  look  up  with  de- 
light and  reverence  to  his  divine  virtues, 
his  celestial  love,  his  truth,  his  spirit ; 
and  we  are  sure  that  in  as  far  as  we  im- 
bibe these  from  the  affectionate  remem- 
brance of  his  life,  death,  and  triumphs, 
we  shall  render  the  worship  most  ac- 
ceptable to  this  disinterested  friend  of 
the  human  race. 

I have  said  that  this  house  is  set 
apart  to  the  worship  of  the  Father.  But 
this  term  expresses  not  only  the  Per- 
son, the  Being  to  whom  it  is  to  be  paid. 
It  expresses  a peculiar  character.  It 
ascribes  peculiar  attributes  to  God.  It 
ascribes  to  him  the  parental  relation  and 
the  disposition  of  a parent.  I therefore 
observe,  in  the  second  place,  that  this 
house  is  reared  to  the  adoration  of  God 
in  his  paternal  character.  It  is  reared 
to  a Parental  Divinity.  To  my  own 
mind  this  view  is  more  affecting  than 
the  last.  Nothing  so  touches  me,  when 
I look  round  these  walls,  as  the  thought 
that  God  is  to  be  worshipped  here  as 
the  Father.  That  God  has  not  always 
been  worshipped  as  a Father,  even 
among  Christians,  you  well  know.  Men 
have  always  inclined  to  think  that  they 
honor  God  by  placing  him  on  a distant 
throne,  much  more  than  by  investing 
him  with  the  mild  lustre  of  parental 
goodness.  They  have  made  him  a stern 
sovereign,  giving  life  on  hard  terms, 
preferring  his  own  honor  to  the  welfare 
of  his  creatures,  demanding  an  obedience 
which  He  gives  no  strength  to  perform, 
preparing  endless  torments  for* creatures 
whom  He  brings  into  being  wholly  evil, 
and  refusing  to  pardon  the  least  sin,  the 
sin  of  the  child,  without  an  infinite  satis- 
faction. Men  have  too  often  been  de- 
graded, broken  in  spirit,  stripped  of 
manly  feeling,  rather  than  lifted  up  to 
true  dignity,  by  their  religion.  How 
seldom  has  worship  breathed  the  noblest 
sentiments  of  human  nature ! Thanks 
to  Jesus  Christ,  that  he  came  to  bring 
us  to  a purifying,  ennobling,  rejoicing 
adoration.  He  has  revealed  the  Father. 
His  own  character  was  a bright  revela- 
tion of  the  most  lovely  and  attractive 
attributes  of  the  Divinity,  so  that  he  was 
able  to  say,  “ He  that  hath  seen  me 
hath  seen  the  Father.”  By  his  mani- 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP. 


festation  of  the  parental  character  of 
God,  he  created  religion  anew.  He 
breathed  a new  and  heavenly  spirit  into 
worship.  He  has  made  adoration  a filial 
communion,  assimilating  us  to  our  Cre- 
ator. Ought  we  not,  then,  to  rejoice  in 
this  house  as  set  apart  to  the  worship  of 
the  Father,  to  the  God  and  Father  of 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  ? 

The  Father!  In  this  one  word  what 
consoling,  strengthening,  ennobling 
truth  is  wrapped  up ! In  this  single 
view  of  God,  how  much  is  there  to  bind 
us  to  him  with  strong,  indissoluble,  ever- 
growing love,  and  to  make  worship  not 
only  our  chief  duty,  but  our  highest 
privilege  and  joy!  The  Father!  can 
it  be  that  “the  High  and  Holy  One 
who  inhabiteth  eternity,”  “ the  Lord  of 
heaven  and  earth,”  the  Majesty  of  the 
universe,  bears  to  us  this  relation,  re- 
veals himself  under  this  name,  and  that 
we,  so  weak  and  erring,  may  approach 
him  with  the  hope  of  children  ! Who 
cannot  comprehend  the  dignity  and 
blessedness  of  such  worship  ? Who 
does  not  feel  that  the  man  to  whom 
God’s  parental  character  is  a deep-felt 
reality,  has  in  this  conviction  a fountain 
of  strength,  hope,  and  purity,  springing 
up  into  everlasting  life  ? 

But  to  offer  this  true  worship,  we 
must  understand  distinctly  what  we 
mean  when  we  call  God  the  Father. 
The  word  has  a deep  and  a glorious  im- 
port, and  in  as  far  as  this  is  unknown, 
religion  will  want  life  and  power.  Is  it 
understood  ? I am  bound  to  say  that 
there  seems  to  me  a want  of  purity,  of 
spirituality,  in  the  conception  of  God’s 
parental  relation,  even  among  those 
Christians  who  profess  to  make  it  the 
great  foundation  and  object  of  their  wor- 
ship. Too  many  rest  in  vague  concep- 
tions of  God  as  their  Creator,  who  sup- 
plies their  wants,  and  who  desires  their 
happiness,  and  they  think  that,  thus  re- 
garding him,  they  know  the  Father. 
Such  imperfect  views  incline  me  to  state 
at  some  length  what  I deem  the  truth 
on  this  point.  No  truth  is  so  essential 
to  Christian  worship.  No  truth  sheds 
such  a flood  of  light  on  the  whole  sub- 
ject of  religion. 

My  friends,  you  are  to  come  here  to 
worship  the  Father.  What  does  this 
term  import  ? It  does  not  mean  merely 
that  God  is  your  Creator.  He  is,  in- 
deed, the  Creator,  and,  as  such,  let  him 


415 

be  adored.  This  is  his  sole  prerogative. 
His,  and  his  only,  is  the  mysterious 
power  which  filled  the  void  space  with 
a universe ; his  the  Almighty  voice 
which  called  the  things  which  were  not, 
and  they  came  forth.  The  universe  is 
a perpetual  answer  to  this  creating  word. 
For  this,  worship  God.  In  every  thing 
hear  an  exhortation  to  adore.  In  the 
grandeur,  beauty,  order  of  nature,  see  a 
higher  glory  than  its  own,  a mysterious 
force  deeper  than  all  its  motions  ; and 
from  its  countless  voices,  from  its  mild 
and  awful  tones,  gather  the  one  great 
lesson  which  they  conspire  to  teach,  — 
the  majesty  of  their  Author. 

But,  my  friends,  God  is  more  than 
Creator.  To  create  is  not  to  be  a Fa- 
ther in  the  highest  sense  of  that  term. 
He  created  the  mountain,  the  plant,  the 
insect,  but  we  do  not  call  him  their 
father.  We  do  not  call  the  artist  the 
father  of  the  statue  which  he  models, 
nor  the  mechanician  the  father  of  the  ma- 
chine he  contrives.  It  is  the  distinction 
of  a father  that  he  communicates  an  ex- 
istence like  his  own.  The  father  gives 
being  to  the  child,  and  the  very  idea  of 
the  child  is,  that  he  bears  the  image  as 
well  as  receives  existence  from  the 
power  of  the  parent.  God  is  the  Father, 
because  He  brings  into  life  minds,  spir- 
its, partaking  of  energies  kindred  to  his 
own  attributes.  Accordingly  the  Script- 
ure teaches  us  that  God  made  man  in 
his  own  image,  after  his  own  likeness. 
Here  is  the  ground  of  his  paternal  rela- 
tion to  the  human  race,  and  hence  He  is 
called  in  an  especial  sense  the  Father  of 
those  who  make  it  the  labor  of  life  to 
conform  themselves  more  and  more  to 
their  divine  original.  God  is  “the  Fa- 
ther of  spirits.” 

My  friends,  we  are  not  wholly  matter, 
we  are  not  wholly  flesh.  Were  we  so, 
we  could  not  call  God  our  Father.  God 
is  a spirit,  says  the  text,  and  we  are 
spirits  also.  This  our  consciousness 
teaches.  We  are  conscious  of  a princi- 
ple superior  to  the  body  which  compre- 
hends and  controls  it.  We  are  conscious 
of  faculties  higher  than  the  senses.  We 
do  something  more  than  receive  impres- 
sions passively,  unresistingly,  like  the 
brute,  from  the  outward  world.  We 
analyze,  compare,  and  combine  anew 
the  things  which  we  see,  subject  the 
outward  world  to  the  inquisition  of  rea- 
son, create  sciences,  rise  to  general  laws, 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP . 


416 

and  through  these  establish  an  empire 
over  earth  and  sea.  We  penetrate  be- 
neath the  surface  which  the  senses  re- 
port ; search  for  the  hidden  causes, 
inquire  for  the  ends  or  purposes,  trace 
out  the  connections,  dependencies,  and 
harmonies  of  nature  ; discover  a sublime 
unity  amidst  its  boundless  variety,  and 
order  amidst  its  seeming  confusion  ; rise 
to  the  idea  of  one  all-comprehending 
and  all-ordaining  Mind ; and  thus  by 
thought  make  as  it  were  a new  universe 
radiant  with  wisdom,  beneficence,  and 
beauty.  We  are  not  mere  creatures  of 
matter  and  sense.  We  conceive  a higher 
good  than  comes  from  the  senses.  We 
possess,  as  a portion  of  our  being,  a law 
higher  than  appetite,  nobler  and  more 
enduring  than  all  the  laws  of  matter,  — 
the  law  of  duty.  We  discern,  we  ap- 
prove, the  right,  the  good,  the  just,  the 
holy,  and  by  this  sense  of  rectitude  are 
laid  under  obligations  which  no  power 
of  the  outward  universe  can  dissolve. 
We  have  within  us  a higher  force  than 
all  the  forces  of  material  nature,  — a 
power  of  will  which  can  adhere  to  duty 
and  to  God  in  opposition  to  all  the  might 
of  the  elements  and  all  the  malignity  of 
earth  or  hell.  We  have  thoughts,  ideas, 
which  do  not  come  from  matter,  — the 
ideas  of  the  Infinite,  the  Everlasting, 
the  Immutable,  the  Perfect.  Living 
amidst  the  frail,  the  limited,  the  chang- 
ing, we  rise  to  the  thought  of  Unbounded, 
Eternal,  Almighty  Goodness.  Nor  is 
this  all.  While  matter  obeys  mechanical 
and  irresistible  laws,  and  is  bound  by  an 
unrelaxing  necessity  to  the  same  fixed, 
unvarying  movements,  we  feel  ourselves 
to  be  free.  We  have  power  over  our- 
selves, over  thought  and  desire,  power 
to  conform  ourselves  to  a law  written 
on  our  hearts,  and  power  to  resist  this 
law.  Man  must  never  be  confounded 
with  the  material,  mechanical  world 
around  him.  He  is  a spirit.  He  has 
capacities,  thoughts,  impulses,  which 
assimilate  him  to  God.  His  reason  is 
a ray  of  the  Infinite  Reason ; his  con- 
science, an  oracle  of  the  Divinity,  pub- 
lishing the  everlasting  law  of  rectitude. 
Therefore  God  is  his  Father.  There- 
fore he  is  bound  to  his  Maker  by  a spir- 
itual bond.  This  we  must  feel,  or  we 
know  nothing  of  the  parental  relation  of 
God  to  the  human  race. 

God  is  the  Father,  and  as  such  let 
him  be  worshipped.  He  is  the  Father. 


By  this  I understand  that  He  has  given 
being  not  only  to  worlds  of  matter,  but 
to  a rational,  moral,  spiritual  universe  ; 
and,  still  more,  I understand  not  only 
that  He  has  created  a spiritual  family  in 
heaven  and  on  earth,  but  that  He  mani- 
fests towards  them  the  attributes  and 
exerts  on  them  the  influences  of  a father. 
Some  of  these  attributes  and  influences 
I will  suggest,  that  the  parental  char- 
acter in  which  God  is  to  be  worshipped 
may  be  more  distinctly  apprehended  and 
more  deeply  felt. 

First,  then,  in  calling  God  the  Father, 
I understand  that  He  loves  his  rational 
and  moral  offspring  with  unbounded 
affection.  Love  is  the  fundamental  at- 
tribute of  a father.  How  deep,  strong, 
tender,  enduring,  the  attachment  of  a 
human  parent ! But  this  shadows  forth 
feebly  the  Divine  Parent.  He  loves  us 
with  an  energy  like  that  with  which  He 
upholds  the  universe.  The  human  par- 
ent does  not  comprehend  his  child,  can- 
not penetrate  the  mystery  of  the  spiritual 
nature  which  lies  hid  beneath  the  infant 
form.  It  is  the  prerogative  of  God  alone 
to  understand  the  immortal  mind  to 
which  He  gives  life.  The  narrowest 
human  spirit  can  be  comprehended  in 
its  depths  and  destiny  by  none  but  its 
Maker,  and  is  more  precious  in  his  sight 
than  material  worlds.  Is  He  not  pecul- 
iarly its  Father  ? 

Again,  in  calling  God  the  Father,  I 
understand  that  it  is  his  chief  purpose 
in  creating  and  governing  the  universe 
to  educate,  train,  form,  and  ennoble  the 
rational  and  moral  being  to  whom  He 
has  given  birth.  Education  is  the  great 
work  of  a parent,  and  he  who  neglects 
it  is  unworthy'  the  name.  God  gives 
birth  to  the  mind,  that  it  may  grow  and 
rise  for  ever,  and  its  progress  is  the  end 
of  all  his  works.  This  outward  universe, 
with  its  sun  and  stars,  and  mighty  revo- 
lutions, is  but  a school  in  which  the 
Father  is  training  his  children.  God  is 
ever  present  to  the  human  mind  to  carry 
on  its  education,  pouring  in  upon  it  in- 
struction and  incitement  from  the  out- 
ward world,  stirring  up  everlasting  truth 
within  itself,  rousing  it  to  activity  by 
pleasure  and  pain,  calling  forth  its  affec- 
tions by  surrounding  fellow-creatures, 
calling  it  to  duty  by  placing  it  amidst 
various  relations,  awakening  its  sym- 
pathy by  sights  of  sorrow,  awakening 
its  imagination  by  a world  of  beauty, 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP, 


41 7 


and  especially  exposing  it  to  suffering, 
hardship,  and  temptation,  that  by  resist- 
ance it  may  grow  strong,  and  by  seeking 
help  from  above  it  may  bind  itself  closely 
to  its  Maker.  Thus  he  is  the  Father. 
There  are  those  who  think  that  God,  if 
a parent,  must  make  our  enjoyment  his 
supreme  end.  He  has  a higher  end, 
our  intellectual  and  moral  education. 
Even  the  good  human  parent  desires 
the  progress,  the  virtue  of  his  child  more 
than  its  enjoyment.  God  never  mani- 
fests himself  more  as  our  Father  than  in 
appointing  to  us  pains,  conflicts,  trials, 
by  which  we  may  rise  to  the  heroism  of 
virtue,  may  become  strong  to  do,  to 
dare,  to  suffer,  to  sacrifice  all  things  at 
the  call  of  truth  and  duty. 

Again,  in  calling  God  a Father,  I un- 
derstand that  he  exercises  authority  over 
his  rational  offspring.  Authority  is  the 
essential  attribute  of  a father.  A parent, 
worthy  of  that  name,  embodies  and  ex- 
presses, both  in  commands  and  actions, 
the  everlasting  law  of  duty.  His  highest 
function  is  to  bring  out  in  the  minds  of 
his  children  the  idea  of  right,  and  to 
open  to  them  the  perfection  of  their 
nature.  It  is  too  common  a notion,  that 
God,  as  Father,  must  be  more  disposed 
to  bless  than  to  command.  His  com- 
mands are  among  his  chief  blessings. 
He  never  speaks  with  more  parental 
kindness  than  by  that  inward  voice 
which  teaches  duty,  and  excites  and 
cheers  to  its  performance.  Nothing  is 
so  strict,  so  inflexible  in  enjoining  the 
right  and  the  good,  as  perfect  love. 
This  can  endure  no  moral  stain  in  its 
object.  The  whole  experience  of  life, 
rightly  construed,  is  a revelation  of 
God’s  parental  authority  and  righteous 
retribution. 

Again.  When  I call  God  the  Father, 
I understand  that  He  communicates  him- 
self, his  own  spirit,  what  is  most  glorious 
in  his  own  nature,  to  his  rational  off- 
spring,. — a doctrine  almost  overwhelm- 
ing  by  its  grandeur,  but  yet  true,  and  the 
very  truth  which  shines  most  clearly 
from  the  Christian  Scriptures.  It  be- 
longs to  a parent  to  breathe  into  the 
child  whatever  is  best  and  loftiest  in  his 
own  soul,  and  for  this  end  a good  father 
seeks  every  approach  to  the  mind  of  the 
child.  Such  a father  is  God.  He  has 
created  us  not  only  to  partake  of  his 
works,  but  to  be  “partakers  of  a divine 
nature  not  only  to  receive  his  gifts, 


but  to  receive  himself.  As  He  is  a pure 
spirit,  He  has  an  access  to  the  minds 
of  his  children  not  enjoyed  by  human 
parents.  He  pervades,  penetrates  our 
souls.  All  other  beings,  our  nearest 
friends,  are  far  from  us,  foreign  to  us, 
strangers  compared  with  God.  Others 
hold  intercourse  with  us  through  the 
body.  He  is  in  immediate  contact  with 
our  souls.  We  do  not  discern  him  be- 
cause He  is  too  near,  too  inward,  too 
deep  to  be  recognized  by  our  present 
imperfect  consciousness.  And  He  is 
thus  near,  not  only  to  discern,  but  to 
act,  to  influence,  to  give  his  spirit,  to 
communicate  to  us  divinity.  This  is  the 
great  paternal  gift  of  God.  He  has 
greater  gifts  than  the  world.  He  con- 
fers more  than  the  property  of  the  earth 
and  heavens.  The  very  attributes  from 
which  the  earth  and  heavens  sprung, 
these  he  imparts  to  his  rational  offspring. 
Even  his  disinterested,  impartial,  uni- 
versal goodness,  which  diffuses  beauty, 
life,  and  happiness,  — even  this  excel- 
lence it  is  his  purpose  to  breathe  into  and 
cherish  in  the  human  soul.  In  regard 
to  the  spiritual  influence  by  which  God 
brings  the  created  spirit  into  conformity 
to  his  own,  I would  that  I could  speak 
worthily.  It  is  gentle,  that  it  may  not 
interfere  with  our  freedom.  It  sustains, 
mingles  with,  and  moves  all  our  facul- 
ties. It  acts  through  nature,  providence, 
revelation,  society,  and  experience  ; and 
the  Scriptures,  confirmed  by  reason  and 
the  testimonies  of  the  wisest  and  best 
men,  teach  us  that  it  acts  still  more 
directly.  God,  being  immediately  pres- 
ent to  the  soul,  holds  immediate  com- 
munion with  it,  in  proportion  as  it 
prepares  itself  to  receive  and  to  use 
aright  the  heavenly  inspiration.  He 
opens  the  inward  eye  to  himself,  com- 
municates secret  monitions  of  duty,  re- 
vives and  freshens  our  convictions  of 
truth,  builds  up  our  faith  in  human  im- 
mortality, unseals  the  deep,  unfathomed 
fountains  of  love  within  us,  instils 
strength,  peace,  and  comfort,  and  gives 
victory  over  pain,  sin,  and  death. 

This  influence  of  God,  exerted  on  the 
soul  to  conform  it  to  himself,  to  make 
it  worthy  of  its  divine  parentage,  this  it 
is  which  most  clearly  manifests  what  is 
meant  by  his  being  our  Father.  We 
understand  his  parental  relation  to  us 
only  as  far  as  we  comprehend  this  great 
purpose  and  exercise  of  his  love.  We 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP. 


418 

must  have  faith  in  the  human  soul  as 
receptive  of  the  Divinity,  as  made  for 
greatness,  for  spiritual  elevation,  for 
likeness  to  God,  or  God's  character 
as  a Father  will  be  to  us  as  an  unre- 
vealed mystery.  If  we  think,  as  so 
many  seem  to  think,  that  God  has  made 
us  only  for  low  pleasures  and  attain- 
ments, that  our  nature  is  incapable  of 
godlike  virtues,  that  our  prayers  for  the 
Divine  Spirit  are  unheard,  that  celestial 
influences  do  not  descend  into  the  hu- 
man soul,  that  God  never  breathes  on  it 
to  lift  it  above  its  present  weakness,  to 
guide  it  to  a more  perfect  existence,  to 
unite  it  more  intimately  with  himself, 
then  we  know  but  faintly  the  meaning 
of  a Father  in  heaven.  The  great  rev- 
elation in  Christianity  of  a Paternal 
Divinity  is  still  to  be  made  to  us. 

I might  here  pause  in  the  attempt  to 
give  distinct  conceptions  of  the  Father 
whom  we  are  to  worship  ; but  there  are 
two  views  so  suited  to  us,  as  sinful  and 
mortal  beings,  that  I cannot  pass  them 
over  without  brief  notice.  Let  me  add, 
then,  that  in  speaking  of  God  as  the 
Father,  I understand  that  He  looks  with 
overflowing  compassion  on  such  of  his 
rational  offspring  as  forsake  him,  as  for- 
sake the  law  of  duty.  It  is  the  property 
of  the  human  parent  to  follow  with 
yearnings  of  tenderness  an  erring  child  ; 
and  in  this  he  is  a faint  type  of  God,  who 
sees  his  lost  sons  “a  great  way  off,” 
who,  to  recover  his  human  family,  spared 
not  his  beloved  Son,  who  sends  his  re- 
generating spirit  into  the  fallen  soul, 
sends  rebuke,  and  shame,  and  fear,  and 
sorrow,  and  awakens  the  dead  in  tres- 
passes and  sins  to  a higher  life  than 
that  which  the  first  birth  conferred. 

I also  understand,  in  calling  God  the 
Father,  that  He  destines  his  rational, 
moral  creature  to  immortality.  How 
ardently  does  the  human  parent  desire 
to  prolong  the  life  of  his  child  ! And 
how  much  more  must  He  who  gave 
being  to  the  spirit,  with  its  unbounded 
faculties,  desire  its  endless  being  ! God 
is  our  Father,  for  He  has  made  us  to 
bear  the  image  of  his  own  eternity  as 
well  as  of  his  other  attributes.  Other 
things  pass  away,  for  they  fulfil  their 
end  ; but  the  soul,  which  never  reaches 
its  goal,  whose  development  is  never 
complete,  is  never  to  disappear  from  the 
universe.  God  created  it  to  receive  for 
ever  of  his  fulness.  His  fatherly  love 


is  not  exhausted  in  what  he  now  be- 
stows. There  is  a higher  life.  Human 
perfection  is  not  a dream.  The  bright- 
est visions  of  genius  fade  before  the 
realities  of  excellence  and  happiness  to 
which  good  men  are  ordained.  In  that 
higher  life,  the  parental  character  of 
God  will  break  forth  from  the  clouds 
which  now  obscure  it.  His  bright  im- 
age in  his  children  will  proclaim  the 
Infinite  Father. 

I have  thus,  my  friends,  set  before 
you  the  true  object  of  Christian  worship. 
You  are  here  to  worship  God  as  your 
spiritual  parent,  as  the  Father  of  your 
spirits,  whose  great  purpose  is  your 
spiritual  perfection,  your  participation 
of  a divine  nature.  1 hold  this  view  of 
God  to  be  the  true,  deep  foundation  of 
Christian  worship.  On  your  reception 
of  it  depends  the  worth  of  the  homage 
to  be  offered  here.  It  is  not  enough  to 
think  of  God  as  operating  around  and 
without  you,  as  creating  material  worlds, 
as  the  former  of  your  bodies,  as  ordain- 
ing the  revolution  of  seasons  for  your 
animal  wants.  There  is  even  danger  in 
regarding  God  exclusively  as  the  author 
of  the  outward  universe.  There  is  dan- 
ger, lest  you  feel  as  if  you  were  over- 
looked in  this  immensity  , lest  you  shrink 
before  these  mighty  masses  of  matter, 
lest  you  see  in  the  unchangeable  laws  of 
nature  a stern  order  to  which  the  human 
being  is  a victim,  and  which  heeds  not 
the  puny  individual  in  maintaining  the 
general  good.  It  is  only  by  regarding 
God  as  more  than  Creator,  as  your  spirit- 
ual Father,  as  having  made  you  to  par- 
take of  his  spiritual  attributes,  as  having 
given  you  a spiritual  power  worth  more 
than  the  universe,  it  is  only  by  regarding 
his  intimacy  with  the  soul,  his  paternal 
concern  for  it,  his  perpetual  influence  on 
it,  it  is  only  by  these  views  that  worship 
rises  into  filial  confidence,  hope,  joy,  and 
rapture,  and  puts  forth  a truly  ennobling 
power.  Worship  has  too  often  been  ab- 
ject, — the  offering  of  fear  or  selfishness. 
God’s  greatness,  though  a pledge  of 
greatness  to  his  children,  and  his  om- 
nipotence, though  an  assurance  to  us 
of  mighty  power  in  our  conflict  with 
evil,  have  generated  self-contempt  and 
discouraged  access  to  him.  My  friends, 
come  hither  to  worship  God  as  your 
spiritual  Father.  No  other  view  can 
so  touch  and  penetrate  the  soul,  can 
place  it  so  near  its  Maker,  can  open 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP . 


419 


before  it  such  vast  prospects,  can 
awaken  such  transports  of  praise  and 
gratitude,  can  bow  the  soul  in  such 
ingenuous  sorrow  for  sin,  can  so  fortify 
you  for  the  conflict  against  evil.  Ought 
we  not  to  rejoice  that  this  house  is  reared 
for  the  worship  of  the  spiritual  Father? 

The  exposition  which  I have  given 
under  this  head  of  the  parental  relation 
of  God  to  the  human  race,  is  one  in 
which  I take  the  deepest  interest.  I 
have  felt,  however,  as  I proceeded,  that 
very  possibly  objections  would  spring 
up  in  the  minds  of  some  who  hear  me. 
There  are  not  a few  who  are  sceptical 
as  to  whatever  supposes  a higher  con- 
dition of  human  nature  than  they  now 
observe.  Perhaps  some  here,  could 
they  speak,  would  say,  “ We  do  not  see 
the  marks  of  this  fatherly  interest  of 
God  in  man  of  which  you  have  spoken. 
We  do  not  see  in  man  the  signs  of  a 
being  so  beloved,  so  educated,  as  you 
have  supposed.  His  weakness,  suffer- 
ings, and  sins  are  surely  no  proofs  of 
his  having  been  created  to  receive  God’s 
spirit,  to  partake  of  the  divinity.”  On 
this  point  I have  much  to  say,  but  my 
answer  must  be  limited  to  a few  words. 

I reply,  that  the  love  of  an  Infinite  Fa- 
ther may  be  expected  often  to  work  in 
methods  beyond  the  comprehension  of 
our  limited  minds.  An  immortal  being 
in  his  infancy  cannot  of  course  compre- 
hend all  the  processes  of  his  education, 
many  of  which  look  forward  to  ages 
too  distant  for  the  imagination  to  ex- 
plore. I would  add,  that  notwithstand- 
ing the  darkness  which  hangs  over 
human  life  on  account  of  the  greatness 
of  our  nature,  we  can  yet  see  bright 
signatures  of  the  parental  concern  of 
God,  and  see  them  in  the  very  circum- 
stances which  at  first  create  doubt. 
Because  we  suffer,  it  ought  not  to  be 
inferred  that  God  is  not  a Father.  Suf- 
fering, trial,  exposure,  seem  to  be  neces- 
sary elements  in  the  education  of  a 
moral  being.  It  is  fit  that  a being 
whose  happiness  and  dignity  are  to  be 
found  in  vigorous  action  and  in  forming 
himself,  should  be  born  with  undevel- 
oped capacities,  and  be  born  into  a 
world  of  mingled  difficulties  and  aids. 
We  do  see  that  energy  of  thought,  will, 
affection,  virtue,  the  energy  which  is 
our  true  life  and  joy,  often  springs  from 
trial.  We  can  see,  too,  that  it  is  well 
that  society,  like  the  individual,  should 


begin  in  imperfection,  because  men  in 
this  way  become  to  each  other  means 
of  discipline,  because  joint  sufferings 
and  the  necessity  of  joint  efforts  awaken 
both  the  affections  and  the  faculties, 
because  occasion  and  incitement  are 
thus  given  to  generous  sacrifices,  to 
heroic  struggles,  to  the  most  beautiful 
and  stirring  manifestations  of  philan- 
thropy, patriotism,  and  devotion.  Were 
I called  on  to  prove  God’s  spiritual 
parental  interest  in  us,  I would  point 
to  the  trials,  temptations,  evils  of  life ; 
for  to  these  we  owe  the  character  of 
Christ,  we  owe  the  apostle  and  martyr, 
we  owe  the  moral  force  and  deep  sym- 
pathy of  private  and  domestic  life,  we 
owe  the  devolopment  of  what  is  divine 
in  human  nature.  Truly  God  is  our  Fa- 
ther, and  as  such  to  be  worshipped. 

Having  thus  set  forth  very  imper- 
fectly, but  from  a full  heart,  the  excel- 
lence of  the  homage  which  is  here  to 
be  rendered  to  God  in  his  parental 
character,  I ought  now  to  proceed,  ac- 
cording to  the  plan  of  this  discourse,  to 
show  that  we  should  enter  this  house 
with  joy,  because  it  is  set  apart  to  the 
worship  of  God  in  spirit  and  in  truth, 
to  an  inward  not  outward  worship.  In 
discussing  this  topic,  I might  enlarge 
on  the  vast  and  beneficent  revolution 
which  Jesus  Christ  wrought  in  religion 
by  teaching  that  God  is  a spirit,  and  to 
be  spiritually  adored.  I might  show 
how  much  he  wrought  for  human  ele- 
vation and  happiness  when,  in  pronounc- 
ing the  text,  he  shook  the  ancient 
temples  to  their  foundations,  qufenched 
the  fire  on  the  heathen  and  Jewish  al- 
tars, wrested  the  instruments  of  sacrifice 
from  the  hand  of  the  priest,  abolished 
sanctity  of  place,  and  consecrated  the 
human  soul  as  the  true  house  of  God. 
But  the  nature,  grandeur,  benefits  of 
this  spiritual  worship  are  subjects  too 
extensive  for  our  present  consideration. 
Instead  of  discussion,  I can  only  use 
the  words  of  exhortation.  I can  only  say 
that  you  who  are  to  assemble  in  this 
place  are  peculiarly  bound  to  inward 
worship,  for  to  you  especially  Christi- 
anity is  an  inward  system.  Most  other 
denominations  expect  salvation  more  or 
less  from  what  Jesus  does  abroad,  es- 
pecially from  his  agency  on  the  mind 
of  God.  You  expect  it  from  what  he 
does  within  your  own  minds.  His  great 
glory,  according  to  your  views,  lies  in 


420 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP . 


his  influence  on  the  human  soul,  in  the 
communication  of  his  spirit  to  his  fol- 
lowers. To  you  salvation,  heaven,  and 
hell  have  their  seat  in  the  soul.  To  you 
Christianity  is  wholly  a spiritual  sys- 
tem. Come,  then,  to  this  place  to 
worship  with  the  soul,  to  elevate  the 
spirit  to  God.  Let  not  this  house  be 
desecrated  by  a religion  of  show.  Let 
it  not  degenerate  into  a place  of  forms. 
Let  not  your  pews  be  occupied  by  life- 
less machines.  Do  not  come  here  to 
take  part  in  lethargic  repetitions  of 
sacred  words.  Do  not  come  from  a 
cold  sense  of  duty,  to  quiet  conscience 
with  the  thought  of  having  paid  a debt 
to  God.  Do  not  come  to  perform  a 
present  task  to  insure  a future  heaven. 
Come  to  find  heaven  now,  to  anticipate 
the  happiness  of  that  better  world  by 
breathing  its  spirit,  to  bind  your  souls 
indissolubly  to  your  Maker.  Come  to 
worship  in  spirit  and  in  truth  ; that  is, 
intelligently,  rationally,  with  clear  judg- 
ment, with  just  and  honorable  con- 
ceptions of  the  Infinite  Father,  not 
prostrating  your  understandings,  not  re- 
nouncing the  divine  gift  of  reason,  but 
offering  an  enlightened  homage,  such 
as  is  due  to  the  Fountain  of  intelli- 
gence and  truth.  Come  to  worship  with 
the  heart  as  well  as  intellect,  with  life, 
fervor,  zeal.  Sleep  over  your  business 
if  you  will,  but  not  over  your  religion. 
Come  to  worship  with  strong  convic- 
tion, with  living  faith  in  a higher  pres- 
ence than  meets  the  eye,  with  a feeling 
of  God’s  presence  not  only  around  you, 
but  in  the  depths  of  your  souls.  Come 
to  worship  with  a filial  spirit,  not  with 
fear,  dread,  and  gloom  ; not  with  sepul- 
chral tones  and  desponding  looks,  but 
with  humble,  cheerful,  boundless  trust, 
with  overflowing  gratitude,  with  a love 
willing  and  earnest  to  do  and  to  suffer 
whatever  may  approve  your  devotion  to 
God.  Come  to  worship  him  with  what 
He  most  delights  in,  with  aspiration  for 
spiritual  light  and  life  ; come  to  cherish 
and  express  desires  for  virtue,  for  pu- 
rity, for  power  over  temptation,  stronger 
and  more  insatiable  than  spring  up  in 
your  most  eager  pursuits  of  business 
or  pleasure  ; and  welcome  joyfully  every 
holy  impulse,  every  accession  of  strength 
to  virtuous  purpose,  to  the  love  of  God 
and  man.  In  a word,  come  to  offer  a 
refined,  generous  worship,  to  offer  a 
tribute  worthy  of  him  who  is  the  per- 


fection of  truth,  goodness,  beauty,  and 
blessedness.  Adore  him  with  the  calm- 
est reason  and  the  profoundest  love, 
and  strive  to  conform  yourselves  to 
what  you  adore. 

I have  now,  my  friends,  set  before  you 
the  worship  to  which  this  building  is 
set  apart,  and  which,  from  its  rational, 
filial,  pure,  and  ennobling  character,  ren- 
ders this  solemnity  a season  for  thank- 
fulness and  joy.  I should  not,  however, 
be  just  to  this  occasion,  or  to  the  great 
purpose  of  this  house,  if  I were  to  stop 
here.  My  remarks  have  hitherto  been 
confined  to  the  worship  which  is  to  be 
offered  within  these  walls,  to  the  influ- 
ence to  be  exerted  on  you  when  assem- 
bled here.  But  has  this  house  no  higher 
end  than  to  give  an  impulse  to  your 
minds  for  the  very  few  hours  which  you 
are  to  spend  beneath  its  roof  ? Then 
we  have  little  reason  to  enter  it  with 
joy.  The  great  end  for  which  you  are 
to  worship  here  is,  that  you  may  wor- 
ship everywhere.  You  are  to  feel  God's 
presence  here,  that  it  maybe  felt  where- 
ever  you  go,  and  whatever  you  do.  The 
very  idea  of  spiritual  homage  is,  that  it 
takes  possession  of  the  soul,  and  be- 
comes a part  of  our  very  being.  The 
great  design  of  this  act  of  dedication  is, 
that  your  houses,  your  places  of  busi- 
ness, may  be  consecrated  to  God.  This 
topic  of  omnipresent  worship  I cannot 
expand.  One  view  of  it,  however,  I 
must  not  omit.  From  the  peculiar  char- 
acter of  the  worship  to  which  this  house 
is  consecrated,  you  learn  the  kind  of 
worship  which  you  should  carry  from  it 
into  your  common  lives.  It  is  not  un- 
common for  the  Christian  teacher  to  say 
to  his  congregation,  that,  when  they 
leave  the  church,  they  go  forth  into  a 
nobler  temple  than  one  made  with  hands, 
into  the  temple  of  the  creation,  and  that 
they  must  go  forth  to  worship  God  in 
his  works.  The  views  given  of  the  true 
worship  in  this  discourse  will  lead  me  to 
a somewhat  different  style  of  exposition. 
I will,  indeed,  say  to  you,  go  from  this 
house  to  adore  God  as  He  is  revealed 
in  the  boundless  universe.  This  is  one 
end  of  your  worship  here.  But  I would 
add,  that  a higher  end  is,  that  you  should 
go  forth  to  worship  him  as  He  is  re- 
vealed in  his  rational  and  moral  off- 
spring, and  to  worship  him  by  fulfilling, 
as  you  have  power,  his  purposes  in 
regard  to  these.  My  great  aim  in  this 


CH RIS TI AN  WORSHIP . 


421 


discourse  has  been  to  show  that  God  is 
to  be  adored  here  as  the  Father  of 
rational  and  moral  beings,  of  yourselves 
and  all  mankind  ; and  such  a worship 
tends  directly  and  is  designed  to  lead 
us,  when  we  go  hence,  to  recognize  God 
in  our  own  nature,  to  see  in  men  his 
children,  to  respect  and  serve  them  for 
their  relationship  to  the  Divinity,  to  see 
in  them  signatures  of  greatness  amidst 
all  their  imperfection,  and  to  love  them 
with  more  than  earthly  love.  We  must 
not  look  round  on  the  universe  with  awe 
and  on  man  with  scorn ; for  man,  who 
can  comprehend  the  universe  and  its 
laws,  “is  greater  than  the  universe, 
which  cannot  comprehend  itself.”  God 
dwells  in  every  human  being  more  inti- 
mately than  in  the  outward  creation. 
The  voice  of  God  comes  to  us  in  the 
ocean,  the  thunder,  the  whirlwind  ; but 
how  much  more  of  God  is  there  in  his 
inward  voice,  in  the  intuitions  of  reason, 
in  the  rebukes  of  conscience,  in  the 
whispers  of  the  Holy  Spirit ! I would 
have  you  see  God  in  the  awful  moun- 
tain and  the  tranquil  valley ; but  more, 
much  more,  in  the  clear  judgment,  the 
moral  energy,  the  disinterested  purpose, 
the  pious  gratitude,  the  immortal  hope 
of  a good  man.  Go  from  this  house  to 
worship  God  by  reverencing  the  human 
soul  as  his  chosen  sanctuary.  Revere 
it  in  yourselves,  revere  it  in  others,  and 
labor  to  carry  it  forward  to  perfection. 
Worship  God  within  these  walls,  as 
universally,  impartially  good  to  his  hu- 
man offspring ; and  go  forth  to  breathe 
the  same  spirit.  Go  forth  to  respect  the 
rights,  and  seek  the  true,  enduring  wel- 
fare of  all  within  your  influence.  Carry 
with  you  the  conviction  that  to  trample 
on  a human  being,  of  whatever  color, 
clime,  rank,  condition,  is  to  trample  on 
God’s  child  ; that  to  degrade  or  corrupt 
a man,  is  to  deface  a holier  temple  than 
any  material  sanctuary.  Mercy,  love,  is 
more  acceptable  worship  to  God  than  all 
sacrifices  or  outward  offerings.  The 
most  celestial  worship  ever  paid  on  earth 
was  rendered  by  Christ,  when  he  ap- 
proached man,  and  the  most  sinful  man, 
as  a child  of  God,  when  he  toiled  and 
bled  to  awaken  what  was  divine  in  the 
human  soul,  to  regenerate  a fallen  world. 
Be  such  the  worship  which  you  shall 
carry  from  this  place.  Go  forth  to  do 
good  with  every  power  which  God  be- 
stows, to  make  every  place  you  enter 


happier  by  your  presence,  to  espouse  all 
human  interests,  to  throw  your  whole 
weight  into  the  scale  of  human  freedom 
and  improvement,  to  withstand  all  wrong, 
to  uphold  all  right,  and  especially  to  give 
light,  life,  strength  to  the  immortal  soul. 
He  who  rears  up  one  child  in  Christian 
virtue,  or  recovers  one  fellow-creature  to 
God,  builds  a temple  more  precious  than 
Solomon’s  or  St.  Peter’s,  more  enduring 
than  earth  or  heaven. 

I have  now  finished  the  general  dis- 
cussion which  this  occasion  seemed  to 
me  to  require,  and  I trust  that  a few 
remarks  of  a personal  and  local  char- 
acter will  be  received  with  indulgence. 
It  is  with  no  common  emotion  that  I take 
part  in  the  present  solemnity.  I stand 
now  to  teach  where,  in  my  childhood  and 
youth,  I was  a learner.  The  generation 
which.  I then  knew  has  almost  wholly 
disappeared.  The  venerable  man,  whose 
trembling  voice  I then  heard  in  this 
place,  has  long  since  gone  to  his  reward. 
My  earliest  friends,  who  watched  over 
my  childhood  and  led  me  by  the  hand  to 
this  spot,  have  been  taken.  Still  my 
emotions  are  not  sad.  I rejoice ; for 
whilst  I see  melancholy  changes  around 
me,  and,  still  more,  feel  that  time,  which 
has  bowed  other  frames,  has  touched 
my  own,  I see  that  the  work  of  human 
improvement  has  gone  on.  I see  that 
clearer  and  brighter  truths  than  were 
opened  on  my  own  youthful  mind  are  to 
be  imparted  to  succeeding  generations. 
Herein  I do  and  will  rejoice. 

On  looking  back  to  my  early  years,  I 
can  distinctly  recollect  unhappy  influ- 
ences exerted  on  my  mind  by  the  gen- 
eral tone  of  religion  in  this  town.  I can 
recollect,  too,  a corruption  of  morals 
among  those  of  my  own  age,  which  made 
boyhood  a critical,  perilous  season.  Still 
I must  bless  God  for  the  place  of  my 
nativity ; for,  as  my  mind  unfolded,  I 
became  more  and  more  alive  to  the  beau- 
tiful scenery  which  now  attracts  stran- 
gers to  our  island.  My  first  liberty  was 
used  in  roaming  over  the  neighboring 
fields  and  shores  ; and,  amid  this  glo- 
rious nature,  that  love  of  liberty  sprang 
up  which  has  gained  strength  within 
me  to  this  hour.  I early  received  im- 
pressions of  the  great  and  the  beautiful, 
which  I believe  have  had  no  small  influ- 
ence in  determining  my  modes  of  thought 
and  habits  of  life.  In  this  town  I pur- 
sued for  a time  my  studies  of  theology* 


422 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP. 


I had  no  professor  or  teacher  to  guide 
me ; but  I had  two  noble  places  of 
study.  One  was  yonder  beautiful  edi- 
fice, now  so  frequented  and  so  useful 
as  a public  library,  then  so  deserted 
that  I spent  day  after  day,  and  some- 
times week  after  week,  amidst  its  dusty 
volumes,  without  interruption  from  a 
single  visitor.  The  other  place  was 
yonder  beach,  the  roar  of  which  has  so 
often  mingled  with  the  worship  of  this 
place,  my  daily  resort,  dear  to  me  in 
the  sunshine,  still  more  attractive  in  the 
storm.  Seldom  do  I visit  it  now  with- 
out thinking  of  the  work  which  there, 
in  the  sight  of  that  beauty,  in  the  sound 
of  those  waves,  was  carried  on  in  my 
soul.  No  spot  on  earth  has  helped  to 
form  me  so  much  as  that  beach.  There 
I lifted  up  my  voice  in  praise  amidst 
the  tempest.  There,  softened  by  beauty, 
I poured  out  my  thanksgiving  and  con- 
trite confessions.  There,  in  reverential 
sympathy  with  the  mighty  power  around 
me,  I became  conscious  of  power  within. 
There  struggling  thoughts  and  emotions 
broke  forth,  as  if  moved  to  utterance  by 
nature’s  eloquence  of  the  winds  and 
waves.  There  began  a happiness  sur- 
passing all  worldly  pleasures,  all  gifts  of 
fortune,  — the  happiness  of  communing 
with  the  works  of  God.  Pardon  me  this 
reference  to  myself.  I believe  that  the 
worship  of  which  I have  this  day  spoken 
was  aided  in  my  own  soul  by  the  scenes 
in  which  my  early  life  was  passed. 
Amidst  these  scenes,  and  in  speaking 
of  this  worship,  allow  me  to  thank  God 
that  this  beautiful  island  was  the  place 
of  my  birth. 

Leaving  what  is  merely  personal,  I 
would  express  my  joy,  and  it  is  most 
sincere,  in  the  dedication  of  this  house, 
regarded  as  a proof  and  a means  of  the 
diffusion  of  Christian  truth.  Some,  per- 
haps, may  think  that  this  joy  is  not  a 
little  heightened  by  seeing  a church  set 
apart  to  the  particular  sect  to  which  I 
am  said  to  belong.  But  I trust  that 
what  you  have  this  day  heard  will  satisfy 
most,  if  not  all  who  hear,  that  it  is  not  a 
sectarian  exultation  to  which  I am  giv- 
ing utterance.  I indeed  take  pleasure 
in  thinking  that  the  particular  views 
which  I have  adopted  of  the  disputed 
doctrines  of  religion  will  here  be  made 
known ; but  I rejoice  much  more  in 
thinking  that  this  house  is  pledged  to 
no  peculiar  doctrines,  that  it  is  not 


erected  to  bind  my  own  or  any  man’s 
opinions  on  this  or  on  future  times,  that 
it  is  consecrated  to  free  investigation  of 
religious  truth,  to  religious  progress,  to 
the  right  of  private  judgment,  to  Prot- 
estant and  Christian  liberty.  Most 
earnestly  do  I pray  that  a purer  the- 
ology, that  diviner  illuminations,  that  a 
truer  worship  than  can  now  be  found  in 
our  own  or  in  any  sect,  maybe  the  glory 
of  this  house.  We  who  now  consecrate 
it  to  God  believe  in  human  progress. 
We  do  not  say  to  the  spirit  of  truth, 
“ Thus  far,  and  no  farther.”  We  repro- 
bate the  exclusive,  tyrannical  spirit  of 
the  churches  of  this  age,  which  de- 
nounce as  an  enemy  to  Christianity 
whoever  in  the  use  of  his  intellectual 
liberty,  and  in  the  interpretation  of 
God’s  word  for  himself,  may  differ  from 
the  traditions  and  creeds  which  have 
been  received  from  fallible  forefathers. 
We  rear  these  walls  not  to  a sect,  but 
to  religious,  moral,  intellectual,  Protest- 
ant, Christian  liberty. 

I rejoice  that  this  temple  of  liberty  is 
opened  on  this  spot.  I feel  that  this 
town  has  a right  to  an  establishment  in 
which  conscientious  Christians  may  in- 
quire and  speak  without  dreading  the 
thunders  of  excommunication,  in  which 
Protestantism  will  not  be  dishonored  by 
the  usurpations  of  the  Romish  Church. 
This  island,  like  the  State  to  which  it 
belongs,  was  originally  settled  by  men 
who  came  hither  for  liberty  of  con- 
science, and  in  assertion  of  the  right  to 
interpret  for  themselves  the  word  of 
God.  Religious  freedom  was  the  very 
principle  on  which  this  town  was  founded, 
and  I rejoice  to  know  that  the  spirit  of 
religious  freedom  has  never  wanted 
champions  here.  I have  recently  read 
a very  valuable  discourse,  which  was 
delivered  in  this  town  about  a century 
ago,  and  just  a century  after  the  cession 
of  this  island  to  our  fathers  by  the  In- 
dians, and  which  breathes  a liberality  of 
thought  and  feeling,  a reverence  for  the 
rights  of  the  understanding  and  the  con- 
science, very  rare  at  that  time  in  other 
parts  of  the  country,  and  very  far  from 
being  universal  now.  Its  author,  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Callender,  was  pastor  of  the 
first  Baptist  church  in  this  place,  the 
oldest  of  our  churches,  and  it  was  dedi- 
cated to  a descendant  of  the  venerable 
Coddington,  our  first  Governor.  The 
spirit  of  religious  liberty  which  pervades 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP . 


423 


this  discourse  has  astonished  as  well  as 
rejoiced  me,  and  it  should  thrill  the 
hearts  of  this  people.  Let  me  read  a 
few  sentences : — 

“ It  must  be  a mean,  contracted  way  of 
thinking,  to  confine  the  favor  of  God,  and 
the  power  of  godliness,  to  one  set  of  specu- 
lative opinions,  or  any  particular  external 
forms  of  worship.  How  hard  must  it  be  to 
imagine  that  all  other  Christians  but  our- 
selves must  be  formal,  and  hypocritical, 
and  destitute  of  the  grace  of  God,  because 
their  education  or  capacity  differs  from  ours, 
or  that  God  has  given  them  more  or  less 
light  than  to  us  ; though  we  cannot  deny 
they  give  the  proper  evidence  of  their  fear- 
ing God  by  their  working  righteousness, 
and  show  their  love  to  him  by  keeping  what 
they  understand  He  has  commanded  ; and 
though  their  faith  in  Christ  Jesus  purifies 
their  hearts  and  works  by  love  and  over- 
comes the  world.  It  would  be  hard  to  show 
why  liberty  of  conscience,  mutual  forbear- 
ance and  good-will,  why  brotherly  kindness 
and  charity  is  not  as  good  a centre  of  unity  as 
a constrained  uniformity  in  external  ceremo- 
nies, or  a forced  subscription  to  ambiguous 
articles.  Experience  has  dearly  convinced 
the  world  that  unanimity  in  judgment  and 
affection  cannot  be  secured  by  penal  law. 
Who  can  tell  why  the  unity  of  spirit  in  the 
bonds  of  peace  is  not  enough  for  Christians 
to  aim  at?  And  who  can  assign  a reason 
why  they  may  not  love  one  another  though 
abounding  in  their  own  several  senses  ? 
And  why,  if  they  live  in  peace,  the  God  of 
love  and  peace  may  not  be  with  them  ? 
There  is  no  other  bottom  but  this  to  rest 
upon,  to  leave  others  the  liberty  we  should 
desire  ourselves,  the  liberty  wherewith 
Christ  hath  made  them  free.” 

Such  was  the  liberal  spirit  expressed 
in  this  town  a hundred  years  ago.  I 
would  it  were  more  common  in  our  own 
day. 

Another  noble  friend  of  religious  lib- 
erty threw  a lustre  on  this  island  imme- 
diately before  the  revolution.  1 mean 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Stiles,  pastor  of  the  Second 
Congregational  Church,  and  afterwards 
President  of  Yale  College.  This  coun- 
try has  not,  perhaps,  produced  a more 
learned  man.  To  enlarged  acquaintance 
with  physical  science  he  added  exten- 
sive researches  into  philology,  history, 
and  antiquities.  Nor  did  his  indefatiga- 
ble mind  suffer  any  opportunity  to  es- 
cape him  of  adding  to  his  rich  treasures 
of  knowledge.  His  virtues  were  pro- 
portioned to  his  intellectual  acquisition. 

I can  well  remember  how  his  name  was 


cherished  among  his  parishioners  after 
years  of  separation.  His  visit  to  this 
place  was  to  many  a festival.  When 
little  more  than  a child,  I was  present 
at  some  of  his  private  meetings  with  the 
more  religious  part  of  his  foraner  con- 
gregation ; and  I recollect  how  I was 
moved  by  the  tears  and  expressive  looks 
with  which  his  affectionate  exhortations 
were  received.  In  his  faith  he  was 
what  was  called  a moderate  Calvinist ; 
but  his  heart  was  of  no  sect.  He  car- 
ried into  his  religion  the  spirit  of  liberty 
which  then  stirred  the  whole  country. 
Intolerance,  church  tyranny  in  all  its 
forms,  he  abhorred.  He  respected  the 
right  of  private  judgment  where  others 
would  have  thought  themselves  author- 
ized to  restrain  it.  A young  man,  to 
whom  he  had  been  as  a father,  one  day 
communicated  to  him  doubts  concerning 
the  Trinity.  He  expressed  his  sorrow  ; 
but  mildly,  and  with  undiminished  affec- 
tion, told  him  to  go  to  the  Scriptures., 
and  to  seek  his  faith  there,  and  only 
there.  His  friendships  were  confined 
to  no  parties.  He  desired  to  heal  the 
wounds  of  the  divided  church  of  Christ, 
not  by  a common  creed,  but  by  the  spirit 
of  love.  He  wished  to  break  every  yoke, 
civil  and  ecclesiastical,  from  men’s  necks. 
To  the  influence  of  this  distinguished 
man  in  the  circle  in  which  I was  brought 
up,  I may  owe  in  part  the  indignation 
which  I feel  towards  every  invasion  of 
human  rights.  In  my  earliest  years,  I 
regarded  no  human  being  with  equal 
reverence.  I have  his  form  before  me 
at  this  moment  almost  as  distinctly  as  if 
I had  seen  him  yesterday,  so  strong  is 
the  impression  made  on  the  child  through 
the  moral  affections. 

Let  me  add  one  more  example  of  the 
spirit  of  religious  freedom  on  this  island. 
You  may  be  surprised,  perhaps,  when 
you  hear  me  name  in  this  connection 
the  venerable  man  who  once  ministered 
in  this  place,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Hopkin.%. 
His  name  is,  indeed,  associated  with  a 
stern  and  appalling  theology,  and  it  is 
true  that  he  wanted  toleration  towards 
those  who  rejected  his  views.  Still,  in 
forming  his  religious  opinions,  he  was 
superior  to  human  authority  ; he  broke 
away  from  human  creeds  ; he  interpret- 
ed God’s  word  for  himself  ; he  revered 
reason,  the  oracle  of  God  within  him. 
His  system,  however  fearful,  was  yet 
built  on  a generous  foundation.  He 


424 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP. 


maintained  that  all  holiness,  all  moral 
excellence,  consists  in  benevolence,  or 
disinterested  devotion  to  the  greatest 
good ; that  this  is  the  character  of  God  ; 
that  love  is  the  only  principle  of  the 
divine  administration.  He  taught  that 
sin  was  introduced  into  the  creation, 
and  is  to  be  everlastingly  punished,  be- 
cause evil  is  necessary  to  the  highest 
good.  To  this  government,  in  which 
the  individual  is  surrendered  to  the 
well-being  of  the  whole,  he  required 
entire  and  cheerful  submission.  Other 
Calvinists  were  willing  that  their  neigh- 
bors should  be  predestined  to  everlast- 
ing misery  for  the  glory  of  God.  This 
noble-minded  man  demanded  a more 
generous  and  impartial  virtue,  and  main- 
tained that  we  should  consent  to  our  own 
perdition,  should  be  willing  ourselves 
to  be  condemned,  if  the  greatest  good 
of  the  universe  and  the  manifestation 
of  the  divine  perfections  should  so  re- 
quire. True  virtue,  as  he  taught,  was 
an  entire  surrender  of  personal  interest 
to  the  benevolent  purposes  of  God. 
Self-love  he  spared  in  none  of  its  move- 
ments. He  called  us  to  seek  our  own 
happiness  as  well  as  that  of  others  in  a 
spirit  of  impartial  benevolence  ; to  do 
good  to  ourselves,  not  from  self-prefer- 
ence, not  from  the  impulse  of  personal 
desires,  but  in  obedience  to  that  sub- 
lime law  which  requires  us  to  promote 
the  welfare  of  each  and  all  within  our 
influence.  I need  not  be  ashamed  to 
confess  the  deep  impression  which  this 
system  made  on  my  youthful  mind.  I * 
am  grateful  to  this  stern  teacher  for 
turning  my  thoughts  and  heart  to  the 
claims  and  majesty  of  impartial,  univer- 
sal benevolence.  From  such  a man,  a 
tame  acquiescence  in  the  established 
theology  was  not  to  be  expected.  He 
indeed  accepted  the  doctrine  of  predes- 
tination in  its  severest  form  ; but  in  so 
doing,  he  imagined  himself  a disciple  of 
reason  as  well  as  of  revelation.  He  be- 
lieved this  doctrine  to  be  sustained  by 
profound  metaphysical  argumentation, 
and  to  rest  on  the  only  sound  philoso- 
phy of  the  human  mind,  so  that  in  re- 
ceiving it  he  did  not  abandon  the  ground 
of  reason.  In  accordance  with  his  free 
spirit  of  inquiry,  we  find  him  making 
not  a few  important  modifications  of 
Calvinism.  The  doctrine  that  we  are 
liable  to  punishment  for  the  sin  of  our 
first  parent  he  wholly  rejected  ; and,  not 


satisfied  with  denying  the  imputation  of 
Adam’s  guilt  to  his  posterity,  he  sub- 
verted what  the  old  theology  had  set 
forth  as  the  only  foundation  of  divine 
acceptance,  namely,  the  imputation  of 
Christ’s  righteousness  or  merits  to  the 
believer.  The  doctrine  that  Christ  died 
for  the  elect  only,  found  no  mercy  at 
his  hands.  He  taught  that  Christ  suf- 
fered equally  for  all  mankind  The 
system  of  Dr.  Hopkins  was  indeed  an 
effort  of  reason  to  reconcile  Calvinism 
with  its  essential  truths.  Accordingly 
his  disciples  were  sometimes  called, 
and  willingly  called,  Rational  Calvinists. 
The  impression  which  he  made  was 
much  greater  than  is  now  supposed. 
The  churches  of  New  England  received 
a decided  impression  from  his  views  ; 
and  though  his  name,  once  given  to  his 
followers,  is  no  longer  borne,  his  influ- 
ence is  still  felt.  The  conflict  now  go- 
ing on  in  our  country,  for  the  purpose 
of  mitigating  the  harsh  features  of  Cal- 
vinism, is  a stage  of  the  revolutionary 
movement  to  which  he  more  than  any 
man  gave  impulse.  I can  certainly  bear 
witness  to  the  spirit  of  progress  and 
free  inquiry  which  possessed  him.  In 
my  youth,  I preached  in  this  house  at 
the  request  of  the  venerable  old  man. 
As  soon  as  the  services  were  closed, 
he  turned  to  me  with  an  animated, 
benignant  smile,  and,  using  a quaint- 
ness of  expression  which  I need  not  re- 
peat, said  to  me  that  theology  was  still 
imperfect,  and  that  he  hoped  I should 
live  to  carry  it  towards  perfection. 
Rare  and  most  honorable  liberality  in 
the  leader  of  a sect ! He  wanted  not  to 
secure  a follower,  but  to  impel  a young 
mind  to  higher  truth.  I feel  that  abil- 
ity has  not  been  given  me  to  accomplish 
this  generous  hope  ; but  such  quicken- 
ing language  from  such  lips,  though  it 
could  not  give  strength,  might  kindle 
desire,  and  elevate  exertion.* 

Thus  the  spirit  of  religious  freedom 
has  not  been  wanting  to  this  island. 
May  this  spirit,  unawed  by  human  re- 
proach, unfettered  by  human  creeds, 
availing  itself  gratefully  of  human  aids, 
and,  above  all,  looking  reverently  to 
God  for  light,  dwell  in  the  hearts  of 
those  who  are  to  minister,  and  of  those 
who  shall  worship,  within  these  walls  ! 
May  this  spirit  spread  far  and  wide,  and 

* See  author’s  note  (B)  at  end  of  this  discourse. 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP . 


425 


redeem  the  Christian  world  from  the 
usurpations  of  Catholic  and  Protestant 
infallibility,  from  uncharitableness,  in- 
tolerance, persecution,  and  every  yoke 
which  has  crushed  the  human  soul  ! 

I have  done  with  the  personal  and 
the  local.  In  conclusion,  let  me  re- 
vert for  one  moment  to  the  great  topic 
of  this  discourse.  My  friends,  the  spir- 
itual worship  of  which  I have  this  day 
spoken  is  something  real.  There  is  a 
worship  in  the  spirit,  — a worship  very 
different  from  standing  in  the  church, 
or  kneeling  in  the  closet,  — a worship 
which  cannot  be  confined  to  set  phrases, 
and  asks  not  the  clothing  of  outward 
forms,  a thirst  of  the  soul  for  its  Crea- 
tor, an  inward  voice,  which  our  nearest 
neighbor  cannot  hear,  but  which  pierces 
the  skies.  To  the  culture  of  this  spirit- 
ual worship  we  dedicate  this  house. 
My  friends,  rest  not  in  offering  breath, 
in  moving  the  lips,  in  bending  the  knee 
to  your  Creator.  There  is  another, 
a nearer,  a happier  intercourse  with 
heaven,  a worship  of  love,  sometimes 
too  full  and  deep  for  utterance,  a union 
of  mind  with  him  closer  than  earthly 
friendships.  This  is  the  worship  to 
which  Christ  calls.  Christ  came  not  to 
build  churches,  not  to  rear  cathedrals 
with  Gothic  arches  or  swelling  domes, 
but  to  dedicate  the  human  soul  to  God. 
When  God  “bows  the  heavens  and 
comes  down,”  it  is  not  that  He  may 
take  up  his  abode  beneath  the  vault  of 
a metropolitan  temple  ; it  is  not  that 
He  is  drawn  by  majestic  spires  or  by 
clouds  of  fragrance,  but  that  He  may 
visit  and  dwell  in  the  humble,  obedient, 
disinterested  soul.  This  house  is  to 
moulder  away.  Temples  hewn  from  the 
rock  will  crumble  to  dust,  or  melt  in  the 
last  fire.  But  the  inward  temple  will 
survive  all  outward  change.  When 
winds  and  oceans  and  suns  shall  have 
ceased  to  praise  God,  the  human  soul 
will  praise  him.  It  will  receive  more 
and  more  divine  inspirations  of  truth 
and  love  ; will  fill  with  its  benevolent 
ministry  wider  and  wider  spheres  ; and 
will  accomplish  its  destiny  by  a progress 
towards  God  as  unlimited,  as  mysteri- 
ous, as  enduring  as  eternity. 


Note  A.  — I have  not  quoted  the 
verses  preceding  those  which  I have 
extracted  from  the  Epistle  to  the  Philip- 
pians,  which  are  often  adduced  in  proof 


of  Christ’s  supreme  divinity,  because  it 
is  acknowledged  by  learned  men  of  all 
denominations  that  our  translation  of 
the  most  important  clause  is  incorrect, 
and  a critical  discussion  of  the  subject 
would  have  been  out  of  place.  I think, 
however,  that  no  man,  unacquainted 
with  the  common  theories,  can  read  any 
translation  and  escape  the  impression 
that  Jesus  Christ  is  a derived,  depen- 
dent, subordinate  being,  and  a distinct 
being  from  the  Father.  How  plain  is  it 
that  in  this  passage  Paul  intends  by  the 
terms  “God”  and  “the  Father,”  not 
Jesus  Christ  but  another  being  ! How 
plain  is  it  that,  in  the  passage  chosen  as 
the  text  for  this  discourse,  our  Saviour 
intended  by  these  terms  not  himself  but 
another  being  ! What  other  idea  could 
his  hearers  receive  ? What  decisive 
proofs  are  furnished  by  his  constant 
habit  of  speaking  of  “ the  Father  ” and 
of  “ God  ” as  another  being,  and  of  dis- 
tinguishing himself  from  Him  ! 

N ote  B.  — I understand  that  the  inter- 
est expressed  by  me  in  the  character  of 
Dr.  Hopkins  has  surprised  some  of  my 
townsmen  of  Newport,  who  knew  him 
only  by  report,  or  who  saw  him  in  their 
youth.  I do  not  wonder  at  this.  He 
lived  almost  wholly  in  his  study,  and, 
like  very  retired  men,  was  the  object  of 
little  sympathy.  His  appearance  was 
that  of  a man  who  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  world.  I can  well  recollect  the 
impression  which  he  made  on  me  when 
a boy,  as  he  rode  on  horseback  in  a 
plaid  gown  fastened  by  a girdle  round 
his  waist,  and  with  a study  cap  on  his 
head  instead  of  his  wig.  His  delivery 
in  the  pulpit  was  the  worst  I ever  met 
with.  Such  tones  never  came  from  any 
human  voice  within  my  hearing.  Fie 
was  the  very  ideal  of  bad  delivery. 
Then  I must  say  the  matter  was  often 
as  uninviting  as  the  manner.  Dr.  Hop- 
kins was  distinguished  by  nothing  more 
than  by  faithfulness  to  his  principles. 
He  carried  them  out  to  their  full  extent. 
Believing,  as  he  did,  in  total  depravity, 
believing  that  there  was  nothing  good 
or  generous  in  human  nature  to  which 
he  could  make  an  appeal,  believing  that 
he  could  benefit  men  only  by  setting 
before  them  their  utterly  lost  and  help- 
less condition,  he  came  to  the  point 
without  any  circumlocution,  and  dealt 
out  terrors  with  an  unsparing  liberality. 
Add  to  all  this,  that  his  manners  had  a 


426 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP . 


bluntness,  partly  natural,  partly  the  re- 
sult of  long  seclusion  in  the  country. 
We  cannot  wonder  that  such  a man 
should  be  set  down  as  hard  and  severe. 
But  he  had  a true  benevolence,  and, 
what  is  more  worthy  of  being  noted,  he 
was  given  to  a facetious  style  of  conver- 
sation. Two  instances  immediately  oc- 
cur to  me,  which  happened  in  my  own 
circle.  One  day  he  dined  at  my  father’s 
with  a young  minister  who  was  willing 
to  comply  with  the  costume  of  the  day, 
but  whose  modesty  only  allowed  the 
ruffles  to  peep  from  his  breast.  The 
Doctor  said,  with  good  humor,  “ I don’t 
care  for  ruffles  ; but  if  I wore  them,  I’d 
wear  them  like  a man.”  I recollect  that 
on  visiting  him  one  day  when  he  was 
about  eighty  years  of  age,  I found  his 
eyes  much  inflamed  by  reading  and 
writing.  I took  the  liberty  to  recom- 
mend abstinence  from  these  occupa- 
tions. He  replied,  smilingly,  with  an 
amusing  story,  and  then  added,  “ If  my 
eyes  won’t  study,  no  eyes  for  me.”  This 
facetiousness  may  seem  to  some,  who 
are  unacquainted  with  the  world,  not 
consistent  with  the  great  severity  of  his 
theology  ; but  nothing  is  more  common 
than  this  apparent  self-contradiction. 
The  ministers  who  deal'  rqost  in  terrors, 
who  preach  doctrines  which  ought  to 
make  their  flesh  creep,  and  to  turn  their 
eyes  into  fountains  of  tears,  are  not 
generally  distinguished  by  their  spare 
forms  or  haggard  countenances.  They 
take  the  world  as  easily  as  people  of  a 
milder  creed  ; and  this  does  not  show 
that  they  want  sincerity  or  benevolence. 
It  only  shows  how  superficially  men 
may  believe  in  doctrines,  which  yet 
they  would  shudder  to  relinquish.  It 
shows  how  little  the  import  of  language, 
which  is  thundered  from  the  lips,  is  com- 
prehended and  felt.  I should  not  set 
down  as  hard-hearted  a man  whose  ap- 
petite should  be  improved  by  preaching 
a sermon  full  of  images  and  threaten- 
ings  of  “a  bottomless  hell.”  The  best 
meals  are  sometimes  made  after  such 
effusions.  This  is  only  an  example  of 
the  numberless  contradictions  in  human 
life.  Men  are  every  day  saying  and 
doing,  from  the  power  of  education, 
habit,  and  imitation,  what  has  no  root 
whatever  in  their  serious  convictions. 
Dr.  Hopkins,  though  his  style  of  preach- 
ing and  conversation  did  not  always 
agree,  was  a sincere,  benevolent  man. 


I remember  hearing  of  his  giving  on  a 
journey  all  he  had  to  a poor  woman. 
On  another  occasion  he  contributed  to 
some  religious  object  a hundred  dollars, 
which  he  had  received  for  the  copyright 
of  a book  ; and  this  he  gave  from  his 
penury,  for  he  received  no  fixed  salary, 
and  depended,  in  a measure,  on  the  do- 
nations of  friends  for  common  comforts. 
When  he  first  established  himself  in 
Newport,  he  was  brought  into  contact 
with  two  great  evils,  the  slave-trade  and 
slavery,  in  both  of  which  a large  part  of 
the  inhabitants  were  or  had  been  en- 
gaged. “ His  spirit  was  stirred  in  him,” 
and  without  “ conferring  with  flesh  or 
blood,”  without  heeding  the  strong  prej- 
udices and  passions  enlisted  on  the  side 
of  these  abuses,  he  bore  his  faithful 
testimony  against  them  from  the  pulpit 
and  the  press.  Still  more,  he  labored 
for  the  education  of  the  colored  people, 
and  had  the  happiness  of  seeing  the 
fruits  of  his  labors  in  the  intelligence 
and  exemplary  piety  of  those  who  came 
under  his  influence.  Much  as  he  disap- 
proved of  the  moderate  theology  of  Dr. 
Stiles,  he  cheerfully  co-operated  with 
him  in  this  work.  Their  names  were 
joined  to  a circular  for  obtaining  funds 
to  educate  Africans  as  missionaries  to 
their  own  country.  These  two  eminent 
men,  who,  as  I think,  held  no  ministe- 
rial intercourse,  forgot  their  differences 
in  their  zeal  for  freedom  and  humanity. 

Dr.  Hopkins,  in  conversing  with  me 
on  his  past  history,  reverted  more  fre- 
quently to  his  religious  controversies 
than  to  any  other  event  of  his  life,  and 
always  spoke  as  a man  conscious  of 
having  gained  the  victory  ; and  in  this, 
I doubt  not,  that  he  judged  justly.  He 
was  true,  as  I have  said,  to  his  princi- 
ples, and  carried  them  out  fearlessly  to 
their  consequences  ; whilst  his  oppo- 
nents wished  to  stop  half-way.  Of 
course  it  was  easy  for  a practised  dis- 
putant to  drive  them  from  their  posi- 
tion. They  had,  indeed,  the  advantage 
of  common-sense  on  their  side,  but  this 
availed  little  at  a time  when  it  was 
understood  that  common-sense  was  to 
yield  to  the  established  creed.  These 
controversies  are  most  of  them  forgot- 
ten, but  they  were  agitated  with  no  small 
warmth.  One  of  the  most  important, 
and  which  was  confined  to  the  Calvin- 
ists, turned  on  what  were  called  the 
“ Means  of  Grace.”  The  question  was, 


CHRISTIAN  WORSHIP . 


427 


whether  the  unregenerate  could  do  any 
thing  for  themselves,  whether  an  uncon- 
verted man  could,  by  prayer,  by  reading 
the  Scriptures,  and  by  public  worship, 
promote  his  own  conversion  ; whether, 
in  a word,  any  means  used  by  an  unre- 
generate man  would  avail  to  that  change 
of  heart  on  which  his  future  happiness 
depended.  Dr.  Hopkins,  true  to  the 
fundamental  principles  of  Calvinism, 
took  the  negative  side  of  the  ques- 
tion. He  maintained  that  man,  being 
wholly  depraved  by  nature,  wholly 
averse  to  God  and  goodness,  could  do 
nothing  but  sin,  before  the  mighty 
power  of  God  had  implanted  a new 
principle  of  holiness  within  his  heart ; 
that,  of  course,  his  prayers  and  efforts 
before  conversion  were  sins,  and  de- 
served the  divine  wrath  ; that  his  very 
struggles  for  pardon  and  salvation, 
wanting,  as  they  did,  a holy  motive, 
springing  from  the  deep  selfishness  of 
an  unrenewed  soul,  only  increased  his 
guilt  and  condemnation.  The  doctrine 
was,  indeed,  horrible,  but  a plain,  nec- 
essary result  of  man’s  total  corruption 
and  impotence.  I state  this  contro- 
versy, that  the  reader  may  know  the 
kind  of  topics  in  which  the  zeal  and 
abilities  of  our  fathers  were  employed. 
It  also  shows  us  how  extremes  meet. 
Dr.  Hopkins  contended  that  no  means 
of  religion  or  virtue  could  avail,  unless 
used  with  a sincere  love  of  religion 
and  virtue.  In  this  doctrine  all  liberal 
Christians  concur.  In  their  hands,  how- 
ever, the  doctrine  wears  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent aspect  in  consequence  of  their 
denial  of  total,  original  depravity,  that 
terrible  error  which  drove  Dr.  Hopkins 
to  conclusions  equally  shocking  to  the 
reason,  to  common-sense,  and  to  the 
best  feelings  of  the  heart. 

The  characteristic  disposition  of  Dr. 
Hopkins  to  follow  out  his  principles 
was  remarkably  illustrated  in  a manu- 
script of  his  which  was  never  published, 
and  which  perhaps  was  suppressed  by 
those  who  had  the  charge  of  his  papers, 
in  consequence  of  its  leaning  towards 
some  of  the  speculations  of  the  infidel 
philosophy  of  the  day,  in  regard  to 
utility  or  the  general  good.  It  fell  into 
my  hands  after  his  death,  and  struck 
me  so  much  that  I think  I can  trust  my 
recollections  of  it.  It  gave  the  author’s 
ideas  of  moral  good.  He  maintained 
that  the  object  of  “moral  good,”  the 


object  on  which  virtue  is  fixed,  and  the 
choice  of  which  constitutes  virtue,  is 
“ natural  good,”  or  the  greatest  possible 
amount  of  enjoyment,  not  our  own  en- 
joyment only,  but  that  of  the  whole 
system  of  being.  He  virtually,  if  not 
expressly,  set  forth  this  “ natural  good,” 
that  is,  happiness  in  the  simple  sense 
of  enjoyment,  as  the  ultimate  good,  and 
made  moral  good  the  means.  I well 
recollect  how,  in  starting  from  this  prin- 
ciple, he  justified  eternal  punishment. 
He  affirmed  that  sin  or  selfishness 
(synonymous  words  in  his  vocabulary) 
tended  to  counteract  God’s  system, 
which  is  framed  for  infinite  happiness, 
or  tended  to  produce  infinite  misery. 
He  then  insisted  that  by  subjecting  the 
sinner  to  endless,  that  is,  infinite  misery, 
this  tendency  was  made  manifest  ; a 
correspondence  was  established  between 
the  sin  and  the  punishment,  and  a bar- 
rier was  erected  against  sin,  which  was 
demanded  by  the  greatness  of  the  good 
menaced  by  the  wrong-doer. 

I have  thrown  together  these  recol- 
lections of  a man  who  has  been  crowded 
out  of  men’s  minds  by  the  thronging 
events  and  interests  of  our  time,  but 
who  must  always  fill  an  important  place 
in  our  ecclesiastical  history.  He  was  a 
singularly  blameless  man,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  intolerance  towards  those 
who  differed  from  him.  This  he  some- 
times expressed  in  a manner  which,  to 
those  unacquainted  with  him,  seemed  a 
sign  of  any  thing  but  benignity.  In  one 
point  of  view,  I take  pleasure  in  think- 
ing of  him.  He  was  an  illustration  of 
the  power  of  our  spiritual  nature.  In 
narrow  circumstances,  with  few  outward 
indulgences,  in  great  seclusion,  he  yet 
found  much  to  enjoy.  He  lived  in  a 
world  of  thought,  above  all  earthly  pas- 
sions. He  represented  to  himself,  as 
the  result  of  the  divine  government,  a 
boundless  diffusion  of  felicity  through 
the  universe,  and  contrived  to  merge  in 
this  the  horrors  of  his  theological  sys- 
tem. His  doctrines,  indeed,  threw  dark 
colors  over  the  world  around  him  ; but 
he  took  refuge  from  the  present  state  of 
things  in  the  millennium.  The  millen- 
nium was  his  chosen  ground.  If  any 
subject  of  thought  possessed  him  above 
all  others,  I suppose  it  to  have  been 
this.  The  millennium  was  more  than 
a belief  to  him.  It  had  the  freshness  of 
visible  things.  He  was  at  home  in  it. 


THE  CHURCH. 


428 

His  book  on  the  subject  has  an  air  of 
reality,  as  if  written  from  observation. 
He  describes  the  habits  and  customs  of 
the  millennium  as  one  familiar  with 
them.  He  enjoyed  this  future  glory  of 
the  church  not  a whit  the  less  because 
it  was  so  much  his  own  creation.  The 
fundamental  idea,  the  germ,  he  found  in 
the  Scriptures,  but  it  expanded  in  and 
from  his  own  mind.  Whilst  to  the  mul- 
titude he  seemed  a hard,  dry  theologian, 
feeding  on  the  thorns  of  controversy,  he 
was  living  in  a region  of  imagination, 
feeding  on  visions  of  a holiness  and  a 
happiness  which  are  to  make  earth  all 
but  heaven.  It  has  been  my  privilege 
to  meet  with  other  examples  of  the  same 
character,  with  men  who,  amidst  priva- 
tion, under  bodily  infirmity,  and  with 
none  of  those  materials  of  enjoyment 
which  the  multitude  are  striving  for, 
live  in  a world  of  thought,  and  enjoy 
what  affluence  never  dreamed  of,  — men 
having  nothing,  yet  possessing  all  things ; 
and  the  sight  of  such  has  done  me  more 
good,  has  spoken  more  to  my  head  and 
heart,  than  many  sermons  and  volumes. 
I have  learned  the  sufficiency  of  the 
mind  to  itself,  its  independence  on  out- 
ward things. 

I regret  that  I did  not  use  my  acquaint- 
ance with  Dr.  Hopkins  to  get  the  par- 


ticulars of  the  habits  and  conversation 
of  Edwards  and  Whitefield,  whom  he 
knew  intimately.  I value  the  hints 
which  I get  about  distinguished  men 
from  their  friends  much  more  than  writ- 
ten accounts  of  them.  Most  biographies 
are  of  little  worth.  The  true  object  of 
a biography,  which  is  to  give  us  an  in- 
sight into  men’s  characters,  such  as  an 
intimate  acquaintance  with  them  would 
have  furnished,  is  little  comprehended. 
The  sayings  and  actions  of  a man,  which 
breathe  most  of  what  was  individual  in 
him,  should  be  sought  above  all  things 
by  his  historian ; and  yet  most  lives 
contain  none,  or  next  to  none,  of  these. 
They  are  panegyrics,  not  lives.  No 
department  of  literature  is  so  false  as 
biography.  The  object  is,  not  to  let 
down  the  hero  ; and  consequently  what 
is  most  human,  most  genuine,  most  char- 
acteristic in  his  history,  is  excluded. 
Sometimes  one  anecdote  will  let  us  into 
the  secret  of  a man’s  soul  more  than  all 
the  prominent  events  of  his  life.  It  is 
not  impossible  that  some  readers  may 
object  to  some  of  my  notices  of  the  stern 
theologian,  to  whom  this  note  refers,  as 
too  familiar.  This  seems  to  me  their 
merit.  They  show  that  he  was  not  a 
mere  theologian,  that  he  had  the  sympa- 
thies of  a man. 


THE  CHURCH: 

A Discourse  delivered  in  the  First  Congregational  Unitarian  Church 
of  Philadelphia , Sunday,  May  30,  1841. 


Matthew  vii.  21-27:  “Not  every  one  that 
saith  unto  me,  Lord,  Lord,  shall  enter  into  the  king- 
dom of  heaven;  but  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  my  Fa- 
ther which  is  in  heaven.  Many  will  say  to  me  in  that 
day,  Lord,  Lord,  have  we  not  prophesied  in  thy  name? 
and  in  thy  name  have  cast  out  devils?  and  in  thy  name 
done  many  wonderful  works?  And  then  will  I pro- 
fess unto  them,  I never  knew  you ; depart  from  me,  ye 
that  work  iniquity. 

“Therefore,  whosoever  heareth  these  sayings  of 
mine,  and  doeth  them,  I will  liken  him  unto  a wise 
man,  which  built  his  house  upon  a rock  ; and  the  rain 
descended,  and  the  floods  came,  and  the  winds  blew, 
and  beat  upon  that  house,  and  it  fell  not ; for  it  was 
founded  upon  a rock- 

“And  everyone  that  heareth  these  sayings  of  mine, 
and  doeth  them  not,  shall  be  likened  unto  a foolish 
man,  which  built  his  house  upon  the  sand;  and  the 
rain  descended,  and  the  floods  came,  and  the  winds 
blew,  and  beat  upon  that  house,  and  it  fell ; and  great 
was  the  fall  of  it.” 


sion  of  Christ’s  Sermon  on  the  Mount, 
teach  a great  truth  ; namely,  that  there 
is  but  one  thing  essential  in  religion, 
and  this  is  the  doing  of  God’s  will,  the 
doing  of  those  sayings  or  precepts  of 
Christ  which  constitute  the  substance  of 
that  memorable  discourse.  We  learn 
that  it  will  avail  us  nothing  to  call 
Christ  Lord,  Lord,  to  profess  ourselves 
his  disciples,  to  hear  his  words,  to  teach 
in  his  name,  to  take  our  place  in  his 
church,  or  even  to  do  wonderful  works 
or  miracles  in  attestation  of  his  truth, 
if  we  neglect  to  cherish  the  spirit  and 
virtues  of  his  religion.  God  heeds  not 
what  we  say,  but  what  we  are,  and  what 
we  do.  The  subjection  of  our  wills  to 


These  words,  which  form  the  conclu- 


THE CHURCH . 


the  divine,  the  mortification  of  sensual 
and  selfish  propensities,  the  cultivation 
of  supreme  love  to  God,  and  of  universal 
justice  and  charity  towards  our  neigh- 
bor, — this,  this  is  the  very  essence  of 
religion  ; this  alone  places  us  on  a rock  ; 
this  is  the  end,  the  supreme  and  ulti- 
mate good,  and  is  to  be  prized  and 
sought  above  all  other  things. 

This  is  a truth  as  simple  as  it  is  grand. 
The  child  can  understand  it ; and  yet 
men,  in  all  ages,  have  contrived  to  over- 
look it ; have  contrived  to  find  substi- 
tutes for  purity  of  heart  and  life  ; have 
hoped  by  some  other  means  to  commend 
themselves  to  God,  to  enter  the  kingdom 
of  heaven.  Forms,  creeds,  churches, 
the  priesthood,  the  sacraments,  these 
and  other  things  have  been  exalted  into 
supremacy.  The  grand  and  only  quali- 
fication for  heaven,  that  which  in  itself 
is  heaven,  the  virtue  and  the  spirit  of 
Jesus  Christ,  has  been  obscured,  de- 
preciated ; whilst  assent  to  certain  mys- 
teries, or  union  with  certain  churches, 
has  been  thought  the  narrow  way  that 
leads  to  life.  I have  not  time  in  a single 
discourse  to  expose  all  the  delusions 
which  have  spread  on  this  subject.  I 
shall  confine  myself  to  one,  which  is  not 
limited  to  the  past,  but  too  rife  in  our 
own  times. 

There  has  always  existed,  and  still 
exists,  a disposition  to  attach  undue  im- 
portance to  “ the  church  ” which  a man 
belongs  to.  To  be  a member  of  “ the 
true  church  ” has  been  insisted  on  as 
essential  to  human  salvation.  Multi- 
tudes have  sought  comfort,  and  not  sel- 
dom found  their  ruin,  in  the  notion  that 
they  were  embraced  in  the  motherly 
arms  of  “ the  true  church  ; ” for  with 
this  they  have  been  satisfied.  Pro- 
fessed Christians  have  fought  about 
“ the  church”  as  if  it  were  a matter  of 
life  and  death.  The  Roman  Catholic 
shuts  the  gate  of  heaven  on  you  be- 
cause you  will  not  enter  his  “ church.” 
Among  the  Protestants  are  those  who 
tell  you  that  the  promises  of  Christian- 
ity do  not  belong  to  you,  be  your  char- 
acter what  it  may,  unless  you  receive 
the  Christian  ordinances  from  the  min- 
isters of  their  “ church.”  Salvation  is 
made  to  flow  through  a certain  priest- 
hood, through  an  hereditary  order, 
through  particular  rites  administered  by 
consecrated  functionaries.  Even  among 
denominations  in  which  such  exclusive 


429 

claims  are  not  set  up,  you  will  still  meet 
the  idea  that  a man  is  safer  in  their  par- 
ticular “ church  ” than  elsewhere  ; so 
that  something  distinct  from  Christian 
purity  of  heart  and  life  is  made  the  way 
of  salvation. 

This  error  I wish  to  expose.  I wish 
to  show  that  Christ’s  spirit,  Christ’s 
virtue,  or  “the  doing  of  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount,”  is  the  great  end  of  our  re- 
ligion, the  only  essential  thing,  and  that 
all  other  things  are  important  only  as 
ministering  to  this.  I know,  indeed, 
that  very  many  acknowledge  the  doc- 
trine now  expressed.  But  too  often 
their  conviction  is  not  deep  and  living, 
and  it  is  impaired  by  superstitious  no- 
tions of  some  mysterious  saving  influ- 
ence in  “ the  church,”  or  in  some  other 
foreign  agency.  To  meet  these  erro- 
neous tendencies,  I shall  not  undertake 
to  prove  in  a formal  way,  by  logical  pro- 
cess, the  supreme  importance,  blessed- 
ness, and  glory  of  righteousness,  of 
sanctity,  of  love  towards  God  and  man, 
or  to  prove  that  nothing  else  is  indis- 
pensable. This  truth  shines  by  its  own 
light.  It  runs  through  the  whole  New 
Testament,  and  is  a gospel  written  in 
the  soul  by  a divine  hand.  To  vindicate 
it  against  the  claims  set  up  for  “ the 
church,”  nothing  is  needed  but  to  offer 
a few  plain  remarks  in  the  order  in 
which  they  rise  up  of  themselves  to  my 
mind. 

I begin  with  the  remark  that  in  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount  Jesus  said  noth- 
ing about  the  “ church  ; ” nor  do  we 
find  him,  or  his  disciples,  laying  down 
anywhere  a definite  plan  for  its  organi- 
zation, or  a ritual  for  its  worship.  Nor 
ought  this  to  surprise  us.  It  was  the 
very  thing  to  be  expected  in  such  a re- 
ligion as  Christianity.  Judaism  was  in- 
tended to  educate  a particular  nation, 
half-civilized  and  surrounded  with  the 
grossest  idolatry,  and  accordingly  it 
hedged  them  in  by  multiplied  and  rigid 
forms.  But  Christianity  proposes,  as  its 
grand  aim,  to  spread  the  inward,  spirit- 
ual worship  of  God  through  all  nations, 
in  all  stages  of  society,  under  all  varie- 
ties of  climate,  government,  and  condi- 
tion ; and  such  a religion  cannot  be 
expected  to  confine  itself  to  any  par- 
ticular outward  shape.  Especially  when 
we  consider  that  it  is  destined  to  endure 
through  all  ages,  to  act  on  all,  to  blend 
itself  with  new  forms  of  society,  and 


430 


THE  CHURCH. 


with  the  highest  improvements  of  the 
race,  it  cannot  be  expected  to  ordain  an 
immutable  mode  of  administration,  but 
must  leave  its  modes  of  worship  and 
communion  to  conform  themselves  si- 
lently and  gradually  to  the  wants  and 
progress  of  humanity.  The  rites  and 
arrangements  which  suit  one  period  lose 
their  significance  or  efficiency  in  another. 
The  forms  which  minister  to  the  mind 
now  may  fetter  it  hereafter,  and  must 
give  place  to  its  free  unfolding.  A sys- 
tem wanting  this  freedom  and  flexible- 
ness would  carry  strong  proof  in  itself 
of  not  having  been  intended  for  univer- 
sality. It  is  one  proof  of  Christ’s  hav- 
ing come  to  “ inherit  all  nations,”  that 
he  did  not  institute  for  all  nations  and  all 
times  a precise  machinery  of  forms  and 
outward  rules,  that  he  entered  into  no 
minute  legislation  as  to  the  worship  and 
government  of  his  church,  but  left  these 
outward  concerns  to  be  swayed  by  the 
spirit  and  progress  of  successive  ages. 
Of  consequence,  no  particular  order  of 
the  church  can  be  essential  to  salvation. 
No  church  can  pretend  that  its  consti- 
tution is  defined  and  ordained  in  the 
Scriptures  so  plainly  and  undeniably 
that  whoever  forsakes  it  gives  palpable 
proof  of  a spirit  of  disobedience  to  God. 
All  churches  are  embraced  by  their 
members  with  equal  religious  reverence, 
and  this  assures  us  that  in  all  God’s 
favor  may  be  equally  obtained. 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  that,  from  the 
necessity  of  the  case,  the  church  as- 
sumed at  first  a form  which  it  could  not 
long  retain.  It  was  governed  by  the 
Apostles  who  had  founded  it,  men  who 
had  known  Christ  personally,  and  re- 
ceived his  truth  from  his  lips,  and 
witnessed  his  resurrection,  and  were 
enriched  above  all  men  by  the  miracu- 
lous illuminations  and  aids  of  his  Spirit. 
These  presided  over  the  church  with  an 
authority  peculiar  to  themselves,  and  to 
which  none  after  them  could  with  any 
reason  pretend.  They  understood  “the 
mind  of  Christ”  as  none  could  do  but 
those  who  had  enjoyed  so  long  and 
close  an  intimacy  with  him ; and  not 
only  were  they  sent  forth  with  miracu- 
lous powers,  but,  by  imposition  of  their 
hands,  similar  gifts  of  the  Spirit  were 
conferred  on  others.  This  presence  of 
inspired  apostles  and  supernatural  pow- 
ers gave  to  the  primitive  church  obvious 
Q.nd  important  distinctions,  separating 


it  widely  from  the  form  which  it  was 
afterwards  to  assume.  Of  this  we  have 
a remarkable  proof  in  a passage  of 
Paul,  in  which  he  sets  before  us  the 
offices  or  functions  exercised  in  the 
original  church.  “ God  hath  set  in 
the  church  apostles,  prophets,  teachers, 
miracles,  gifts  of  healings,  helps,  govern- 
ments, diversities  of  tongues.”  * Now, 
of  all  these  endowments  or  offices,  one 
only,  that  of  teacher,  remains  in  our  day. 
The  Apostles,  the  founders  and  heroes 
of  the  primitive  church,  with  their  pe- 
culiar powers,  have  vanished,  leaving 
as  their  representatives  their  writings, 
to  be  studied  alike  by  all.  Teachers 
remain,  not  because  they  existed  in  the 
first  age,  but  because  their  office,  from 
its  nature,  and  from  the  condition  of 
human  nature,  is  needed  still.  The 
office,  however,  has  undergone  an  im- 
portant change.  At  first  the  Christian 
teacher  enjoyed  immediate  communica- 
tion with  the  Apostles,  and  received 
miraculous  aids,  and  thus  enjoyed  means 
of  knowledge  possessed  by  none  of  his 
successors.  The  Christian  minister  now 
can  only  approach  the  Apostles  as  other 
men  do,  that  is,  through  the  Gospels 
and  Epistles  which  they  have  left  us  ; 
and  he  has  no  other  aid  from  above  in 
interpreting  them  than  every  true  Chris- 
tian enjoys.  The  promise  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  that  greatest  of  promises,  is 
made  without  distinction  to  every  man, 
of  every  office  or  rank,  who  persever- 
ingly  implores  the  Divine  help ; and 
this  establishes  an  essential  equality 
among  all.  Whether  teachers  are  to 
continue  in  the  brighter  ages  which 
prophecy  announces  is  rendered  doubt- 
ful by  a very  striking  prediction  of  the 
times  of  the  Messiah.  “After  those 
days,”  saith  the  Lord,  “ I will  put  my 
law  in  their  inward  parts,  and  write  it 
in  their  hearts,  and  will  be  their  God, 
and  they  shall  be  my  people.  And  they 
shall  teach  no  more  every  man  his 
neighbor,  and  every  man  his  brother, 
saying,  ‘ Know  the  Lord  ; ’ for  they  shall 
all  know  me,  from  the  least  of  them 
unto  the  greatest  of  them.”f  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  any  man,  with  a clear  com- 
prehension of  the  peculiarity  of  the 
primitive  church,  can  look  back  to  this 
as  an  immutable  form  and  rule,  can  re- 
gard any  church  form  as  essential  to 

* I Cor.  xii.  28.  t Jeremiah  xxxi.  33,  34. 


THE  CHURCH. 


431 


salvation,  can  ascribe  to  outward  or- 
dinances, so  necessarily  fluctuating,  an 
importance  to  be  compared  with  that 
which  belongs  to  the  immutable,  ever- 
lasting distinctions  of  holiness  and 
virtue  ? 

The  church  as  at  first  constituted  pre- 
sents interesting  and  beautiful  aspects. 
It  was  not  a forced  and  arbitrary,  but 
free,  spontaneous  union.  It  grew  out 
of  the  principles  and  feelings  of  human 
nature.  Our  nature  is  social.  We  can- 
not live  alone.  We  cannot  shut  up  any 
great  feeling  in  our  hearts.  We  seek 
for  others  to  partake  it  with  us.  The 
full  soul  finds  at  once  relief  and  strength 
in  sympathy.  This  is  especially  true  in 
religion,  the  most  social  of  all  our  sen- 
timents, the  only  universal  bond  on 
earth.  In  this  law  of  our  nature  the 
Christian  church  had  its  origin.  Christ 
did  not  establish  it  in  a formal  way. 
If  you  consult  the  New  Testament,  you 
do  not  find  Jesus  or  his  Apostles  setting 
about  the  task  of  forming  an  artificial 
organization  of  the  first  disciples.  Read 
in  the  book  of  Acts  the  simple,  touch- 
ing narratives  of  the  union  of  the  first 
converts.  They  “were  of  one  heart 
and  of  one  soul.”  They  could  not  be 
kept  asunder.  The  new  truth  melted 
them  into  one  mass,  knit  them  into  one 
body.  In  their  mutual  love  they  could 
not  withhold  from  one  another  their 
possessions,  but  had  all  things  in  com- 
mon. Blessed  unity!  a type  of  that 
oneness  and  harmony  which  a purer 
Christianity  is  to  spread  through  all 
nations.  Among  those  early  converts 
the  most  gifted  and  enlightened  were 
chosen  to  be  teachers  in  public  assem- 
blies. To  these  assemblies  the  brother- 
hood repaired  with  eagerness,  to  hear 
expositions  of  the  new  faith,  to  strength- 
en one  another’s  loyalty  to  Christ,  and 
to  be  open  witnesses  of  him  in  the 
world.  In  their  meetings  they  were  left 
very  much  to  follow  the  usages  of  the 
synagogue,  in  which  they  had  been 
brought  up  ; so  little  did  Christianity 
trouble  itself  about  forms.  How  sim- 
ple, how  natural  this  association!  It  is 
no  mystery.  It  grew  out  of  the  plain- 
est wants  of  the  human  heart.  The 
religious  sentiment,  the  spirit  of  love 
towards  God  and  man,  awakened  afresh 
by  Christ,  craved  for  a new  union 
through  which  to  find  utterance  and 
strength.  And  shall  this  church  union, 


the  growth  of  the  Christian  spirit,  and 
so  plainly  subordinate  to  it,  usurp  its 
place,  or  in  any  way  detract  from  its 
sole  sufficiency,  from  its  supreme,  un- 
rivalled glory  ? 

The  church,  according  to  its  true  idea 
and  purpose,  is  an  association  of  sin- 
cere, genuine  followers  of  Christ ; and 
at  first  this  idea  was  in  a good  degree 
realized.  The  primitive  disciples  were 
drawn  to  Christ  by  conviction.  They 
met  together  and  confessed  him,  not 
from  usage,  fashion,  or  education,  but 
in  opposition  to  all  these.  In  that  age, 
profession  and  practice,  the  form  and 
the  spirit,  the  reality  and  the  outward 
signs  of  religion,  went  together.  But 
with  the  growth  of  the  church  its  life 
declined  ; its  great  idea  was  obscured  ; 
the  name  remained,  and  sometimes  little 
more  than  the  name.  It  is  a remarka- 
ble fact,  that  the  very  spirit  to  which 
Christianity  is  most  hostile,  the  passion 
for  power,  dominion,  pomp,  and  pre- 
eminence, struck  its  deepest  roots  in 
the  church.  The  church  became  the 
very  stronghold  of  the  lusts  and  vices 
which  Christianity  most  abhors.  Ac- 
cordingly its  history  is  one  of  the  most 
melancholy  records  of  past  times.  It 
is  sad  enough  to  read  the  blood-stained 
annals  of  worldly  empires  ; but  when 
we  see  the  spiritual  kingdom  of  Christ 
a prey  for  ages  to  usurping  popes,  prel- 
ates, or  sectarian  chiefs,  inflamed  with 
bigotry  and  theological  hate  and  the 
lust  of  rule,  and  driven  by  these  fires 
of  hell  to  grasp  the  temporal  sword,  to 
persecute,  torture,  imprison,  butcher 
their  brethren,  to  mix  with  and  embitter 
national  wars,  and  to  convulse  the  whole 
Christian  world,  we  experience  a deeper 
gloom,  and  are  more  tempted  to  despair 
of  our  race.  History  has  not  a darker 
page  than  that  which  records  the  perse- 
cutions of  the  Albigenses,  or  the  horrors 
of  the  Inquisition.  And  when  we  come 
to  later  times,  the  church  wears  any 
thing  rather  than  “ Holiness”  inscribed 
on  her  front.  How  melancholy  to  a 
Christian  the  history  lately  given  us  by 
Ranke  of  the  reaction  of  Catholicism 
against  Protestantism  ! Throughout  we 
see  the  ecclesiastical  powers  resorting 
to  force  as  the  grand  instrument  of  con- 
version ; thus  proving  their  alliance, 
not  with  heaven,  but  with  earth  and 
hell.  If  we  take  broad  views  of  the 
church  in  any  age  or  land,  how  seldom 


432 


THE  CHURCH. 


do  we  see  the  prevalence  of  true  sanc- 
tity ! How  many  of  its  ministers  preach 
for  lucre  or  display,  preach  what  they 
do  not  believe,  or  deny  their  doctrines 
in  their  lives ! How  many  congrega- 
tions are  there,  made  up  in  a great  de- 
gree of  worldly  men  and  women,  who 
repair  to  the  house  of  God  from  usage, 
or  for  propriety’s  sake,  or  from  a vague 
notion  of  being  saved  ; not  from  thirst 
for  the  Divine  Spirit,  not  from  a fulness 
of  heart  which  longs  to  pour  itself  forth 
in  prayer  and  praise ! Such  is  the 
church.  We  are  apt,  indeed,  to  make 
it  an  abstraction,  or  to  separate  it  in 
our  thoughts  from  the  individuals  who 
compose  it ; and  thus  it  becomes  to  us 
a holy  thing,  and  we  ascribe  to  it  strange 
powers.  Theologians  speak  of  it  as  a 
unity,  a mighty  whole,  one  and  the 
same  in  all  ages  ; and  in  this  way  the 
imagination  is  cheated  into  the  idea  of 
its  marvellous  sanctity  and  grandeur. 
But  we  must  separate  between  the 
theory  or  the  purpose  of  the  church 
and  its  actual  state.  When  we  come 
down  to  facts,  we  see  it  to  be,  not  a 
mysterious,  immutable  unity,  but  a col- 
lection of  fluctuating,  divided,  warring 
individuals,  who  bring  into  it  too  often 
hearts  and  hands  any  thing  but  pure. 
Painful  as  it  is,  we  must  see  things  as 
they  are  ; and  so  doing,  we  cannot  but 
be  struck  with  the  infinite  absurdity  of 
ascribing  to  such  a church  mysterious 
powers,  of  supposing  that  it  can  confer 
holiness  on  its  members,  or  that  the 
circumstance  of  being  joined  to  it  is  of 
the  least  moment  in  comparison  with 
purity  of  heart  and  life. 

Purity  of  heart  and  life,  Christ’s  spirit 
of  love  towards  God  and  man  ; this  is  all 
in  all.  This  is  the  only  essential  thing. 
The  church  is  important  only  as  it  min- 
isters to  this  ; and  every  church  which 
so  ministers  is  a good  one,  no  matter 
how,  when,  or  where  it  grew  up,  no 
matter  whether  it  worship  on  its  knees 
or  on  its  feet,  or  whether  its  ministers 
are  ordained  by  pope,  bishop,  presbyter, 
or  people  ; these  are  secondary  things, 
and  of  no  comparative  moment.  The 
church  which  opens  on  heaven  is  that, 
and  that  only,  in  which  the  spirit  of 
heaven  dwells.  The  church  whose  wor- 
ship rises  to  God’s  ear  is  that,  and  that 
only,  where  the  soul  ascends.  No  mat- 
ter whether  it  be  gathered  in  cathedral 
or  barn  ; whether  it  sit  in  silence,  or 


send  up  a hymn  ; whether  the  minister 
speak  from  carefully  prepared  notes,  or 
from  immediate,  fervent,  irrepressible 
suggestion.  If  God  be  loved,  and  Jesus 
Christ  be  welcomed  to  the  soul,  and  his 
instructions  be  meekly  and  wisely  heard, 
and  the  solemn  purpose  grow  up  to  do 
all  duty  amidst  all  conflict,  sacrifice,  and 
temptation,  then  the  true  end  of  the 
church  is  answered.  “ This  is  no  other 
than  the  house  of  God,  the  gate  of 
heaven.” 

In  these  remarks  I do  not  mean  that 
all  churches  are  of  equal  worth.  Some 
undoubtedly  correspond  more  than  others 
to  the  spirit  and  purpose  of  Christianity, 
to  the  simple  usages  of  the  primitive 
disciples,  and  to  the  principles  of  human 
nature.  All  have  their  superstitions 
and  corruptions,  but  some  are  more  pure 
than  the  rest ; and  we  are  bound  to  seek 
that  which  is  purest,  which  corresponds 
most  to  the  Divine  will.  As  far  as  we 
have  power  to  select,  we  should  go  to  the 
church  where  we  shall  be  most  helped  to 
become  devout,  disinterested,  and  mor- 
ally strong.  Our  salvation,  however,  does 
not  depend  on  our  finding  the  best  church 
on  earth,  for  this  may  be  distant  or  un- 
known. Amidst  diversities  of  administra- 
tions there  is  the  same  spirit.  In  all 
religious  societies  professing  Christ  as 
their  Lord,  the  plainest,  grandest  truths 
of  religion  will  almost  certainly  be  taught, 
and  some  souls  may  be  found  touched  and 
enlightened  from  above.  This  is  a plain, 
undeniable  fact.  In  all  sects,  various  as 
they  are,  good  and  holy  men  may  be  found; 
nor  can  we  tell  in  which  the  holiest  have 
grown  up.  The  church,  then,  answers 
its  end  in  all ; for  its  only  end  is,  to 
minister  to  human  virtue.  It  is  delight- 
ful to  read  in  the  records  of  all  denom- 
inations the  lives  of  eminent  Christians 
who  have  given  up  every  thing  for  their 
religion,  who  have  been  faithful  unto 
death,  who  have  shed  around  them  the 
sweet  light  and  fragrance  of  Christian 
hope  and  love.  We  cannot,  then,  well 
choose  amiss,  if  we  choose  the  church 
which,  as  it  seems  to  us,  best  represents 
the  grand  ideas  of  Christ,  and  speaks 
most  powerfully  to  our  consciences  and 
hearts.  This  church,  however,  we  must 
not  choose  for  our  brother.  He  differs 
from  us,  probably,  in  temperament,  in 
his  range  of  intellect,  or  in  the  impres- 
sions which  education  and  habit  have 
given  him.  Perhaps  the  worship  which 


THE  CHURCH. 


433 


most  quickens  you  and  me  may  hardly 
keep  our  neighbor  awake.  He  must  be 
approached  through  the  heart  and  imag- 
ination ; we  through  the  reason.  What 
to  him  is  fervor  passes  with  us  for  noise. 
What  to  him  is  an  imposing  form  is  to 
us  vain  show.  Condemn  him  not.  If,  in 
his  warmer  atmosphere,  he  builds  up  a 
stronger  faith  in  God  and  a more  stead- 
fast choice  of  perfect  goodness  than 
ourselves,  his  church  is  better  to  him 
than  ours  to  us. 

One  great  error  in  regard  to  churches 
contributes  to  the  false  estimate  of  them 
as  essential  to  salvation.  We  imagine 
that  the  church,  the  minister,  the  wor- 
ship can  do  something  for  us  mechan- 
ically ; that  there  are  certain  mysterious 
influences  in  what  we  call  a holy  place 
which  may  act  on  us  without  our  own 
agency.  It  is  not  so.  The  church  and 
the  minister  can  do  little  for  us  in  com- 
parison with  what  we  must  do  for  our- 
selves, and  nothing  for  us  without 
ourselves.  They  become  to  us  bless- 
ings through  our  own  activity.  Every 
man  must  be  his  own  priest.  It  is  his 
own  action,  not  the  minister’s,  it  is  the 
prayer  issuing  from  his  own  heart,  not 
from  another’s  lips,  which  aids  him  in 
the  church.  The  church  does  him  good 
only  as  by  its  rites,  prayers,  hymns,  and 
sermons  it  wakes  up  his  spirit  to  think, 
feel,  pray,  praise,  and  resolve.  The 
church  is  a help,  not  a force.  It  acts  on 
us  by  rational  and  moral  means,  and  not 
by  mystical  operations.  Its  influence 
resembles  precisely  that  which  is  ex- 
erted out  of  church.  Its  efficiency  de- 
pends chiefly  on  the  clearness,  sim- 
plicity, sincerity,  love,  and  zeal  with 
which  the  minister  speaks  to  our  under- 
standings, consciences,  and  hearts  ; just 
as  in  common  life  we  are  benefited  by 
the  clearness  and  energy  with  which  our 
friends  set  before  us  what  is  good  and 
pure.  The  church  is  adapted  to  our 
free,  moral  nature.  It  acts  on  us  as 
rational  and  responsible  beings,  and 
serves  us  through  our  own  efficiency. 
From  these  views  we  learn  that  the 
glory  of  the  church  does  not  lie  in  any 
particular  government  or  form,  but  in 
the  wisdom  with  which  it  combines  such 
influences  as  are  fitted  to  awaken  and 
purify  the  soul. 

Am  I asked  to  state  more  particularly 
what  these  influences  are  to  which  the 
church  owes  its  efficacy  ? I reply,  that 


they  are  such  as  may  be  found  in  all 
churches,  in  all  denominations.  The 
first  is  the  character  of  the  minister. 
This  has  an  obvious,  immediate,  and 
powerful  bearing  on  the  great  spiritual 
purpose  of  the  church.  I say  his  char- 
acter, not  his  ordination.  Ordination 
has  no  end  but  to  introduce  into  the 
sacred  office  men  qualified  for  its  duties, 
and  to  give  an  impression  of  its  impor- 
tance. It  is  by  his  personal  endow- 
ments, by  his  intellectual,  moral,  and 
religious  worth,  by  his  faithfulness  and 
zeal,  and  not  through  any  mysterious 
ceremony  or  power,  that  the  minister 
enlightens  and  edifies  the  church. 
What  matters  it  how  he  is  ordained 
or  set  apart,  if  he  give  himself  to  his 
work  in  the  fear  of  God  ? What  mat- 
ters it  who  has  laid  hands  on  him,  or 
whether  he  stand  up  in  surplice  or  drab 
coat  ? I go  to  church  to  be  benefited, 
not  by  hands  or  coats,  but  by  the  action 
of  an  enlightened  and  holy  teacher  on 
my  mind  and  heart ; not  an  overpow- 
ering, irresistible  action,  but  such  as 
becomes  effectual  through  my  own  free 
thought  and  will.  I go  to  be  convinced 
of  what  is  true,  and  to  be  warmed  with 
love  of  what  is  good  ; and  he  who  thus 
helps  me  is  a true  minister,  no  matter 
from  what  school,  consistory,  or  ecclesi- 
astical body  he  comes.  He  carries  his 
commission  in  his  soul.  Do  not  say 
that  his  ministry  has  no  “ validity,”  be- 
cause Rome,  or  Geneva,  or  Lambeth, 
or  Andover,  or  Princeton  has  not  laid 
hands  on  him.  What ! Has  he  not 
opened  my  eyes  to  see,  and  roused  my 
conscience  to  reprove  ? As  I have 
heard  him,  has  not  my  heart  burned 
within  me,  and  have  I not  silently  given 
myself  to  God  with  new  humility  and 
love  ? Have  I not  been  pierced  by 
his  warnings,  and  softened  by  his  looks 
and  tones  of  love  ? Has  he  not  taught 
and  helped  me  to  deny  myself,  to  con- 
quer the  world,  to  do  good  to  a foe  ? 
Has  he  done  this ; and  yet  has  his 
ministry  no  “ validity  ” ? What  other 
validity  can  there  be  than  this  ? If  a 
generous  friend  gives  me  water  to  drink 
when  I am  parched  with  thirst,  and  I 
drink  and  am  refreshed,  will  it  do  to  tell 
me  that  because  he  did  not  buy  the  cup 
at  a certain  licensed  shop,  or  draw  the 
water  at  a certain  antiquated  cistern, 
therefore  his  act  of  kindness  is  “ in- 
valid,” and  I am  as  thirsty  and  weak  as 


434 


THE  CHURCH. 


I was  before  ? What  more  can  a min- 
ister with  mitre  or  tiara  do  than  help 
me,  by  wise  and  touching  manifestations 
of  God’s  truth,  to  become  a holier,  no- 
bler man  ? If  my  soul  be  made  alive, 
no  matter  who  ministers  to  me ; and 
if  not,  the  ordinances  of  the  church, 
whether  high  or  low,  orthodox  or  he- 
retical, are  of  no  validity  so  far  as  I am 
concerned.  The  diseased  man  who  is 
restored  to  health  cares  little  whether 
his  physician  wear  wig  or  cowl,  or  re- 
ceive his  diploma  from  Paris  or  Lon- 
don ; and  so  to  the  regenerate  man  it 
is  of  little  moment  where  or  by  what 
processes  he  became  a temple  of  the 
Holy  Spirit. 

According  to  these  views,  a minister 
deriving  power  from  his  intellectual, 
moral,  and  religious  worth  is  one  of  the 
chief  elements  of  a true  and  quickening 
church.  Such  a man  will  gather  a true 
church  round  him ; and  we  here  learn 
that  a Christian  community  is  bound  to 
do  what  may  aid,  and  to  abstain  from 
what  may  impair,  the  virtue,  nobleness, 
spiritual  energy  of  its  minister.  It 
should  especially  leave  him  free,  should 
wish  him  to  wear  no  restraints  but  those 
of  a sense  of  duty.  His  office  is,  to 
utter  God’s  truth  according  to  his  ap- 
prehension of  it,  and  he  should  be  en- 
couraged to  utter  it  honestly,  simply. 
He  must  follow  his  own  conscience, 
and  no  other.  How  can  he  rebuke 
prevalent  error  without  an  unawed 
spirit  ? Better  that  he  should  hold  his 
peace  than  not  speak  from  his  own 
soul.  Better  that  the  pulpit  be  pros- 
trated than  its  freedom  be  taken  away. 
The  doctrine  of  “ instructions  ” in  pol- 
itics is  of  very  doubtful  expediency ; 
but  that  instructions  should  issue  from 
the  congregation  to  the  minister  we  all 
with  one  voice  pronounce  wrong.  The 
religious  teacher  compelled  to  stifle  his 
convictions  grows  useless  to  his  people, 
is  shorn  of  his  strength,  loses  self- 
respect,  shrinks  before  his  own  con- 
science, and  owes  it  to  himself  to  refrain 
from  teaching.  If  he  be  honest,  upright, 
and  pure,  worthy  of  trust,  worthy  of 
being  a minister,  he  has  a right  to  free- 
dom ; and  when  he  uses  it  conscien- 
tiously, though  he  may  err  in  judgment, 
and  may  give  pain  to  judicious  hearers, 
he  has  still  a right  to  respect.  There 
are,  indeed,  few  religious  societies  which 
would  knowingly  make  the  minister  a 


slave.  Many  err  on  the  side  of  sub- 
mission, and  receive  his  doctrines  with 
blind,  unquestioning  taith.  Still,  the 
members  of  a congregation,  conscious 
of  holding  the  support  of  their  teacher 
in  their  hands,  are  apt  to  expect  a cau- 
tious tenderness  towards  their  known 
prejudices  or  judgments,  which,  though 
not  regarded  as  servility,  is  very  hostile 
to  that  firm,  bold  utterance  of  truth  on 
which  the  success  of  his  ministry  chiefly 
depends. 

I have  mentioned  the  first  condition 
of  the  most  useful  church  ; it  is  the 
high  character  of  its  minister.  The 
second  is  to  be  found  in  the  spiritual 
character  of  its  members.  This,  like 
the  former,  is, ‘from  the  very  principles 
of  human  nature,  fitted  to  purify  and 
save.  It  was  the  intention  of  Christ 
that  a quickening  power  should  be  ex- 
erted in  a church,  not  by  the  minister 
alone,  but  also  by  the  members  on  one 
another.  Accordingly  we  read  of  the 
“working  of  every  part,  every  joint,” 
in  his  spiritual  body.  We  come  to- 
gether in  our  places  of  worship  that 
heart  may  act  on  heart ; that  in  the 
midst  of  the  devout  a more  fervent 
flame  of  piety  may  be  kindled  in  our 
own  breasts  ; that  we  may  hear  God’s 
word  more  eagerly  by  knowing  that  it 
is  drunk  in  by  thirsty  spirits  around  us  ; 
that  our  own  purpose  of  obedience  may 
be  confirmed  by  the  consciousness  that 
a holy  energy  of  will  is  unfolding  itself 
in  our  neighbors.  To  this  sympathy 
the  church  is  dedicated  ; and  in  this  its 
highest  influence  is  sometimes  found. 
To  myself,  the  most  effectual  church  is 
that  in  which  I see  the  signs  of  Chris- 
tian affection  in  those  around  me,  in 
which  warm  hearts  are  beating  on  every 
side,  in  which  a deep  stillness  speaks 
of  the  absorbed  soul,  in  which  I recog- 
nize fellow-beings  who  in  common  life 
have  impressed  me  with  their  piety. 
One  look  from  a beaming  countenance, 
one  tone  in  singing  from  a deeply  moved 
heart,  perhaps  aids  me  more  than  the 
sermon.  When  nothing  is  said,  I feel 
it  good  to  be  among  the  devout ; and  I 
wonder  not  that  the  Quakers  in  some  of 
their  still  meetings  profess  to  hold  the 
most  intimate  union,  not  only  with  God, 
but  with  each  other.  It  is  not  with  the 
voice  only  that  man  communicates  with 
man.  Nothing  is  so  eloquent  as  the 
deep  silence  of  a crowd.  A sigh,  a low 


THE  CHURCH . 


435 


breathing,  sometimes  pours  into  us  our 
neighbor’s  soul  more  than  a volume  of 
words.  There  is  a communication  more 
subtile  than  freemasonry  between  those 
who  feel  alike.  How  contagious  is  holy 
feeling ! On  the  other  hand,  how  freez- 
ing, how  palsying,  is  the  gathering  of  a 
multitude  who  feel  nothing,  who  come 
to  God’s  house  without  reverence,  with- 
out love,  who  gaze  around  on  each  other 
as  if  they  were  assembled  at  a show, 
whose  restlessness  keeps  up  a slightly 
disturbing  sound,  whose  countenances 
reveal  no  collectedness,  no  earnestness, 
but  a frivolous  or  absent  mind  ! The 
very  sanctity  of  the  place  makes  this 
indifference  more  chilling.  One  of  the 
coldest  spots  on  earth  is  a church  with- 
out devotion.  What  is  it  to  me,  that  a 
costly  temple  is  set  apart,  by  ever  so 
many  rites,  for  God’s  service,  that  priests 
who  trace  their  lineage  to  apostles  have 
consecrated  it,  if  I find  it  thronged  by 
the  worldly  and  undevout  ? This  is  no 
church  to  me.  I go  to  meet,  not  human 
bodies,  but  souls  ; and  if  I find  them  in 
an  upper  room  like  that  where  the  first 
disciples  met,  or  in  a shed,  or  in  a street, 
there  I find  a church.  There  is  the  true 
altar,  the  sweet  incense,  the  accepted 
priest.  These  all  I find  in  sanctified 
souls. 

True  Christians  give  a sanctifying 
power,  a glory,  to  the  place  of  worship 
where  they  come  together.  In  them 
Christ  is  present  and  manifested  in  a far 
higher  sense  than  if  he  were  revealed  to 
the  bodily  eye.  We  are  apt,  indeed,  to 
think  differently.  Were  there  a place 
of  worship  in  which  a glory  like  that 
which  clothed  Jesus  on  the  Mount  of 
Transfiguration  were  to  shine  forth,  how 
should  we  throng  to  it  as  the  chosen 
spot  on  earth ! how  should  we  honor 
this  as  eminently  his  church  ! But 
there  is  a more  glorious  presence  of 
Christ  than  this.  It  is  Christ  formed 
in  the  souls  of  his  disciples.  Christ’s 
bodily  presence  does  not  make  a church. 
He  was  thus  present  in  the  thronged 
streets  of  Jerusalem,  present  in  the  syn- 
ag°gues  and  temples  ; but  these  were 
not  churches.  It  is  the  presence  of  his 
spirit,  truth,  likeness,  divine  love  in  the 
souls  of  men,  which  attracts  and  unites 
them  into  one  living  body.  Suppose 
that  we  meet  together  in  a place  conse- 
crated by  all  manner  of  forms,  but  that 
nothing  of  Christ’s  spirit  dwells  in  us. 


With  all  its  forms,  it  is  a synagogue  of 
Satan,  not  a church  of  Jesus.  Christ  in 
the  hearts  of  men,  I repeat  it,  is  the 
only  church  bond.  The  Catholics,  to 
give  them  a feeling  of  the  present  Sav- 
iour, adorn  their  temples  with  paintings 
representing  him  in  the  most  affecting 
scenes  of  his  life  and  death  ; and  had 
worship  never  been  directed  to  these,  I 
should  not  object  to  them.  But  there 
is  a far  higher  likeness  to  Christ  than 
the  artist  ever  drew  or  chiselled.  It 
exists  in  the  heart  of  his  true  disciple. 
The  true  disciple  surpasses  Raphael  and 
Michael  Angelo.  The  latter  have  givem 
us  Christ’s  countenance  from  fancy,  and, 
at  best,  having  little  likeness  to  the 
mild  beauty  and  majestic  form  which 
moved  through  Judea.  But  the  disciple 
who  sincerely  conforms  himself  to  the 
disinterestedness,  and  purity,  and  filial 
worship,  and  all-sacrificing  love  of  Christ 
gives  us  no  fancied  representation,  but 
the  true,  divine  lineaments  of  his  soul, 
the  very  spirit  which  beamed  in  his  face, 
which  spoke  in  his  voice,  which  attested 
his  glory  as  the  Son  of  God.  The  truest 
church  is  that  which  has  in  the  highest 
degree  this  spiritual  presence  of  our 
Lord,  this  revelation  of  Jesus  in  his  fol- 
lowers. This  is  the  church  in  which  we 
shall  find  the  greatest  aid  to  our  virtue 
which  outward  institution  can  afford  us. 

I have  thus  spoken  of  the  two  chief 
elements  of  a living  and  effectual  church, 
— a pure,  noble-minded  minister,  and 
faithful  followers  of  Christ.  In  the  pre- 
ceding remarks  I have  had  chiefly  in 
view  particular  churches,  organized  ac- 
cording to  some  particular  forms  ; and  I 
have  maintained  that  these  are  impor- 
tant only  as  ministering  to  Christian 
holiness  or  virtue.  There  is,  however, 
a grander  church,  to  which  I now  ask 
your  attention ; and  the  consideration 
of  this  will  peculiarly  confirm  the  lesson 
on  which  I am  insisting,  namely,  that 
there  is  but  one  essential  thing,  true 
holiness,  or  disinterested  love  to  God 
and  man.  There  is  a grander  church 
than  all  particular  ones,  however  exten- 
sive,— the  church  catholic  or  universal, 
spread  over  all  lands,  and  one  with  the 
church  in  heaven.  That  all  Christ’s 
followers  form  one  body,  one  fold,  is 
taught  in  various  passages  in  the  New 
Testament.  You  remember  the  ear- 
nestness of  his  last  prayer,  “that  they 
might  all  be  one,  as  he  and  his  Father 


THE  CHURCH. 


436 

are  one.”  Into  this  church  all  who  par- 
take the  spirit  of  Christ  are  admitted. 
It  asks  not  who  has  baptized  us  ; whose 
passport  we  carry  ; what  badge  we  wear. 
If  “ baptized  by  the  Holy  Ghost,”  its 
wide  gates  are  opened  to  us.  Within 
this  church  are  joined  those  whom  dif- 
ferent names  have  severed  or  still  sever. 
We  hear  nothing  of  Greek,  Roman, 
English  churches,  but  of  Christ’s  church 
only.  My  friends,  this  is  not  an  im- 
aginary union.  The  Scriptures,  in  speak- 
ing of  it,  do  not  talk  rhetorically,  but 
utter  the  soberest  truth.  All  sincere 
partakers  of  Christian  virtue  are  essen- 
tially one.  In  the  spirit  which  pervades 
them  dwells  a uniting  power  found  in  no 
other  tie.  Though  separated  by  oceans, 
they  have  sympathies  strong  and  indis- 
soluble. Accordingly,  the  clear,  strong 
utterance  of  one  gifted,  inspired  Chris- 
tian flies  through  the  earth.  It  touches 
kindred  chords  in  another  hemisphere. 
The  word  of  such  a man  as  Fenelon, 
for  instance,  finds  its  way  into  the  souls 
of  scattered  millions.  Are  not  he  and 
they  of  one  church  ? I thrill  with  joy 
at  the  name  of  holy  men  who  lived  ages 
ago.  Ages  do  not  divide  us.  I venerate 
them  more  for  their  antiquity.  Are  we 
not  one  body?  Is  not  this  union  some- 
thing real  ? It  is  not  men’s  coming 
together  into  one  building  which  makes 
a church.  Suppose  that  in  a place  of 
worship  I sit  so  near  a fellow-creature 
as  to  touch  him,  but  that  there  is  no 
common  feeling  between  us,  that  the 
truth  which  moves  me  he  inwardly 
smiles  at  as  a dream  of  fancy,  that  the 
disinterestedness  which  I honor  he  calls 
weakness  or  wild  enthusiasm.  How  far 
apart  are  we,  though  visibly  so  near  ! 
We  belong  to  different  worlds.  How 
much  nearer  am  I to  some  pure,  gener- 
ous spirit  in  another  continent  whose 
word  has  penetrated  my  heart,  whose 
virtues  have  kindled  me  to  emulation, 
whose  pure  thoughts  are  passing  through 
my  mind  whilst  I sit  in  the  house  of 
prayer ! With  which  of  these  two  have 
I church  union  ? 

Do  not  tell  me  that  I surrender  myself 
to  a fiction  of  imagination,  when  I say 
that  distant  Christians,  that  all  Christians 
and  myself,  form  one  body,  one  church, 
just  as  far  as  a common  love  and  piety 
possess  our  hearts.  Nothing  is  more 
real  than  this  spiritual  union.  There  is 
one  grand,  all-comprehending  church  ; 


and  if  I am  a Christian  1 belong  to  it, 
and  no  man  can  shut  me  out  of  it.  You 
may  exclude  me  from  your  Roman 
church,  your  Episcopal  church,  and  your 
Calvinistic  church,  on  account  of  sup- 
posed defects  in  my  creed  or  my  sect, 
and  I am  content  to  be  excluded.  But 
I will  not  be  severed  from  the  great 
body  of  Christ.  Who  shall  sunder  me 
from  such  men  as  Fene'lon,  and  Pascal, 
and  Borromeo,  from  Archbishop  Leigh- 
ton, Jeremy  Taylor,  and  John  Howard  ? 
Who  can  rupture  the  spiritual  bond 
between  these  men  and  myself  ? Do  I 
not  hold  them  dear  ? Does  not  their 
spirit,  flowing  out  through  their  writings 
and  lives,  penetrate  my  soul  ? Are  they 
not  a portion  of  my  being  ? Am  I not 
a different  man  from  what  I should  have 
been,  had  not  these  and  other  like  spirits 
acted  on  mine  ? And  is  it  in  the  power 
of  synod,  or  conclave,  or  of  all  the  eccle- 
siastical combinations  on  earth,  to  part 
me  from  them  ? I am  bound  to  them 
by  thought  and  affection  ; and  can  these 
be  suppressed  by  the  bull  of  a pope  or 
the  excommunication  of  a council  ? The 
soul  breaks  scornfully  these  barriers, 
these  webs  of  spiders,  and  joins  itself 
to  the  great  and  good  ; and  if  it  possess 
their  spirit,  will  the  great  and  good, 
living  or  dead,  cast  it  off  because  it  has 
not  enrolled  itself  in  this  or  another 
sect  ? A pure  mind  is  free  of  the  uni- 
verse. It  belongs  to  the  church,  the 
family  of  the  pure,  in  all  worlds.  Virtue 
is  no  local  thing.  It  is  not  honorable 
because  born  in  this  community  or  that, 
but  for  its  own  independent,  everlasting 
beauty.  This  is  the  bond  of  the  uni- 
versal church.  No  man  can  be  excom- 
municated from  it  but  by  himself,  by 
the  death  of  goodness  in  his  own  breast. 
All  sentences  of  exclusion  are  vain,  if 
he  do  not  dissolve  the  tie  of  purity 
which  binds  him  to  all  holy  souls. 

I honor  the  Roman  Catholic  church 
on  one  account ; it  clings  to  the  idea  of 
a universal  church,  though  it  has  muti- 
lated and  degraded  it.  The  word  cath- 
olic means  universal.  Would  to  God 
that  the  church  which  has  usurped  the 
name  had  understood  the  reality  ! Still, 
Romanism  has  done  something  to  give 
to  its  members  the  idea  of  their  connec- 
tion with  that  vast  spiritual  community, 
or  church,  which  has  existed  in  all  times 
and  spread  over  all  lands.  It  guards 
the  memory  of  great  and  holy  men  who 


THE  CHURCH. 


43  7 


in  all  ages  have  toiled  and  suffered  for 
religion,  asserts  the  honors  of  the  heroes 
of  the  faith,  enshrines  them  in  heaven  as 
beatified  saints,  converts  their  legends 
into  popular  literature,  appoints  days  for 
the  celebration  of  their  virtues,  and  re- 
veals them  almost  as  living  to  the  eye 
by  the  pictures  in  which  genius  has  im- 
mortalized their  deeds.  In  doing  this 
Rome  has  fallen,  indeed,  into  error.  She 
has  fabricated  exploits  for  these  spiritual 
persons,  and  exalted  them  into  objects 
of  worship.  But  she  has  also  done  good. 
She  has  given  to  her  members  the  feel- 
ing of  intimate  relation  to  the  holiest 
and  noblest  men  in  all  preceding  ages. 
An  interesting  and  often  a sanctifying 
tie  connects  the  present  Roman  Catholic 
with  martyrs,  and  confessors,  and  a host 
of  men  whose  eminent  piety  and  genius 
and  learning  have  won  for  them  an  im- 
mortality of  fame.  It  is  no  mean  ser- 
vice thus  to  enlarge  men’s  ideas  and 
affections,  to  awaken  their  veneration 
for  departed  greatness,  to  teach  them 
their  connection  with  the  grandest  spirits 
of  all  times.  It  was  this  feature  of  Ca- 
tholicism which  most  interested  me  in 
visiting  Catholic  countries.  The  ser- 
vices at  the  altar  did  not  move,  but 
rather  pained  me.  But  when  I cast  my 
eyes  on  the  pictures  on  the  walls,  which 
placed  before  me  the  holy  men  of  de- 
parted ages,  now  absorbed  in  devotion 
and  lost  in  rapture,  now  enduring  with 
meek  courage  and  celestial  hope  the 
agonies  of  a painful  death  in  defence 
of  the  truth,  I was  touched,  and  I hope 
made  better.  The  voice  of  the  officiat- 
ing priest  I did  not  hear ; but  these 
sainted  dead  spoke  to  my  heart,  and  I 
was  sometimes  led  to  feel  as  if  an  hour 
on  Sunday  spent  in  this  communion 
were  as  useful  to  me  as  if  it  had  been 
spent  in  a Protestant  church.  These 
saints  never  rose  to  my  thoughts  as 
Roman  Catholics.  I never  connected 
them  with  any  particular  church.  They 
were  to  me  living,  venerable  witnesses 
to  Christ*,  to  the  power  of  religion,  to 
the  grandeur  of  the  human  soul.  I saw 
what  men  might  suffer  for  the  truth, 
how  they  could  rise  above  themselves, 
how  real  might  become  the  ideas  of 
God  and  a higher  life.  This  inward 
reverence  for  the  departed  good  helped 
me  to  feel  myself  a member  of  the 
church  universal.  I wanted  no  pope  or 
priest  to  establish  my  unity  with  them. 


My  own  heart  was  witness  enough  to  a 
spiritual  fellowship.  Is  it  not  to  be  de- 
sired that  all  our  churches  should  have 
services  to  teach  us  our  union  with 
Christ’s  whole  body?  Would  not  this 
break  our  sectarian  chains,  and  awaken 
reverence  for  Christ’s  spirit,  for  true 
goodness,  under  every  name  and  form  ? 
It  is  not  enough  to  feel  that  we  are 
members  of  this  or  that  narrow  com- 
munion. Christianity  is  universal  sym- 
pathy and  love.  I do  not  recommend 
that  our  churches  should  be  lined  with 
pictures  of  saints.  This  usage  must 
come  in,  if  it  come  at  all,  not  by  recom- 
mendation, but  by  gradual  change  of 
tastes  and  feelings.  But  why  may  not 
the  pulpit  be  used  occasionally  to  give 
us  the  lives  and  virtues  of  eminent  dis- 
ciples in  former  ages  ? It  is  customary 
to  deliver  sermons  on  the  history  of  Peter, 
John,  Paul,  and  of  Abraham,  and  Elijah, 
and  other  worthies  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment ; and  this  we  do  because  their 
names  are  written  in  the  Bible.  But 
goodness  owes  nothing  to  the  circum- 
stance of  its  being  recorded  in  a sacred 
book,  nor  loses  its  claim  to  grateful,  rev- 
erent commemoration  because  not  bla- 
zoned there.  Moral  greatness  did  not 
die  out  with  the  Apostles.  Their  lives 
were  reported  for  this,  among  other 
ends,  that  their  virtues  might  be  prop- 
agated to  future  times,  and  that  men 
might  spring  up  as  worthy  a place  among 
the  canonized  as  themselves.  What  I 
wish  is,  that  we  should  learn  to  regard 
ourselves  as  members  of  a vast  spiritual 
community,  as  joint-heirs  and  fellow- 
worshippers  with  the  goodly  company 
of  Christian  heroes  who  have  gone  be- 
fore us,  instead  of  immuring  ourselves 
in  particular  churches.  Our  nature  de- 
lights in  this  consciousness  of  vast  con- 
nection. This  tendency  manifests  itself 
in  the  patriotic  sentiment,  and  in  the 
passionate  clinging  of  men  to  a great 
religious  denomination.  Its  true  and 
noblest  gratification  is  found  in  the  deep 
feeling  of  a vital,  everlasting  connection 
with  the  universal  church,  with  the  in- 
numerable multitude  of  the  holy  on 
earth  and  in  heaven.  This  church  we 
shall  never  make  a substitute  for  virtue. 

I have  spoken  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
church.  My  great  objection  to  this 
communion  is,  that  it  has  fallen  pecul- 
iarly into  the  error  which  I am  laboring 
to  expose  in  this  discourse,  that  it  has 


THE  CHURCH. 


433 

attached  idolatrous  importance  to  the 
institution  of  the  church,  that  it  virt- 
ually exalts  this  above  Christ’s  spirit, 
above  inward  sanctity.  Its  other  errors 
are  of  inferior  importance.  It  does  not 
offend  me  that  the  Romanist  maintains 
that  a piece  of  bread,  a wafer,  over 
which  a priest  has  pronounced  some 
magical  words,  is  the  flesh  and  blood  of 
Jesus  Christ.  I learn,  indeed,  in  this 
error,  an  humbling  lesson  of  human 
credulity,  of  the  weakness  of  human 
reason ; but  I see  nothing  in  it  which 
strikes  at  the  essential  principles  of  re- 
ligion. When,  however,  the  Roman 
Catholic  goes  farther,  and  tells  me  that 
God  looks  with  abhorrence  on  all  who 
will  not  see  in  the  consecrated  wafer 
Christ’s  flesh  and  blood  ; and  when  he 
makes  the  reception  of  this  from  the 
hands  of  a consecrated  priest  the  door 
into  Christ’s  fold,  then  I am  shocked  by 
the  dishonor  he  casts  on  God  and  virtue, 
by  his  debasing  conceptions  of  our  moral 
nature  and  of  the  Divine,  and  by  his  cruel 
disruption  of  the  ties  of  human  and 
Christian  brotherhood.  How  sad  and 
strange  that  a man  educated  under 
Christianity  should  place  religion  in 
a church  connection,  in  church  rites, 
should  shut  from  God’s  family  the 
wisest  and  the  best  because  they  con- 
scientiously abstain  from  certain  out- 
ward ordinances  ! Is  not  holiness  of 
heart  and  life  dear  to  God  for  its  own 
sake,  dear  to  him  without  the  manipula- 
tions of  a priest,  without  the  agency  of 
a consecrated  wafer  ? The  grand  error 
of  Roman  Catholicism  is  its  narrow 
church  spirit,  its  blind  sectarianism,  its^ 
exclusion  of  virtuous,  pious  men  from 
God’s  favor  because  they  cannot  eat, 
drink,  or  pray  according  to  certain  pre- 
scribed rites.  Romanism  has  to  learn 
that  nothing  but  the  inward  life  is  great 
and  good  in  the  sight  of  the  Omniscient, 
and  that  all  who  cherish  this  are  mem- 
bers of  Christ’s  body.  Romanism  is 
any  thing  but  what  it  boasts  to  be,  the 
universal  church.  I am  too  much  a 
Catholic  to  enlist  under  its  banner. 

I belong  to  the  universal  church ; 
nothing  shall  separate  me  from  it.  In 
saying  this,  however,  I am  no  enemy  to 
particular  churches.  In  the  present  age 
of  the  world,  it  is  perhaps  best  that 
those  who  agree  in  theological  opinions 
should  worship  together ; and  I do  not 
object  to  the  union  of  several  such 


churches  in  one  denomination,  provided 
that  all  sectarian  and  narrow  feeling 
be  conscientiously  and  scrupulously  re- 
sisted. I look  on  the  various  churches 
of  Christendom  with  no  feelings  of  en- 
mity. I have  expressed  my  abhorrence 
of  the  sectarian  spirit  of  Rome  ; but  in 
that,  as  in  all  other  churches,  individ- 
uals are  better  than  their  creed ; and, 
amidst  gross  error  and  the  inculcation 
of  a narrow  spirit,  noble  virtues  spring 
up,  and  eminent  Christians  are  formed. 
It  is  one  sign  of  the  tendency  of  human 
nature  to  goodness,  that  it  grows  good 
under  a thousand  bad  influences.  The 
Romish  church  is  illustrated  by  great 
names.  Her  gloomy  convents  have 
often  been  brightened  by  fervent  love 
to  God  and  man.  Her  St.  Louis,  and 
Fenelon,  and  Massillon,  and  Cheverus  ; 
her  missionaries,  who  have  carried 
Christianity  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  ; 
her  sisters  of  charity,  who  have  carried 
relief  and  solace  to  the  most  hopeless 
want  and  pain,  — do  not  these  teach  us 
that  in  the  Romish  church  the  Spirit  of 
God  has  found  a home  ? How  much, 
too,  have  other  churches  to  boast ! In 
the  English  church  we  meet  the  names 
of  Latimer,  Hooker,  Barrow,  Leighton, 
Berkeley  and  Heber ; in  the  Dissenting 
Calvinistic  church,  Baxter,  Howe,  Watts, 
Doddridge,  and  Robert  Hall ; among  the 
Quakers,  George  Fox,  William  Penn, 
Robert  Barclay,  and  our  own  Anthony 
Benezet,  and  John  Woolman ; in  the 
Anti-trinitarian  church,  John  Milton, 
John  Locke,  Samuel  Clarke,  Price,  and 
Priestley.  To  repeat  these  names  does 
the  heart  good.  They  breathe  a fra- 
grance through  the  common  air.  They 
lift  up  the  whole  race  to  which  they  be- 
longed. With  the  churches  of  which 
they  were  pillars  or  chief  ornaments  I 
have  many  sympathies  ; nor  do  I con- 
demn the  union  of  ourselves  to  these  or 
any  other  churches  whose  doctrines  we 
approve,  provided  that  we  do  it  without 
severing  ourselves  in  the  least  from  the 
universal  church.  On  this  point  we 
cannot  be  too  earnest.  We  must  shun 
the  spirit  of  sectarianism  as  from  hell. 
We  must  shudder  at  the  thought  of 
shutting  up  God  in  any  denomination. 
We  must  think  no  man  the  better  for 
belonging  to  our  communion  ; no  man 
the  worse  for  belonging  to  another. 
We  must  look  with  undiminished  joy 
on  goodness,  though  it  shine  forth  from 


THE  CHURCH. 


439 


the  most  adverse  sect.  Christ’s  spirit 
must  be  equally  dear  and  honored,  no 
matter  where  manifested.  To  confine 
God’s  love  or  his  good  Spirit  to  any 
party,  sect,  or  name,  is  to  sin  against  the 
fundamental  law  of  the  kingdom  of  God, 
to  break  that  living  bond  with  Christ’s 
universal  church  which  is  one  of  our 
chief  helps  to  perfection. 

I have  now  given  what  seems  to  me 
the  most  important  views  in  relation  to 
the  church  ; and  in  doing  this  I have 
not  quoted  much  from  Scripture,  be- 
cause quotations  cannot  be  given  fully 
on  this  or  on  any  controverted  point  in 
the  compass  of  a discourse.  I have  re- 
lied on  what  is  vastly  more  important,  — 
on  the  general  strain  and  tone  of  Script- 
ure, on  the  spirit  of  the  Christian  relig- 
ion, on  the  sum  and  substance  of  Christ’s 
teachings,  which  is  plainly  this,  that  in- 
ward holiness,  or  goodness,  or  disinter- 
ested love,  is  all  in  all.  I also  want 
time  to  consider  at  large  the  arguments 
or  modes  of  reasoning  by  which  this  or 
that  church  sets  itself  forth  as  the  only 
true  church,  and  by  which  the  necessity 
of  entering  it  is  thought  to  be  proved. 
I cannot,  however,  abstain  from  offering 
a few  remarks  on  these. 

The  principal  arguments  on  which 
exclusive  churches  rest  their  claims  are 
drawn  from  Christian  history  and  litera- 
ture ; in  other  words,  from  the  records 
of  the  primitive  ages  of  our  faith,  and 
from  the  writings  of  the  early  Fathers. 
These  arguments,  I think,  may  be  dis- 
posed of  by  a single  remark,  that  they 
cannot  be  comprehended  or  weighed  by 
the  mass  of  Christians.  How  very,  very 
few  in  our  congregations  can  enter  into 
the  critical  study  of  ecclesiastical  his- 
tory, or  wade  through  the  folios  of  the 
Greek  and  Latin  Fathers  ! Now,  if  it 
were  necessary  to  join  a particular 
church  in  order  to  receive  the  bless- 
ings of  Christianity,  is  it  to  be  conceived 
that  the  discovery  of  this  church  should 
require  a learning  plainly  denied  to  the 
mass  of  human  beings  ? Would  not  this 
church  shine  out  with  the  brightness  of 
the  sun  ? Would  it  be  hidden  in  the 
imperfect  records  of  distant  ages,  or  in 
the  voluminous  writings  of  a body  of 
ancient  authors  more  remarkable  for 
rhetoric  than  for  soundness  of  judg- 
ment ? The  learned  cannot  agree  about 
these  authorities.  How  can  the  great 
multitudes  of  believers  interpret  them  ? 


Would  not  the  Scriptures  guide  us  by 
simple,  sure  rules  to  the  only  true 
church,  if  to  miss  it  were  death  ? To 
my  own  mind  this  argument  has  a force 
akin  to  demonstration. 

I pass  to  another  method  of  defending 
the  claims  which  one  or  another  church 
sets  up  to  exclusive  acceptance  with 
God.  It  is  an  unwarrantable  straining 
of  the  figurative  language  of  Scripture. 
Because  the  church  is  spoken  of  as  one 
body,  vine,  or  temple,  theologians  have 
argued  that  it  is  one  outward  organiza- 
tion, to  which  all  men  must  be  joined. 
But  a doctrine  built  on  metaphor  is 
worth  little.  Every  kind  of  absurdity 
may  find  a sanction  in  figures  of  speech, 
explained  by  tame,  prosaic,  cold-hearted 
commentators.  The  beautiful  forms  of 
speech  to  which  I have  referred  were 
intended  to  express  the  peculiarly  close 
and  tender  unions  which  necessarily 
subsist  among  all  the  enlightened  and 
sincere  disciples  of  such  a religion  as 
Christ’s,  — a religion  whose  soul,  es- 
sence, and  breath  of  life  is  love,  which 
reveals  to  us  in  Jesus  the  perfection  of 
philanthropy,  and  which  calls  to  us  to 
drink  spiritually  of  that  blood  of  self- 
sacrifice  which  was  shed  for  the  whole 
human  race.  How  infinitely  exalted  is 
the  union  of  minds  and  hearts  formed 
by  such  a religion  above  any  outward 
connection  established  by  rites  and 
forms  ! Yet  the  latter  has  been  seized 
on  by  the  earthly  understanding  as  the 
chief  meaning  of  Scripture,  and  magni- 
fied into  supreme  importance.  Has  not 
Paul  taught  us  that  there  is  but  one  per- 
fect bond, — love?*  Has  not  Christ 
taught  us  that  the  seal  set  on  his  disci- 
ples, by  which  all  men  are  to  know  them, 
is  love  ?f  Is  not  this  the  badge  of  the 
true  church,  the  life  of  the  true  body  of 
Christ  ? And  is  not  every  disciple,  of 
every  name  and  form,  who  is  inspired 
with  this,  embraced  indissolubly  in  the 
Christian  union  ? 

It  is  sometimes  urged  by  those  who 
maintain  the  necessity  of  connection  with 
what  they  call  “the  true  church,”  that 
God  has  a right  to  dispense  his  bless- 
ings through  what  channels  or  on  what 
terms  He  pleases  ; that,  if  He  sees  fit  to 
communicate  his  Holy  Spirit  through  a 
certain  priesthood  or  certain  ordinances, 
we  are  bound  to  seek  the  gift  in  his-  a]> 

* Colossians,  iii.  14. 


t John  xiii.  35. 


440 


THE  CHURCH. 


pointed  way ; and  that,  having  actually 
chosen  this  method  of  imparting  it,  He 
may  justly  withhold  it  from  those  who 
refuse  to  comply  with  his  appointment. 
I reply,  that  the  right  of  the  Infinite 
Father  to  bestow  his  blessings  in  such 
ways  as  to  his  infinite  wisdom  and  love 
may  seem  best,  no  man  can  be  so  irrev- 
erent as  to  deny.  But  is  it  not  reason- 
able to  expect  that  He  will  adopt  such 
methods  or  conditions  as  will  seem  to 
accord  with  his  perfection  ? And  ought 
we  not  to  distrust  such  as  seem  to  dis- 
honor him  ? Suppose,  for  example,  that 
I were  told  that  the  Infinite  Father  had 
decreed  to  give  his  Holy  Spirit  to  such 
as  should  bathe  freely  in  the  sea.  Ought 
I not  to  require  the  most  plain,  undeni- 
able proofs  of  a purpose  apparently  so 
unworthy  of  his  majesty  and  goodness, 
before  yielding  obedience  to  it  ? The 
presumption  against  it  is  exceedingly 
strong.  That  the  Infinite  Father,  who 
is  ever  present  to  the  human  soul,  to 
whom  it  is  unspeakably  dear,  who  has 
created  it  for  communion  with  himself, 
who  desires  and  delights  to  impart  to  it 
his  grace,  that  He  should  ordain  sea- 
bathing as  a condition  or  means  of  spir- 
itual communication  is  so  improbable 
that  I must  insist  on  the  strongest  testi- 
mony to  its  truth.  Now  I meet  pre- 
cisely this  difficulty  in  the  doctrine,  that 
God  bestows  his  Holy  Spirit  on  those 
who  receive  bread  and  wine,  or  flesh 
and  blood,  or  a form  of  benediction  or 
baptism,  or  any  other  outward  minis- 
tration, from  the  hands  or  lips  of  cer- 
tain privileged  ministers  or  priests.  It  is 
the  most  glorious  act  and  manifestation 
of  God’s  power  and  love  to  impart  en- 
lightening, quickening,  purifying  influ- 
ences to  the  immortal  soul.  To  imagine 
that  these  descend  in  connection  with 
certain  words,  signs,  or  outward  rites, 
administered  by  a frail  fellow-creature, 
and  are  withheld  or  abridged  in  the  ab- 
sence of  such  rites,  seems,  at  first,  an 
insult  to  his  wisdom  and  goodness ; 
seems  to  bring  down  his  pure,  infinite 
throne  to  set  arbitrary  limits  to  his 
highest  agency,  and  to  assimilate  his 
worship  to  that  of  false  gods.  The 
Scriptures  teach  us  that  “ God  giveth 
grace  to  the  humble  ; ’’that  “ he  giveth 
his  Holy  Spirit  to  them  that  ask  him.” 
This  is  the  great  law  of  divine  commu- 
nications ; and  we  can  see  its  wisdom, 
because  the  mind  which  hungers  for  di- 


vine assistances  is  most  prepared  to  use 
them  aright.  And  can  we  really  believe 
that  the  prayers  and  aspirations  of  a 
penitent,  thirsting  soul  need  to  be  sec- 
onded by  the  outward  offices  of  a min- 
ister or  priest  ? or  that  for  want  of  these 
they  find  less  easy  entrance  into  the  ear 
of  the  ever-present,  all-loving  Father? 
My  mind  recoils  from  this  doctrine  as 
dishonorable  to  God,  and  I ought  not  to 
receive  it  without  clear  proofs.  I want 
something  more  than  metaphors,  or  an- 
alogies, or  logical  inferences.  I want 
some  express  divine  testimony.  And 
where  is  it  given  ? Do  we  not  know 
that  thousands  and  millions  of  Chris- 
tians, whose  lives  and  deaths  have  borne 
witness  to  their  faith,  have  been  unable 
to  find  it  in  the  Scriptures  or  anywhere 
else  ? And  can  we  believe  that  the 
spiritual  communication  of  such  men 
with  the  Divinity  has  been  forfeited  or 
impaired,  because  they  have  abstained 
from  rites  which  in  their  consciences 
they  could  not  recognize  as  of  divine 
appointment  ? That  so  irrational  and 
extravagant  a doctrine  should  enter  the 
mind  of  a man  who  has  the  capacity  of 
reading  the  New  Testament  would  seem 
an  impossibility,  did  not  history  show  us 
that  it  has  been  not  only  believed,  but 
made  the  foundation  of  the  bitterest 
intolerance  and  the  bloodiest  persecu- 
tions. 

The  notion  that,  by  a decree  of  God’s 
sovereign  will,  his  grace  or  Spirit  flows 
through  certain  rites  to  those  who  are  in 
union  with  a certain  church,  and  that  it 
is  promised  to  none  besides,  has  no 
foundation  in  Scripture  or  reason.  The 
.church,  as  I have  previously  suggested, 
is  not  an  arbitrary  appointment ; it  does 
not  rest  on  will,  but  is  ordained  on  ac- 
count of  its  obvious  fitness  to  accom- 
plish the  spiritual  improvement  which  is 
the  end  of  Christianity.  It  corresponds 
to  our  nature.  It  is  a union  of  means, 
and  influences,  and  offices  which  rational 
and  moral  creatures  need.  It  has  no 
affinity  with  the  magical  operations  so 
common  in  false  religions  ; its  agency 
is  intelligible  and  level  to  the  common 
mind.  Its  two  great  rites,  baptism  and 
the  Lord’s  supper,  are  not  meant  to  act 
as  charms.  When  freed  from  the  errors 
and  superstitions  which  have  clung  to 
them  for  ages,  and  when  administered, 
as  they  should  be,  with  tenderness  and 
solemnity,  they  are  powerful  means  of 


THE  CHURCH. 


441 


bringing  great  truths  to  the  mind  and  of 
touching  the  heart,  and  for  these  ends 
they  are  ordained.  The  adaptation  of 
the  church  to  the  promotion  of  holiness 
among  men  is  its  grand  excellence  ; and 
where  it  accomplishes  this  end  its  work 
is  done,  and  no  greater  can  be  conceived 
on  earth  or  in  heaven.  The  moment  we 
shut  our  eyes  on  this  truth,  and  conceive 
of  the  church  as  serving  us  by  forms 
and  ordinances  which  are  effectual  only 
in  the  hands  of  privileged  officials  or 
priests,  we  plunge  into  the  region  of 
shadows  and  superstitions  ; we  have  no 
ground  to  tread  on,  no  light  to  guide  us. 
This  mysterious  power,  lodged  in  the 
hands  of  a few  fellow-creatures,  tends 
to  give  a servile  spirit  to  the  mass  of 
Christians,  to  impair  manliness  and  self- 
respect,  to  subdue  the  intellect  to  the 
reception  of  the  absurdest  dogmas. 
Religion  loses  its  simple  grandeur,  and 
degenerates  into  mechanism  and  form. 
The  conscience  is  quieted  by  something 
short  of  true  repentance ; something 
besides  purity  of  heart  and  life  is  made 
the  qualification  for  heaven.  The  surest 
device  for  making  the  mind  a coward 
and  a slave  is  a wide-spread  and  closely 
cemented  church,  the  powers  of  which 
are  concentrated  in  the  hands  of  a “ sa- 
cred order,”  and  which  has  succeeded 
in  arrogating  to  its  rites  or  ministers  a 
sway  over  the  future  world,  over  the 
soul’s  everlasting  weal  or  woe.  The 
inevitably  degrading  influence  of  such 
a church  is  demonstrative  proof  against 
its  divine  original. 

There  is  no  end  to  the  volumes  writ- 
ten in  defence  of  this  or  that  church 
which  sets  itself  forth  as  the  only  true 
church,  and  claims  exclusive  acceptance 
with  God.  But  the  unlettered  Christian 
has  an  answer  to  them  all.  He  cannot 
and  need  not  seek  it  in  libraries.  He 
finds  it,  almost  without  seeking,  in  plain 
passages  of  the  New  Testament,  and  in 
his  own  heart.  He  reads  and  he  feels 
that  religion  is  an  inward  life.  This  he 
knows,  not  by  report,  but  by  conscious- 
ness, by  the  prostration  of  his  soul  in 
penitence,  by  the  surrender  of  his  will 
to  the  divine,  by  overflowing  gratitude, 
by  calm  trust,  and  by  a new  love  to  his 
fellow-creatures.  Will  it  do  to  tell  such 
a man  that  the  promises  of  Christianity 
do  not  belong  to  him,  that  access'  to 
God  is  denied  him,  because  he  is  not 
joined  with  this  or  that  exclusive  church  ? 


Has  not  this  access  been  granted  to  him 
already  ? Has  he  not  prayed  in  his  griefs, 
and  been  consoled  ? in  his  temptations, 
and  been  strengthened  ? Has  he  not 
found  God  near  in  his  solitudes  and  in 
the  great  congregation  ? Does  he  thirst 
for  any  thing  so  fervently  as  for  perfect 
assimilation  to  the  divine  purity  ? And 
can  he  question  God’s  readiness  to  help 
him,  because  he  is  unable  to  find  in 
Scripture  a command  to  bind  himself  to 
this  or  another  self-magnifying  church  ? 
How  easily  does  the  experience  of  the 
true  Christian  brush  away  the  cobwebs 
of  theologians  ! He  loves  and  reveres 
God,  and  in  this  spirit  has  a foretaste  of 
heaven ; and  can  heaven  be  barred 
against  him  by  ecclesiastical  censures  ? 
He  has  felt  the  power  of  the  cross 
and  resurrection  and  promises  of  Jesus 
Christ ; and  is  there  any  “ height  or 
depth  ” of  human  exclusiveness  and 
bigotry  which  can  separate  him  from 
his  Lord  ? He  can  die  for  truth  and 
humanity ; and  is  there  any  man  so 
swelled  by  the  conceit  of  his  union  with 
the  true  church  as  to  stand  apart  and 
say,  “ I am  holier  than  thou  ” ? When, 
by  means  of  the  writings  or  conversa- 
tions of  Christians  of  various  denomi- 
nations, you  look  into  their  hearts,  and 
discern  the  deep  workings,  and  conflicts, 
and  aspirations  of  piety,  can  you  help 
seeing  in  them  tokens  of  the  presence 
and  operations  of  God’s  Spirit  more 
authentic  and  touching  than  in  all  the 
harmonies  and  beneficent  influences  of 
the  outward  universe  ? Who  can  shut 
up  this  spirit  in  any  place  or  any  sect  ? 
Who  will  not  rejoice  to  witness  it  in  its 
fruits  of  justice,  goodness,  purity,  and 
piety,  wherever  they  meet  the  eye  ? 
Who  will  not  hail  it  as  the  infallible 
sign  of  the  accepted  worshipper  of 
God? 

One  word  more  respecting  the  argu- 
ments adduced  in  support  of  one  or 
another  exclusive  church.  They  are 
continually,  and  of  necessity,  losing 
their  force.  Arguments  owe  their  in- 
fluence very  much  to  the  mental  condi- 
tion of  those  to  whom  they  are  addressed. 
What  is  proof  to  one  man  is  no  proof  to 
another.  The  evidence  which  is  trium- 
phant in  one  age  is  sometimes  thought 
below  notice  in  the  next.  Men’s  rea- 
sonings on  practical  subjects  are  not 
cold,  logical  processes,  standing  sepa- 
rate in  the  mind,  but  are  carried  on  in 


442 


THE  CHURCH. 


intimate  connection  with  their  prevalent 
feelings  and  modes  of  thought.  Gener- 
ally speaking,  that,  and  that  only,  is  truth 
to  a man  which  accords  with  the  com- 
mon tone  of  his  mind,  with  the  mass 
of  his  impressions,  with  the  results  of 
his  experience,  with  his  measure  of  in- 
tellectual development,  and  especially 
with  those  deep  convictions  and  biases 
which  constitute  what  we  call  character. 
Now,  it  is  the  tendency  of  increasing 
civilization,  refinement,  and  expansion 
of  mind,  to  produce  a tone  of  thought 
and  feeling  unfriendly  to  the  church 
spirit,  to  reliance  on  church  forms  as 
essential  to  salvation.  As  the  world 
advances  it  leaves  matters  of  form  be- 
hind. In  proportion  as  men  get  into 
the  heart  of  things  they  are  less  anxious 
about  exteriors.  In  proportion  as  re- 
ligion becomes  a clear  reality  we  grow 
tired  of  shows.  In  the  progress  of  ages 
there  spring  up  in  greater  numbers  men 
of  mature  thought  and  spiritual  freedom, 
who  unite  self-reverence  with  reverence 
of  God,  and  who  cannot,  without  a feel- 
ing approaching  shame  and  conscious 
degradation,  submit  to  a church  which 
accumulates  outward,  rigid,  mechanical 
observances  towards  the  Infinite  Fa- 
ther. A voice  within  them,  which  they 
cannot  silence,  protests  against  the  per- 
petual repetition  of  the  same  signs, 
motions,  words,  as  unworthy  of  their 
own  spiritual  powers,  and  of  him  who 
deserves  the  highest  homage  of  the 
reason  and  the  heart.  Their  filial  spirit 
protests  against  it.  In  common  life,  a 
refined,  lofty  mind  expresses  itself  in 
simple,  natural,  unconstrained  manners  ; 
and  the  same  tendency,  though  often 
obstructed,  is  manifested  in  religion. 
The  progress  of  Christianity,  which 
must  go  on,  is  but  another  name  for  the 
growing  knowledge  and  experience  of 
that  spiritual  worship  of  the  Father 
which  Christ  proclaimed  as  the  end  of 
his  mission  ; and  before  this  the  old  idol- 
atrous reliance  on  ecclesiastical  forms 
and  organizations  cannot  stand.  There 
is  thus  a perpetually  swelling  current 
which  exclusive  churches  have  to  stem, 
and  which  must  sooner  or  later  sweep 
away  their  proud  pretensions.  What 
avails  it  that  this  or  another  church 
summons  to  its  aid  fathers,  traditions, 
venerated  usages  ? The  spirit,  the  genius 
of  Christianity  is  stronger  than  all  these. 
The  great  ideas  of  the  religion  must 


prevail  over  narrow,  perverse  interpre- 
tations of  it.  On  this  ground  I have 
no  alarm  at  reports  of  the  triumphs  of 
the  Catholic  church.  The  spirit  of 
Christianity  is  stronger  than  popes  and 
councils.  Its  venerableness  and  divine 
beauty  put  to  shame  the  dignities  and 
pomps  of  a hierarchy ; and  men  must 
more  and  more  recognize  it  as  alone 
essential  to  salvation. 

From  the  whole  discussion  through 
which  I have  now  led  you,  you  will 
easily  gather  how  I regard  the  church, 
and  what  importance  I attach  to  it.  In 
its  true  idea,  or  regarded  as  the  union 
of  those  who  partake  in  the  spirit  of 
Jesus  Christ,  I revere  it  as  the  noblest 
of  all  associations.  Our  common  social 
unions  are  poor  by  its  side.  In  the 
world  we  form  ties  of  interest,  pleasure, 
and  ambition.  We  come  together  as 
creatures  of  time  and  sense  for  transient 
amusement  or  display.  In  the  church 
we  meet  as  God’s  children  ; we  recog- 
nize in  ourselves  something  higher  than 
this  animal  and  worldly  life.  We  come 
that  holy  feelings  may  spread  from 
heart  to  heart.  The  church,  in  its  true 
idea,  is  a retreat  from  the  world.  We 
meet  in  it,  that,  by  union  with  the  holy, 
we  may  get  strength  to  withstand  our 
common  intercourse  with  the  impure. 
We  meet  to  adore  God,  to  open  our 
souls  to  his  Spirit,  and,  by  recognition 
of  the  common  Father,  to  forget  all  dis- 
tinction among  ourselves,  to  embrace 
all  men  as  brothers.  This  spiritual 
union  with  the  holy  who  are  departed 
and  who  yet  live,  is  the  beginning  of 
that  perfect  fellowship  which  consti- 
tutes heaven.  It  is  to  survive  all  ties. 
The  bonds  of  husband  and  wife,  parent 
and  child,  are  severed  at  death ; the 
union  of  the  virtuous  friends  of  God 
and  man  is  as  eternal  as  virtue,  and 
this  union  is  the  essence  of  the  true 
church. 

To  the  church  relation,  in  this  broad, 
spiritual  view  of  it,  I ascribe  the  highest 
dignity  and  importance.  But  as  to  union 
with  a particular  denomination  or  with  a 
society  of  Christians  for  public  worship 
and  instruction,  this,  however  important, 
is  not  to  be  regarded  as  the  highest  means 
of  grace.  We  ought,  indeed,  to  seek 
help  for  ourselves,  and  to  give  help  to 
others,  by  upholding  religious  institu- 
tions, by  meeting  together  in  the  name 
of  Christ.  The  influence  of  Christianity 


THE  CHURCH . 


443 


is  perpetuated  and  extended,  in  no  small 
degree,  by  the  public  offices  of  piety,  by 
the  visible  “ communion  of  saints.”  But 
it  is  still  true  that  the  public  means  of 
religion  are  not  its  chief  means.  Private 
helps  to  piety  are  the  most  efficacious. 
The  great  work  of  religion  is  to  be  done, 
not  in  society,  but  in  secret,  in  the  re- 
tired soul,  in  the  silent  closet.  Com- 
munion with  God  is  eminently  the  means 
of  religion,  the  nutriment  and  life  of  the 
soul,  and  we  can  commune  with  God 
in  solitude  as  nowhere  else.  Here  his 
presence  may  be  most  felt.  It  is  by 
the  breathing  of  the  unrestrained  soul, 
by  the  opening  of  the  whole  heart  to 
“ Him  who  seeth  in  secret ; ” it  is  by 
reviewing  our  own  spiritual  history,  by 
searching  deeply  into  ourselves,  by  soli- 
tary thought,  and  solitary,  solemn  con- 
secration of  ourselves  to  a new  virtue  ; 
it  is  by  these  acts,  and  not  by  public 
gatherings,  that  we  chiefly  make  progress 
in  the  religious  life.  It  is  common  to 
speak  of  the  house  of  public  worship 
as  a holy  place  ; but  it  has  no  exclusive 
sanctity.  The  holiest  spot  on  earth  is 
that  where  the  soul  breathes  its  purest 
vows,  and  forms  or  executes  its  noblest 
purposes  ; and  on  this  ground,  were  I 
to  seek  the  holiest  spot  in  your  city,  I 
should  not  go  to  your  splendid  sanctu- 
aries, but  to  closets  of  private  prayer. 
Perhaps  the  “ Holy  of  Holies  ” among 
you  is  some  dark,  narrow  room  from 
which  most  of  us  would  shrink  as  unfit 
for  human  habitation ; but  God  dwells 
there.  He  hears  there  music  more 
grateful  than  the  swell  of  all  your  or- 
gans, sees  there  a beauty  such  as  nature, 
in  these  her  robes  of  spring,  does  not 
unfold ; for  there  He  meets,  and  sees, 
and  hears  the  humblest,  most  thankful, 
most  trustful  worshipper  ; sees  the  sorest 
trials  serenely  borne,  the  deepest  injuries 
forgiven  ; sees  toils  and  sacrifices  cheer- 
fully sustained,  and  death  approached 
through  poverty  and  lonely  illness  with 
a triumphant  faith.  The  consecration 
which  such  virtues  shed  over  the  ob- 
scurest spot  is  not  and  cannot  be  com- 
municated by  any  of  those  outward  rites 
by  which  our  splendid  structures  are 
dedicated  to  God. 

You  see  the  rank  which  belongs  to 
the  church,  whether  gathered  in  one 
place  or  spread  over  the  whole  earth. 
It  is  a sacred  and  blessed  union,  but 
must  not  be  magnified  above  other 


means  and  helps  of  religion.  The 
great  aids  of  piety  are  secret,  not  pub- 
lic. The  Christian  cannot  live  without 
private  prayer ; he  may  live  and  make 
progress  without  a particular  church. 
Providence  may  place  us  far  from  the 
resorts  of  our  fellow-disciples,  beyond 
the  sound  of  the  Sabbath-bell,  beyond 
all  ordinances  and  we  may  find  Sab- 
baths and  ordinances  in  our  own  spirits. 
Illness  may  separate  us  from  the  out- 
ward church  as  well  as  from  the  living 
world,  and  the  soul  may  yet  be  in  health 
and  prosper.  There  have  been  men  of 
eminent  piety  who,  from  . conscience, 
have  separated  themselves  from  all  de- 
nominations of  Christians  and  all  out- 
ward worship.  Milton,  that  great  soul, 
in  the  latter  years  of  his  life,  forsook 
all  temples  made  with  hands,  and  wor- 
shipped wholly  in  the  inward  sanctuary. 
So  did  William  Law,  the  author  of  that 
remarkable  book,  “ The  Serious  Call  to 
a Devout  and  Holy  Life.”  His  excess 
of  devotion  (for  in  him  devotion  ran 
into  excess)  led  him  to  disparage  all 
occasional  acts  of  piety.  He  lived  in 
solitude,  that  he  might  make  life  a per- 
petual prayer.  These  men  are  not  named 
as  models  in  this  particular.  They  mis- 
took the  wants  of  the  soul,  and  misin- 
terpreted the  Scriptures.  Even  they, 
with  all  their  spirituality,  would  have 
found  moral  strength  and  holy  impulse 
in  religious  association.  But,  with  such 
examples  before  us,  we  learn  not  to  ex- 
clude men  from  God’s  favor  because 
severed  from  the  outward  church. 

The  doctrine  of  this  discourse  is  plain. 
Inward  sanctity,  pure  love,  disinterested 
attachment  to  God  and  man,  obedience 
of  heart'  and  life,  sincere  excellence  of 
character,  this  is  the  one  thing  needful, 
this  the  essential  thing  in  religion  ; and 
all  things  else,  ministers,  churches,  or- 
dinances, places  of  worship,  all  are  but 
means,  helps,  secondary  influences,  and 
utterly  worthless  when  separated  from 
this.  To  imagine  that  God  regards  any 
thing  but  this,  that  He  looks  at  any  thing 
but  the  heart,  is  to  dishonor  him,  to  ex- 
press a mournful  insensibility  to  his  pure 
character.  Goodness,  purity,  virtue,  this 
is  the  only  distinction  in  God’s  sight. 
This  is  intrinsically,  essentially,  ever- 
lastingly, and  by  its  own  nature  lovely, 
beautiful,  glorious,  divine.  It  owes  noth- 
ing to  time,  to  circumstance,  to  outward 
connections.  It  shines  by  its  own  light. 


444 


I 

THE  CHURCH . 


It  is  the  sun  of  the  spiritual  universe. 
It  is  God  himself  dwelling  in  the  human 
soul.  Can  any  man  think  lightly  of  it 
because  it  has  not  grown  up  in  a certain 
church,  or  exalt  any  church  above  it  ? 
My  friends,  one  of  the  grandest  truths 
of  religion  is  the  supreme  importance  of 
character,  of  virtue,  of  that  divine  spirit 
which  shone  out  in  Christ.  The  grand 
heresy  is  to  substitute  any  thing  for  this, 
whether  creed,  or  form,  or  church.  One 
of  the  greatest  wrongs  to  Christ  is  to 
despise  his  character,  his  virtue,  in  a 
disciple  who  happens  to  wear  a different 
name  from  our  own. 

When  I represent  to  myself  true  virtue 
or  goodness,  — not  that  which  is  made 
up  of  outward  proprieties  and  prudent 
calculations,  but  that  which  chooses  duty 
for  its  own  sake  and  as  the  first  concern  ; 
which  respects  impartially  the  rights  of 
every  human  being  ; which  labors  and 
suffers  with  patient  resolution  for  truth 
and  others’  welfare  ; which  blends  energy 
and  sweetness,  deep  humility  and  self- 
reverence ; which  places  joyful  faith  in 
the  perfection  of  God,  communes  with 
him  intimately,  and  strives  to  subject  to 
his  pure  will  all  thought,  imagination, 
and  desire  ; which  lays  hold  on  the 
promise  of  everlasting  life,  and  in  the 
strength  of  this  hope  endures  calmly 
and  firmly  the  sorest  evils  of  the  present 
state,  — when  I set  before  me  this  virtue, 
all  the  distinctions  on  which  men  value 
themselves  fade  away.  Wealth  is  poor  ; 
worldly  honor  is  mean ; outward  forms 
are  beggarly  elements.  Condition,  coun- 
try, church,  all  sink  into  unimportance. 
Before  this  simple  greatness  I bow,  I 
revere.  The  robed  priest,  the  gorgeous 
altar,  the  great  assembly,  the  pealing 
organ,  all  the  exteriors  of  religion,  van- 
ish from  my  sight  as  I look  at  the 
good  and  great  man,  the  holy,  disinter- 
ested soul.  Even  I,  with  vision  so  dim, 
with  heart  so  cold,  can  see  and  feel  the 
divinity,  the  grandeur  of  true  goodness. 
How,  then,  must  God  regard  it?  To 
his  pure  eye  how  lovely  must  it  be  ! 
And  can  any  of  us  turn  from  it  because 
some  water  has  not  been  dropped  on  its 
forehead,  or  some  bread  put  into  its  lips 
by  a minister  or  priest ; or  because  it 
has  not  learned  to  repeat  some  myste- 
rious creed  which  a church  or  human 
council  has  ordained  ? 

My  friends,  reverence  virtue,  holi- 
ness, the  upright  will  which  inflexibly 


cleaves  to  duty  and  the  pure  law  of 
God.  Reverence  nothing  in  compari- 
son with  it.  Regard  this  as  the  end, 
and  all  outward  services  as  the  means. 
Judge  of  men  by  this.  Think  no  man 
the  better,  no  man  the  worse,  for  the 
church  he  belongs  to.  Try  him  by  his 
fruits.  Expel  from  your  breasts  the 
demon  of  sectarianism,  narrowness,  big- 
otry, intolerance.  This  is  not,  as  we  are 
apt  to  think,  a slight  sin.  It  is  a de- 
nial of  the  supremacy  of  goodness.  It 
sets  up  something,  whether  a form  or 
dogma,  above  the  virtue  of  the  heart 
and  the  life.  Sectarianism  immures  it- 
self in  its  particular  church  as  in  a dun- 
geon, and  is  there  cut  off  from  the  free 
air,  the  cheerful  light,  the  goodly  pros- 
pects, the  celestial  beauty  of  the  church 
universal. 

My  friends,  I know  that  I am  address- 
ing those  who  hold  various  opinions  as 
to  the  controverted  points  of  theology. 
We  have  grown  up  under  different  in- 
fluences. We  bear  different  names. 
But  if  we  purpose  solemnly  to  do  God's 
will,  and  are  following  the  precepts  and 
example  of  Christ,  we  are  one  church, 
and  let  nothing  divide  us.  Diversities 
of  opinion  may  incline  us  to  worship 
under  different  roofs  ; or  diversities  of 
tastes  or  habit,  to  worship  with  differ- 
ent forms.  But  these  varieties  are  not 
schisms  ; they  do  not  break  the  unity  of 
Christ’s  church.  We  may  still  honor 
and  love  and  rejoice  in  one  another’s 
spiritual  life  and  progress  as  truly  as  if 
we  were  cast  into  one  and  the  same 
unyielding  form.  God  loves  variety  in 
nature  and  in  the  human  soul,  nor  does 
He  reject  it  in  Christian  worship.  In 
many  great  truths,  in  those  which  are 
most  quickening,  purifying,  and  consol- 
ing, we  all,  I hope,  agree.  There  is, 
too,  a common  ground  of  practice,  aloof 
from  all  controversy,  on  which  we  may 
all  meet.  We  may  all  unite  hearts  and 
hands  in  doing  good,  in  fulfilling  God's 
purposes  of  love  towards  our  race,  in 
toiling  and  suffering  for  the  cause  of 
humanity,  in  spreading  intelligence, 
freedom,  and  virtue,  in  making  God 
known  for  the  reverence,  love,  and  imi- 
tation of  his  creatures,  in  resisting  the 
abuses  and  corruptions  of  past  ages,  in 
exploring  and  drying  up  the  sources  of 
poverty,  in  rescuing  the  fallen  from  in- 
temperance, in  succoring  the  orphan  and 
widow,  in  enlightening  and  elevating  the 


THE  CHURCH. 


445 


depressed  portions  of  the  community,  in 
breaking  the  yoke  of  the  oppressed  and 
enslaved,  in  exposing  and  withstanding 
the  spirit  and  horrors  of  war,  in  sending 
God’s  word  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  in 
redeeming  the  world  from  sin  and  woe. 
The  angels  and  pure  spirits  who  visit 
our  earth  come  not  to  join  a sect,  but 
to  do  good  to  all.  May  this  universal 
charity  descend  on  us,  and  possess  our 
hearts  ! may  our  narrowness,  exclusive- 
ness, and  bigotry  melt  away  under  this 
mild,  celestial  fire  ! Thus  we  shall  not 
only  join  ourselves  to  Christ’s  universal 
church  on  earth,  but  to  the  invisible 
church,  to  the  innumerable  company  of 
the  just  made  perfect,  in  the  mansions 
of  everlasting  purity  and  peace. 


Notes. 

I have  spoken  in  this  discourse  of  the 
Romish  church  as  excluding  from  salva- 
tion those  who  do  not  submit  to  it.  I 
know,  and  rejoice  to  know,  that  many 
Catholics  are  too  wise  and  good  to  hold 
this  doctrine ; but  the  church,  inter- 
preted by  its  past  words  and  acts,  is  not 
so  liberal. 

I have  also  expressed  my  reverence 
for  the  illustrious  names  which  have 
adorned  the  English  church.  This 
church  sets  up  higher  claims  than  any 
other  in  the  Protestant  world  ; but  by 
a man  acquainted  with  its  early  history 
it  will  be  seen  to  be  clothed  with  no 
peculiar  authority.  If  any  Protestant 
church  deserves  to  be  called  a creature 
of  the  state,  it  is  this.  It  was  shaped 
by  the  sovereign  very  much  after  his 
own  will.  It  is  a problem  in  history 
how  the  English  people,  so  sturdy  and 
stout-hearted  in  the  main,  could  be  so 
tame  and  flexible  in  matters  of  religion 
under  Henry  the  Eighth,  Edward  the 
Sixth,  Mary,  and  Elizabeth.  They  seem 
to  have  received,  almost  as  unresistingly 
as  the  coin,  the  image  and  superscription 
of  the  king.  The  causes  of  this  yield- 
ingness are  to  be  found  in  the  averseness 
to  civil  broils  to  which  the  nation  had 
been  brought  by  the  recent  bloody  and 
exhausting  wars  of  the  Roses  ; in  the 
formidable  power  of  the  Tudor  sover- 
eigns ; in  the  insular  position  of  Eng- 
land, and  her  distance  from  Rome,  which 
checked  the  domination  of  the  papacy ; 
in  the  ignorance  of  the  people  ; in  the  rav- 
enousness of  the  nobles  for  the  property 
of  the  church  in  the  first  instance,  and 


afterwards  in  their  greediness  for  court 
favor.  This  strange  pliancy  is  a stain  on 
the  annals  of  the  country.  It  was  in  the 
Puritans  that  the  old  national  sturdiness 
revived,  that  England  became  herself 
again.  These  men  were  rude  in  aspect, 
and  forbidding  in  manners  ; but,  with 
all  their  sternness,  narrowness,  frowning 
theology,  and  high  religious  pretensions, 
they  were  the  master-spirits  of  their 
times.  To  their  descendants  it  is  de- 
lightful to  think  of  the  service  they  ren- 
dered to  the  civil  and  religious  liberties 
of  England  and  the  world,  and  to  recall 
their  deep,  vital  piety,  a gem  most  rudely 
set,  but  too  precious  to  be  overvalued. 


Since  the  preceding  discourse  has 
been  printed,  the  following  extract  from 
an  article  in  the  “ Edinburgh  Review  ” 
for  July,  1841,  entitled  “ The  Port- 
Royalists,”  has  been  deemed  so  strik- 
ingly coincident  that  it  is  herewith 
appended : — 

“ But  for  every  labor  under  the  sun,  says 
the  Wise  Man,  there  is  a time.  There  is 
a time  for  bearing  testimony  against  the 
errors  of  Rome  ; why  not  also  a time  for 
testifying  to  the  sublime  virtues  with  which 
those  errors  have  been  so  often  associated  ? 
Are  we  for  ever  to  admit  and  never  to  prac- 
tise the  duties  of  kindness  and  mutual  for- 
bearance ? Does  Christianity  consist  in  a 
vivid  perception  of  the  faults,  and  an 
obtuse  blindness  to  the  merits,  of  those 
who  differ  from  us  ? Is  charity  a virtue 
only  when  we  ourselves  are  the  objects  of 
it  ? Is  there  not  a church  as  pure  and  more 
catholic  than  that  of  Oxford  or  Rome, — 
a church  comprehending  within  its  limits 
every  human  being  who,  according  to  the 
measure  of  the  knowledge  placed  within 
his  reach,  strives  habitually  to  be  conformed 
to  the  will  of  the  common  Father  of  us  all  ? 
To  indulge  hope  beyond  the  pale  of  some 
narrow  communion  has,  by  each  Christian 
society  in  its  turn,  been  denounced  as  a 
daring  presumption.  Yet  hope  has  come 
to  all ; and  with  her,  faith  and  charity,  her 
inseparable  companions.  Amidst  the  shock 
of  contending  creeds  and  the  uproar  of 
anathemas,  they  who  have  ears  to  hear  and 
hearts  to  understand  have  listened  to  gen- 
tler and  more  kindly  sounds.  Good  men 
may  debate  as  polemics,  but  they  will  feel 
as  Christians.  On  the  universal  mind  of 
Christendom  is  indelibly  engraven  one  im- 
age, towards  which  the  eyes  of  all  are  more 
or  less  earnestly  directed.  Whoever  has 
himself  caught  any  resemblance,  however 
faint  and  imperfect,  to  that  divine  and  be- 
nignant Original,  has,  in  his  measure, 


THE  CHURCH. 


446 

learned  to  recognize  a brother  wherever 
he  can  discern  the  same  resemblance. 

“ There  is  an  essential  unity  in  that  king- 
dom which  is  not  of  this  world.  But 
within  the  provinces  of  that  mighty  state 
there  is  room  for  endless  varieties  of  ad- 
ministration, and  for  local  laws  and  cus- 
toms widely  differing  from  each  other. 
The  unity  consists  in  the  one  object  of 
worship,  the  one  object  of  affiance,  the 
one  source  of  virtue,  the  one  cementing 
principle  of  mutual  love  which  pervades 
and  animates  the  whole.  The  diversities 
are,  and  must  be,  as  numerous  and  intrac- 
table as  are  the  essential  distinctions  which 
nature,  habit,  and  circumstances  have  cre- 
ated amongst  men.  Uniformity  of  creeds, 
of  discipline,  of  ritual,  and  of  ceremonies, 
in  such  a world  as  ours  ! a world  where  no 
two  men  are  not  as  distinguishable  in.  their 
mental  as  in  their  physical  aspect ; where 
every  petty  community  has  its  separate 
system  of  civil  government ; where  all  that 
meets  the  eye,  and  all  that  arrests  the  ear, 
has  the  stamp  of  boundless  and  infinite 
variety  ! What  are  the  harmonies  of  tone, 
of  color,  and  of  form,  but  the  result  of 
contrasts,  — of  contrasts  held  in  subordina- 
tion to  one  pervading  principle,  which  rec- 
onciles without  confounding  the  component 
elements  of  the  music,  the  painting,  or  the 
structure  ? In  the  physical  works  of  God, 
beauty  could  have  no  existence  without 
endless  diversities.  Why  assume  that  in 
religious  society  — a work  not  less  surely 
to  be  ascribed  to  the  supreme  Author  of 
all  things  — this  law  is  absolutely  reversed  ? 
Were  it  possible  to  subdue  that  innate 
tendency  of  the  human  mind  which  com- 
pels men  to  differ  in  religious  opinions  and 
observances,  at  least  as  widely  as  on  all  other 
subjects,  what  would  be  the  results  of  such 
a triumph  ? Where  would  then  be  the 
free  comparison  and  the  continual  enlarge- 
ment of  thought ; where  the  self-distrusts 
which  are  the  springs  of  humility,  or  the 
mutual  dependencies  which  are  the  bonds 
of  love  ? He  who  made  us  with  this  infi- 
nite variety  in  our  intellectual  and  physical 
constitution  must  have  foreseen,  and,  fore- 
seeing, must  have  intended,  a correspond- 
ing dissimilarity  in  the  opinions  of  his 
creatures  on  all  questions  submitted  to  their 


judgment  and  proposed  for  their  accept- 
ance. For  truth  is  his  law ; and  if  all 
will  profess  to  think  alike,  all  must  live  in 
the  habitual  violation  of  it. 

“Zeal  for  uniformity  attests  the  latent 
distrusts,  not  the  firm  convictions  of  the 
zealot.  In  proportion  to  the  strength  of 
our  self-reliance  is  our  indifference  to  the 
multiplication  of  suffrages  in  favor  of  our 
own  judgment.  Our  minds  are  steeped  in 
imagery  ; and  where  the  visible  form  is 
not,  the  impalpable  spirit  escapes  the  notice 
of  the  unreflecting  multitude.  In  common 
hands  analysis  stops  at  the  species  or  the 
genus,  and  cannot  rise  to  the  order  or  the 
class.  To  distinguish  birds  from  fishes, 
beasts  from  insects,  limits  the  efforts  of 
the  vulgar  observer  of  the  face  of  nature. 
But  Cuvier  could  trace  the  sublime  unity, 
the  universal  type,  the  fontal  idea  existing 
in  the  creative  intelligence,  which  connects 
as  one  the  mammoth  and  the  snail.  So, 
common  observers  can  distinguish  from 
each  other  the  different  varieties  of  religious 
society,  and  can  rise  no  higher.  Where 
one  assembly  worships  with  harmonies  of 
music,  fumes  of  incense,  ancient  liturgies, 
and  a gorgeous  ceremonial,  and  another 
listens  to  the  unaided  voice  of  a single 
pastor,  they  can  perceive  and  record  the 
differences ; but  the  hidden  ties  which 
unite  them  both  escape  such  observation. 
All  appears  as  contrast,  and  all  ministers 
to  antipathy  and  discord.  It  is  our  belief 
that  these  things  may  be  rightly  viewed  in 
a different  aspect,  and  yet  with  the  most 
severe  conformity  to  the  divine  will,  whether 
as  intimated  by  natural  religion,  or  as  re- 
vealed in  Holy  Scripture.  We  believe 
that,  in  the  judgment  of  an  enlightened 
charity,  many  Christian  societies  who  are 
accustomed  to  denounce  each  other’s  errors 
will  at  length  come  to  be  regarded  as  mem- 
bers in  common  of  the  one  great  and  com- 
prehensive church,  in  which  diversities  of 
forms  are  harmonized  by  an  all-pervading 
unity  of  spirit.  For  ourselves,  at  least,  we 
should  deeply  regret  to  conclude  that  we 
are  aliens  from  that  great  Christian  com- 
monwealth of  which  the  nuns  and  recluses 
of  the  valley  of  Port-Royal  A^ere  members, 
and  members  assuredly  of  no  common 
excellence.” 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


44  7 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL: 

Discourse  pronounced  before  the  Sunday-School  Society. 


Matthew  xix.  13,  14  : “ Then  were  there  brought 
untc  him  little  children,  that  he  should  put  his  hands 
on  them,  and  pray:  and  the  disciples  rebuked  them. 
But  Jesus  said,  Suffer  little  children,  and  forbid  them 
not,  to  come  unto  me ; for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of 
heaven.” 

The  subject  of  this  discourse  is  in- 
dicated by  the  name  of  the  society  at 
whose  request  I appe?1*  in  this  place. 
The  Sunday-school,  this  is  now  to  en- 
gage our  attention.  I believe  I can  best 
aid  it  by  expounding  the  principles  on 
which  it  should  rest,  and  by  which  it 
should  be  guided.  I am  not  anxious  to 
pronounce  an  eulogy  on  this  and  sim- 
ilar institutions.  They  do  much  good, 
but  they  are  destined  to  do  greater. 
They  are  in  their  infancy,  and  only  giv- 
ing promise  of  the  benefits  they  are  to 
confer.  They  already  enjoy  patronage, 
and  this  will  increase  certainly,  neces- 
sarily, in  proportion  as  they  shall  grow 
in  efficiency  and  usefulness.  I wish  to 
say  something  of  the  great  principles 
which  should  preside  over  them,  and  of 
the  modes  of  operation  by  which  they 
can  best  accomplish  their  end.  This 
discourse,  though  especially  designed 
for  Sunday-schools,  is,  in  truth,  equally 
applicable  to  domestic  instruction.  Par- 
ents who  are  anxious  to  train  up  their 
children  in  the  paths  of  Christian  virtue 
will  find  in  every  principle  and  rule,  now 
to  be  laid  down,  a guide  for  their  own 
steps.  How  to  reach,  influence,  en- 
lighten, elevate  the  youthful  mind,  this 
is  the  grand  topic  ; and  who  ought  not 
to  be  interested  in  it  ? for  who  has  not 
an  interest  in  the  young  ? 

I propose  to  set  before  you  my  views 
under  the  following  heads.  I shall  con- 
sider, first,  the  principle  on  which  such 
schools  should  be  founded  ; next,  their 
end  or  great  object ; in  the  third  place, 
what  they  should  teach ; and,  lastly, 
how  they  should  teach.  These  divisions, 
if  there  were  time  to  fill  them  up,  would 
exhaust  the  subject.  I shall  satisfy  my- 
self with  offering  you  what  seem  to  me 
the  most  important  views  under  each. 

I.  I am,  first,  to  consider  the  principle 


on  which  the  Sunday-school  should  be 
founded.  It  must  be  founded  and  car- 
ried on  in  faith.  You  must  not  estab- 
lish it  from  imitation,  nor  set  it  in 
motion  because  other  sects  have  adopt- 
ed a like  machinery.  The  Sunday- 
school  must  be  founded  on  and  sustained 
by  a strong  faith  in  its  usefulness,  its 
worth,  its  importance.  Faith  is  the 
spring  of  all  energetic  action.  Men 
throw  their  souls  into  objects  only  be- 
cause they  believe  them  to  be  attain- 
able and  worth  pursuit.  You  must  have 
faith  in  your  school ; and  for  this  end 
you  must  have  faith  in  God ; in  the 
child  whom  you  teach  ; and  in  the 
Scriptures  which  are  to  be  taught. 

You  must  have  faith  in  God ; and  by 
this  I do  not  mean  a general  belief  of 
his  existence  and  perfection,  but  a faith 
in  him  as  the  father  and  friend  of  the 
children  whom  you  instruct,  as  desiring 
their  progress  more  than  all  human 
friends,  and  as  most  ready  to  aid  you  in 
your  efforts  for  their  good.  You  must 
not  feel  yourselves  alone.  You  must 
not  think  when  you  enter  the  place  of 
teaching  that  only  you  and  your  pupils 
are  present,  and  that  you  have  nothing 
but  your  power  and  wisdom  to  rely  on 
for  success.  You  must  feel  a higher 
presence.  You  must  feel  that  the  Fa- 
ther of  these  children  is  near  you,  and 
that  He  loves  them  with  a boundless 
love.  Do  not  think  of  God  as  interested 
only  in  higher  orders  of  beings,  or  only 
in  great  and  distinguished  men.  The 
little  child  is  as  dear  to  him  as  the  hero, 
as  the  philosopher,  as  the  angel ; for  in 
that  child  are  the  germs  of  an  angel’s 
powers,  and  God  has  called  him  into 
being  that  he  may  become  an  angel. 
On  this  faith  every  Sunday-school  should 
be  built,  and  on  such  a foundation  it 
will  stand  firm  and  gather  strength. 

Again,  you  must  have  faith  in  the 
child  whom  you  instruct.  Believe  in  the 
greatness  of  its  nature  and  in  its  ca- 
pacity of  improvement.  Do  not  measure 
its  mind  by  its  frail,  slender  form.  In  a 


448 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


very  few  years,  in  ten  years  perhaps, 
that  child  is  to  come  forward  into  life, 
to  take  on  him  the  duties  of  an  arduous 
vocation,  to  assume  serious  responsi- 
bilities, and  soon  after  he  may  be  the 
head  of  a family  and  have  a voice  in  the 
government  of  his  country.  All  the 
powers  which  he  is  to  put  forth  in  life, 
all  the  powers  which  are  to  be  unfolded 
in  his  endless  being,  are  now  wrapped 
up  within  him.  That  mind,  not  you,  nor 
I,  nor  an  angel,  can  comprehend.  Feel 
that  your  scholar,  young  as  he  is,  is 
worthy  of  your  intensest  interest.  Have 
faith  in  his  nature,  especially  as  fitted 
for  religion.  Do  not,  as  some  do,  look 
on  the  child  as  born  under  the  curse  of 
God,  as  naturally  hostile  to  all  goodness 
and  truth.  What ! the  child  totally  de- 
praved ! Can  it  be  that  such  a thought 
ever  entered  the  mind  of  a human  being  ? 
especially  of  a parent ! What  ! in  the 
beauty  of  childhood  and  youth,  in  that 
open  brow,  that  cheerful  smile,  do  you 
see  the  brand  of  total  corruption  ? Is  it 
a little  fiend  who  sleeps  so  sweetly  on 
his  mother’s  breast  ? Was  it  an  infant 
demon  which  Jesus  took  in  his  arms 
and  said,  “ Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of 
heaven”  ? Is  the  child,  who,  as  you  re- 
late to  him  a story  of  suffering  or  gen- 
erosity, listens  with  a tearful  or  kindling 
eye  and  a throbbing  heart,  is  he  a child 
of  hell  ? As  soon  could  I look  on  the 
sun,  and  think  it  the  source  of  darkness, 
as  on  the  countenance  of  childhood  or 
of  youth,  and  see  total  depravity  written 
there.  My  friends,  we  should  believe 
any  doctrine  sooner  than  this,  for  it 
tempts  us  to  curse  the  day  of  our  birth  ; 
to  loathe  our  existence ; and,  by  making 
our  Creator  our  worst  foe,  and  our  fel- 
low-creatures hateful,  it  tends  to  rupt- 
ure all  the  ties  which  bind  us  to  God 
and  our  race.  My  friends,  have  faith  in 
the  child  ; not  that  it  is  virtuous  and 
holy  at  birth  ; for  virtue  or  holiness  is 
not,  cannot  be  born  with  us,  but  is  a 
free,  voluntary  effort  of  a being  who 
knows  the  distinction  of  right  and 
wrong,  and  who,  if  tempted,  adheres  to 
the  right ; but  have  faith  in  the  child  as 
capable  of  knowing  and  loving  the  good 
and  the  true,  as  having  a conscience  to 
take  the  side  of  duty,  as  open  to  ingen- 
uous motives  for  well-doing,  as  created 
for  knowledge,  wisdom,  piety,  and  dis- 
interested love. 

Once  more,  you  must  have  faith  in 


Christianity,  as  adapted  to  the  mind  of 
the  child,  as  the  very  truth  fitted  to  en- 
lighten, interest,  and  improve  the  hu- 
man being  in  the  first  years  of  his  life. 
It  is  the  property  of  our  religion,  that, 
whilst  it  stretches  beyond  the  grasp  of 
the  mightiest  intellect,  it  contracts  it- 
self, so  to  speak,  within  the  limits  of  the 
narrowest ; that,  whilst  it  furnishes  mat- 
ter of  inexhaustible  speculation  to  such 
men  as  Locke  and  Newton,  it  conde- 
scends to  the  ignorant  and  becomes  the 
teacher  of  babes.  Christianity  at  once 
speaks  with  authority  in  the  schools  of 
the  learned,  and  enters  the  nursery  to 
instil  with  gentle  voice  celestial  wisdom 
into  the  ears  of  infancy.  And  this  won- 
derful property  of  our  religion  is  to  be 
explained  by  its  being  founded  on,  and 
answering  to,  the  primitive  and  most 
universal  principles  of  human  nature. 
It  reveals  God  as  a parent ; and  the 
first  sentiment  which  dawns  on  the  child 
is  love  to  its  parents.  It  enjoins  not 
arbitrary  commands,  but  teaches  the 
everlasting  principles  of  duty  ; and  the 
sense  of  duty  begins  to  unfold  itself  in  the 
earliest  stages  of  our  being.  It  speaks  of 
a future  world  and  its  inhabitants  ; and 
childhood  welcomes  the  idea  of  angels, 
of  spirits,  of  the  vast,  the  wonderful,  the 
unseen.  Above  all,  Christianity  is  set 
forth  in  the  life,  the  history,  the  char- 
acter of  Jesus  ; and  his  character,  though 
so  sublime,  is  still  so  real,  so  genuine, 
so  remarkable  for  simplicity,  and  so 
naturally  unfolded  amidst  the  common 
scenes  of  life,  that  it  is  seized  in  its  prin- 
cipal features  by  the  child  as  no  other 
greatness  can  be.  One  of  the  excel- 
lencies of  Christianity  is,  that  it  is  not 
an  abstruse  theory,  not  wrapt  up  in  ab- 
stract phrases ; but  taught  us  in  facts, 
in  narratives.  It  lives,  moves,  speaks, 
and  acts  before  our  eyes.  Christian 
love  is  not  taught  us  in  cold  precepts. 
It  speaks  from  the  cross.  So,  immor- 
tality is  not  a vague  promise.  It  breaks 
forth  like  the  morning  from  the  tomb 
near  Calvary.  It  becomes  a glorious 
reality  in  the  person  of  the  rising  Sav- 
iour ; and  his  ascension  opens  to  our 
view  the  heaven  into  which  he  enters. 
It  is  this  historical  form  of  our  religion 
which  peculiarly  adapts  it  to  childhood, 
to  the  imagination  and  heart,  which  open 
first  in  childhood.  In  this  sense,  the 
kingdom  of  heaven,  the  religion  of 
Christ,  belongs  to  children.  This  you 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


449 


must  feel.  Believe  in  the  fitness  of  our 
religion  for  those  you  teach.  Feel  that 
you  have  the  very  instrument  for  acting 
on  the  young  mind,  that  you  have  the 
life-giving  word. 

II.  Having  considered  the  faith  in 
which  the  Sunday-school  should  be 
founded,  I proceed  now  to  consider  the 
end,  the  great  object,  which  should  be 
proposed  and  kept  steadily  in  view  by 
its  friends.  To  work  efficiently  and  use- 
fully, we  must  understand  what  we  are 
to  work  for.  In  proportion  as  an  end 
is  seen  dimly  and  unsteadily,  our  action 
will  be  vague,  uncertain,  and  our  energy 
wasted.  What,  then,  is  the  end  of  the 
Sunday-school  ? The  great  end  is,  to 
awaken  the  soul  of  the  pupil,  to  bring 
his  understanding,  conscience,  and  heart 
into  earnest,  vigorous  action  on  religious 
and  moral  truth,  to  excite  and  cherish  in 
him  spiritual  life.  Inward  life,  force, 
activity,  this  it  must  be  our  aim  to  call 
forth  and  build  up  in  all  our  teachings 
of  the  young,  especially  in  religious 
teaching.  You  must  never  forget,  my 
friends,  whether  parents  or  Sunday- 
school  instructors,  what  kind  of  a being 
you  are  acting  upon.  Never  forget  that 
the  child  is  a rational,  moral,  free  being, 
and  that  the  great  end  of  education  is  to 
awaken  rational  and  moral  energy  within 
him,  and  to  lead  him  to  the  free  choice 
of  the  right,  to  the  free  determination  of 
himself  to  truth  and  duty.  The  child  is 
not  a piece  of  wax  to  be  moulded  at  an- 
other’s pleasure,  not  a stone  to  be  hewn 
passively  into  any  shape  which  the  ca- 
price and  interest  of  others  may  dictate ; 
but  a living,  thinking  being,  made  to 
act  from  principles  in  his  own  heart,  to 
distinguish  for  himself  between  good 
and  evil,  between  truth  and  falsehood, 
to  form  himself,  to  be  in  an  important 
sense  the  author  of  his  own  character, 
the  determiner  of  his  own  future  being. 
This  most  important  view  of  the  child 
should  never  forsake  the  teacher.  He  is 
a free  moral  agent,  and  our  end  should 
be  to  develop  such  a being.  He  must 
not  be  treated  as  if  he  were  unthinking 
matter.  You  can  make  a house,  a ship, 
a statue,  without  its  own  consent.  You 
determine  the  machines  which  you  form 
wholly  by  your  own  will.  The  child  has 
a will  as  well  as  yourselves.  The  great 
design  of  his  being  is,  that  he  should  act 
from  himself  and  on  himself.  He  can 
understand  the  perfection  of  his  nature, 


and  is  created  that  he  may  accomplish  it 
from  free  choice,  from  a sense  of  duty, 
from  his  own  deliberate  purpose. 

. The  great  end  in  religious  instruction, 
whether  in  the  Sunday-school  or  family, 
is,  not  to  stamp  our  minds  irresistibly  on 
the  young,  but  to  stir  up  their  own  ; not 
to  make  them  see  with  our  eyes,  but  to 
look  inquiringly  and  steadily  with  their 
own  ; not  to  give  them  a definite  amount 
of  knowledge,  but  to  inspire  a fervent 
love  of  truth  ; not  to  form  an  outward 
regularity,  but  to  touch  inward  springs  ; 
not  to  burden  the  memory,  but  to  quicken 
and  strengthen  the  power  of  thought ; 
not  to  bind  them  by  ineradicable  preju- 
dices to  our  particular  sect  or  peculiar 
notions,  but  to  prepare  them  for  impar- 
tial, conscientious  judging  of  whatever 
subjects  may,  in  the  course  of  Provi- 
dence, be  offered  to  their  decision  ; not 
to  impose  religion  upon  them  in  the  form 
of  arbitrary  rules,  which  rest  on  no  foun- 
dation but  our  own  word  and  will,  but  to 
awaken  the  conscience,  the  moral  dis- 
cernment, so  that  they  may  discern  and 
approve  for  themselves  what  is  everlast- 
ingly right  and  good  ; not  to  tell  them 
that  God  is  good,  but  to  help  them  to 
see  and  feel  his  love  in  all  that  He  does 
within  and  around  them ; not  to  tell 
them  of  the  dignity  of  Christ,  but  to 
open  their  inward  eye  to  the  beauty  and 
greatness  of  his  character,  and  to  enkin- 
dle aspirations  after  a kindred  virtue. 
In  a word,  the  great  object  of  all  schools 
is  to  awaken  intellectual  and  moral  life 
in  the  child.  Life  is  the  great  thing  to 
be  sought  in  a human  being.  Hitherto, 
most  religions  and  governments  have 
been  very  much  contrivances  for  extin- 
guishing life  in  the  human  soul.  Thanks 
to  God,  we  live  to  see  the  dawning  of  a 
better  day. 

By  these  remarks,  I do  not  mean  that 
we  are  never  to  give  our  children  a com- 
mand without  assigning  our  reasons,  or 
an  opinion  without  stating  our  proofs. 
They  must  rely  on  us  in  the  first  instance 
for  much  that  they  cannot  comprehend ; 
but  I mean  that  our  great  aim  in  con- 
trolling them  must  be  to  train  them  to 
control  themselves,  and  our  great  aim  in 
giving  them  instruction  must  be  to  aid 
them  in  the  acquisition  of  truth  for  them- 
selves. As  far  as  possible,  religion  should 
be  adapted  to  their  minds  and  hearts. 
We  should  teach  religion  as  we  do  nature. 
We  do  not  shut  up  our  children  from 


450 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


outward  nature,  and  require  them  to  be- 
lieve in  the  great  laws  of  the  Creator,  in 
the  powers  of  light,  heat,  steam,  gravity, 
on  our  word  alone.  We  put  them  in  the 
presence  of  nature.  We  delight  to  verify 
what  we  teach  them  of  the  mineral,  ani- 
mal, and  vegetable  worlds,  by  facts  placed 
under  their  own  eyes.  We  encourage 
them  to  observe  for  themselves,  and  to 
submit  to  experiment  what  they  hear. 
Now,  all  the  great  principles  of  morals 
and  religion  may  be  illustrated  and  con- 
firmed, like  the  great  laws  of  nature,  by 
what  falls  under  the  child’s  own  conscious- 
ness and  experience.  Indeed,  great  moral 
and  religious  truths  are  nearer  to  him 
than  the  principles  of  natural  science. 
The  germs  of  them  are  in  the  soul.  All 
the  elementary  ideas  of  God  and  duty 
and  love  and  happiness  come  to  him  from 
his  own  spiritual  powers  and  affections. 
Moral  good  and  evil,  virtue  and  vice,  are 
revealed  to  him  in  his  own  motives  of 
action  and  in  the  motives  of  those  around 
him.  Faith  in  God  and  virtue  does  not 
depend  on  assertion  alone.  Religion  car- 
ries its  own  evidence  with  it  more  than 
history  or  science.  It  should  rest  more 
on  the  soul’s  own  consciousness,  experi- 
ence, and  observation.  To  wake  up  the 
soul  to  a clear,  affectionate  perception 
of  the  reality  and  truth  and  greatness  of 
religion,  is  the  great  end  of  teaching. 

The  great  danger  of  Sunday-schools 
is,  that  they  will  fall  into  a course  of 
mechanical  teaching,  that  they  will  give 
religion  as  a lifeless  tradition,  and  not  as 
a quickening  reality.  It  is  not  enough 
to  use  words  conveying  truth.  Truth 
must  be  so  given  that  the  mind  will 
lay  hold  on,  will  recognize  it  as  truth, 
and  will  incorporate  it  with  itself.  The 
most  important  truth  may  lie  like  a dead 
weight  on  the  mind,  just  as  the  most 
wholesome  food,  for  want  of  action  in 
the  digestive  organs,  becomes  an  oppres- 
sive load.  I do  not  think  that  so  much 
harm  is  done  by  giving  error  to  a child 
as  by  giving  truth  in  a lifeless  form. 
What  is  the  misery  of  the  multitudes  in 
Christian  countries  ? Not  that  they  dis- 
believe Christianity  ; not  they  hold  great 
errors  ; but  that  truth  lies  dead  within 
them.  They  use  the  most  sacred  words 
without  meaning.  They  hear  of  spiritual 
realities,  awful  enough  to  raise  the  dead, 
with  utter  unconcern  ; and  one  reason 
of  this  insensibility  is,  that  teaching  in 
early  life  was  so  mechanical,  that  re- 


ligion was  lodged  in  the  memory  and 
the  unthinking  belief,  whilst  the  reason 
was  not  awakened,  nor  the  conscience 
nor  the  heart  moved.  According  to  the 
common  modes  of  instruction,  the  minds 
of  the  young  become  worn  to  great 
truths.  By  reading  the  Scriptures  with- 
out thought  or  feeling,  their  minds  are 
dulled  to  its  most  touching  and  sublime 
passages  ; and,  when  once  a passage  lies 
dead  in  the  mind,  its  resurrection  to  life 
and  power  is  a most  difficult  work.  Here 
lies  the  great  danger  of  Sunday-schools. 
Let  us  never  forget  that  their  end  is  to 
awaken  life  in  the  minds  and  hearts  of 
the  young. 

III.  I now  proceed  to  consider  what 
is  to  be  taught  in  the  Sunday-schools,  to 
accomplish  the  great  end  of  which  I have 
spoken ; * and  this  may  seem  soon  set- 
tled. Should  I ask  you  what  is  to  be 
taught  in  the  Sunday-school,  the  answer 
would  be,  “ The  Christian  religion.  The 
institution  is  a Christian  one,  and  has 
for  its  end  the  communication  of  Chris- 
tian truth.”  I acquiesce  in  the  answer  ; 
but  the  question  then  comes,  “ In  what 
forms  shall  the  religion  be  taught,  so  as 
to  wake  up  the  life  of  the  child  ? Shall 
a catechism  be  taught  ? ” I say,  No. 
A catechism  is  a skeleton,  a dead  letter, 
a petrifaction.  Wanting  life,  it  can  give 
none.  A cold  abstraction,  it  cannot  but 
make  religion  repulsive  to  pupils  whose 
age  demands  that  truth  should  be  em- 
bodied, set  before  their  eyes,  bound  up 
with  real  life.  A catechism,  by  being 
systematical,  may  give  a certain  order 
and  method  to  teaching  ; but  systems  of 
theology  are  out  of  place  in  Sunday- 
schools.  They  belong  to  the  end,  not 
the  beginning  of  religious  teaching.  Be- 
sides, they  are  so  generally  the  construc- 
tions of  human  ingenuity  rather  than  the 
living  forms  of  divine  wisdom ; they 
give  such  undue  prominence  to  doc- 
trines which  have  been  lifted  into  im- 
portance only  by  the  accident  of  having 
been  made  matters  of  controversy  ; they 
so  often  sacrifice  common-sense,  the 
plain  dictates  of  reason  and  conscience, 
to  the  preservation  of  what  is  called 

* In  the  remarks  which  I am  to  make  on  what  is  to 
be  taught  in  the  Sunday-school,  I take  it  for  granted 
that  this  school  is  the  first  stage  of  a course  of  religious 
instruction,  not  the  whole  course  ; that  it  prepares  for, 
but  does  not  include,  Bible  classes,  and  other  c’asses 
in  which  the  most  difficult  books  of  Scripture,  the  evi- 
dences of  natural  and  revealed  religion,  and  a system 
of  moral  philosophy,  should  be  taught. 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


451 


consistency ; they  lay  such  fetters  on 
teacher  and  learner,  and  prevent  so 
much  the  free  action  of  the  mind  and 
heart,  that  they  seldom  enter  the  Sun- 
day-school but  to  darken  and  mislead  it. 

The  Christian  religion  should  be 
learned  not  from  catechisms  and  sys- 
tems, but  from  the  Scriptures,  and  es- 
pecially from  that  part  of  the  Scriptures 
in  which  it  especially  resides,  — in  the 
histories,  actions,  words,  sufferings,  tri- 
umphs of  Jesus  Christ.  The  Gospels, 
the  Gospels,  these  should  be  the  text- 
book of  Sunday-schools.  They  are  more 
adapted  to  the  child  than  any  other  part 
of  Scripture.  They  are  full  of  life,  re- 
ality, beauty,  power,  and  in  skilful  hands 
are  fitted  above  all  writing  to  awaken 
spiritual  life  in  old  and  young. 

The  Gospels  are  to  be  the  study  of 
the  Sunday-school  teacher,  and  of  all 
who  teach  the  young ; and  the  great 
object  of  study  must  be  to  penetrate 
to  the  spirit  of  these  divine  writings, 
and,  above  all  things,  to  comprehend 
the  spirit,  character,  purpose,  motives, 
love  of  Jesus  Christ.  He  is  to  be  the 
great  study.  In  him,  his  religion  is  re- 
vealed as  nowhere  else.  Much  atten- 
tion is  now  given,  and  properly  given, 
by  teachers  to  what  may  be  called  the 
letter  of  the  Gospels,  to  the  geography 
of  the  country  where  Christ  lived,  to  the 
customs  to  which  he  refers,  to  the  state 
of  society  which  surrounded  him.  This 
knowledge  is  of  great  utility.  We  should 
strive  to  learn  the  circumstances  in  which 
Jesus  was  placed  and  lived,  as  thoroughly 
as  those  of  our  own  times.  We  should 
study  the  men  among  whom  he  lived, 
their  opinions  and  passions,  their  hopes 
and  expectations,  the  sects  who  hated 
and  opposed  him,  the  superstitions  which 
prevailed  among  the  learned  and  the 
multitude,  and  strive  to  see  all  these 
things  as  vividly  as  if  we  had  lived  at 
the  very  moment  of  Christ’s  ministry. 
But  all  this  knowledge  is  to  be  gained 
not  for  its  own  sake,  but  as  a means  of 
bringing  us  near  to  Jesus,  of  letting  us 
into  the  secrets  of  his  mind,  of  reveal- 
ing to  us  his  spirit  and  character,  and 
of  bringing  out  the  full  purpose  and 
import  of  all  that  he  did  and  said.  It 
is  only  by  knowing  the  people  among 
whom  he  was  born,  and  brought  up,  and 
lived,  and  died,  that  we  can  fully  com- 
prehend the  originality,  strength,  and 
dignity  of  his  character,  his  unborrowed, 


self-subsisting  excellence,  his  miracu- 
lous love.  We  have  very  few  of  us  a 
conception  how  Jesus  stood  alone  in  the 
age  in  which  he  lived,  how  unsustained 
he  was  in  his  great  work,  how  he  found 
not  one  mind  to  comprehend  his  own, 
not  one  friend  to  sympathize  with  his 
great  purpose,  how  every  outward  influ- 
ence withstood  him  ; and,  for  want  of 
this  conception,  we  do  not  regard  Jesus 
with  the  interest  which  his  character 
should  inspire. 

The  teachers  of  the  young  should 
strive  to  be  at  home  with  Jesus,  to  know 
him  familiarly,  to  form  a clear,  vivid, 
bright  idea  of  him,  to  see  him  just  as  he 
appeared  on  earth,  to  see  him  in  the 
very  dress  in  which  he  manifested  him- 
self to  the  men  of  his  age.  They  should 
follow  him  to  the  temple,  to  the  moun- 
tain top,  to  the  shores  of  the  sea  of 
Galilee,  and  should  understand  the  mixed 
feelings  of  the  crowd  around  him,  should 
see  the  scowl  of  the  Pharisee  who  lis- 
tened to  catch  his  words  for  some  matter 
of  accusation,  the  imploring  look  of  the 
diseased  seeking  healing  from  his  words, 
the  gaze  of  wonder  among  the  ignorant, 
and  the  delighted,  affectionate,  reveren- 
tial eagerness  with  which  the  single- 
hearted  and  humble  hung  on  his  lips. 
Just  in  proportion  as  we  can  place  our- 
selves near  to  Christ,  his  wisdom,  love, 
greatness  will  break  forth,  and  we  shall 
be  able  to  bring  him  near  to  the  mind  of 
the  child. 

The  truth  is,  that  few  of  us  apprehend 
vividly  the  circumstances  under  which 
Jesus  lived  and  taught,  and  therefore 
much  of  the  propriety,  beauty,  and  au- 
thority of  his  character  is  lost.  For 
example,  his  outward  condition  is  not 
made  real  to  us.  The  pictures  which 
the  great  artists  have  left  us  of  Jesus 
have  helped  to  lead  us  astray.  He  is 
there  seen  with  a glory  around  his  head, 
and  arrayed  in  a robe  of  grace  and  maj- 
esty. Now,  Jesus  was  a poor  man  ; he 
had  lived  and  wrought  as  a carpenter, 
and  he  came  in  the  dress  common  to 
those  with  whom  he  had  grown  up. 
His  chosen  companions  were  natives 
of  an  obscure  province,  despised  for 
its  ignorance  and  rude  manners,  and 
they  followed  him  in  the  garb  of  men 
who  were  accustomed  to  live  by  daily 
toil.  Such  was  the  outward  condition 
of  Jesus.  Such  was  his  manifestation 
to  a people  burning  with  expectation  of 


45  2 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


a splendid,  conquering  deliverer ; and  in 
such  circumstances  he  spoke  with  an 
authority  which  awed  both  high  and  low. 
In  learning  the  outward  circumstances 
of  Jesus,  we  not  merely  satisfy  a natural 
curiosity,  but  obtain  a help  towards  un- 
derstanding his  character  and  the  spirit 
of  his  religion.  His  condition  reveals 
to  us  the  force  and  dignity  of  his  mind, 
which  could  dispense  with  the  ordinary 
means  of  inspiring  respect.  It  shows 
the  deep  sympathy  of  Christ  with  the 
poor  of  our  race,  for  among  these  he 
chose  to  live.  It  speaks  condemnation 
to  those  who,  professing  to  believe  in 
Christ,  separate  themselves  from  the 
multitude  of  men  because  of  the  acci- 
dent of  wealth,  and  attach  ideas  of  su- 
periority to  dress  and  show.  From  this 
illustration  you  may  learn  the  impor- 
tance of  being  acquainted  with  every 
part  of  Christ’s  history,  with  his  com- 
mon life,  as  well  as  his  more  solemn 
actions  and  teachings.  Every  thing  re- 
lating to  him  breathes  instruction,  and 
gives  the  teacher  a power  over  the  mind 
of  the  child. 

The  Gospels  must  be  the  great  study 
to  the  Sunday-school  teacher.  Many, 
when  they  hear  of  studying  the  New 
Testament,  imagine  that  they  must  ex- 
amine commentators  to  understand  bet- 
ter the  difficult  texts,  the  dark  passages 
in  that  book.  I mean  something  very 
different.  Strive,  indeed,  to  clear  up 
as  far  as  you  can  the  obscure  portions 
of  Christ’s  teaching.  There  are  texts 
which,  in  consequence  of  their  connec- 
tion with  forgotten  circumstances  of  the 
time,  are  now  of  uncertain  meaning. 
But  do  not  think  that  the  most  impor- 
tant truths  of  Christianity  are  locked 
up  in  these  dark  passages  of  the  New 
Testament.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
dark,  which  is  not  to  be  found  in  the 
plain,  portions  of  Scripture.  Perhaps 
the  highest  use  of  examining  difficult 
texts  is  to  discover  their  harmony  with 
those  that  are  clear.  The  parts  of  the 
gospel  which  the  Sunday-school  teacher 
should  most  study  are  those  which  need 
no  great  elucidation  from  criticism,  — 
the  parables,  the  miracles,  the  actions, 
the  suffering,  the  prayers,  the  tears  of 
Jesus ; and  these  are  to  be  studied, 
that  the  teacher  may  learn  the  spirit, 
the  soul  of  Christ,  may  come  near  to 
that  wonderful  being,  may  learn  the  great 
purpose  to  which  he  was  devoted,  the 


affections  which  overflowed  his  heart, 
the  depth  and  expansiveness  of  his 
love,  the  profoundness  of  his  wisdom, 
the  unconquerable  strength  of  his  trust 
in  God.*  The  character  of  Christ  is  the 
sum  of  his  religion.  It  is  the  clearest, 
the  most  beautiful  manifestation  of  the 
character  of  God,  far  more  clear  and 
touching  than  all  the  teachings  of  nat> 
ure.  It  is  also  the  brightest  revelation 
to  us  of  the  moral  perfection  which  his 
precepts  enjoin,  of  disinterested  love  to 
God  and  man,  of  faithfulness  to  princb 
pie,  of  fearlessness  in  duty,  of  superb 
ority  to  the  world,  of  delight  in  the  good 
and  the  true.  The  expositions  of  the 
Christian  virtues  in  all  the  volumes  of 
all  ages,  are  cold  and  dark  compared 
with  the  genial  light  and  the  warm  col- 
oring in  which  Christ’s  character  sets 
before  us  the  spirit  of  his  religion,  the 
perfection  of  our  nature. 

The  great  work,  then,  of  the  Sunday- 
school  teacher  is  to  teach  Christ,  and  to 
teach  him  not  as  set  forth  in  creeds  and 
human  systems,  but  as  living  and  mov- 
ing in  the  simple  histories  of  the  Evan- 
gelists. Christ  is  to  be  taught ; and  by 
this  I mean,  not  any  mystical  doctrine 
about  his  nature,  not  the  doctrine  of  the 
Trinity,  but  the  spirit  of  Christ,  breath- 
ing forth  in  all  that  he  said  and  all  that 
he  did.  We  should  seek  that  the  child 
should  know  his  heavenly  friend  and 
Saviour  with  the  distinctness  with  which 
he  knows  an  earthly  friend ; and  this 
knowledge  is  not  to  be  given  by  teach- 
ing him  dark  notions  about  Christ,  which 
have  perplexed  and  convulsed  the  church 
for  ages.  The  doctrine  of  the  Trinity 
seems  to  me  only  fitted  to  throw  a mist- 
iness over  Christ,  to  place  him  beyond 

* Commentaries  have  their  use,  but  not  the  highest 
use.  They  explain  the  letter  of  Christianity,  give  the 
meaning  of  words,  remove  obscurities  from  the  sense, 
and  so  far  they  do  great  good  ; but  the  life,  the  power, 
the  spirit  of  Christianity,  they  do  not  unfold.  They 
do  not  lay  open  to  us  the  heart  of  Christ.  I remember 
that  a short  time  ago  I was  reading  a book,  not  in- 
tended to  be  a religious  one,  in  which  some  remarks 
were  offered  on  the  conduct  of  Jesus,  as,  just  before 
his  death,  he  descended  from  the  Mount  of  Olives,  and 
amidst  a crowd  of  shouting  disciples  looked  on  Jeru- 
salem, the  city  of  his  murderers,  which  in  a few  hours 
was  to  be  stained  with  his  innocent  blood.  The  con- 
scious greatness  with  which  he  announced  the  ruin  of 
that  proud  metropolis  and  its  venerated  temple,  and 
his  deep  sympathy  with  its  approaching  woes,  burst- 
ing forth  in  tears,  and  making  him  forget  for  a moment 
his  own  near  agonies  and  the  shouts  of  the  surrounding 
multitude,  were  brought  to  my  mind  more  distinctly 
than  ever  before ; and  I felt  that  this  more  vivid  ap- 
prehension of  Jesus  was  worth  more  than  much  of  the 
learning  in  which  commentators  abound. 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


453 


the  reach  of  our  understanding  and 
hearts.  When  I am  told  that  Jesus 
Christ  is  the  second  person  in  the  Trin- 
ity, one  of  three  persons,  who  consti- 
tute one  God,  one  infinite  mind,  I am 
plunged  into  an  abyss  of  darkness.  Jesus 
becomes  to  me  the  most  unintelligible 
being  in  the  universe.  God  I can  know. 
Man  I can  understand.  But  Christ,  as 
described  in  human  creeds,  a compound 
being,  at  once  man  and  God,  at  once 
infinite  in  wisdom  and  ignorant  of  in- 
numerable truths,  and  who  is  so  united 
with  two  other  persons  as  to  make  with 
them  one  mind,  — Christ  so  represented 
baffles  all  my  faculties.  I cannot  lay 
hold  on  him.  My  weak  intellect  is 
wholly  at  fault ; and  I cannot  believe 
that  the  child’s  intellect  can  better  ap- 
prehend him.  This  is  a grave  objection 
to  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity.  It  de- 
stroys the  reality,  the  distinctness,  the 
touching  nearness  of  Jesus  Christ.  It 
gives  him  an  air  of  fiction,  and  has  done 
more  than  all  things  to  prevent  a true, 
deep  acquaintance  with  him,  with  his 
spirit,  with  the  workings  of  his  mind, 
with  the  sublimity  of  his  virtue.  It  has 
thrown  a glare  over  him,  under  which 
the  bright  and  beautiful  features  of  his 
character  have  been  very  much  con- 
cealed. 

From  what  I have  said,  you  see  what 
I suppose  the  Sunday-school  teacher 
is  to  learn  and  teach.  It  is  the  Chris- 
tian religion  as  unfolded  in  the  plainest 
portions  of  the  gospel.  Before  leaving 
this  topic,  I wish  to*  offer  some  remarks, 
which  may  prevent  all  misapprehension 
of  what  I have  said.  I have  spoken 
against  teaching  Christianity  to  children 
as  a system.  I have  spoken  of  the  inad- 
equacy of  catechisms.  In  thus  speaking, 
I do  not  mean  that  the  teacher  shall 
have  nothing  systematic  in  his  knowl- 
edge. Far  from  it.  He  must  not  satisfy 
himself  with  studying  separate  actions, 
words,  and  miracles  of  Jesus.  He  must 
look  at  Christ’s  history  and  teaching  as 
a whole,  and  observe  the  great  features 
of  his  truth  and  goodness,  the  grand 
characteristics  of  his  system,  and  in 
this  way  learn  what  great  impressions 
he  must  strive  to  make  on  the  child, 
by  the  particular  facts  and  precepts 
which  each  lesson  presents.  There 
ought  to  be  a unity  in  the  mind  of  the 
teacher.  His  instructions  must  not  be 
loose  fragments,  but  be  bound  together 


by  great  views.  Perhaps  you  may  ask, 
what  are  these  great  views  of  Christian- 
ity which  pervade  it  throughout,  and  to 
which  the  mind  of  the  learner  must  be 
continually  turned  ? There  are  three, 
which  seem  to  me  especially  prominent, 
— the  spirituality  of  the  religion,  its  dis- 
interestedness, and,  lastly,  the  vastness, 
the  infinity  of  its  prospects. 

The  first  great  feature  of  Christianity 
which  should  be  brought  out  continually 
to  the  child,  is  its  spirituality.  Christ 
is  a spiritual  deliverer.  His  salvation 
is  inward.  This  great  truth  cannot  be  too 
much  insisted  on.  Christ’s  salvation  is 
within.  The  evils  from  which  he  comes 
to  release  us  are  inward.  The  felicity 
which  he  came  to  give  is  inward,  and 
therefore  everlasting.  Carry,  then,  your 
pupils  into  themselves.  Awake  in  them, 
as  far  as  possible,  a consciousness  of 
their  spiritual  nature,  of  the  infinite 
riches  which  are  locked  up  in  reason, 
in  conscience,  in  the  power  of  knowing 
God,  loving  goodness,  and  practising 
duty ; and  .use  all  the  history  and  teach- 
ings of  Christ,  to  set  him  before  them 
as  the  fountain  of  life  and  light  to  their 
souls.  For  example,  when  his  reign, 
kingdom,  power,  authority,  throne,  are 
spoken  of,  guard  them  against  attach- 
ing an  outward  import  to  these  words  ; 
teach  them  that  they  mean  not  an  out- 
ward empire,  but  the  purifying,  elevat- 
ing influence  of  his  character,  truth, 
spirit,  on  the  human  mind.  Use  all 
his  miracles  as  types,  emblems,  of  a 
spiritual  salvation.  When  your  pupils 
read  of  his  giving  sight  to  the  blind, 
let  them  see  in  this  a manifestation  of 
his  character  as  the  Light  of  the  world ; 
and,  in  the  joy  of  the  individual  whose 
eyes  were  opened  from  perpetual  night 
on  the  beauty  of  nature,  let  them  see  a 
figure  of  the  happiness  of  the  true  dis- 
ciple, who,  by  following  Christ,  is  brought 
to  the  vision  of  a more  glorious  luminary 
than  the  sun,  and  of  a more  majestic  and 
enduring  universe  than  material  worlds. 
When  the  precepts  of  Christ  are  the 
subjects  of  conversation,  turn  the  mind 
of  the  child  to  their  spiritual  import. 
Let  him  see  that  the  worth  of  the  ac- 
tion lies  in  the  principle,  motive,  pur- 
pose, from  which  it  springs  ; that  love 
to  God,  not  outward  worship,  and  love 
to  man,  not  outward  deeds,  are  the  very 
essence,  soul,  centre,  of  the  Christian 
law.  Turn  his  attention  to  the  singular 


454 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


force  and  boldness  of  language  in  which 
Jesus  calls  to  rise  above  the  body  and 
the  world,  above  the  pleasures  and  pains 
of  the  senses,  above  wealth  and  show, 
above  every  outward  good.  In  speak- 
ing of  the  promises  and  threatenings  of 
Christianity,  do  not  speak  as  if  good- 
ness were  to  be  sought  and  sin*  shunned 
for  their  outward  consequences ; but 
express  your  deep  conviction  that  good- 
ness is  its  own  reward,  worth  infinitely 
more  than  all  outward  recompense,  and 
that  sin  is  its  own  curse,  and  more  to 
be  dreaded  on  its  own  account  than  a 
burning  hell.  When  God  is  the  subject 
of  conversation,  do  not  spend  all  your 
strength  in  talking  of  what  He  has  made 
around  you  ; do  not  point  the  young  to 
his  outward  works  as  his  chief  mani- 
festations. Lead  them  to  think  of  him 
as  revealed  in  their  own  minds,  as  the 
Father  of  their  spirits,  as  more  intimately 
present  with  their  souls  than  with  the 
sun,  and  teach  them  to  account  as  his 
best  gifts,  not  outward  possessions,  but 
the  silent  influences  of  his  Spirit,  his 
communications  of  light  to  their  minds, 
of  warmth  and  elevation  to  their  feel- 
ings, and  of  force  to  their  resolution  of 
well-doing.  Let  the  spirituality  of  Chris- 
tianity shine  forth  in  all  your  teachings. 
Let  the  young  see  how  superior  Jesus 
was  to  outward  things,  how  he  looked 
down  on  wealth  and  show  as  below  his 
notice,  how  he  cared  nothing  for  out- 
ward distinctions,  how  the  beggar  by 
the  road  side  received  from  him  marks 
of  deeper  interest  than  Pilate  on  his 
judgment-seat  or  Herod  on  his  throne, 
how  he  looked  only  at  the  human  spirit 
and  sought  nothing  but  its  recovery  and 
life. 

I have  spoken  of  the  spirituality  of 
Christianity.  The  next  great  feature 
of  the  religion  to  be  constantly  set  be- 
fore the  child,  is  its  disinterestedness. 
The  essence  of  Christianity  is  generous 
affection.  Nothing  so  distinguishes  it 
as  generosity.  Disinterested  love  not 
only  breaks  out  in  separate  teachings 
of  Christ ; it  spreads  like  the  broad 
light  of  heaven  over  the  whole  religion. 
Every  precept  is  but  an  aspect,  — an 
expression  of  generous  love.  This 
prompted  every  word,  guided  every 
step,  of  Jesus.  It  was  the  life  of  his 
ministry  ; it  warmed  his  heart  in  death  ; 
it  flowed  out  with  his  heart’s  blood. 
The  pupil  should  be  constantly  led  to 


see  and  feel  this  divine  spirit  pervading 
the  religion.  The  Gospels  should  be 
used  to  inspire  him  with  reverence  for 
generous  self-sacrifice  and  with  aversion 
to  every  thing  narrow  and  mean.  Let 
him  learn  that  he  is  not  to  live  for  him- 
self ; that  he  has  a heart  to  be  given  to 
God  and  to  his  fellow-creatures  ; that 
he  is  to  do  the  will  of  God,  not  in  a 
mercenary  spirit,  but  from  gratitude, 
filial  love,  and  from  sincere  delight  in 
goodness  ; that  he  is  to  prepare  himself 
to  toil  and  suffer  for  his  race.  The 
cross  — that  emblem  of  self-sacrifice, 
that  highest  form  of  an  all-surrender- 
ing love  — is  to  be  set  before  him  as 
the  standard  of  his  religion,  the  banner 
under  which  he  is  to  live,  and,  if  God 
so  require,  to  die. 

There  is  one  other  great  feature  of 
Christianity,  and  that  is  the  vastness, 
the  infinity  of  its  prospects.  This  was 
revealed  in  the  whole  life  of  Jesus.  In 
all  that  he  said  we  see  his  mind  pos- 
sessed with  the  thought  of  being  or- 
dained to  confer  an  infinite  good.  That 
teacher  knows  little  of  Christ  who  does 
not  see  him  filled  with  the  conscious- 
ness of  being  the  author  of  an  everlast- 
ing salvation  and  happiness  to  the  human 
race.  “ I am  the  resurrection  and  the 
life.  He  that  belie veth  on  me  shall 
never  see  death.”  Such  was  his  lan- 
guage, and  such  never  fell  before  from 
human  lips.  When  I endeavor  to  bring 
to  my  mind  the  vast  hopes  which  in- 
spired him  as  he  pronounced  these 
words,  and  his  joy  at  the  anticipation 
of  the  immortal  fruits  which  his  life 
and  death  were  to  yield  to  our  race,  I 
feel  how  little  his  character  is  yet  un- 
derstood by  those  who  think  of  Jesus 
as  a man  of  sorrow,  borne  down  habit- 
ually by  a load  of  grief.  Constantly 
lead  your  pupils  to  observe  how  real, 
deep,  and  vivid  was  the  impression  on 
the  mind  of  Jesus  of  that  future,  ever- 
lasting life  which  he  came  to  bestow. 
Speak  to  them  of  the  happiness  with 
which  he  looked  on  all  human  virtue, 
as  being  a germ  which  was  to  unfold  for 
ever,  a fountain  of  living  water  which 
was  to  spring  up  into  immortality,  a love 
which  was  to  expand  through  all  ages 
and  to  embrace  the  universe.  It  is 
through  the  mind  of  Christ,  living,  as 
it  did,  in  a higher  world,  that  they  can 
best  comprehend  the  reality  and  vast- 
ness of  the  prospects  of  the  human  soul 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL . 


455 


Such  are  the  three  great  features  of 
the  religion  which  the  teacher  should 
bring  most  frequently  to  the  mind  of  the 
child.  In  these,  as  in  all  my  preceding 
remarks,  you  perceive  the  importance 
which  I attach  to  the  character  of  Christ, 
as  the  great  means  of  giving  spiritual 
light  and  life  to  the  mind.  The  Gospels, 
in  which  he  is  placed  before  us  so  viv- 
idly, are  in  truth  the  chief  repositories  of 
divine  wisdom.  The  greatest  produc- 
tions of  human  genius  have  little  quick- 
ening power  in  comparison  with  these 
simple  narratives.  In  reading  the  Gos- 
pels, I feel  myself  in  presence  of  one  who 
speaks  as  man  never  spake  ; whose  voice 
is  not  of  the  earth  ; who  speaks  with  a 
tone  of  reality  and  authority  altogether 
his  own  ; who  speaks  of  God  as  con- 
scious of  his  immediate  presence,  as  en- 
joying with  him  the  intimacy  of  an  only 
Son  ; and  who  speaks  of  heaven  as  most 
familiar  with  the  higher  states  of  being. 
Great  truths  come  from  Jesus  with  a 
simplicity,  an  ease,  showing  how  deeply 
they  pervaded  and  possessed  his  mind. 
No  books  astonish  me  like  the  Gospels. 
Jesus,  the  hero  of  the  story,  is  a more 
extraordinary  being  than  imagination 
has  feigned,  and  yet  his  character  has 
an  impress  of  nature,  consistency,  truth, 
never  surpassed.  You  have  all  seen 
portraits  which,  as  soon  as  seen,  you  felt 
to  be  likenesses,  so  living  were  they,  so 
natural,  so  true.  Such  is  the  impression 
made  on  my  mind  by  the  Gospels.  I 
believe  that  you  or  I could  lift  mountains 
or  create  a world  as  easily  as  fanaticism 
or  imposture  could  have  created  such  a 
character  and  history  as  that  of  Jesus 
Christ.  I have  read  the  Gospels  for 
years,  and  seldom  read  them  now  with- 
out gaining  some  new  or  more  striking 
view  of  the  great  teacher  and  deliverer 
whom  they  portray.  Of  all  books,  they 
deserve  most  the  study  of  youth  and  age. 
Happy  the  Sunday-school  in  which  their 
spirit  is  revealed  ! 

But  I have  not  yet  said  every  thing 
in  favor  of  them  as  the  great  sources  of 
instruction.  I have  said  that  the  Chris- 
tian religion  is  to  be  taught  from  the 
Gospels.  This  is  their  great,  but  not 
their  only  use.  Much  incidental  instruc- 
tion is  to  be  drawn  from  them.  There 
are  two  great  subjects  on  which  it  is  very 
desirable  to  give  to  the  young  the  light 
they  can  receive,  human  nature  and  hu- 
man life  ; and  on  these  points  the  Gos- 


pels furnish  occasions  of  much  useful 
teaching.  They  give  us  not  only  the  life 
and  character  of  Christ,  but  place  him 
before  us  in  the  midst  of  human  beings 
and  of  human  affairs.  Peter,  the  ardent, 
the  confident,  the  false,  the  penitent  Pe- 
ter ; the  affectionate  John  ; the  treach- 
erous Judas,  selling  his  Master  for  gold  ; 
Mary,  the  mother,  at  the  cross  ; Mary 
Magdalen  at  the  tomb  ; the  woman,  who 
had  been  a sinner,  bathing  his  feet  with 
tears,  and  wiping  them  with  the  hair  of 
her  head  ; — what  revelations  of  the 
human  soul  are  these  ! What  depths  of 
our  nature  do  they  lay  open  ! It  is  a re- 
markable fact  that  the  great  masters  of 
painting  have  drawn  their  chief  subjects 
from  the  New  Testament ; so  full  is  this 
volume  of  the  most  powerful  and  touch- 
ing exhibitions  of  human  character.  And 
how  much  instruction  does  this  book 
convey  in  regard  to  life  as  well  as  in  re- 
gard to  the  soul ! I do  not  know  a more 
affecting  picture  of  human  experience 
than  the  simple  narrative  of  Luke  : — 
“ When  Jesus  came  nigh  to  the  city,  be- 
hold, there  was  a dead  man  carried  out, 
the  only  son  of  his  mother,  and  she  was 
a widow  ; and  much  people  of  the  city 
was  with  her.”  The  Gospels  show  us 
fellow-beings  in  all  varieties  of  condition, 
the  blind  man,  the  leper,  the  rich  young 
ruler,  the  furious  multitude.  They  give 
practical  views  of  life,  which  cannot  be 
too  early  impressed.  They  show  us,  in 
the  history  of  Jesus  and  his  Apostles, 
that  true  greatness  may  be  found  in  the 
humblest  ranks,  and  that  goodness,  in 
proportion  as  it  becomes  eminent,  ex- 
poses itself  to  hatred  and  reproach,  so 
that  we  must  make  up  our  minds,  if  we 
would  be  faithful,  to  encounter  shame 
and  loss  for  God  and  duty.  In  truth,  all 
the  variety  of  wisdom  which  youth  needs 
may  be  extracted  from  these  writings. 
The  Gospels,  then,  are  to  be  the  "great 
study  of  the  Sunday-school. 

I cannot  close  these  remarks  on  what 
is  to  be  taught  in  the  Sunday-school, 
without  repeating  what  I have  said  of 
the  chief  danger  of  this  institution.  I 
refer  to  the  danger  of  mechanical  teach- 
ing, by  which  the  young  mind  becomes 
worn,  deadened  to  the  greatest  truths. 
The  Gospels,  life-giving  as  they  are, 
may  be  rendered  wholly  inoperative  by 
the  want  of  life  in  the  instructor.  So 
great  is  my  dread  of  tame,  mechanical 
teaching,  that  I am  sometimes  almost 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


456 

tempted  to  question  the  utility  of  Sun- 
day-schools. We  Protestants,  in  our 
zeal  for  the  Bible,  are  apt  to  forget  that 
the  very  commonness  of  the  book  tends 
to  impair  its  power,  that  familiarity 
breeds  indifference,  and  that  no  book, 
therefore,  requires  such  a living  power 
in  the  teacher.  He  must  beware  lest  he 
make  the  Gospels  trite  by  too  frequent 
repetition.  It  will  often  be  best  for  him 
to  assist  his  pupils  in  extracting  the 
great  principle  of  truth  involved  in  a 
precept,  parable,  or  action  of  Jesus,  and 
to  make  this  the  subject  of  conversation, 
without  farther  reference  to  the  text  by 
which  it  was  suggested.  If  he  can  lead 
them,  by  fit  questions,  to  find  this  prin- 
ciple in  their  own  consciousness  and  ex- 
perience, in  their  own  moral  judgments 
and  feelings,  and  to  discover  how  it 
should  be  applied  to  their  characters 
and  brought  out  in  their  common  lives, 
he  will  not  only  convey  the  most  impor- 
tant instruction,  but  will  give  new  vivid- 
ness and  interest  to  the  Scriptures,  and 
a deeper  conviction  of  their  truth,  by 
showing  how  congenial  they  are  with 
human  nature,  and  how  intimately  con- 
nected with  human  affairs  and  with  real 
life.  Let  me  also  mention,  as  another 
means  of  preserving  the  Scriptures  from 
degradation  by  too  frequent  handling, 
that  extracts  from  biography,  history, 
natural  science,  fitted  to  make  religious 
impressions,  should  be  occasionally  in- 
troduced into  the  Sunday-school.  Such 
seems  to  me  the  instruction  which  the 
ends  of  this  institution  require. 

IV.  We  have  now  seen  what  is  to  be 
taught  in  the  Sunday-school,  and  the 
question  now  comes,  How  shall  it  be 
taught  ? This  is  my  last  head,  and  not 
the  least  important.  On  the  manner  of 
teaching,  how  much  depends  ! I fear  it 
is  not  sufficiently  studied  by  Sunday- 
school  instructors.  They  meet  gen- 
erally, and  ought  regularly  to  meet,  to 
prepare  themselves  for  their  tasks.  But 
their  object  commonly  is  to  learn  what 
they  are  to  teach,  rather  than  how  to 
teach  it ; but  the  last  requires  equal 
attention  with  the  first,  — I had  almost 
said  more.  From  deficiency  in  this,  we 
sometimes  see  that  an  instructor,  pro- 
foundly acquainted  with  his  subject,  is 
less  successful  in  teaching  than  another 
of  comparatively  superficial  acquisitions; 
he  knows  much,  but  does  not  know  the 
way  to  the  child’s  mind  and  heart.  The 


same  truth,  which  attracts  and  impresses 
from  one  man’s  lips  repels  from  another. 
At  the  meeting  of  the  Sunday-school 
teachers,  it  is  not  enough  to  learn  the 
meaning  of  the  portion  of  Scripture 
which  is  to  be  the  subject  of  the  next 
lesson  ; it  is  more  important  to  select 
from  it  the  particular  topics  which  are 
adapted  to  the  pupil's  comprehension, 
and  still  more  necessary  to  inquire  un- 
der what  lights  or  aspects  they  may 
be  brought  to  his  view,  so  as  to  arrest 
attention  and  reach  the  heart.  A prin- 
cipal end  in  the  meeting  of  teachers 
should  be  to  learn  the  art  of  teaching, 
the  way  of  approach  to  the  youthful 
mind. 

The  first  aim  of  the  teacher  will  of 
course  be  to  fix  the  attention  of  the 
pupil.  It  is  in  vain  that  you  have  his 
body  in  the  school-room  if  his  mind  is 
wandering  beyond  it,  or  refuses  to  fasten 
itself  on  the  topic  of  discourse.  In 
common  schools  attention  is  fixed  by  a 
severe  discipline,  incompatible  with  the 
spirit  of  Sunday-schools.  Of  course  the 
teacher  must  aim  to  secure  it  by  a moral 
influence  over  the  youthful  mind. 

As  the  first  means  of  establishing  an 
influence  over  the  young,  I would  say, 
you  must  love  them.  Nothing  attracts 
like  love.  Children  are  said  to  be 
shrewd  physiognomists,  and  read  as  by 
instinct  our  feelings  in  our  counte- 
nances ; they  know  and  are  drawn  to 
their  friends.  I recently  asked  how  a 
singularly  successful  teacher  in  relig- 
ion obtained  his  remarkable  ascendency 
over  the  young.  The  reply  was,  that  his 
whole  intercourse  expressed  affection. 
His  secret  was  a sincere  love. 

The  next  remark  is,  that  to  awaken  in 
the  young  an  interest  in  what  you  teach, 
you  must  take  an  interest  in  it  your- 
selves. You  must  not  only  understand, 
but  feel,  the  truth.  Your  manner  must 
have  the  natural  animation  which  always 
accompanies  a work  into  which  our 
hearts  enter.  Accordingly,  one  of  the 
chief  qualifications  of  a Sunday-school 
teacher  is  religious  sensibility.  Old  and 
young  are  drawn  by  a natural  earnest- 
ness of  manner.  Almost  any  subject 
may  be  made  interesting,  if  the  teacher 
will  but  throw  into  it  his  soul. 

Another  important  rule  is.  Let  your 
teaching  be  intelligible.  Children  will 
not  listen  to  words  which  excite  no 
ideas,  or  only  vague  and  misty  concep 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


457 


tions.  Speak  to  them  in  the  familiar, 
simple  language  of  common  life,  and  if 
the  lesson  have  difficult  terms,  define 
them.  Children  love  light,  not  darkness. 
Choose  topics  of  conversation  to  which 
their  minds  are  equal,  and  pass  from  one 
to  another  by  steps  which  the  young  can 
follow.  Be  clear,  and  you  will  do  much 
towards  being  interesting  teachers. 

Another  suggestion  is,  Teach  much 
by  questions.  These  stimulate,  stir  up 
the  young  mind,  and  make  it  its  own 
teacher.  They  encourage  the  spirit  of 
inquiry,  the  habit  of  thought.  Ques- 
tions, skilfully  proposed,  turn  the  child 
to  his  own  consciousness  and  experi- 
ence, and  will  often  draw  out  from  his 
own  soul  the  truth  which  you  wish  to 
impart ; and  no  lesson  is  so  well  learned 
as  that  which  a man  or  a child  teaches 
himself. 

Again.  Teach  graphically  where  you 
can.  That  is,  when  you  are  discoursing 
of  any  narrative  of  Scripture,  or  relating 
an  incident  from  other  sources,  try  to 
seize  its  great  points  and  to  place  it 
before  the  eyes  of  your  pupils.  Culti- 
vate the  power  of  description.  A story 
well  told,  and  in  which  the  most  impor- 
tant particulars  are  brought  out  in  a 
strong  light,  not  only  fixes  attention, 
but  often  carries  a truth  farthest  into 
the  soul. 

Another  rule  is,  Lay  the  chief  stress 
on  what  is  most  important  in  religion. 
Do  not  conduct  the  child  over  the  Gos- 
pels as  over  a dead  level.  Seize  on  the 
great  points,  the  great  ideas.  Do  not 
confound  the  essential  and  the  unessen- 
tial, or  insist  with  the  same  earnestness 
on  grand,  comprehensive,  life-giving 
truths,  and  on  disputable  articles  of 
faith.  Immense  injury  is  done  by  teach- 
ing doubtful  or  secondary  doctrines  as 
if  they  were  the  weightiest  matters  of 
Christianity ; for,  as  time  rolls  over  the 
child,  and  his  mind  unfolds,  he  discovers 
that  one  and  another  dogma,  which  he 
was  taught  to  regard  as  fundamental,  is 
uncertain  if  not  false,  and  his  scepticism 
is  apt  to  spread  from  this  weak  point 
over  the  whole  Christian  system.  Make 
it  your  aim  to  fix  in  your  pupils  the 
grand  principles  in  which  the  essence  of 
Christianity  consists,  and  which  all  time 
and  experience  serve  to  confirm  ; and, 
in  doing  this,  you  will  open  the  mind  to 
all  truth  as  fast  as  it  is  presented  in  the 
course  of  Providence. 


Another  rule  is,  Carry  a cheerful  spirit 
into  religious  teaching.  Do  not  merely 
speak  of  Christianity  as  the  only  fountain 
of  happiness.  Let  your  tones  and  words 
bear  witness  to  its  benignant,  cheering 
influence.  Youth  is  the  age  of  joy  and 
hope,  and  nothing  repels  it  more  than 
gloom.  Do  not  array  religion  in  terror. 
Do  not  make  God  a painful  thought  by 
speaking  of  him  as  present  only  to  see 
and  punish  sin.  Speak  of  his  fatherly 
interest  in  the  young  with  a warm  heart 
and  a beaming  eye,  and  encourage  their 
filial  approach  and  prayers.  On  this 
part,  however,  you  must  beware  of  sac- 
rificing truth  to  the  desire  of  winning 
your  pupil.  Truth,  truth  in  her  severest 
as  well  as  mildest  forms,  must  be  placed 
before  the  young.  Do  not,  to  attract 
them  to  duty,  represent  it  as  a smooth 
and  flowery  path.  Do  not  tell  them  that 
they  can  become  good,  excellent,  gener- 
ous, holy,  without  effort  and  pain.  Teach 
them  that  the  sacrifice  of  self-will,  of 
private  interest,  and  pleasure,  to  others’ 
rights  and  happiness,  to  the  dictates  of 
conscience,  to  the  will  of  God,  is  the 
very  essence  of  piety  and  goodness. 
But  at  the  same  time  teach  them  that 
there  is  a pure,  calm  joy,  an  inward 
peace,  in  surrendering  every  thing  to 
duty,  which  can  be  found  in  no  selfish 
success.  Help  them  to  sympathize  with 
the  toils,  pains,  sacrifices  of  the  philan- 
thropist, the  martyr,  the  patriot,  and 
inspire  contempt  of  fear  and  peril  in 
adhering  to  truth  and  God. 

I will  add  one  more  rule.  Speak  of 
duty,  of  religion,  as  something  real,  just 
as  you  speak  of  the  interests  of  this  life. 
Do  not  speak  as  if  you  were  repeating 
words  received  from  tradition,  but  as 
if  you  were  talking  of  things  which 
you  have  seen  and  known.  Nothing 
attracts  old  and  young  more  than  a 
tone  of  reality,  the  natural  tone  of 
strong  conviction.  Speak  to  them  of 
God  as  a real  being,  of  heaven  as  a real 
state,  of  duty  as  a real  obligation.  Let 
them  see  that  you  regard  Christianity  as 
intended  to  bear  on  real  and  common 
life,  -that  you  expect  every  principle 
which  you  teach  to  be  acted  out,  to  be 
made  a rule  in  the  concerns  of  every 
day.  Show  the  application  of  Chris- 
tianity to  the  familiar  scenes  and  pur- 
suits of  life.  Bring  it  out  to  them  as 
the  great  reality.  So  teach,  and  you 
will  not  teach  in  vain. 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


458 

I have  thus  set  before  you  the  prin- 
ciples on  which  Sunday-schools  should 
rest,  and  by  which  they  should  be  guided. 
If  they  shall,  in  any  degree,  conform  to 
these  principles,  — and  I trust  they  will, 
— you  cannot,  my  friends,  cherish  them 
with  too  much  care.  Their  purpose  can- 
not be  spoken  of  too  strongly.  Their 
end  is  the  moral  and  religious  education 
of  the  young,  and  this  is  the  most  press- 
ing concern  of  our  times.  In  ail  times, 
indeed,  it  has  strong  claims  ; but  it  was 
never,  perhaps,  so  important  as  now, 
and  never  could  its  neglect  induce  such 
fearful  consequences.  The  present  is  a 
season  of  great  peril  to  the  rising  gen- 
eration. It  is  distinguished  by  a re- 
markable development  of  human  power, 
activity,  and  freedom.  The  progress  of 
science  has  given  men  a new  control  of 
nature,  and  in  this  way  has  opened  new 
sources  of  wealth  and  multiplied'  the 
means  of  indulgence,  and  in  an  equal 
degree  multiplied  temptations  to  world- 
liness, cupidity,  and  crime.  Our  times 
are  still  more  distinguished  by  the  spirit 
of  liberty  and  innovation.  Old  institu- 
tions and  usages,  the  old  restraints  on 
the  young,  have  been  broken  down. 
Men  of  all  conditions  and  ages  think, 
speak,  write,  act,  with  a freedom  un- 
known before.  Our  times  have  their 
advantages.  But  we  must  not  hide  from 
ourselves  our  true  position.  This  in- 
crease of  power  and  freedom,  of  which 
I have  spoken,  tends,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, to  unsettle  moral  principles,  to 
give  to  men’s  minds  a restlessness,  a 
want  of  stability,  a wildness  of  opinion, 
an  extravagance  of  desire,  a bold,  rash, 
reckless  spirit.  These  are  times  of  great 
moral  danger.  Outward  restraints  are 
removed  to  an  unprecedented  degree, 
and  consequently  there  is  a need  of 
inward  restraint,  of  the  controlling  pow- 
er of  a pure  religion,  beyond  what  was 
ever  known  before.  The  principles  of 
the  young  are  exposed  to  fearful  assaults, 
and  they  need  to  be  fortified  with  pe- 
culiar care.  Temptations  throng  on  the 
rising  generation  with  new  violence,  and 
the  power  to  withstand  them  must  be 
proportionably  increased.  Society  never 
needed  such  zealous  efforts,  such  un- 
slumbering watchfulness  for  its  safety, 
as  at  this  moment ; and  without  faith- 
fulness on  the  part  of  parents  and  good 
men,  its  bright  prospects  may  be  turned 
into  gloom. 


Sunday-schools  belong  to  this  period 
of  society.  They  grow  naturally  from 
the  extension  of  knowledge,  in  conse- 
quence of  which  more  are  qualified  to 
teach  than  in  former  times,  and  they  are 
suited  to  prepare  the  young  for  the 
severe  trials  which  await  them  in  life. 
As  such,  let  them  be  cherished.  The 
great  question  for  parents  to  ask  is, 
how  they  may  strengthen  their  children 
against  temptation,  how  they  can  im- 
plant in  them  principles  of  duty,  pur- 
poses of  virtue,  which  will  withstand 
all  storms,  and  which  will  grow  up  into 
all  that  is  generous,  just,  beautiful,  and 
holy  in  feeling  and  action.  The  ques- 
tion, how  your  children  may  prosper 
most  in  life  should  be  secondary.  Give 
them  force  of  character,  and  you  give 
them  more  than  a fortune.  Give  them 
pure  and  lofty  principles,  and  you  give 
them  more  than  thrones.  Instil  into 
them  Christian  benevolence  and  the 
love  of  God,  and  you  enrich  them  more 
than  by  laying  worlds  at  their  feet. 
Sunday-schools  are  meant  to  aid  you  in 
the  great  work  of  forming  your  children 
to  true  excellence.  I say  they  are 
meant  to  aid  you,  not  to  relieve  you 
from  the  work,  not  to  be  your  substi- 
tutes, not  to  diminish  domestic  watch- 
fulness and  teaching,  but  to  concur 
with  you,  to  give  you  fellow-laborers,  to 
strengthen  your  influence  over  your  chil- 
dren. Then  give  these  schools  your 
hearty  support,  without  which  they  can- 
not prosper.  Your  children  should  be 
your  first  care.  You  indeed  sustain  in- 
teresting relations  to  society,  but  your 
great  relation  is  to  your  children ; and 
in  truth  you  cannot  discharge  your  obli- 
gations to  society  by  any  service  so 
effectual  as  by  training  up  for  it  enlight- 
ened and  worthy  members  in  the  bosom 
of  the  family  and  the  church. 

Like  all  schools,  the  Sunday-school 
must  owe  its  influence  to  its  teachers. 
I would,  therefore,  close  this  discourse 
with  saying  that  the  most  gifted  in  our 
congregation  cannot  find  a worthier  field 
of  labor  than  the  Sunday-school.  The 
noblest  work  on  earth  is  to  act  with  an 
elevating  power  on  a human  spirit.  The 
greatest  men  of  past  times  have  not 
been  politicians  or  warriors,  who  have 
influenced  the  outward  policy  or  gran- 
deur of  kingdoms  ; but  men  who,  by 
their  deep  wisdom  and  generous  senti- 
ments, have  given  light  and  life  to  the 


THE  MORAL  ARGUMENT  AGAINST  CALVINISM.  459 


minds  and  hearts  of  their  own  age,  and 
left  a legacy  of  truth  and  virtue  to  pos- 
terity. Whoever,  in  the  humblest  sphere, 
imparts  God’s  truth  to  one  human  spirit, 
partakes  their  glory.  He  labors  on  an 


immortal  nature.  He  is  laying  the  foun- 
dation of  imperishable  excellence  and 
happiness.  His  work,  if  he  succeed, 
will  outlive  empires  and  the  stars. 


THE  MORAL  ARGUMENT  AGAINST 
CALVINISM, 

Illustrated  in  a Review  of  a Work  entitled  “ A General  View  of  the 
Doctrmes  of  Christianity , designed  more  especially  for  the  Edification 
and  Instruction  of  Families.  Bosto7if  1809.” 


The  work  of  which  we  have  prefixed 
the  title  to  this  article  was  published 
several  years  ago,  and  has  been  read  by 
many  among  us  with  pleasure  and  profit. 
But  it  is  not  known  as  widely  as  it  should 
be,  and  we  wish  to  call  to  it  the  notice 
which  it  merits.  It  is  not  an  original 
work,  but  was  compiled  chiefly  from  the 
writings  of  the  Rev.  Robert  Fellowes, 
whose  name  is  probably  known  to  most 
of  our  readers.  The  title  we  think  not 
altogether  happy,  because  it  raises  an 
expectation  which  the  book  does  not 
answer.  We  should  expect  from  it  a 
regular  statement  of  the  great  truths  of 
our  religion  ; but  we  find,  what  at  present 
is  perhaps  as  useful,  a vindication  of 
Christianity  from  the  gross  errors  which 
Calvinism  has  labored  to  identify  with 
this  divine  system.  This  may  easily  be 
supposed  from  the  table  of  contents. 
The  book  professes  to  treat  of  the  fol- 
lowing subjects  : — The  nature  of  re- 
ligion, and  the  mistakes  that  occur  on 
that  subject ; the  free  agency  and  ac- 
countableness of  man  ; the  fall  of  Adam, 
and  original  sin  ; the  doctrine  of  faith  in 
general,  and  of  religious  faith  in  particu- 
lar ; the  doctrine  of  works  ; the  doctrine 
of  regeneration  ; the  doctrine  of  repent- 
ance ; the  doctrine  of  grace  ; the  doc- 
trine of  election  and  reprobation  ; the 
doctrine  of  perseverance  ; the  visiting 
of  the  iniquities  of  the  fathers  upon  the 
children ; and  the  sin  against  the  Holy 
Ghost.  By  those  who  are  acquainted 
with  the  five  thorny  points  of  Calvinism, 
the  design  of  this  compilation  will  be 
sufficiently  understood  from  the  enumer- 


ation of  topics  now  given  ; and  few  de- 
signs are  more  praiseworthy  than  to  free 
Christianity  from  the  reproach  brought 
upon  it  by  that  system. 

The  work  under  review  is  professedly 
popular  in  its  style  and  mode  of  discus- 
sion. It  has  little  refined  and  elaborate 
reasoning,  but  appeals  to  the  great  moral 
principles  of  human  nature,  and  to  the 
general  strain  of  the  Scriptures.  It  ex- 
presses strongly  and  without  circumlo- 
cution the  abhorrence  with  which  every 
mind,  uncorrupted  by  false  theology, 
must  look  on  Calvinism  ; and  although 
some  of  its  delineations  may  be  over- 
charged, yet  they  are  substantially  cor- 
rect, and  their  strength  is  their  excel- 
lence. The  truth  is,  that  nothing  is  so 
necessary  on  this  subject  as  to  awaken 
moral  feeling  in  men’s  breasts.  Calvin- 
ism owes  its  perpetuity  to  the  influence 
of  fear  in  palsying  the  moral  nature. 
Men’s  minds  and  consciences  are  sub- 
dued by  terror,  so  that  they  dare  not 
confess,  even  to  themselves,  the  shrink- 
ing which  they  feel  from  the  unworthy 
views  which  this  system  gives  of  God ; 
and,  by  thus  smothering  their  just  ab- 
horrence, they  gradually  extinguish  it, 
and  even  come  to  vindicate  in  God  what 
would  disgrace  his  creatures.  A voice 
of  power  and  solemn  warning  is  needed 
to  rouse  them  from  this  lethargy,  to  give 
them  a new  and  a juster  dread,  the  dread 
of  incurring  God’s  displeasure,  by  making 
him  odious,  and  exposing  religion  to  in- 
sult and  aversion.  In  the  present  article 
we  intend  to  treat  this  subject  with  great 
freedom.  But  we  beg  that  it  may  be  un- 


THE  MORAL  ARGUMENT 


460 

derstood  that  by  Calvinism  we  intend 
only  the  peculiarities  or  distinguishing 
features  of  that  system.  We  would  also 
have  it  remembered  that  these  peculiari- 
ties form  a small  part  of  the  religious 
faith  of  a Calvinist  He  joins  with  them 
the  general,  fundamental,  and  most  im- 
portant truths  of  Christianity,  by  which 
they  are  always  neutralized  in  a greater 
or  less  degree,  and  in  some  cases  nulli- 
fied. Accordingly,  it  has  been  our  hap- 
piness to  see  in  the  numerous  body  by 
which  they  are  professed  some  of  the 
brightest  examples  of  Christian  virtue. 
Our  hostility  to  the  doctrine  does  not 
extend  to  its  advocates.  In  bearing  our 
strongest  testimony  against  error,  we  do 
not  the  less  honor  the  moral  and  relig- 
ious worth  with  which  it  is  often  con- 
nected. 

The  book  under  review  will  probably 
be  objected  to  by  theologians,  because 
it  takes  no  notice  of  a distinction,  in- 
vented by  Calvinistic  metaphysicians, 
for  rescuing  their  doctrines  from  the 
charge  of  aspersing  God’s  equity  and 
goodness.  We  refer  to  the  distinction 
between  natural  and  moral  inability , — 
a subtilty  which  may  be  thought  to  de- 
serve some  attention,  because  it  makes 
such  a show  in  some  of  the  principal 
books  of  this  sect.  But,  with  due  defer- 
ence to  its  defenders,  it  seems  to  us 
groundless  and  idle,  — a distinction  with- 
out a difference.  An  inability  to  do  our 
duty,  which  is  born  vTith  us,  is  to  all  in- 
tents, and  according  to  the  established 
meaning  of  the  word,  natural.  Call  it 
moral,  or  what  you  please,  it  is  still  a 
part  of  the  nature  which  our  Creator 
gave  us,  and  to  suppose  that  He  pun- 
ishes us  for  it,  because  it  is  an  inability 
seated  in  the  will,  is  just  as  absurd  as  to 
suppose  him  to  punish  us  for  a weak- 
ness of  sight  or  of  a limb.  Common 
people  cannot  understand  this  distinc- 
tion, cannot  split  this  hair,  and  it  is  no 
small  objection  to  Calvinism  that,  ac- 
cording to  its  ablest  defenders,  it  can 
only  be  reconciled  to  God’s  perfections 
by  a metaphysical  subtilty  which  the 
mass  of  people  cannot  comprehend. 

If  we  were  to  speak  as  critics  of  the 
style  of  this  book,  we  should  say  that, 
whilst  generally  clear,  and  sometimes 
striking,  it  has  the  faults  of  the  style 
which  was  very  current  not  many  years 
ago  in  this  country,  and  which,  we  re- 
joice to  say,  is  giving  place  to  a better. 


The  style  to  which  we  refer,  and  which 
threatened  to  supplant  good  writing  in 
this  country,  intended  to  be  elegant,  but 
fell  into  jejuneness  and  insipidity.  It 
delighted  in  words  and  arrangements  of 
words  which  were  little  soiled  by  com- 
mon use,  and  mistook  a spruce  neatness 
for  grace.  We  had  a Procrustes’  bed 
for  sentences,  and  there  seemed  to  be 
a settled  war  between  the  style  of  writ- 
ing and  the  free  style  of  conversation. 
Times,  we  think,  have  changed.  Men 
have  learned  more  to  write  as  they  speak, 
and  are  ashamed  to  dress  up  familiar 
thoughts  as  if  they  were  just  arrived 
from  a far  country,  and  could  not  ap- 
pear in  public  without  a foreign  and 
studied  attire.  They  have  learned  that 
common  words  are  common,  precisely 
because  most  fitted  to  express  real  feel- 
ing and  strong  conception,  and  that  the 
circuitous,  measured  phraseology,  which 
was  called  elegance,  was  but  the  parade 
of  weakness.  They  have  learned  that 
words  are  the  signs  of  thought,  and 
worthless  counterfeits  without  it,  and 
that  style  is  good  when,  instead  of  being 
anxiously  cast  into  a mould,  it  seems  a 
free  and  natural  expression  of  thought, 
and  gives  to  us  with  power  the  workings 
of  the  author’s  mind. 

We  have  been  led  to  make  these  re- 
marks on  the  style  which  in  a degree 
marks  the  book  before  us,  from  a per- 
suasion that  this  mode  of  writing  has 
been  particularly  injurious  to  religion, 
and  to  rational  religion.  It  has  crept 
into  sermons  perhaps  more  than  into 
any  other  compositions,  and  has  imbued 
them  with  that  soporific  quality  which 
they  have  sometimes  been  found  to 
possess  in  an  eminent  degree.  How 
many  hearers  have  been  soothed  by  a 
smooth,  watery  flow  of  words,  a regular 
chime  of  sentences,  and  elegantly  rocked 
into  repose  ! We  are  aware  that  preach- 
ers, above  all  writers,  are  excusable  for 
this  style,  because  it  is  the  easiest ; 
and,  having  too  much  work  to  do,  they 
must  do  it,  of  course,  in  the  readiest 
way.  But  we  mourn  the  necessity,  and 
mourn  still  more  the  effect.  It  gives 
us  great  pleasure  to  say  that  in  this 
particular  we  think  we  perceive  an  im- 
provement taking  place  in  this  region. 
Preaching  is  becoming  more  direct, 
aims  more  at  impression,  and  seeks  the 
nearest  way  to  men’s  hearts  and  con- 
sciences. We  often  hear  from  the  pul- 


AGAINST  CALVINISM. 


pit  strong  thought  in  plain  and  strong 
language.  It  is  hoped,  from  the  state 
of  society,  that  we  shall  not  fly  from 
one  extreme  to  another,  and  degenerate 
into  coarseness  ; but  perhaps  even  this 
is  a less  evil  than  tameness  and  in- 
sipidity. 

To  return  ; the  principal  argument 
against  Calvinism,  in  the  General  View 
of  Christian  Doctrines,  is  the  moral 
argument , or  that  which  is  drawn  from 
the  inconsistency  of  the  system  with 
the  divine  perfections.  It  is  plain  that 
a doctrine  which  contradicts  our  best 
ideas  of  goodness  and  justice  cannot 
come  from  the  just  and  good  God,  or 
be  a true  representation  of  his  charac- 
ter. This  moral  argument  has  always 
been  powerful  to  the  pulling  down  of 
the  strongholds  of  ^Calvinism.  Even  in 
the  dark  period,  when  this  system  was 
shaped  and  finished  at  Geneva,  its  advo- 
cates often  writhed  under  the  weight  of 
it ; and  we  cannot  but  deem  it  a mark 
of  the  progress  of  society  that  Calvin- 
ists are  more  and  more  troubled  with 
the  palpable  repugnance  of  their  doc- 
trines to  God’s  nature,  and  accordingly 
labor  to  soften  and  explain  them,  until 
in  many  cases  the  name  only  is  retained. 
If  the  stern  reformer  of  Geneva  could 
lift  up  his  head  and  hear  the  mitigated 
tone  in  which  some  of  his  professed 
followers  dispense  his  fearful  doctrines, 
we  fear  that  he  could  not  lie  down  in 
peace  until  he  had  poured  out  his  dis- 
pleasure on  their  cowardice  and  degen- 
eracy. He  would  tell  them,  with  a 
frown,  that  moderate  Calvinism  was  a 
solecism,  a contradiction  in  terms,  and 
would  bid  them  in  scorn  to  join  their 
real  friend,  Arminius.  Such  is  the  power 
of  public  opinion  and  of  an  improved 
state  of  society  on  creeds,  that  naked, 
undisguised  Calvinism  is  not  very  fond 
of  showing  itself,  and  many  of  conse- 
quence know  imperfectly  what  it  means. 
What,  then,  is  the  system  against  which 
the  View  of  Christian  Doctrines  is  di- 
rected ? 

Calvinism  teaches  that,  in  conse- 
quence of  Adam’s  sin  in  eating  the  for- 
bidden fruit,  God  brings  into  life  all  his 
posterity  with  a nature  wholly  corrupt, 
so  that  they  are  utterly  indisposed,  dis- 
abled, and  made  opposite  to  all  that  is 
spiritually  good,  and  wholly  inclined  to 
all  evil,  and  that  continually.  It  teaches 
that  all  mankind,  having  fallen  in  Adam, 


461 

are  under  God’s  wrath  and  curse,  and 
so  made  liable  to  all  miseries  in  this 
life,  to  death  itself,  and  to  the  pains  of 
hell  for  ever.  It  teaches  that  from  this 
ruined  race  God,  out  of  his  mere  good 
pleasure,  has  elected  a certain  number 
to  be  saved  by  Christ,  not  induced  to 
this  choice  by  any  foresight  of  their 
faith  or  good  works,  but  wholly  by  his 
free  grace  and  love  ; and  that,  having 
thus  predestinated  them  to  eternal  life, 
He  renews  and  sanctifies  them  by  his 
almighty  and  special  agency,  and  brings 
them  into  a state  of  grace  from  which 
they  cannot  fall  and  perish.  It  teaches 
that  the  rest  of  mankind  He  is  pleased 
to  pass  over,  and  to  ordain  them  to  dis- 
honor and  wrath  for  their  sins,  to  the 
honor  of  his  justice  and  power ; in 
other  words,  He  leaves  the  rest  to  the 
corruption  in  which  they  were  born, 
withholds  the  grace  which  is  necessary 
to  their  recovery,  and  condemns  them 
to  “ most  grievous  torments  in  soul  and 
body  without  intermission  in  hell-fire 
for  ever.”  Such  is  Calvinism,  as  gath- 
ered from  the  most  authentic  records  of 
the  doctrine.  Whoever  will  consult  the 
famous  Assembly’s  Catechisms  and  Con- 
fession, will  see  the  peculiarities  of  the 
system  in  all  their  length  and  breadth  of 
deformity.  A man  of  plain  sense,  whose 
spirit  has  not  been  broken  to  this  creed 
by  education  or  terror,  will  think  that  it 
is  not  necessary  for  us  to  travel  to  hea- 
then countries  to  learn  how  mournfully 
the  human  mind  may  misrepresent  the 
Deity. 

The  moral  argument  against  Calvin- 
ism, of  which  we  have  spoken,  must 
seem  irresistible  to  common  and  unper- 
verted minds,  after  attending  to  the 
brief  statement  now  given.  It  will  be 
asked  with  astonishment,  How  is  it 
possible  that  men  can  hold  these  doc- 
trines and  yet  maintain  God’s  goodness 
and  equity  ? What  principles  can  be 
more  contradictory  ? To  remove  the 
objection  to  Calvinism,  which  is  drawn 
from  its  repugnance  to  the  divine  per- 
fections, recourse  has  been  had,  as  be- 
fore observed,  to  the  distinction  between 
natural  and  moral  inability,  and  to  other 
like  subtilties.  But  a more  common 
reply,  we  conceive,  has  been  drawn  from 
the  weakness  and  imperfection  of  the 
human  mind,  and  from  its  incapacity  of 
comprehending  God.  Calvinists  will  tell 
us  that  because  a doctrine  opposes  our 


THE  MORAL  ARGUMENT 


462 

convictions  of  rectitude  it  is  not  neces- 
sarily false  ; that  apparent  are  not  al- 
ways real  inconsistencies  ; that  God  is 
an  infinite  and  incomprehensible  Being, 
and  not  to  be  tried  by  our  ideas  of  fit- 
ness and  morality  ; that  we  bring  their 
system  to  an  incompetent  tribunal  when 
we  submit  it  to  the  decision  of  human 
reason  and  conscience ; that  we  are 
weak  judges  of  what  is  right  and  wrong, 
good  and  evil,  in  the  Deity  ; that  the 
happiness  of  the  universe  may  require 
an  administration  of  human  affairs  which 
is  very  offensive  to  limited  understand- 
ings ; that  we  must  follow  revelation, 
not  reason  or  moral  feeling,  and  must 
consider  doctrines  which  shock  us  in 
revelation  as  awful  mysteries,  which  are 
dark  through  our  ignorance,  and  which 
time  will  enlighten.  How  little,  it  is 
added,  can  man  explain  or  understand 
God's  ways  ! How  inconsistent  the  mis- 
eries of  life  appear  with  goodness  in  the 
Creator  ! How  prone,  too,  have  men 
always  been  to  confound  good  and  evil, 
to  call  the  just  unjust!  How  presumpt- 
uous is  it  in  such  a being  to  sit  in  judg- 
ment upon  God,  and  to  question  the 
rectitude  of  the  divine  administration, 
because  it  shocks  his  sense  of  recti- 
tude ! Such  we  conceive  to  be  a fair 
statement  of  the  manner  in  which  the 
Calvinist  frequently  meets  the  objection 
that  his  system  is  at  war  with  God’s 
attributes  ; such  the  reasoning  by  which 
the  voice  of  conscience  and  nature  is 
stifled,  and  men  are  reconciled  to  doc- 
trines which,  if  tried  by  the  established 
principles  of  morality,  would  be  re- 
jected with  horror.  On  this  reasoning 
we  purpose  to  offer  some  remarks  ; and 
we  shall  avail  ourselves  of  the  opportu- 
nity to  give  our  views  of  the  co?iJidence 
which  is  due  to  our  rational  and  moral 
faculties  in  religion. 

That  God  is  infinite,  and  that  man 
often  errs,  we  affirm  as  strongly  as  our 
Calvinistic  brethren.  We  desire  to  think 
humbly  of  ourselves,  and  reverently  of 
our  Creator.  In  the  strong  language  of 
Scripture,  ‘-We  now  see  through  a glass 
darkly.”  “ We  cannot  by  searching  find 
out  God  unto  perfection.  Clouds  and 
darkness  are  round  about  him.  His 
judgments  are  a great  deep.”  God  is 
great  and  good  beyond  utterance  or 
thought.  We  have  no  disposition  to 
idolize  our  own  powers,  or  to  penetrate 
the  secret  counsels  of  the  Deity.  But,  on 


the  other  hand,  we  think  it  ungrateful  to 
disparage  the  powers  which  our  Creator 
has  given  us,  or  to  question  the  certainty 
or  importance  of  the  knowledge  which 
He  has  seen  fit  to  place  within  our  reach. 
There  is  an  affected  humility,  we  think, 
as  dangerous  as  pride.  We  may  rate 
our  faculties  too  meanly,  as  well  as  too 
boastingly.  The  worst  error  in  religion, 
after  all,  is  that  of  the  sceptic,  who  re- 
cords triumphantly  the  weaknesses  and 
wanderings  of  the  human  intellect,  and 
maintains  that  no  trust  is  due  to  the 
decisions  of  this  erring  reason.  We  by 
no  means  conceive  that  man’s  greatest 
danger  springs  from  pride  of  understand- 
ing, though  we  think  as  badly  of  this 
vice  as  other  Christians.  The  history  of 
the  church  proves  that  men  may  trust 
their  faculties  too  little  as  well  as  too 
much,  and  that  the  timidity  which 
shrinks  from  investigation  has  injured 
the  mind,  and  betrayed  the  interests  of 
Christianity,  as  much  as  an  irreverent 
boldness  of  thought. 

It  is  an  important  truth,  which  we 
apprehend  has  not  been  sufficiently  de- 
veloped, that  the  ultimate  reliance  of  a 
human  being  is  and  must  be  on  his  own 
mind.  To  confide  in  God,  we  must  first 
confide  in  the  faculties  by  which  He  is 
apprehended,  and  by  which  the  proofs 
of  his  existence  are  weighed.  A trust 
in  our  ability  to  distinguish  between 
truth  and  falsehood  is  implied  in  every 
act  of  belief  ; for  to  question  this  ability 
would  of  necessity  unsettle  all  belief. 
We  cannot  take  a step  in  reasoning  or 
action  without  a secret  reliance  on  our 
own  minds.  Religion  in  particular  im- 
plies that  we  have  understandings  en- 
dowed and  qualified  for  the  highest 
employments  of  intellect.  In  affirming 
the  existence  and  perfections  of  God, 
we  suppose  and  affirm  the  existence  in 
ourselves  of  faculties  which  correspond 
to  these  sublime  objects,  and  which  are 
fitted  to  discern  them.  Religion  is  a 
conviction  and  an  act  of  the  human  soul, 
so  that  in  denying  confidence  to  the  one, 
we  subvert  the  truth  and  claims  of  the 
other.  Nothing  is  gained  to  piety  by 
degrading  human  nature,  for  in  the  com- 
petency of  this  nature  to  know  and  judge 
of  God  all  piety  has  its  foundation.  Our 
proneness  to  err  instructs  us,  indeed,  to 
use  our  powers  with  great  caution,  but 
not  to  contemn  and  neglect  them.  The 
occasional  abuse  of  our  faculties,  be  it 


AGAINST  CALVINISM. 


ever  so  enormous,  does  not  prove  them 
unfit  for  their  highest  end,  which  is  to 
form  clear  and  consistent  views  of  God. 
Because  our  eyes  sometimes  fail  or  de- 
ceive us,  would  a wise  man  pluck  them 
out,  or  cover  them  with  a bandage,  and 
choose  to  walk  and  work  in  the  dark  ? 
or,  because  they  cannot  distinguish  dis- 
tant objects,  can  they  discern  nothing 
clearly  in  their  proper  sphere,  and  is 
sight  to  be  pronounced  a fallacious 
guide  ? Men  who,  to  support  a creed, 
would  shake  our  trust  in  the  calm,  de- 
liberate, and  distinct  decisions  of  our 
rational  and  moral  powers,  endanger 
religion  more  than  its  open  foes,  and 
forge  the  deadliest  weapon  for  the  in- 
fidel. 

It  is  true  that  God  is  an  infinite  Being, 
and  also  true  that  his  powers  and  per- 
fections, his  purposes  and  operations, 
his  ends  and  means,  being  unlimited, 
are  incomprehensible.  In  other  words, 
they  cannot  be  wholly  taken  in  or  em- 
braced by  the  human  mind.  In  the 
strong  and  figurative  language  of  Script- 
ure, we  “ know  nothing  ” of  God’s  ways  ; 
that  is,  we  know  very  few  of  them.  But 
this  is  just  as  true  of  the  most  advanced 
archangel  as  of  man.  In  comparison 
with  the  vastness  of  God’s  system,  the 
range  of  the  highest  created  intellect  is 
narrow  ; and  in  this  particular  man’s  lot 
does  not  differ  from  that  of  his  elder 
brethren  in  heaven.  We  are  both  con- 
fined in  our  observation  and  experience 
to  a little  spot  in  the  creation.  But  are 
an  angel's  faculties  worthy  of  no  trust, 
or  is  his  knowledge  uncertain,  because 
he  learns  and  reasons  from  a small  part 
of  God’s  works  ? or  are  his  judgments 
respecting  the  Creator  to  be  charged 
with  presumption,  because  his  views  do 
not  spread  through  the  whole  extent  of 
the  universe  ? We  grant  that  our  under- 
standings cannot  stretch  beyond  a very 
narrow  sphere.  But  still  the  lessons 
which  we  learn  within  this  sphere  are 
just  as  sure  as  if  it  were  indefinitely  en- 
larged. Because  much  is  unexplored, 
we  are  not  to  suspect  what  we  have 
actually  discovered.  Knowledge  is  not 
the  less  real  because  confined.  The  man 
who  has  never  set  foot  beyond  his  native 
village,  knows  its  scenery  and  inhabi- 
tants as  undoubtingly  as  if  he  had  trav- 
elled to  the  poles.  We  indeed  see  very 
little  ; but  that  little  is  as  true  as  if  every 
thing  else  were  seen  ; and  our  future 


463 

discoveries  must  agree  with  and  support 
it.  Should  the  whole  order  and  pur- 
poses of  the  universe  be  opened  to  us, 
it  is  certain  that  nothing  would  be  dis- 
closed which  would  in  any  degree  shake 
our  persuasion  that  the  earth  is  inhab- 
ited by  rational  and  moral  beings,  who 
are  authorized  to  expect  from  their  Cre- 
ator the  most  benevolent  and  equitable 
government.  No  extent  of  observation 
can  unsettle . those  primary  and  funda- 
mental principles  of  moral  truth  which 
we  derive  from  our  highest  faculties 
operating  in  the  relations  in  which  God 
has  fixed  us.  In  every  region  and  period 
of  the  universe,  it  will  be  as  true  as  it  is 
now  on  the  earth  that  knowledge  and 
power  are  the  measures  of  responsi- 
bility, and  that  natural  incapacity  ab- 
solves from  guilt.  These  and  other 
moral  verities,  which  are  among  our 
clearest  perceptions,  would,  if  possible, 
be  strengthened,  in  proportion  as  our 
powers  should  be  enlarged  ; because 
harmony  and  consistency  are  the  char- 
acters of  God’s  administration,  and  all 
our  researches  into  the  universe  only 
serve  to  manifest  its  unity,  and  to  show 
a wider  operation  of  the  laws  which  we 
witness  and  experience  on  earth. 

We  grant  that  God  is  incomprehensi- 
ble, in  the  sense  already  given.  But  He 
is  not  therefore  unintelligible j and  this 
distinction  we  conceive  to  be  important. 
We  do  not  pretend  to  know  the  whole 
nature  and  properties  of  God,  but  still 
we  can  form  some  clear  ideas  of  him, 
and  can  reason  from  these  ideas  as 
justly  as  from  any  other.  The  truth  is, 
that  we  cannot  be  said  to  comprehend 
any  being  whatever,  not  the  simplest 
plant  or  animal.  All  have  hidden  prop- 
erties. Our  knowledge  of  all  is  limited. 
But  have  we  therefore  no  distinct  ideas 
of  the  objects  around  us,  and  is  all  our 
reasoning  about  them  unworthy  of  trust  ? 
Because  God  is  infinite,  his  name  is  not 
therefore  a mere  sound.  It  is  a repre- 
sentative of  some  distinct  conceptions 
of  our  Creator  ; and  these  conceptions 
are  as  sure,  and  important,  and  as 
proper  materials  for  the  reasoning  fac- 
ulty, as  they  would  be  if  our  views  were 
indefinitely  enlarged.  We  cannot  in- 
deed trace  God’s  goodness  and  rectitude 
through  the  whole  field  of  his  opera- 
tions ; but  we  know  the  essential  nature 
of  these  attributes,  and  therefore  can 
often  judge  what  accords  with  and  op- 


THE  MORAL  ARGUMENT 


464 

poses  them.  God’s  goodness,  because 
infinite,  does  not  cease  to  be  goodness, 
or  essentially  differ  from  the  same  attri- 
bute in  man ; nor  does  justice  change 
its  nature,  so  that  it  cannot  be  under- 
stood, because  it  is  seated  in  an  un- 
bounded mind.  There  have,  indeed, 
been  philosophers,  “ falsely  so  called,” 
who  have  argued,  from  the  unlimited 
nature  of  God,  that  we  cannot  ascribe  to 
him  justice  and  other  moral  attributes  in 
any  proper  or  definite  sense  of  those 
words  ; and  the  inference  is  plain,  that 
all  religion  or  worship,  wanting  an  in- 
telligible object,  must  be  a misplaced, 
wasted  offering.  This  doctrine  from  the 
infidel  we  reject  with  abhorrence  ; but 
something,  not  very  different,  too  often 
reaches  us  from  the  mistaken  Christian, 
who,  to  save  his  creed,  shrouds  the  Cre- 
ator in  utter  darkness.  In  opposition  to 
both,  we  maintain  that  God’s  attributes 
are  intelligible,  and  that  we  can  conceive 
as  truly  of  his  goodness  and  justice  as 
of  these  qualities  in  men.  In  fact,  these 
qualities  are  essentially  the  same  in  God 
and  man,  though  differing  in  degree,  in 
purity,  and  in  extent  of  operation.  We 
know  not  and  we  cannot  conceive  of  any 
other  justice  or  goodness  than  we  learn 
from  our  own  nature  ; and  if  God  have 
not  these,  He  is  altogether  unknown  to 
us  as  a moral  being  ; He  offers  nothing 
for  esteem  and  love  to  rest  upon ; the 
objection  of  the  infidel  is  just,  that  wor- 
ship is  wasted  : “ We  worship  we  know 
not  what.” 

It  is  asked,  On  what  authority  do  we 
ascribe  to  God  goodness  and  rectitude 
in  the  sense  in  which  these  attributes 
belong  to  men,  or  how  can  we  judge  of 
the  nature  of  attributes  in  the  mind  of 
the  Creator?  We  answer  by  asking, 
How  is  it  that  we  become  acquainted 
with  the  mind  of  a fellow-creature  ? 
The  last  is  as  invisible,  as  removed  from 
hmnediate  inspection,  as  the  first.  Still 
we  do  not  hesitate  to  speak  of  the  jus- 
tice and  goodness  of  a neighbor ; and 
how  do  we  gain  our  knowledge  ? We 
answer,  by  witnessing  the  effects,  op- 
erations, and  expressions  of  these  attri- 
butes. It  is  a law  of  our  nature  to  argue 
from  the  effect  to  the  cause,  from  the 
action  to  the  agent,  from  the  ends  pro- 
posed and  from  the  means  of  pursuing 
them,  to  the  character  and  disposition 
of  the  being  in  whom  we  observe  them. 
By  these  processes  we  learn  the  invisi- 


ble mind  and  character  of  man  ; and  by 
the  same  we  ascend  to  the  mind  of  God, 
whose  works,  effects,  operations,  and 
ends  are  as  expressive  and  significant  of 
justice  and  goodness  as  the  best  and 
most  decisive  actions  of  men.  If  this 
reasoning  be  sound  (and  all  religion 
rests  upon  it),  then  God’s  justice  and 
goodness  are  intelligible  attributes, 
agreeing  essentially  with  the  same  qual- 
ities in  ourselves.  Their  operation,  in- 
deed, is  infinitely  wider,  and  they  are 
employed  in  accomplishing  not  only 
immediate  but  remote  and  unknown 
ends.  Of  consequence,  we  must  expect 
that  many  parts  of  the  divine  adminis- 
tration will  be  obscure , that  is,  will  not 
produce  immediate  good,  and  an  imme- 
diate distinction  between  virtue  and 
vice.  But  still  the  unbounded  operation 
of  these  attributes  does  not  change  their 
nature.  They  are  still  the  same  as  if 
they  acted  in  the  ' narrowest  sphere. 
We  can  still  determine  in  many  cases 
what  does  not  accord  with  them.  We 
are  particularly  sure  that  those  essential 
principles  of  justice  which  enter  into 
and  even  form  our  conception  of  this 
attribute  must  pervade  every  province 
and  every  period  of  the  administration 
of  a just  being,  and  that  to  suppose  the 
Creator  in  any  instance  to  forsake  them 
is  to  charge  him  directly  with  unright- 
eousness, however  loudly  the  lips  may 
compliment  his  equity. 

“ But  is  it  not  presumptuous  in  man,” 
it  is  continually  said,  “ to  sit  in  judg- 
ment on  God  ? ” We  answer,  that  to  “ sit 
in  judgment  on  God  ” is  an  ambiguous 
and  offensive  phrase,  conveying  to  com- 
mon minds  the  ideas  of  irreverence,  bold- 
ness, familiarity.  The  question  would 
be  better  stated  thus:  Is  it  not  pre- 
sumptuous in  man  to  judge  concerning 
God,  and  concerning  what  agrees  or  dis- 
agrees with  his  attributes  ? We  answer 
confidently,  No ; for  in  many  cases  we 
are  competent  and  even  bound  to  judge. 
And  we  plead  first  in  our  defence  the 
Scriptures.  How  continually  does  God 
in  his  word  appeal  to  the  understanding 
and  moral  judgment  of  man  ! aO  inhab- 
itants of  Jerusalem  and  men  of  Judah, 
judge,  I pray  you,  between  me  and  my 
vineyard.  What  could  have  been  done 
more  to  my  vineyard,  that  I have  not 
done  in  it  ? ” We  observe,  in  the  next 
place,  that  all  religion  supposes  and  is 
built  on  judgments  passed  by  us  on  God 


AGAINST  CALVINISM . 


465 


and  on  his  operations.  Is  it  not,  for 
example,  our  duty  and  a leading  part  of 
piety  to  praise  God  ? And  what  is  prais- 
ing a being,  but  to  adjudge  and  ascribe 
to  him  just  and  generous  deeds  and  mo- 
tives ? And  of  what  value  is  praise, 
except  from  those  who  are  capable  of 
distinguishing  between  actions  which 
exalt  and  actions  which  degrade  the 
character  ? Is  it  presumptuous  to  call 
God  excellent?  And  what  is  this,  but 
to  refer  his  character  to  a standard  of 
excellence,  to  try  it  by  the  established 
principles  of  rectitude,  and  to  pronounce 
its  conformity  to  them  ; that  is,  to  judge 
of  God  and  his  operations  ? 

We  are  presumptuous,  we  are  told,  in 
judging  of  our  Creator.  But  He  him- 
self has  made  this  our  duty,  in  giving 
us  a moral  faculty ; and  to  decline  it, 
is  to  violate  the  primary  law  of  our 
nature.  Conscience,  the  sense  of  right, 
the  power  of  perceiving  moral  distinc- 
tions, the  power  of  discerning  between 
justice  and  injustice,  excellence  and  base- 
ness, is  the  highest  faculty  given  us  by 
God,  the  whole  foundation  of  our  re- 
sponsibility, and  our  sole  capacity  for 
religion.  Now,  we  are  forbidden  by 
this  faculty  to  love  a being  who  wants, 
or  who  fails  to  discover,  moral  excel- 
lence. God,  in  giving  us  conscience, 
has  implanted  a principle  within  us 
which  forbids  us  to  prostrate  ourselves 
before  mere  power,  or  to  offer  praise 
where  we  do  not  discover  worth,  — a 
principle  which  challenges  our  supreme 
homage  for  supreme  goodness,  and 
which  absolves  us  from  guilt,  when  we 
abhor  a severe  and  unjust  administra- 
tion. Our  Creator  has  consequently 
waived  his  own  claims  on  our  venera- 
tion and  obedience,  any  farther  than 
He  discovers  himself  to  us  in  charac- 
ters of  benevolence,  equity,  and  right- 
eousness. He  rests  his  authority  on 
the  perfect  coincidence  of  his  will  and 
government  with  those  great  and  funda- 
mental principles  of  morality  written  on 
our  souls.  He  desires  no  worship  but 
that  which  springs  from  the  exercise  of 
our  moral  faculties  upon  his  character, 
from  our  discernment  and  persuasion  of 
his  rectitude  and  goodness.  He  asks, 
he  accepts,  no  love  or  admiration  but 
from  those  who  can  understand  the  nat- 
ure and  the  proofs  of  moral  excellence. 

There  are  two  or  three  striking  facts 
which  show  that  there  is  no  presumption 


in  judging  of  God,  and  of  what  agrees 
or  disagrees  with  his  attributes.  The 
first  fact  is,  that  the  most  intelligent 
and  devout  men  have  often  employed 
themselves  in  proving  the  existence 
and  perfections  of  God,  and  have  been 
honored  for  this  service  to  the  cause  of 
religion.  Now  we  ask,  what  is  meant 
by  the  proofs  of  a divine  perfection  ? 
They  are  certain  acts,  operations,  and 
methods  of  government,  which  are  proper 
and  natural  effects,  signs,  and  expres- 
sions of  this  perfection,  and  from  which, 
according  to  the  established  principles 
of  reasoning,  it  may  be  inferred.  To 
prove  the  divine  attributes  is  to  collect 
and  arrange  those  works  and  ways  of 
the  Creator  which  accord  with  these 
attributes,  correspond  to  them,  flow 
from  them,  and  express  them.  Of 
consequence,  to  prove  them  requires 
and  implies  the  power  of  jiidging  of 
what  agrees  with  them , of  discerning 
their  proper  marks  and  expressions. 
All  our  treatises  on  natural  theology 
rest  on  this  power.  Every  argument 
in  support  of  a divine  perfection  is  an 
exercise  of  it.  To  deny  it  is  to  over- 
throw all  religion. 

Now,  if  such  are  the  proofs  of  God’s 
goodness  and  justice,  and  if  we  are 
capable  of  discerning  them,  then  we 
are  not  necessarily  presumptuous  when 
we  say  of  particular  measures  ascribed 
to  him,  that  they  are  inconsistent  with 
his  attributes,  and  cannot  belong  to  him. 
There  is  plainly  no  more  presumption 
in  affirming  of  certain  principles  of  ad- 
ministration, that  they  oppose  God’s 
equity  and  would  prove  him  unright- 
eous, than  to  affirm  of  others  that  they 
prove  him  upright  and  good.  There 
are  signs  and  evidences  of  injustice  as 
unequivocal  as  those  of  justice ; and 
our  faculties  are  as  adequate  to  the 
perception  of  the  last  as  of  the  first.  If 
they  must  not  be  trusted  in  deciding 
what  would  prove  God  unjust,  they  are 
unworthy  of  confidence  when  they  gather 
evidences  of  his  rectitude  ; and,  of  course, 
the  whole  structure  of  religidn  must  fall. 

It  is  mo  slight  objection  to  the  mode 
of  reasoning  adopted  by  the  Calvinist 
that  it  renders  the  proof  of  the  divine 
attributes  impossible.  When  we  object 
to  his  representations  of  the  divine  gov- 
ernment, that  they  shock  our  clearest 
ideas  of  goodness  and  justice,  he  replies 
that  still  they  may  be  true,  because  we 


THE  MORAL  ARGUMENT 


466 

know  very  little  of  God,  and  what  seems 
unjust  to  man  may  be  in  the  Creator 
the  perfection  of  rectitude.  Now,  this 
weapon  has  a double  edge.  If  the 
strongest  marks  and  expressions  of  in- 
justice do  not  prove  God  unjust,  then 
the  strongest  marks  of  the  opposite 
character  do  not  prove  him  righteous. 
If  the  first  do  not  deserve  confidence, 
because  of  our  narrow  views  of  God, 
neither  do  the  last.  If,  when  more 
shall  be  known,  the  first  may  be  found 
consistent  with  perfect  rectitude,  so, 
when  more  shall  be  known,  the  last 
may  be  found  consistent  with  infinite 
malignity  and  oppression.  This  rea- 
soning of  our  opponents  casts  us  on  an 
ocean  of  awful  uncertainty.  Admit  it, 
and  we  have  no  proofs  of  God’s  good- 
ness and  equity  to  rely  upon.  What 
we  call  proofs  may  be  mere  appear- 
ances, which  a wider  knowledge  of  God 
may  reverse.  The  future  may  show  us 
that  the  very  laws  and  works  of  the 
Creator,  from  which  we  now  infer  his 
kindness,  are  consistent  with  the  most 
determined  purpose  to  spread  infinite 
misery  and  guilt,  and  were  intended, 
by  raising  hope,  to  add  the  agony  of 
disappointment  to  our  other  woes.  Why 
may  not  these  anticipations,  horrible  as 
they  are,  be  verified  by  the  unfolding  of 
God’s  system,  if  our  reasonings  about 
his  attributes  are  rendered  so  very  un- 
certain, as  Calvinism  teaches,  by  the 
infinity  of  his  nature  ? 

We  have  mentioned  one  fact  to  show 
that  it  is  not  presumptuous  to  judge  of 
God,  and  of  what  accords  with  and  op- 
poses his  attributes  ; namely,  the  fact 
that  his  attributes  are  thought  susceptible 
of  proof.  Another  fact,  very  decisive  on 
this  point,  is,  that  Christians  of  all  classes 
have  concurred  in  resting  the  truth  of 
Christianity  in  a great  degree  on  its  in- 
ternal evidence,  that  is,  on  its  accordance 
with  the  perfections  of  God.  How  com- 
mon is  it  to  hear  from  religious  teachers 
that  Christianity  is  worthy  of  a good  a-nd 
righteous  being,  that  it  bears  the  marks 
of  a divine  original ! Volumes  have  been 
written  on  its  internal  proofs,  on  the  co- 
incidence of  its  purposes  and  spirit  with 
our  highest  conceptions  of  God.  How 
common,  too,  is  it  to  say  of  other  relig- 
ions that  they  are  at  war  with  the  divine 
nature,  with  God’s  rectitude  and  good- 
ness, and  that  we  want  no  other  proofs 
of  their  falsehood  ! And  what  does  all 


this  reasoning  imply  ? Clearly  this,  that 
we  are  capable  of  determining,  in  many 
cases,  what  is  worthy  and  what  is  un- 
worthy of  God,  what  accords  with  and 
what  opposes  his  moral  attributes.  Deny 
US’  this  capacity,  and  it  would  be  no  pre- 
sumption against  a professed  revelation, 
that  it  ascribed  to  the  Supreme  Being 
the  most  detestable  practices.  It  might 
still  be  said  in  support  of  such  a system, 
that  it  is  arrogant  in  man  to  determine 
what  kind  of  revelation  suits  the  char- 
acter of  the  Creator.  Christianity  then 
leans,  at  least  in  part,  and  some  think 
chiefly,  on  internal  evidence,  or  on  its 
agreeableness  to  God’s  moral  attributes  ; 
and  is  it  probable  that  this  religion,  hav- 
ing this  foundation,  contains  representa- 
tions of  God’s  government  which  shock 
our  ideas  of  rectitude,  and  that  it  silences 
our  objections  by  telling  us  that  we  are 
no  judges  of  what  suits  or  opposes  his 
infinite  nature  ? 

We  will  name  one  more  fact  to  show 
that  it  is  not  presumptuous  to  form  tlrese 
judgments  of  the  Creator.  All  Christians 
are  accustomed  to  reason  from  God’s 
attributes,  and  to  use  them  as  tests  of 
doctrines.  In  their  controversies  with 
one  another,  they  spare  no  pains  to  show 
that  their  particular  views  accord  best 
with  the  divine  perfections,  and  every 
sect  labors  to  throw  on  its  adversaries 
the  odium  of  maintaining  what  is  unwor- 
thy of  God.  Theological  writings  are 
filled  with  such  arguments  ; and  yet  wey 
it  seems,  are  guilty  of  awful  presumption 
when  we  deny  of  God  principles  of  ad- 
ministration against  which  every  pure 
and  good  sentiment  in  our  breasts  rises 
in  abhorrence. 

We  shall  conclude  this  discussion  with 
an  important  inquiry.  If  God’s  justice 
and  goodness  are  consistent  with  those 
operations  and  modes  of  government, 
which  Calvinism  ascribes  to  him,  of  what 
use  is  our  belief  in  these  perfections  ? 
What  expectations  can  we  found  upon 
them  ? If  it  consist  with  divine  rectitude 
to  consign  to  everlasting  misery  beings 
who  have  come  guilty  and  impotent  from 
his  hand,  we  beg  to  know  what  interest 
we  have  in  this  rectitude,  what  pledge 
of  good  it  contains,  or  what  evil  can  be 
imagined  which  may  not  be  its  natural 
result  ? If  justice  and  goodness,  when 
stretched  to  infinity,  take  such  strange 
forms  and  appear  in  such  unexpected 
and  apparently  inconsistent  operations, 


AGAINST  CALVINISM. 


how  are  we  sure  that  they  will  not  give 
up  the  best  men  to  ruin,  and  leave  the 
universe  to  the  powers  of  darkness  ? 
Such  results,  indeed,  seem  incompatible 
with  these  attributes,  but  not  more  so 
than  the  acts  attributed  to  God  by  Cal- 
vinism. Is  it  said  that  the  divine  faith- 
fulness is  pledged  in  the  Scriptures  to  a 
happier  issue  of  things  ? But  why  should 
not  divine  faithfulness  transcend  our  poor 
understandings  as  much  as  divine  good- 
ness and  justice,  and  why  may  not  God, 
consistently  with  this  attribute,  crush 
every  hope  which  his  word  has  raised  ? 
Thus  all  the  divine  perfections  are  lost 
to  us  as  grounds  of  encouragement  and 
consolation,  if  we  maintain  that  their  in- 
finity places  them  beyond  our  judgment, 
and  that  we  must  expect  from  them  meas- 
ures and  operations  entirely  opposed  to 
what  seems  to  us  most  accordant  with 
their  nature. 

We  have  thus  endeavored  to  show  that 
the  testimony  of  our  rational  and  moral 
faculties  against  Calvinism  is  worthy  of 
trust.  We  know  that  this  reasoning 
will  be  met  by  the  question,  What,  then, 
becomes  of  Christianity  ? for  this  relig- 
ion plainly  teaches  the  doctrines  you 
have  condemned.  Our  answer  is  ready. 
Christianity  contains  no  such  doctrines. 
Christianity,  reason,  and  conscience  are 
perfectly  harmonious  on  the  subject 
under  discussion.  Our  religion,  fairly 
construed,  gives  no  countenance  to  that 
system  which  has  arrogated  to  itself  the 
distinction  of  Evangelical.  We  cannot, 
however,  enter  this  field  at  present. 
We  will  only  say  that  the  general  spirit 
of  Christianity  affords  a very  strong 
presumption,  that  its  records  teach  no 
such  doctrines  as  we  have  opposed. 
This  spirit  is  love,  charity,  benevolence. 
Christianity,  we  all  agree,  is  designed 
to  manifest  God  as  perfect  benevolence, 
and  to  bring  men  to  love  and  imitate 
him.  Now,  is  it  probable  that  a relig- 
ion, having  this  object,  gives  views  of  the 
Supreme  Being  from  which  our  moral 
convictions  and  benevolent  sentiments 
shrink  with  horror,  and  which,  if  made 
our  pattern,  would  convert  us  into  mon- 
sters ? It  is  plain  that,  were  a human 
parent  to  form  himself  on  the  Universal 
Father,  as  described  by  Calvinism,  that 
is,  were  he  to  bring  his  children  into 
life  totally  depraved,  and  then  to  pursue 
them  with  endless  punishment,  we  should 
charge  him  with  a cruelty  not  surpassed 


467 

in  the  annals  of  the  world ; or,  were  a 
sovereign  to  incapacitate  his  subjects  in 
any  way  whatever  for  obeying  his  laws, 
and  then  to  torture  them  in  dungeons  of 
perpetual  woe,  we  should  say  that  history 
records  no  darker  crime.  And  is  it  prob- 
able that  a religion  which  aims  to  attract 
and  assimilate  us  to  God,  considered  as 
love,  should  hold  him  up  to  us  in  these 
heart-withering  characters  ? We  may 
confidently  expect  to  find  in  such  a 
system  the  brightest  views  of  the  divine 
nature  ; and  the  same  objections  lie 
against  interpretations  of  its  records, 
which  savor  of  cruelty  and  injustice,  as 
lie  against  the  literal  sense  of  passages 
which  ascribe  to  God  bodily  wants  and 
organs.  Let  the  Scriptures  be  read  with 
a recollection  of  the  spirit  of  Christian- 
ity, and  with  that  modification  of  par- 
ticular texts  by  this  general  spirit,  which 
a just  criticism  requires,  and  Calvinism 
would  no  more  enter  the  mind  of  the 
reader  than  Popery,  — we  had  almost 
said,  than  Heathenism. 

In  the  remarks  now  made,  it  will  be 
seen,  we  hope,  that  we  have  aimed  to 
expose  doctrines,  not  to  condemn  their 
professors.  It  is  true  that  men  are  apt 
to  think  themselves  assailed  when  their 
system  only  is  called  to  account.  But 
we  have  no  foe  but  error.  We  are  less 
and  less  disposed  to  measure  the  piety 
of  others  by  peculiarities  of  faith.  M en?s 
characters  are  determined,  not  by  the 
opinions  which  they  profess,  but  by 
those  on  which  their  thoughts  habitu- 
ally fasten,  which  recur  to  them  most 
forcibly,  and  which  color  their  ordinary 
views  of  God  and  duty.  The  creed  of 
habit,  imitation,  or  fear  may  be  defended 
stoutly,  and  yet  have  little  practical  in- 
fluence. The  mind,  when  compelled  by 
education  or  other  circumstances  to  re- 
ceive irrational  doctrines,  has  yet  a power 
of  keeping  them,  as  it  were,  on  its  sur- 
face, of  excluding  them  from  its  depths, 
of  refusing  to  incorporate  them  with  its 
own  being ; and,  when  burdened  with  a 
mixed,  incongruous  system,  it  often  dis- 
covers a sagacity  which  reminds  us  of 
the  instinct  of  inferior  animals,  in  select- 
ing the  healthful  and  nutritious  por- 
tions, and  in  making  them  its  daily  food. 
Accordingly,  the  real  faith  often  corre- 
sponds little  with  that  which  is  pro- 
fessed. It  often  happens  that,  through 
the  progress  of  the  mind  in  light  and 
virtue,  opinions,  once  central,  are  grad- 


LETTER  ON  CATHOLICISM. 


468 

ually  thrown  outward,  lose  their  vitality, 
and  cease  to  be  principles  of  action, 
whilst  through  habit  they  are  defended 
as  articles  of  faith.  The  words  of  the 
creed  survive,  but  its  advocates  sympa- 
thize with  it  little  more  than  its  foes. 
These  remarks  are  particularly  appli- 
cable to  the  present  subject.  A large 
number,  perhaps  a majority,  of  those 
who  surname  themselves  with  the  name 
of  Calvin,  have  little  more  title  to  it  than 
ourselves.  They  keep  the  name,  and 
drop  the  principles  which  it  signifies. 
They  adhere  to  the  system  as  a whole, 
but  shrink  from  all  its  parts  and  dis- 
tinguishing points.  This  silent  but 
real  defection  from  Calvinism  is  spread- 
ing more  and  more  widely.  The  grim 
features  of  this  system  are  softening, 
and  its  stern  spirit  yielding  to  concili- 
ation and  charity.  We  beg  our  readers 
to  consult  for  themselves  the  two 
Catechisms  and  the  Confession  of  the 
Westminster  Assembly,  and  to  compare 
these  standards  of  Calvinism  with  what 
now  bears  its  name.  They  will  rejoice, 
we  doubt  not,  in  the  triumphs  of  truth. 
With  these  views,  we  have  no  disposi- 
tion to  disparage  the  professors  of  the 
system  which  we  condemn,  although  we 
believe  that  its  influence  is  yet  so  ex- 
tensive and  pernicious  as  to  bind  us  to 
oppose  it. 

Calvinism,  we  are  persuaded,  is  giving 
place  to  better  views.  It  has  passed  its 
meridian,  and  is  sinking  to  rise  no  more. 
It  has  to  contend  with  foes  more  for- 
midable than  theologians ; with  foes  from 
whom  it  cannot  shield  itself  in  mystery 
and  metaphysical  subtilties,  — we  mean 
with  the  progress  of  the  human  mind, 
and  with  the  progress  of  the  spirit  of  the 


gospel.  Society  is  going  forward  in  in- 
telligence and  charity,  and  of  course  is 
leaving  the  theology  of  the  sixteenth 
century  behind  it.  We  hail  this  revo- 
lution of  opinion  as  a most  auspicious 
event  to  the  Christian  cause.  We  hear 
much  at  present  of  efforts  to  spread  the 
gospel.  But  Christianity  is  gaining  more 
by  the  removal  of  degrading  errors  than 
it  would  by  armies  of  missionaries  who 
should  carry  with  them  a corrupted  form 
of  the  religion.  We  think  the  decline  of 
Calvinism  one  of  the  most  encouraging 
facts  in  our  passing  history  ; for  this 
system,  by  outraging  conscience  and 
reason,  tends  to  array  these  high  facul- 
ties against  revelation.  Its  errors  are 
peculiarly  mournful,  because  they  relate 
to  the  character  of  God.  It  darkens  and 
stains  his  pure  nature,  spoils  his  charac- 
ter of  its  sacredness,  loveliness,  glory, 
and  thus  quenches  the  central  light  of 
the  universe,  makes  existence  a curse, 
and  the  extinction  of  it  a consummation 
devoutly  to  be  wished.  We  now  speak 
of  the  peculiarities  of  this  system,  and  of 
their  natural  influence,  when  not  coun- 
teracted, as  they  always  are  in  a greater 
or  less  degree,  by  better  views,  derived 
from  the  spirit  and  plain  lessons  of 
Christianity. 

We  have  had  so  much  to  do  with  our 
subject,  that  we  have  neglected  to  make 
the  usual  extracts  from  the  book  which 
we  proposed  to  review.  We  earnestly 
wish  that  a work,  answering  to  the  title 
of  this,  which  should  give  us  “ a general 
view  of  Christian  doctrines,”  might  be 
undertaken  by  a powerful  hand.  Next 
to  a good  commentary  on  the  Scriptures, 
it  would  be  the  best  service  which  could 
be  rendered  to  Christian  truth. 


LETTER  ON  CATHOLICISM. 

To  the  Editor  of  the  “ Western  Messenger  ” Louisville , Kentucky . 


My  dear  Sir,  — I have  received  your 
letter,  expressing  a very  earnest  desire 
that  I would  make  some  contribution  to 
the  pages  of  the  “ Western  Messenger.” 
Your  appeal  is  too  strong  to  be  resisted. 
I feel  that  I must  send  you  something, 
though  circumstances,  which  I cannot 


control,  do  not  allow  me  to  engage  in 
any  elaborate  discussion.  I have  there- 
fore re&olved  to  write  you  a letter,  with 
the  same  freedom  which  I should  use  if 
writing  not  for  the  public  but  to  a friend. 
Perhaps  it  may  meet  the  wants  and  suit 
the  frank  spirit  of  the  West  more  than  a 


LETTER  ON  CATHOLICISM . 


regular  essay.  But  judge  for  yourself, 
and  do  what  you  will  with  my  hasty 
thoughts. 

I begin  with  expressing  my  satisfac- 
tion in  your  having  planted  yourself  in 
the  West.  I am  glad  for  your  own  sake, 
as  well  as  for  the  sake  of  the  cause  you 
have  adopted.  I say,  your  own  sake. 
You  have  chosen  the  good  part.  The 
first  question  to  be  asked  by  a young 
man  entering  into  active  life  is,  in  what 
situation  he  can  find  the  greatest  scope 
and  excitement  to  his  powers  and  good 
affections  ? That  sphere  is  the  best  for 
a man  in  which  he  can  best  unfold  the 
faculties  of  a man,  in  which  he  can  do 
justice  to  his  whole  nature  ; in  which 
his  intellect,  heart,  conscience,  will  be 
called  into  the  most  powerful  life.  I am 
always  discouraged  when  I hear  a young 
man  asking  for  the  easiest  condition, 
when  I see  him  looking  out  for  some 
beaten  path,  in  which  he  may  move  on 
mechanically,  and  with  the  least  expense 
of  thought  or  feeling.  The  young  min- 
ister sometimes  desires  to  become  a 
fixture  in  an  established  congregation, 
which  is  bound  to  its  place  of  worship 
by  obstinate  ties  of  habit,  and  which 
can  therefore  be  kept  together  with  little 
effort  of  his  own.  If  the  congregation 
happens  to  be  what  is  called  a respect- 
able one,  that  is,  if  it  happens  so  far  to 
regard  the  rules  of  worldly  decorum  as 
never  to  shock  him  by  immoralities,  and 
never  to  force  him  into  any  new  or 
strenuous  exertion  for  its  recovery,  so 
much  the  better.  Such  a minister  is 
among  the  most  pitiable  members  of 
the  community.  Happily  this  extreme 
case  is  rare.  But  the  case  is  not  rare 
of  those  who,  wishing  to  do  good,  still 
desire  to  reconcile  usefulness  with  all 
the  comforts  of  life,  who  shrink  from 
the  hazards  which  men  take  in  other 
pursuits,  who  want  the  spirit  of  enter- 
prise, who  prefer  to  reap  where  others 
have  sowed,  and  to  linger  round  the 
places  of  their  nativity.  At  a time  when 
men  of  other  professions  pour  them- 
selves into  the  new  parts  of  the  country, 
and  are  seeking  their  fortunes  with  buoy- 
ant spirits  and  overflowing  hopes,  the 
minister  seems  little  inclined  to  seek 
what  is  better  than  fortune  in  untried 
fields  of  labor.  Of  all  men,  the  minister 
should  be  first  to  inquire,  where  shall  I 
find  the  circumstances  most  fitted  to 
wake  up  my  whole  soul,  to  task  all  my 


469 

faculties,  to  inspire  a profound  interest, 
to  carry  me  out  of  myself  ? I believe 
you  have  asked  yourself  this  question, 
and  I think  you  have  answered  it  wisely. 
You  have  thrown  yourself  into  a new 
country,  where  there  are  admirable  ma- 
terials, but  where  a congregation  is  to 
be  created  by  your  own  faithfulness  and 
zeal.  Not  even  a foundation  is  laid  on 
which  you  can  build.  There  are  no 
mechanical  habits  among  the  people, 
which  the  minister  can  use  as  labor- 
saving  machines,  which  will  do  much  of 
his  work  for  him,  which  will  draw  peo- 
ple to  church  whether  he  meets  their 
wants  or  not.  Still  more,  there  are  no 
rigid  rules,  binding  you  down  to  specific 
modes  of  action,  cramping  your  energies, 
warring  with  your  individuality.  You 
may  preach  in  your  own  way,  preach 
from  your  observation  of  the  effects  pro- 
duced on  a free-speaking  people.  Tra- 
dition does  not  take  the  place  of  your 
own  reason.  In  addition  to  this,  you 
see  and  feel  the  pressing  need  of  re- 
ligious instruction,  in  a region  where 
religious  institutions  are  in  their  in- 
fancy. That,  under  such  circumstances, 
a man  who  starts  with  the  true  spirit  will 
make  progress,  can  hardly  be  doubted. 
You  have  peculiar  trials,  but  in  these 
you  find  impulses  which,  I trust,  are 
to  carry  you  forward  to  greater  useful- 
ness, and  to  a higher  action  of  the  whole 
soul. 

Boston  has  sometimes  been  called  the 
Paradise  of  ministers  ; and  undoubtedly 
the  respect  in  which  the  profession  is 
held,  and  the  intellectual  helps  afforded 
here,  give  some  reason  for  the  appella- 
tion. But  there  are  disadvantages  also, 
and  one  in  particular,  to  which  you  are 
not  exposed.  Shall  I say  a word  of  evil 
of  this  good  city  of  Boston  ? Among 
all  its  virtues  it  does  not  abound  in  a 
tolerant  spirit.  The  yoke  of  opinion  is 
a heavy  one,  often  crushing  individuality 
of  judgment  and  action.  A censorship, 
unfriendly  to  free  exertion,  is  exercised 
over  the  pulpit  as  well  as  over  other 
concerns.  No  city  in  the  world  is  gov- 
erned so  little  by  a police,  and  so  much 
by  mutual  inspection,  and  what  is  called 
public  sentiment.  We  stand  more  in 
awe  of  one  another  than  most  people. 
Opinion  is  less  individual,  or  runs  more 
into  masses,  and  often  rules  with  a rod 
of  iron.  Undoubtedly  opinion,  when  en- 
lightened, lofty,  pure,  is  a useful  sov- 


470 


LETTER  ON  CATHOLICISM. 


ereign ; but,  in  the  present  imperfect 
state  of  society,  it  has  its  evils  as  well 
as  benefits.  It  suppresses  the  grosser 
vices  rather  than  favors  the  higher  virt- 
ues. It  favors  public  order  rather  than 
originality  of  thought,  moral  energy, 
and  spiritual  life.  To  prescribe  its  due 
bounds  is  a very  difficult  problem.  Were 
its  restraints  wholly  removed,  the  deco- 
rum of  the  pulpit  would  be  endangered  ; 
but  that  these  restraints  are  excessive 
in  this  city,  and  especially  in  our  de- 
nomination, that  they  often  weigh  op- 
pressively on  the  young  minister,  and 
that  they  often  take  from  ministers  of 
all  ages  the  courage,  confidence,  and  au- 
thority which  their  high  mission  should 
inspire,  cannot,  I fear,  be  denied.  The 
minister  here,  on  entering  the  pulpit, 
too  often  feels  that  he  is  to  be  judged 
rather  than  to  judge  ; that  instead  of 
meeting  sinful  men,  who  are  to  be 
warned  or  saved,  he  is  to  meet  critics 
to  be  propitiated  or  disarmed.  He  feels, 
that  should  he  trust  himself  to  his  heart, 
speak  without  book,  and  consequently 
break  some  law  of  speech,  or  be  hurried 
into  some  daring  hyperbole,  he  should 
find  little  mercy.  Formerly  Felix  trem- 
bled before  Paul ; now  the  successor  of 
Paul  more  frequently  trembles.  For- 
eigners generally  set  down,  as  one  of 
our  distinctions,  the  awe  in  which  we 
stand  of  opinion,  the  want  of  freedom 
of  speech,  the  predominance  of  caution 
and  calculation  over  impulse.  This  feat- 
ure of  our  society  exempts  it  from  some 
dangers ; and  those  persons  who  see 
only  ruin  in  the  reforming  spirit  of  the 
times  will  prize  it  as  our  best  character- 
istic. Be  this  as  it  may,  one  thing  is 
sure,  that  it  does  not  give  energy  to  the 
ministry,  or  favor  the  nobler  action  or 
higher  products  of  the  mind.  Your  sit- 
uation gives  you  greater  freedom.  You 
preach,  I understand,  wholly  without 
notes.  In  this  you  may  carry  your  lib- 
erty too  far.  Writing  is  one  of  the 
great  means  of  giving  precision,  clear- 
ness, consistency,  and  energy  to  thought. 
Every  other  sermon,  I think,  should  be 
written,  if  circumstances  allow  it.  But 
he  who  only  preaches  from  notes  will 
never  do  justice  to  his  own  powers  and 
feelings.  The  deepest  fountains  of  elo- 
quence within  him  will  not  be  unsealed. 
He  will  never  know  the  full  power  given 
him  over  his  fellow-creatures. 

The  great  danger  to  a minister  at  this 


time  is  the  want  of  life,  the  danger  of 
being  dead  while  he  lives.  Brought  up 
where  Christianity  is  established,  he  is 
in  danger  of  receiving  it  as  a tradition. 
Brought  up  where  a routine  of  duty  is 
marked  out  for  him,  and  a certain  style 
of  preaching  imposed,  he  is  in  danger 
of  preaching  from  tradition.  Ministers 
are  strongly  tempted  to  say  what  they 
are  expected  to  say.  Accordingly,  their 
tones  and  looks  too  often  show  that 
they  understand  but  superficially  what 
is  meant  by  their  words.  You  see  that 
they  are  talking  of  that  which  is  not  real 
to  them.  This  danger  of  lifelessness  is 
great  in  old  congregations,  made  up  of 
people  of  steady  habits  and  respectable 
characters.  The  minister  in  such  a case 
is  apt  to  feel  as  if  his  hearers  needed 
no  mighty  change,  and  as  if  his  work 
were  accomplished  when  his  truisms, 
expressed  with  more  or  less  propriety, 
are  received  with  due  respect.  He  ought 
to  feel  that  the  people  may  be  spiritually 
dead  with  their  regular  habits,  as  he 
may  be  with  his  regular  preaching  ; that 
both  may  need  to  be  made  alive.  It  is 
the  advantage  of  such  a situation  as  you 
are  called  to  fill  that  you  can  do  nothing 
without  life.  A machine  in  a western 
pulpit  cannot  produce  even  the  show  of 
an  effect.  The  people  may  be  less  en- 
lightened than  we  are,  more  irregular  in 
habits,  more  defective  in  character  ; but 
they  must  have  living  men  to  speak  to 
them,  and  must  hear  a voice  which, 
whether  true  or  erring,  still  comes  from 
the  soul,  or  they  cannot  be  brought  to 
hear.  This  is  no  Small  compensation 
for  many  disadvantages. 

This  life  of  which  I speak,  though 
easily  recognized  by  a congregation, 
cannot  be  easily  described  by  them,  just 
as  the  most  ignorant  man  can  distinguish 
a living  from  a dead  body,  but  knows 
very  little  in  what  vitality  consists.  A 
common  mistake  is,  that  life  in  the  min- 
ister is  strong  emotion.  But  it  consists 
much  more  in  the  clear  perception,  the 
deep  conviction  of  the  reality  of  religion, 
the  reality  of  virtue,  of  man’s  spiritual 
nature,  of  God,  of  immortality,  of  heaven. 
The  tone  which  most  proves  a minister 
to  be  alive  is  that  of  calm,  entire  confi- 
dence in  the  truth  of  what  he  says,  the 
tone  of  a man  who  speaks  of  what  he 
has  seen  and  handled,  the  peculiar  tone 
which  belongs  to  one  who  has  come 
fresh  from  what  he  describes,  to  whom 


LETTER  ON  CATHOLICISM. 


471 


the  future  world  is  as  substantial  as  the 
present,  who  does  not  echo  what  others 
say  of  the  human  soul,  but  feels  his 
own  spiritual  nature  as  others  feel  their 
bodies,  and  to  whom  God  is  as  truly 
present  as  the  nearest  fellow-creature. 
Strong  emotion  in  the  pulpit  is  too  often 
a fever  caught  by  sympathy,  or  a fervor 
worked  up  for  the  occasion,  or  a sensi- 
bility belonging  more  to  the  nerves  than 
the  mind,  and  excited  by  vague  views 
which  fade  away  before  the  calm  rea- 
son. Hence  enthusiasts  often  become 
sceptics.  The  great  sign  of  life  is  to 
see  and  feel  that  there  is  something 
real,  substantial,  immortal,  in  Christian 
virtue  ; to  be  conscious  of  the  reality  and 
nearness  of  your  relations  to  God  and 
the  invisible  world.  This  is  the  life 
which  the  minister  needs,  and  which  it 
is  his  great  work  to  communicate.  My 
hope  is  that,  bv  sending  ministers  into 
new  situations,  where  new  wants  cry  to 
them  for  supply,  a living  power  may  be 
awakened,  to  which  a long-established 
routine  of  labors  is  not  favorable,  and 
which  may  spread  beyond  them  to  their 
brethren. 

I pass  now  to  another  subject.  We 
hear  much  of  the  Catholic  religion  in  the 
West,  and  of  its  threatening  progress. 
There  are  not  a few  here  who  look  upon 
this  alarm  as  a pious  fraud,  who  consider 
the  cry  of  “ No  Popery  ” as  set  up  by  a 
particular  sect  to  attract  to  itself  dis- 
tinction and  funds  ; but  fear  is  so  nat- 
ural, and  a panic  spreads  so  easily,  that 
I see  no  necessity  of  resorting  to  so 
unkind  an  explanation.  It  must  be  con- 
fessed that  Protestantism  enters  on  the 
warfare  with  Popery  under  some  disad- 
vantages, and  may  be  expected  to  betray 
some  consciousness  of  weakness.  Most 
Protestant  sects  are  built  on  the  papal 
foundation.  Their  creeds  and  excom- 
munications embody  the  grand  idea  of 
infallibility  as  truly  as  the  decrees  of 
Trent  and  the  Vatican  ; and  if  the  peo- 
ple must  choose  between  different  in- 
fallibilities, there  is  much  to  incline 
them  to  that  of  Rome.  This  has  age, 
the  majority  of  votes,  more  daring  as- 
sumption, and  bolder  denunciation  on 
its  side.  The  popes  of  our  different 
sects  are  certainly  less  imposing  to  the 
imagination  than  the  Pope  at  Rome. 

I trust,  however,  that,  with  these  ad- 
vantages, Catholicism  is  still  not  very 
formidable.  It  has  something  more  to 


do  than  to  fight  with  sects  ; its  great 
foe  is.  the  progress  of  society.  The 
creation  of  dark  times,  it  cannot  stand 
before  the  light.  In  this  country  in 
particular,  it  finds  no  coadjutors  in  any 
circumstances,  passions,  or  institutions, 
Catholicism  is  immovable,  and  move- 
ment and  innovation  are  the  order  of 
the  day.  It  rejects  the  idea  of  meliora- 
tion, and  the  passion  for  improvement 
is  inflaming  all  minds.  It  takes  its  stand 
in  the  past,  and  this  generation  are  living 
in  the  future.  It  clings  to  forms,  which 
the  mind  has  outgrown.  It  will  not 
modify  doctrines  in  which  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  age  cannot  but  recognize 
the  stamp  of  former  ignorance.  It  for- 
bids free  inquiry,  and  inquiry  is  the 
spirit  of  the  age,  — the  boldest  inquiry, 
stopping  nowhere,  invading  every  region 
of  thought.  Catholicism  wrests  from 
the  people  the  right  to  choose  their  own 
ministers,  and  the  right  of  election  is 
the  very  essence  of  our  institutions.  It 
establishes  an  aristocratical  priesthood, 
and  the  whole  people  are  steeped  in 
republicanism.  It  withholds  the  Script- 
ures, and  the  age  is  a reading  one,  and 
reads  the  more  what  is  forbidden.  Ca- 
tholicism cannot  comprehend  that  the 
past  is  not  the  present,  — cannot  com- 
prehend the  revolution  which  the  art  of 
printing  and  the  revival  of  learning  have 
effected.  Its  memory  seems  not  to  come 
down  lower  than  the  middle  ages.  It 
aims  to  impose  restraints  on  thought, 
which  were  comparatively  easy  before 
the  press  was  set  in  motion,  and  labors 
to  shore  up  institutions,  in  utter  uncon- 
sciousness that  the  state  of  society,  and 
the  modes  of  thinking  on  which  they 
rested,  have  passed  away. 

The  political  revolutions  of  the  times 
are  enough  to  seal  the  death-warrant  of 
Catholicism,  but  it  has  to  encounter  a 
far  more  important  spiritual  revolution. 
Catholicism  belongs  to  what  may  be 
called  the  dogmatical  age  of  Christian- 
ity,— the  age  when  it  was  thought  our 
religion  might  be  distilled  into  a creed, 
which  would  prove  an  elixir  of  life  to 
whoever  would  swallow  it.  We  have 
now  come  to  learn  that  Christianity  is 
not  a dogma,  but  a spirit,  that  its  es- 
sence is  the  spirit  of  its  divine  Founder, 
that  it  is  of  little  importance  what  church 
a man  belongs  to,  or  what  formula  of 
doctrines  he  subscribes,  that  nothing  is 
important  but  the  supreme  love,  choice, 


472 


LETTER  ON  CATHOLICISM. 


pursuit  of  moral  perfection,  shining  forth 
in  the  life  and  teachings  of  Christ.  This 
is  the  true  Catholic  doctrine,  the  creed 
of  the  true  church,  gathering  into  one 
spiritual  communion  all  good  and  holy 
men  of  all  ages  and  regions,  and  des- 
tined to  break  down  all  the  earthly  clay- 
built,  gloomy  barriers  which  now  sepa- 
rate the  good  from  one  another.  To 
this  great  idea  of  reason  and  revelation, 
of  the  understanding  and  heart,  of  ex- 
perience and  philosophy,  to  this  great 
truth  of  an  advanced  civilization,  Cathol- 
icism stands  in  direct  hostility.  How 
sure,  then,  is  its  fall  ! 

The  great  foe  of  the  Romish  church 
is  not  the  theologian.  He  might  “be  im- 
prisoned, chained,  burned.  It  is  human 
nature  waking  up  to  a consciousness  of 
its  powers,  catching  a glimpse  of  the 
perfection  for  which  it  was  made,  begin- 
ning to  respect  itself,  thirsting  for  free 
action  and  development,  learning  through 
a deep  consciousness  that  there  is  some- 
thing diviner  than  forms,  or  churches,  or 
creeds,  recognizing  in  Jesus  Christ  its 
own  celestial  model,  and  claiming  kin- 
dred with  all  who  have  caught  any  por- 
tion of  his  spiritual  life  and  disinterested 
love  ; here,  here  is  the  great  enemy  of 
Catholicism.  I look  confidently  to  the 
ineradicable,  ever-unfolding  principles 
of  human  nature  for  the  victory  over  all 
superstitions.  Reason  and  conscience, 
the  powers  by  which  we  discern  the  true 
and  the  right,  are  immortal  as  their 
Author.  Oppressed  for  ages,  they  yet 
live.  Like  the  central  fires  of  the  earth, 
they  can  heave  up  mountains.  It  is  en- 
couraging to  see  under  what  burdens 
and  clouds  they  have  made  their  way  ; 
and  we  must  remember  that  by  every 
new  development  they  are  brought  more 
into  contact  with  the  life-giving,  omnipo- 
tent truth  and  character  of  Jesus  Christ. 
It  makes  me  smile  to  hear  immortality 
claimed  for  Catholicism  or  Protestant- 
ism, or  for  any  past  interpretations  of 
Christianity ; as  if  the  human  soul  had 
exhausted  itself  in  its  infant  efforts,  or 
as  if  the  men  of  one  or  a few  generations 
could  bind  the  energy  of  human  thought 
and  affection  for  ever.  A theology  at 
war  with  the  laws  of  physical  nature 
would  be  a battle  of  no  doubtful  issue. 
The  laws  of  our  spiritual  nature  give 
still  less  chance  of  success  to  the  system 
which  would  thwart  or  stay  them.  The 
progress  of  the  individual  and  of  society, 


which  has  shaken  the  throne  of  Rome, 
is  not  an  accident,  not  an  irregular  spas- 
modic effort,  but  the  natural  movement 
of  the  soul.  Catholicism  must  fall  before 
it.  In  truth,  it  is  very  much  fallen  al- 
ready. It  exists,  and  will  long  exist,  as 
an  outward  institution.  But  compare 
the  Catholicism  of  an  intelligent  man  of 
the  nineteenth  century  with  what  it  was 
in  the  tenth.  The  name,  the  letter  re- 
main, — how  changed  the  spirit ! The 
silent  reform  spreading  in  the  very 
bosom  of  Catholicism  is  as  important  as 
the  reformation  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
and  in  truth  more  effectual. 

Catholicism  has  always  hoped  for  vic- 
tory over  Protestantism,  on  the  ground 
of  the  dissensions  of  Protestants.  But 
its  anticipations  have  not  approached 
fulfilment,  and  they  show  us  how  the 
most  sagacious  err  when  they  attempt  to 
read  futurity.  I have  long  since  learned 
to  hear  with  composure  the  auguries  of 
the  worldly  wise.  The  truth  is,  that  the 
dissensions  of  Protestantism  go  far  to 
constitute  its  strength.  Through  them 
its  spirit,  which  is  freedom, — the  only 
spirit  which  Rome  cannot  conquer,  — is 
kept  alive.  Had  its  members  been  or- 
ganized and  bound  into  a single  church, 
it  would  have  become  a despotism  as 
unrelenting,  and  corrupt,  and  hopeless 
as  Rome.  But  this  is  not  all.  Protes- 
tantism, by  being  broken  into  a great 
variety  of  sects,  has  adapted  itself  to  the 
various  modifications  of  human  nature. 
Every  sect  has  embodied  religion  in  a 
form  suited  to  some  large  class  of  minds. 
It  has  n>et  some  want,  answered  to  some 
great  principle  of  the  soul,  and  thus 
every  new  denomination  has  been  anew 
standard  under  which  to  gather  and  hold 
fast  a host  against  Rome.  One  of  the 
great  arts  by  which  Catholicism  spread 
and  secured  its  dominion  was  its  won- 
derful flexibleness,  its  most  skilful  adap- 
tation of  itself  to  the  different  tastes, 
passions,  wants  of  men ; and  to  this 
means  of  influence  and  dominion  Prot- 
estantism could  oppose  nothing  but 
variety  of  sects.  I do  not  recollect  that 
I ever  saw  this  feature  of  Catholicism 
brought  out  distinctly,  and  yet  nothing 
in  the  system  has  impressed  me  more 
strongly.  The  Romish  religion  calls 
itself  one,  but  it  has  a singular  variety 
of  forms  and  aspects.  For  the  lover  of 
forms  and  outward  religion,  it  has  a 
I gorgeous  ritual.  To  the  mere  man  of  the 


LETTER  ON  CATHOLICISM.  473 


world,  it  shows  a pope  on  the  throne, 
bishops  in  palaces,  and  all  the  splendor 
of  earthly  dominion.  At  the  same  time, 
for  the  self-denying,  ascetic,  mystical, 
and  fanatical,  it  has  all  the  forms  of 
monastic  life.  To  him  who  would 
scourge  himself  into  godliness,  it  offers 
a whip.  For  him  who  would  starve  him- 
self into  spirituality,  it  provides  the 
mendicant  convents  of  St.  Francis.  For 
the  anchorite,  it  prepares  the  death-like 
silence  of  La  Trappe.  To  the  passion- 
ate young  woman,  it  presents  the  rapt- 
ures of  St.  Theresa,  and  the  marriage 
of  St.  Catharine  with  her  Saviour.  For 
the  restless  pilgrim,  whose  piety  needs 
greater  variety  than  the’ cell  of  the  monk, 
it  offers  shrines,  tombs,  relics,  and  other 
holy  places  in  Christian  lands,  and,  above 
all,  the  holy  sepulchre  near  Calvary.  To 
the  generous,  sympathizing  enthusiast, 
it  opens  some  fraternity  or  sisterhood 
of  charity.  To  him  who  inclines  to  take 
heaven  by  violence,  it  gives  as  much 
penance  as  he  can  ask ; and  to  the  mass 
of  men,  who  wish  to  reconcile  the  two 
worlds,  it  promises  a purgatory,  so  far 
softened  down  by  the  masses  of  the 
priest  and  the  prayers  of  the  faithful, 
that  its  fires  can  be  anticipated  without 
overwhelming  dread.  This  composition 
of  forces  in  the  Romish  church  seems 
to  me  a wonderful  monument  of  skill. 
When,  in  Rome,  the  traveller  sees  by 
the  side  of  the  purple,  lackeyed  cardi- 
nal the  begging  friar  ; when,  under  the 
arches  of  St.  Peter,  he  sees  a coarsely 
dressed  monk  holding  forth  to  a ragged 
crowd  ; or  when,  beneath  a Franciscan 
church,  adorned  with  the  most  precious 
works  of  art,  he  meets  a charnel-house, 
where  the  bones  of  the  dead  brethren 
are  built  into  walls,  between  which  the 
living  walk  to  read  their  mortality,  — he 
is  amazed,  if  he  gives  himself  time  for 
reflection,  at  the  infinite  variety  of  ma- 
chinery which  Catholicism  has  brought 
to  bear  on  the  human  mind  ; at  the  sa- 
gacity with  which  it  has  adapted  itself 
to  the  various  tastes  and  propensities  of 
human  nature.  Protestantism  attains 
this  end  by  more  simple,  natural,  and,  in 
the  main,  more  effectual  ways.  All  the 
great  principles  of  our  nature  are  repre- 
sented in  different  sects,  which  have,  on 
the  whole,  a keener  passion  for  self- 
aggrandizement  than  the  various  orders 
in  the  Romish  church,  and  thus  men  of 
all  varieties  of  mind  find  something  con- 


genial, — find  a class  to  sympathize 
with. 

And  here  I cannot  but  observe  that 
Episcopacy  renders  good  service  to  the 
Protestant  cause.  Without  being  thor- 
oughly Protestant,  it  is  especially  effi- 
cient against  Catholicism  ; and  this  good 
work  it  does  by  its  very  proximity  to 
Rome.  From  the  wide  diffusion  and 
long  continuance  of  Catholicism,  we  may 
be  sure  that  it  embodies  some  great 
idea,  and  answers  some  want  which  is 
early  and  powerfully  developed  in  the 
progress  of  civilization.  There  is,  of 
consequence,  a tendency  to  Catholicism 
in  society,  though  more  and  more  re- 
strained by  higher  tendencies.  Happily, 
Episcopacy  is  built  on  the  same  great 
idea,  but  expresses  it  in  a more  limited 
and  rational  form.  It  is  Catholicism  im- 
proved, or  mother  church  with  a lower 
mitre  and  a less  royal  air  ; and  by  meet- 
ing the  want  which  carries  men  to  the 
Romish  church,  stops  numbers  on  their 
way  to  it.  Hence,  Catholicism  hates 
Episcopacy  more  than  any  other  form 
of  dissent.  Sects  are  apt  to  hate  each 
other  in  proportion  to  their  proximity. 
The  old  proverb,  that  two  of  a trade 
cannot  agree,  applies  to  religion  as 
strongly  as  to  common  life.  The  amount 
is,  that  Catholicism  derives  little  aid 
from  Protestant  divisions.  In  an  age 
as  unimproved  in  Christianity  as  the 
present,  these  divisions  are  promising 
symptoms.  They  prevent  men  from 
settling  down  in  a rude  Christianity. 
They  keep  alive  inquiry  and  zeal.  They 
are  essential  to  freedom  and  progress. 
Without  these,  Protestantism  would  be 
only  a new  edition  of  Catholicism  ; and 
the  old  pope  would  certainly  beat  any 
new  one  who  could  be  arrayed  against 
him. 

Do  you  ask  me,  how  I think  Catholi- 
cism maybe  most  successfully  opposed  ? 
I know  but  one  way.  Spread  just,  natu- 
ral, ennobling  views  of  religion.  Lift 
men  above  Catholicism,  by  showing 
them  the  great  spiritual  purpose  of 
Christianity.  Violence  will  avail  noth- 
ing. Romanism  cannot  be  burned  down, 
like  the  convent  at  Charlestown.  That 
outrage  bound  every  Catholic  faster  to 
his  church,  and  attracted  to  it  the  sym- 
pathies of  the  good.  Neither  is  Popery 
to  be  subdued  by  virulence  and  abuse. 
The  priest  can  call  as  hard  names  as 
the  Protestant  pastor.  Neither  do  I 


474 


LETTER  ON  CATHOLICISM. 


think  that  any  thing  is  to  be  gained  by 
borrowing  from  the  Catholic  church  her 
forms,  and  similar  means  of  influence. 
Borrowed  forms  are  peculiarly  formal. 
No  sect  will  be  benefited  by  forms 
which  do  not  grow  from  its  own  spirit. 
A sect  which  has  true  life  will  seize  by 
instinct  the  emblems  and  rites  which 
are  in  accordance  with  itself  ; and,  with- 
out life,  it  will  only  find  in  borrowed 
rites  its  winding-sheet.  It  is  not  un- 
common to  hear  persons  who  visit 
Catholic  countries  recommending  the 
introduction  of  this  or  that  usage  of 
Romanism  among  ourselves.  For  ex- 
ample, they  enter  Catholic  churches 
and  see  at  all  hours  worshippers  before 
one  or  another  altar,  and  contrasting 
with  this  the  desertion  of  our  houses  of 
worship  during  the  week,  doubt  whether 
we  are  as  pious,  and  wish  to  open  the 
doors  of  our  sanctuaries,  that  Protes- 
tants may  at  all  hours  approve  them- 
selves as  devoted  as  the  Papists.  Now, 
such  recommendations  show  a miscon- 
ception of  the  true  foundation  and  spirit 
of  Roman  usages.  In  the  case  before 
us,  nothing  is  more  natural  than  that 
Catholics  should  go  to  churches  or 
public  places  to  pray.  In  the  first 
place,  in  the  southern  countries  of 
Europe,  where  Catholicism  first  took  its 
form,  the  people  live  in  public.  They 
are  an  outdoor  people.  Their  domestic 
occupations  go  on  in  the  outward  air. 
That  they  should  perform  their  private 
devotions  in  public,  is  in  harmony  with 
all  their  habits.  What  a violence  it 
would  be  to  ours  ! In  the  next  place, 
the  Catholic  believes  that  the  church 
has  a peculiar  sanctity.  A prayer  of- 
fered from  its  floor  finds  its  way  to 
heaven  more  easily  than  from  any  other 
spot.  The  pernicious  superstition  of 
his  religion  carries  him  to  do  the  work 
of  his  religion  in  one  consecrated  place, 
and  therefore  he  does  it  the  less  else- 
where. Again  : Catholic  churches  are 
attractive  from  the  miraculous  virtue 
ascribed  to  the  images  which  are  wor- 
shipped there.  Strange,  monstrous  as 
the  superstition  is,  yet  nothing  is  more 
common  in  Catholic  countries  than  the 
ascription  of  this  or  that  supernatural 
agency  to  one  or  another  shrine  or  statue. 
A saint,  worshipped  at  one  place,  or 
under  one  image,  will  do  more  than  if 
worshipped  elsewhere.  I recollect  ask- 
ing an  Italian  why  a certain  church  of 


rather  humble  appearance,  in  a large 
city,  was  so  much  frequented.  He 
smiled,  and  told  me  that  the  Virgin, 
who  was  adored  there,  was  thought  par- 
ticularly propitious  to  those  who  had 
bought  tickets  in  the  lottery.  Once 
more,  we  can  easily  conceive  why  visit- 
ing the  churches  for  daily  prayer  has 
been  encouraged  by  the  priesthood. 
The  usage  brought  the  multitude  still 
more  under  priestly  power,  and  taught 
them  to  associate  their  most  secret 
aspirations  of  piety  with  the  church. 
Who,  that  takes  all  these  circumstances 
into  consideration,  can  expect  Protes- 
tants to  imitate  the  Catholics  in  fre- 
quenting the  church  for  secret  devotion, 
or  can  wish  it?  Has  not  Jesus  said, 
“ When  thou  prayest,  go  into  thy  closet, 
and  shut  thy  door,  and  pray  to  thy  Fa- 
ther, who  seeth  in  secret  ” ? Catholi- 
cism says,  “ When  thou  prayest,  go  into 
the  public  church,  and  pray  before  the 
multitude.”  Of  the  little  efficacy  of  this 
worship  we  have  too  painful  proofs. 
The  worship  of  the  churches  of  Italy 
is  directed  chiefly  to  the  Virgin.  She 
is  worshipped  as  the  Virgin.  The  great 
idea  of  this  Catholic  deity  is  purity, 
chastity ; and  yet,  unless  all  travellers 
deceive  us,  the  country  where  she  is 
worshipped  is  disfigured  by  licentious- 
ness beyond  all  countries  of  the  civil- 
ized world.  I return  to  my  position. 
We  need  borrow  nothing  from  Catholi- 
cism. Episcopacy  retained  (did  not  bor- 
row) as  much  of  the  ritual  of  that 
church  as  is  wanted  in  the  present  age, 
for  those  among  us  who  have  Catholic 
propensities.  Other  sects,  if  they  need 
forms,  must  originate  them,  and  this 
they  must  do  not  mechanically,  but 
from  the  promptings  of  the  spiritual 
life,  from  a thirst  for  new  modes  of 
manifesting  their  religious  hopes  and 
aspirations.  Woe  to  that  church  which 
looks  round  for  forms  to  wake  it  up  to 
spiritual  life  ! The  dying  man  is  not  to 
be  revived  by  a new  dress,  however 
graceful.  The  disease  of  a languid 
sect  is  too  deep  to  be  healed  by  cere- 
monies. It  needs  deeper  modes  of  cure. 
Let  it  get  life,  and.it  will  naturally  create 
the  emblems  or  rites  which  it  needs  to 
express  and  maintain  its  spiritual  force. 

The  great  instrument  of  influence  and 
dominion  in  the  Catholic  church  is  one 
which  we  should  shudder  to  borrow,  but 
which  may  still  give  important  hints  as 


LETTER  ON  CATHOLICISM . 


475 


to  the  means  of  promoting  religion.  I 
refer  to  confession.  Nothing  too  bad 
can  be  said  of  this.  By  laying  open  the 
secrets  of  all  hearts  to  the  priest,  it 
makes  the  priest  the  master  of  all. 
Still,  to  a good  man,  it  gives  the  power 
of  doing  good,  — a power  which,  I doubt 
not,  is  often  conscientiously  used.  It 
gives  to  the  religious  teacher  an  ac- 
cess to  men’s  minds  and  conscience, 
such  as  the  pulpit  does  not  furnish. 
Instead  of  scattering  generalities  among 
the  crowd,  he  can  administer  to  each 
soul  the  very  instruction,  warning,  en- 
couragement it  needs.  In  Catholic  coun- 
tries there  is  little  preaching,  nor  is  it 
necessary.  The  confessional  is  far 
more  powerful  than  the  pulpit.  And 
what  do  we  learn  from  this  ? That  Pro- 
testants should  adopt  confession  ? No. 
But  the  question  arises,  whether  the 
great  principle  of  confession,  that  on 
which  its  power  rests,  viz.,  access  to 
the  individual  mind,  may  not  be  used 
more  than  it  is  by  Protestant  teachers  ; 
whether  such  access  may  not  be  gained 
by  honorable  and  generous  means,  and 
so  used  as  to  be  guarded  against  abuse. 
Preaching  is  now  our  chief  reliance ; 
but  preaching  is  an  arrow  which  shoots 
over  many  heads,  and  flies  wide  of  the 
hearts  of  more.  Its  aim  is  too  vague  to 
do  much  execution.  It  is  melancholy 
to  think  how  little  clear  knowledge  on 
the  subject  of  duty  and  religion  is  com- 
municated by  the  pulpit,  and  how  often 
the  emotion  which  it  excites,  for  want  of 
clear  views,  for  want  of  wisdom,  runs 
into  morbidness  or  excess.  No  art,  no 
science  is  taught  so  vaguely  as  religion 
from  the  pulpit.  No  book  is  so  read 
or  expounded  as  the  Bible  is,  that  is, 
in  minute  fragments,  and  without  those 
helps  of  method  by  which  all  other 
branches  are  taught.  Is  not  a freer, 
easier,  opener  communication  with  his 
pupils  needed  than  the  minister  does  or 
can  hold  from  the  pulpit  ? Should  not 
modes  of  teaching  and  intercourse  be 
adopted,  by  which  he  can  administer 
truth  to  different  minds,  according  to 
their  various  capacities  and  wants  ? 
Must  not  he  rely  less  on  preaching,  and 
more  on  more  familiar  communication  ? 

This  question  becomes  of  more  im- 
portance, because  it  is  very  plain  that 
preaching  is  becoming  less  and  less  effi- 
cacious. Preaching  is  not  what  it  was 
in  the  first  age  of  Christianity.  Then, 


when  there  was  no  printing,  compara- 
tively no  reading,  Christianity  could 
only  be  spread  by  the  living  voice. 
Hence  to  preach  became  synonymous 
with  teaching.  It  was  the  great  means 
of  access  to  tilt  multitude.  Now  the 
press  preaches  incomparably  more  than 
the  pulpit.  Through  this  all  are  per- 
mitted to  preach.  Woman,  if  she  may 
not  speak  in  the  church,  may  speak  from 
the  printing-room,  and  her  touching  ex- 
positions of  religion,  not  learned  in  the- 
ological institutions,  but  in  the  schools 
of  affection,  of  sorrow,  of  experience, 
of  domestic  change,  sometimes  make 
their  way  to  the  heart  more  surely  than 
the  minister’s  homilies.  The  result  is, 
that  preaching  does  not  hold  the  place 
now  which  it  had  in  dark  and  unrefined 
ages.  The  minister  addresses  from  his 
pulpit  many  as  well  educated  as  him- 
self, and  almost  every  parishioner  has  at 
home  better  sermons  than  he  hears  in 
public.  The  minister,  too,  has  compet- 
itors in  the  laity,  as  they  are  called,  who 
very  wisely  refuse  to  leave  to  him  the 
monopoly  of  public  speaking,  and  who 
are  encroaching  on  his  province  more 
and  more.  In  this  altered  condition  of 
the  world,  the  ministry  is  to  undergo 
important  changes.  What  they  must 
be,  I have  not  time  now  to  inquire.  I 
will  only  say  that  the  vagueness  which 
belongs  to  so  much  religious  instruction 
from  the  pulpit  must  give  place  to  a 
teaching  which  shall  meet  more  the 
wants  of  the  individual,  and  the  wants 
of  the  present  state  of  society.  Great 
principles  must  be  expounded  in  accom- 
modation to  different  ages,  capacities, 
stages  of  improvement,  and  an  inter- 
course be  established  by  which  all 
classes  may  be  helped  to  apply  them  to 
their  own  particular  conditions.  How 
shall  Christianity  be  brought  to  bear  on 
the  individual,  and  on  society  at  the 
present  moment,  in  its  present  strug- 
gles ? This  is  the  great  question  to  be 
solved,  and  the  reply  to  it  will  determine 
the  form  which  the  Christian  ministry 
is  to  take.  I imagine  that,  in  seeking 
the  solution  of  this  problem,  it  will  be 
discovered  that  the  ministry  must  have 
greater  freedom  than  in  past  times.  It 
will  be  discovered  that  the  individual 
minister  must  not  be  rigidly  tied  down 
to  certain  established  modes  of  opera- 
tion, that  he  must  not  be  required  to 
cast  his  preaching  into  the  old  mould, 


LETTER  ON  CATHOLICISM. 


476 

to  circumscribe  himself  to  the  old  top- 
ics, to  keep  in  motion  a machinery  which 
others  have  invented,  but  that  he  will  do 
most  good  if  left  to  work  according  to 
his  own  nature,  according  to  the  prompt- 
ings of  the  Holy  Spirif  within  his  own 
breast.  I imagine  it  will  be  discovered 
that,  as  justice  may  be  administered 
without  a wig,  and  the  executive  func- 
tion without  a crown  or  sceptre,  so 
Christianity  may  be  administered  in 
more  natural  and  less  formal  ways  than 
have  prevailed,  and  that  the  minister,  in 
growing  less  technical,  will  find  religion 
becoming  to  himself  and  others  a more 
living  reality.  I imagine  that  our  pres- 
ent religious  organizations  will  silently 
melt  away,  and  that  hierarchies  will  be 
found  no  more  necessary  for  religion 
than  for  literature,  science,  medicine, 
law,  or  the  elegant  and  useful  arts.  But 
I will  check  these  imaginings.  The 
point  from  which  I started  was,  that  Ca- 
tholicism might  teach  us  one  element  of 
an  effectual  ministry,  that  the  Protestant 
teacher  needs  and  should  seek  access 
to  the  individual  mind,  beyond  what  he 
now  possesses  ; and  the  point  at  which 
I stop  is,  that  this  access  is  to  be  so 
sought  and  so  used  as  not  to  infringe 
religious  liberty,  the  rights  of  private 
judgment,  the  free  action  of  the  individ- 
ual mind.  Nothing  but  this  liberty  can 
secure  it  from  the  terrible  abuse  to 
which  it  has  been  exposed  in  the  Cath- 
olic church. 

In  the  free  remarks  which  I have 
now  made  on  certain  denominations  of 
Christians,  I have  been  influenced  by 
no  unkindness  or  disrespect  towards  the 
individuals  who  compose  them.  In  all 
sects  I recognize  joyfully  true  disciples 
of  the  common  Master.  Catholicism 
boasts  of  some  of  the  best  and  greatest 
names  in  history,  so  does  Episcopacy, 
so  Presbyterianism,  &c.  I exclude  none. 
I know  that  Christianity  is  mighty  enough 
to  accomplish  its  end  in  all.  I cannot, 
however,  speak  of  religious  any  more 
than  of  political  parties,  without  betray- 
ing the  little  respect  I have  for  them 
as  parties.  There  is  no  portion  of  hu- 
man history  more  humbling  than  that  of 
sects.  When  I meditate  on  the  grand 
moral,  spiritual  purpose  of  Christianity, 
in  which  all  its  glory  consists  ; when 
I consider  how  plainly  Christianity  at- 
taches importance  to  nothing  but  to  the 
moral  excellence,  the  disinterested,  di- 


vine virtue,  which  was  embodied  in  the 
teaching  and  life  of  its  Founder  ; and 
when  from  this  position  I look  down  on 
the  sects  which  have  figured  and  now 
figure  in  the  church  ; when  I see  them 
making  such  a stir  about  matters  gem 
erally  so  unessential ; when  I see  them 
seizing  on  a disputed  and  disputable 
doctrine,  making  it  a watchword,  a test 
of  God’s  favor,  a bond  of  communion, 
a ground  of  self-complacency,  a badge 
of  peculiar  holiness,  a warrant  for  con- 
demning its  rejectors,  however  imbued 
with  the  spirit  of  Christ ; when  I see 
them  overlooking  the  weightier  matters 
of  the  law,  and  laying  infinite  stress  here 
on  a bishop  and  prayer-book,  there  on 
the  quantity  of  water  applied  in  baptism, 
and  there  on  some  dark  solution  of  an 
incomprehensible  article  of  faith  ; when 
I see  the  mock  dignity  of  their  exclusive 
claims  to  truth,  to  churchship,  to  the 
promises  of  God’s  word  ; when  I hear 
the  mimic  thunderbolts  of  denunciation 
and  excommunication  which  they  delight 
to  hurl  ; when  I consider  how  their  deep 
theology,  in  proportion  as  it  is  examined, 
evaporates  into  words,  how  many  oppo- 
site and  extravagant  notions  are  covered 
by  the  same  broad  shield  of  mystery  and 
tradition,  and  how  commonly  the  per- 
suasion of  infallibility  is  proportioned 
to  the  absurdity  of  the  creed  ; — when 
I consider  these  things,  and  other  mat- 
ters of  like  import,  I am  lost  in  amaze- 
ment at  the  amount  of  arrogant  folly, 
of  self-complacent  intolerance,  of  almost 
incredible  blindness  to  the  end  and  es- 
sence of  Christianity,  which  the  history 
of  sects  reveals.  I have,  indeed,  pro- 
found respect  for  individuals  in  all  com- 
munions of  Christians.  But  on  sects, 
and  on  the  spirit  of  sects,  I must  be 
allowed  to  look  with  grief,  shame,  pity, 
— I had  almost  said  contempt.  In  pass- 
ing these  censures  I claim  no  superiority. 
I am  sure  there  are  thousands  of  all  sects 
who  think  and  feel  as  I do  in  this  par- 
ticular, and  who,  far  from  claiming  su- 
perior intelligence,  are  distinguished  by 
following  out  the  plain  dictates,  the  nat- 
ural impulses,  and  spontaneous  judgments 
of  conscience  and  common-sense. 

It  is  time  for  me  to  finish  this  letter, 
which  indeed  has  grown  under  my  hands 
beyond  all  reasonable  bounds.  But  I 
must  add  a line  or  two  in  reply  to  your 
invitation  to  visit  you.  You  say  that 
Kentucky  will  not  exclude  me  for  my 


LETTER  ON  CATHOLICISM . 


4 77 


opinions  on  slavery.  I rejoice  to  hear 
it,  not  for  my  own  sake,  but  for  the  sake 
of  the  country.  I rejoice  in  a tolerant 
spirit,  wherever  manifested.  What  you 
say  accords  with  what  I have  heard  of 
the  frank,  liberal  character  of  Kentucky. 
All  our  accounts  of  the  West  make  me 
desire  to  visit  it.  I desire  to  see  nature 
under  new  aspects  ; but  still  more  to  see 
a new  form  of  society.  I hear  of  the 
defects  of  the  West,  but  I learn  that  a 
man  there  feels  himself  to  be  a man, 
that  he  has  a self-respect  which  is  not 
always  to  be  found  in  older  communities, 
that  he  speaks  his  mind  freely,  that  he 
acts  more  from  generous  impulses,  and 
less  from  selfish  calculations.  These  are 
good  tidings.  I rejoice  that  the  inter- 
course between  the  East  and  West  is 
increasing.  Both  will  profit.  The  West 
may  learn  from  us  the  love  of  order,  the 
arts  which  adorn  and  cheer  life,  the  in- 
stitutions of  education  and  religion,  which 
lie  at  the  foundation  of  our  greatness, 
and  may  give  us  in  return  the  energies 
and  virtues  which  belong  to  and  dis- 
tinguish a fresher  state  of  society.  Such 
exchanges  I regard  as  the  most  precious 
fruits  of  the  Union,  worth  more  than 
exchanges  of  products  of  industry,  and 
they  will  do  more  to  bind  us  together  as 
one  people. 

You  press  me  to  come  and  preach  in 
your  part  of  the  country.  I should  do 
it  cheerfully  if  I could.  It  would  re- 
joice me  to  bear  a testimony,  however 
feeble,  to  great  truths  in  your  new  set- 
tlements. I confess,  however,  that  I 
fear  that  my  education  would  unfit  me 
for  great  usefulness  among  you.  I fear 
that  the  habits,  rules,  and  criticisms 
under  which  I have  grown  up,  and  al- 
most grown  old,  have  not  left  me  the 
freedom  and  courage  which  are  needed 
in  the  style  of  address  best  suited  to 
the  Western  people.  I have  fought 
against  these  chains.  I have  labored 
to  be  a free  man,  but  in  the  state  of 
the  ministry  and  of  society  here,  free- 
dom is  a hard  acquisition.  I hope  the 
rising  generation  will  gain  it  more  easily 
and  abundantly  than  their  fathers. 

I have  only  to  add,  my  young  brother, 
my  best  wishes  for  your  usefulness.  I 
do  not  ask  for  you  enjoyment.  I ask 
for  you  something  better  and  greater, 
something  which  includes  it,  — even  a 
spirit  to  live  and  die  for  a cause  which 
is  dearer  than  your  own  enjoyment.  If 


I were  called  to  give  you  one  rule,  which 
your  situation  demands  above  all  others, 
it  would  be  this.  Live  a life  of  faith  and 
hope.  Believe  in  God’s  great  purposes 
towards  the  human  race.  Believe  in 
the  mighty  power  of  truth  and  love. 
Believe  in  the  omnipotence  of  Chris- 
tianity. Believe  that  Christ  lived  and 
died  to  breathe  into  his  church  and 
into  society  a diviner  spirit  than  now 
exists.  Believe  in  the  capacities  and 
greatness  of  human  nature.  Believe 
that  the  celestial  virtue,  revealed  in  the 
life  and  teaching  of  Jesus  Christ  is  not 
a bright  vision  for  barren  admiration, 
but  is  to  become  a reality  in  your  own 
and  others’  souls.  Carry  to  your  work 
a trustful  spirit.  Do  not  waste  your 
breath  in  wailing  over  the  times.  Strive 
to  make  them  better.  Do  not  be  dis- 
heartened by  evils.  Feel  through  your 
whole  soul  that  evil  is  not  the  mightiest 
power  in  the  universe,  — that  it  is  per- 
mitted only  to  call  forth  the  energy  of 
love,  wisdom,  persuasion,  and  prayer  for 
its  removal.  Settle  it  in  your  mind  that 
a minister  can  never  speak  an  effectual 
word  without  faith.  Be  strong  in  the 
Lord  and  the  power  of  his  might.  Al- 
low me  to  say,  that  I have  a good  hope 
of  you.  I learned  some  time  ago,  from 
one  of  your  dear  friends,  that  you  com- 
prehended the  grandeur  of  your  work 
as  a Christian  minister.  I learned  that 
the  pulpit,  from  which  a divinely  moved 
teacher  communicates  everlasting  truths, 
seemed  to  you  more  glorious  than  a 
throne.  I learned  that  you  had  come 
to  understand  what  is  the  greatest  power 
which  God  gives  to  man,  — the  power 
of  acting  generously  on  the  soul  of  his 
brother  ; of  communicating  to  others  a 
divine  spirit,  of  awakening  in  others  a 
heavenly  life,  which  is  to  outlive  the 
stars.  I then  felt  that  you  would  not 
labor  in  vain.  You  have,  indeed,  pecul- 
iar trials.  You  are  dwelling  far  from 
your  brethren,  but  there  is  a sense  of 
God’s  presence  more  cheering  than  the 
dearest  human  society.  There  is  a con- 
sciousness of  working  with  God  more 
strengthening  than  all  human  co-opera- 
tion. There  is  a sight,  granted  to  the 
pure  mind,  of  the  cross  of  Christ,  which 
makes  privations  and  sufferings  in  the 
cause  of  his  truth  seem  light,  which 
makes  us  sometimes  to  rejoice  in  tribu- 
lation, like  the  primitive  heroes  of  our 
faith.  My  young  brother,  I wish  you 


ON  THE  SYSTEM  OF  EXCLUSION 


478 

these  blessings.  What  else  ought  I to 
wish  for  you  ? 

This  letter,  you  will  perceive,  is  writ- 
ten in  great  haste.  The  opinions,  in- 
deed, have  been  deliberately  formed ; 
but  they  probably  might  have  been  ex- 
pressed with  greater  caution.  If  it  will 


serve,  in  your  judgment,  the  cause  of 
truth,  freedom,  and  religion,  you  are  at 
liberty  to  insert  it  in  your  work. 

Your  sincere  friend, 

William  E.  Channing. 
Boston,  June , 1836. 


THE  SYSTEM  OF  EXCLUSION  AND  DENUNCIATION 
IN  RELIGION  CONSIDERED. 

1815. 


Nothing  is  plainer  than  that  the 
leaders  of  the  party  called  “ Orthodox  ” 
have  adopted  and  mean  to  enforce  a 
system  of  exclusion  in  regard  to  Liberal 
Christians.  They  spare  no  pains  to  in- 
fect the  minds  of  their  too  easy  follow- 
ers with  the  persuasion  that  they  ought 
to  refuse  communion  with  their  Unita- 
rian brethren,  and  to  deny  them  the 
name,  character,  and  privileges  of  Chris- 
tians. On  this  system  I shall  now  offer 
several  observations. 

I begin  with  an  important  suggestion. 
I beg  that  it  may  be  distinctly  under- 
stood that  the  zeal  of  Liberal  Christians 
on  this  point  has  no  other  object  than 
the  peace  and  prosperity  of  the  church 
of  Christ.  We  are  pleading,  not  our 
own  cause,  but  the  cause  of  our  Master. 
The  denial  of  our  Christian  character  by 
fallible  and  imperfect  men  gives  us  no 
anxiety.  Our  relation  to  Jesus  Christ  is 
not  to  be  dissolved  by  the  breath  of  man. 
Our  Christian  rights  do  not -depend  on 
human  passions.  We  have  precisely  the 
same  power  over  our  brethren  which 
they  have  over  us,  and  are  equally  au- 
thorized to  sever  them  from  the  body  of 
Christ.  Still  more  ; if  the  possession  of 
truth  gives  superior  weight  to  denun- 
ciation, we  are  persuaded  that  our  oppo- 
sers  will  be  the  severest  sufferers,  should 
we  think  fit  to  hurl  back  the  sentence  of 
exclusion  and  condemnation.  But  we 
have  no  disposition  to  usurp  power  over 
our  brethren.  We  believe  that  the  spirit 
which  is  so  studiously  excited  against 
ourselves  has  done  incalculable  injury  to 
the  cause  of  Christ,  and  we  pray  God  to 
deliver  us  from  its  power. 


Why  are  the  name,  character,  and 
rights  of  Christians  to  be  denied  to  Uni- 
tarians ? Do  they  deny  that  Jesus  is  the 
Christ  ? Do  they  reject  his  word  as  the 
rule  of  their  faith  and  practice  ? Do 
their  lives  discover  indifference  to  his 
authority  aud  example  ? No,  these  are 
not  their  offences.  They  are  deficient 
in  none  of  the  qualifications  of  disciples 
which,  were  required  in  the  primitive  age. 
Their  offence  is,  that  they  read  the 
Scriptures  for  themselves,  and  derive 
from  them  different  opinions  on  certain 
points  from  those  which  others  have 
adopted.  Mistake  of  judgment  is  their 
pretended  crime,  and  this  crime  is  laid 
to  their  charge  by  men  who  are  as  lia- 
ble to  mistake  as  themselves,  and  who 
seem  to  them  to  have  fallen  into  some 
of  the  grossest  errors.  A condemning 
sentence  from  such  judges  carries  with 
it  no  terror.  Sorrow  for  its  uncharitable- 
ness, and  strong  disapprobation  of  its 
arrogance,  are  the  principal  feelings 
which  it  inspires. 

It  is  truly  astonishing  that  Christians 
are  not  more  impressed  with  the  unbe- 
coming spirit,  the  arrogant  style,  of 
those  who  deny  the  Christian  character 
to  professed  and  exemplary  followers 
of  Jesus  Christ  because  they  differ  in 
opinion  on  some  of  the  most  subtile 
and  difficult  subjects  of  theology.  A 
stranger,  at  hearing  the  language  of 
these  denouncers,  would  conclude,  with- 
out a doubt,  that  they  were  clothed  with 
infallibility,  and  were  appointed  to  sit  in 
judgment  on  their  brethren.  But,  for 
myself,  I know  not  a shadow  of  a pre- 
tence for  the  language  of  superiority 


AND  DENUNCIA  TION  IN  RELIGION 


479 


assumed  by  our  adversaries.  Are  they 
exempted  from  the  common  frailty  of 
our  nature  ? Has  God  given  them 
superior  intelligence  ? Were  they  edu- 
cated under  circumstances  more  favora- 
ble to  improvement  than  those  whom 
they  condemn  ? Have  they  brought  to 
the  Scriptures  more  serious,  anxious, 
and  unwearied  attention  ? Or  do  their 
lives  express  a deeper  reverence  for  God 
and  for  his  Son  ? No.  They  are  fallible, 
imperfect  men,  possessing  no  higher 
means,  and  no  stronger  motives  for 
studying  the  word  of  God  than  their 
Unitarian  brethren.  And  yet  their  lan- 
guage to  them  is  virtually  this:.  “We 
pronounce  you  to  be  in  error,  and  in 
most  dangerous  error.  We  know  that 
we  are  right,  and  that  you  are  wrong, 
in  regard  to  the  fundamental  doctrines 
of  the  gospel.  You  are  unworthy  the 
Christian  name,  and  unfit  to  sit  with  us 
at  the  table  of  Christ.  We  offer  you  the 
truth,  and  you  reject  it  at  the  peril  of 
your  souls.”  Such  is  the  language  of 
humble  Christians  to  men  who,  in  capac- 
ity and  apparent  piety,  are  not  inferior 
to  themselves.  This  language  has  spread 
from  the  leaders  through  a considerable 
part  of  the  community.  Men  in  those 
walks  of  life  which  leave  them  without 
leisure  or  opportunities  for  improve- 
ment, are  heard  to  decide  on  the  most 
intricate  points,  and  to  pass  sentence 
on  men  whose  lives  have  been  devoted 
to  the  study  of  the  Scriptures  ! The 
female,  forgetting  the  tenderness  of  her 
sex,  and  the  limited  advantages  which 
her  education  affords  for  a critical  study 
of  the  Scriptures,  inveighs  with  bitter- 
ness against  the  damnable  errors  of  such 
men  as  Newton,  Locke,  Clarke,  and 
Price  ! The  young,  too,  forget  the  mod- 
esty which  belongs  to  their  age,  and 
hurl  condemnation  on  the  head  which 
has  grown  gray  in  the  service  of  God 
and  mankind.  Need  I ask  whether  this 
spirit  of  denunciation  for  supposed  error 
becomes  the  humble  and  fallible  disci- 
ples of  Jesus  Christ  ? 

In  vindication  of  this  system  of  ex- 
clusion and  denunciation,  it  is  often 
urged  that  the  “honor  of  religion,”  the 
“purity  of  the  church,”  and  the  “cause 
of  truth,”  forbid  those  who  hold  the  true 
gospel  to  maintain  fellowship  with  those 
who  support  corrupt  and  injurious  opin- 
ions. Without  stopping  to  notice  the 
modesty  of  those  who  claim  an  exclusive 


knowledge  of  the  true  gospel,  I would 
answer,  that  the  “honor  of  religion” 
can  never  suffer  by  admitting  to  Chris- 
tian fellowship  men  of  irreproachable 
lives,  whilst  it  has  suffered  most  severe- 
ly from  that  narrow  and  uncharitable 
spirit  which  has  excluded  such  men  for 
imagined  errors.  I answer  again,  that 
the  “ cause  of  truth  ” can  never  suffer 
by  admitting  to  Christian  fellowship  men 
who  honestly  profess  to  make  the  Script- 
ures their  rule  of  faith  and  practice, 
whilst  it  has  suffered  most  severely  by 
substituting  for  this  standard  conformity 
to  human  creeds  and  formularies.  It  is 
truly  wonderful,  if  excommunication  for 
supposed  error  be  the  method  of  purify- 
ing the  church,  that  the  church  has  been 
so  long  and  so  wofully  corrupted.  What- 
ever may  have  been  the  deficiencies  of 
Christians  in  other  respects,  they  have 
certainly  discovered  no  criminal  reluc- 
tance in  applying  this  instrument  of 
purification.  Could  the  thunders  and 
lightnings  of  excommunication  have  cor- 
rected the  atmosphere  of  the  church, 
not  one  pestilential  vapor  would  have 
loaded  it  for  ages.  The  air  of  Paradise 
would  not  have  been  more  pure,  more 
refreshing.  But  what  does  history  tell 
us  ? It  tells  us  that  the  spirit  of  exclu- 
sion and  denunciation  has  contributed 
more  than  all  other  causes  to  the  cor- 
ruption of  the  church,  to  the  diffusion  of 
error  ; and  has  rendered  the  records  of 
the  Christian  community  as  black,  as 
bloody,  as  revolting  to  humanity,  as  the 
records  of  empires  founded  on  conquest 
and  guilt. 

But  it  is  said,  Did  not  the  Apostle  de- 
nounce the  erroneous,  and  pronounce  a 
curse  on  the  “ abettors  of  another  gos- 
pel ” ? This  is  the  stronghold  of  the 
friends  of  denunciation.  But  let  us  never 
forget  that  the  Apostles  were  inspired 
men,  capable  of  marking  out  with  un- 
erring certainty  those  who  substituted 
“another  gospel”  for  the  true.  Show 
us  their  successors,  and  we  will  cheer- 
fully obey  them. 

It  is  also  important  to  recollect  the 
character  of  those  men  against  whom 
the  apostolic  anathema  was  directed. 
They  were  men  who  knew  distinctly 
what  the  Apostles  taught,  and  yet  op- 
posed it ; and  who  endeavored  to  sow 
division,  and  to  gain  followers,  in  the 
churches  which  the  Apostles  had  planted. 
These  men,  resisting  the  known  instruc- 


ON  THE  SYSTEM  OF  EXCLUSION 


480 

tions  of  the  authorized  and  inspired 
teachers  of  the  gospel,  and  discovering 
a factious,  selfish,  mercenary  spirit,  were 
justly  excluded  as  unworthy  the  Chris- 
tian name.  But  what  in  common  with 
these  men  have  the  Christians  whom  it 
is  the  custom  of  the  “ Orthodox  ” to 
denounce  ? Do  these  oppose  what  they 
know  to  be  the  doctrine  of  Christ  and 
his  Apostles  ? Do  they  not  revere  Je- 
sus and  his  inspired  messengers  ? Do 
they  not  dissent  from  their  brethren 
simply  because  they  believe  that  their 
brethren  dissent  from  their  Lord  ? Let 
us  not  forget  that  the  contest  at  the  pres- 
ent day  is  not  between  the  Apostles  them- 
selves and  men  who  oppose  their  known 
instructions,  but  uninspired  Christians 
who  equally  receive  the  Apostles  as  au- 
thorized teachers  of  the  gospel,  and  who 
only  differ  in  judgment  as  to  the  inter- 
pretation of  their  writings.  How  un- 
just, then,  is  it  for  any  class  of  Chris- 
tians to  confound  their  opponents  with 
the  factious  and  unprincipled  sectarians 
of  the  primitive  age  ! Mistake  in  judg- 
ment is  the  heaviest  charge  which  one 
denomination  has  now  a right  to  urge 
against  another ; and  do  we  find  that  the 
Apostles  ever  denounced  mistake  as 
“ awful  and  fatal  hostility  ” to  the  gos- 
pel ; that  they  pronounced  anathemas 
on  men  who  wished  to  obey,  but  who 
misapprehended  their  doctrines  ? The 
Apostles  well  remembered  that  none 
ever  mistook  more  widely  than  them- 
selves. They  remembered,  too,  the 
lenity  of  their  Lord  towards  their  er- 
rors, and  this  lenity  they  cherished  and 
labored  to  diffuse. 

But  it  is  asked,  Have  not  Christians 
a right  to  bear  “ solemn  testimony” 
against  opinions  which  are  “ utterly 
subversive  of  the  gospel,  and  most  dan- 
gerous to  men’s  eternal  interests  ” ? To 
this  I answer,  that  the  opinions  of  men 
who  discover  equal  intelligence  and 
piety  with  ourselves,  are  entitled  to 
respectful  consideration.  If,  after  in- 
quiry, they  seem  erroneous  and  inju- 
rious, we  are  authorized  and  bound, 
according  to  our  ability,  to  expose,  by 
fair  and  serious  argument,  their  nature 
and  tendency.  But  I maintain  # that  we 
have  no  right  as  individuals,  or  in  an 
associated  capacity,  to  bear  our  “solemn 
testimony”  against  these  opinions,  by 
menacing  with  ruin  the  Christian  who 
listens  to  them,  or  by  branding  them 


with  the  most  terrifying  epithets,  for  the 
purpose  of  preventing  candid  inquiry 
into  their  truth.  This  is  the  fashiona- 
ble mode  of  “ bearing  testimony,”  and 
it  is  a weapon  which  will  always  be 
most  successful  in  the  hands  of  the 
proud,  the  positive,  and  overbearing, 
who  are  most  impatient  of  contradiction, 
and  have  least  regard  to  the  rights  of 
their  brethren. 

But  whatever  may  be  the  right  of 
Christians,  as  to  bearing  testimony 
against  opinions  which  they  deem  inju- 
rious, I deny  that  they  have  any  right 
to  pass  a condemning  sentence,  on  ac- 
count of  these  opinions,  on  the  charac- 
ters of  men  whose  general  deportment 
is  conformed  to  the  gospel  of  Christ. 
Both  Scripture  and  reason  unite  in 
teaching  that  the  best  and  only  standard 
of  character  is  the  life ; and  he  who 
overlooks  the  testimony  of  a Christian 
life,  and  grounds  a sentence  of  condem- 
nation on  opinions  about  which  he,  as 
well  as  his  brother,  may  err,  violates 
most  flagrantly  the  duty  of  just  and  can- 
did judgment,  and  opposes  the  peaceful 
and  charitable  spirit  of  the  gospel.  Je- 
sus Christ  says,  “ By  their  fruits  shall 
ye  know  them.”  “Not  every  one  that 
saith  unto  me,  Lord,  Lord,  shall  enter 
into  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  but  he  who 
doeth  the  will  of  my  Father  which  is  in 
heaven.”  “Ye  are  my  friends,  if  ye  do 
whatsoever  I command  you.”  “ He  that 
heareth  and  doeth  these  my  sayings,” 
i.e.y  the  precepts  of  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount,  “ I will  liken  him  to  a man  who 
built  his  house  upon  a rock.”  It  would 
be  easy  to  multiply  similar  passages. 
The  whole  Scriptures  teach  us  that  he 
and  he  only  is  a Christian  whose  life  is 
governed  by  the  precepts  of  the  gospel, 
and  that  by  this  standard  alone  the  pro- 
fession of  this  religion  should  be  tried. 
We  do  not  deny  that  our  brethren  have 
a right  to  form  a judgment  as  to  our 
Christian  character.  But  we  insist  that 
we  have  a right  to  be  judged  by  the 
fairest,  the  most  approved,  and  the  most 
settled  rules  by  which  character  can  be 
tried  ; and  when  these  are  overlooked, 
and  the  most  uncertain  standard  is  ap- 
plied, we  are  injured  ; and  an  assault  on 
character,  which  rests  on  this  ground, 
deserves  no  better  name  than  defama- 
tion and  persecution. 

I know  that  this  suggestion  of  perse- 
cution will  be  indignantly  repelled  by 


AND  DENUNCIA  TION  IN  RELIGION 


those  who  deal  most  largely  in  denun- 
ciation. But  persecution  is  a wrong  or 
injury  inflicted  for  opinions  ; and  surely 
assaults  on  character  fall  under  this  defi- 
nition. Some  persons  seem  to  think 
that  persecution  consists  in  pursuing 
error  with  fire  and  sword ; and  that 
therefore  it  has  ceased  to  exist,  except 
in  distempered  imaginations,  because  no 
class  of  Christians  among  us  is  armed 
with  these  terrible  weapons.  But  no. 
The  form  is  changed,  but  the  spirit 
lives.  Persecution  has  given  up  its 
halter  and  fagot,  but  it  breathes  venom 
from  its  lips,  and  secretly  blasts  what  it 
cannot  openly  destroy.  For  example,  a 
Liberal  minister,  however  circumspect  in 
his  walk,  irreproachable  in  all  his  rela- 
tions, no  sooner  avows  his  honest  con- 
victions on  some  of  the  most  difficult 
subjects,  than  his  name  begins  to  be  a 
by-word.  A thousand  suspicions  are 
infused  into  his  hearers  ; and  it  is  insin- 
uated that  he  is  a minister  of  Satan,  in 
“the  guise  of  an  angel  of  light. ” At  a 
little  distance  from  his  home,  calumny 
assumes  a bolder  tone.  He  is  pro- 
nounced an  infidel,  and  it  is  gravely 
asked  whether  he  believes  in  a God. 
At  a greater  distance,  his  morals  are 
assailed.  He  is  a man  of  the  world, 
“leading  souls  to  hell,”  to  gratify  the 
most  selfish  passions.  But,  notwith- 
standing all  this,  he  must  not  say  a word 
about  persecution,  for  reports  like  these 
rack  no  limbs  ; they  do  not  even  injure 
a hair  of  his  head  ; and  how,  then,  is  he 
persecuted?  Now,  for  myself,  I am  as 
willing  that  my  adversary  should  take 
my  purse  or  my  life  as  that  he  should 
rob  me  of  my  reputation,  rob  me  of  the 
affection  of  my  friends  and  of  my  means 
of  doing  good.  “ He  who  takes  from 
me  my  good  name,”  takes  the  best  pos- 
session of  which  human  power  can  de- 
prive me.  It  is  true  that  a Christian’s 
reputation  is  comparatively  a light  ob- 
ject ; and  so  is  his  property,  so  is  his 
life  ; all  are  light  things  to  him  whose 
hope  is  full  of  immortality.  But,  of  all 
worldly  blessings,  an  honest  reputation 
is  to  many  of  us  the  most  precious  ; and 
he  who  robs  us  of  it  is  the  most  injurious 
of  mankind,  and  among  the  worst  of 
persecutors.  Let  not  the  friends  of  de- 
nunciation attempt  to  escape  this  charge 
by  pleading  their  sense  of  duty,  and 
their  sincere  desire  to  promote  the  cause 
of  truth.  St.  Dominic  was  equally  sin- 


481 

cere  when  he  built  the  Inquisition  ; and 
I doubt  not  that  many  torturers  of  Chris- 
tians have  fortified  their  reluctant  minds, 
at  the  moment  of  applying  the  rack  and 
the  burning  iron,  by  the  sincere  convic- 
tion that  the  cause  of  truth  required  the 
sacrifice  of  its  foes.  I beg  that  these 
remarks  may  not  be  applied  indiscrimi- 
nately to  the  party  called  “ Orthodox,” 
among  whom  are  multitudes  whose  hu- 
mility and  charity^would  revolt  from  mak- 
ing themselves  the  standards  of  Christian 
piety,  and  from  assailing  the  Christian 
character  of  their  brethren. 

Many  other  considerations  may  be 
added  to  those  which  have  been  already 
urged  against  the  system  of  excluding 
from  Christian  fellowship  men  of  upright 
lives  on  account  of  their  opinions.  It 
necessarily  generates  perpetual  discord 
in  the  church.  Men  differ  in  opinions 
as  much  as  in  features.  No  two  minds 
are  perfectly  accordant.  The  shades  of 
belief  are  infinitely  diversified.  Amidst 
this  immense  variety  of  sentiment,  every 
man  is  right  in  his  own  eyes.  Every 
"man  discovers  errors  in  the  creed  of  his 
brother.  Every  man  is  prone  to  magnify 
the  importance  of  his  own  peculiarities, 
and  to  discover  danger  in  the  peculiari- 
ties of  others.  This  is  human  nature. 
Every  man  is  partial  to  his  own  opinions, 
because  they  are  his  own,  and  his  self- 
will  and  pride  are  wounded  by  contra- 
diction. Now  what  must  we  expect 
when  beings  so  erring,  so  divided  in 
sentiment,  and  so  apt  to  be  unjust  to 
the  views  of  others,  assert  the  right  of 
excluding  one  another  from  the  Chris- 
tian church  on  account  of  imagined 
error?  as  the  Scriptures  confine  this 
right  to  no  individual  and  to  no  body 
of  Christians,  it  belongs  alike  to  all ; 
and  what  must  we  expect  when  Chris- 
tians of  all  capacities  and  dispositions, 
the  ignorant,  prejudiced,  and  self-con- 
ceited, imagine  it  their  duty  to  prescribe 
opinions  to  Christendom,  and  to  open 
or  to  shut  the  door  of  the  church  ac- 
cording to  the  decision  which  their 
neighbors  may  form  on  some  of  the 
most  perplexing  points  of  theology  ? 
This  question,  unhappily,  has  received 
answer  upon  answer  in  ecclesiastical 
history.  We  there  see  Christians  de- 
nouncing and  excommunicating  one  an- 
other for  supposed  error,  until  every 
denomination  has  been  pronounced  ac- 
cursed by  some  portion  of  the  Christian 
1 


482 


ON  THE  SYSTEM  OF  EXCLUSION 


world ; so  that  were  the  curses  of  men 
to  prevail,  not  one  human  being  would 
enter  heaven.  To  me,  it  appears  that 
to  plead  for  the  right  of  excluding  men 
of  blameless  lives,  on  account  of  their 
opinions,  is  to  sound  the  peal  of  perpet- 
ual and  universal  war.  Arm  men  with 
this  power,  and  we  shall  have  “ nothing 
but  thunder.”  Some  persons  are  suffi- 
ciently simple  to  imagine  that  if  this 
“ horrid  Unitarianism  ” were  once  hunted 
down,  and  put  quietly  into  its  grave,  the 
church  would  be  at  peace.  But  no  : our 
present  contests  have  their  origin,  not 
in  the  “enormities”  of  Unitarianism, 
but  very  much  in  the  principles  of  human 
nature,  in  the  love  of  power,  in  impatience 
of  contradiction,  in  men’s  passion  for 
imposing  their  own  views  upon  others, 
in  the  same  causes  which  render  them 
anxious  to  make  proselytes  to  all  their 
opinions.  Were  Unitarianism  quietly 
interred,  another  and  another  hideous 
form  of  error  would  start  up  before 
the  zealous  guardians  of  the  “purity 
of  the  church.”  The  Arminian,  from 
whom  the  pursuit  has  been  diverted 
for  a time  by  his  more  offending  Uni- 
tarian brother,  would  soon  be  awakened 
from  his  dream  of  security  by  the  clamor 
of  denunciation  ; and  should  the  Armin- 
ian fall  a prey,  the  Calvinists  would  then 
find  time  to  look  into  the  controversies 
among  themselves,  and  almost  every 
class  would  discover,  with  the  eagle  eye 
of  their  brethren  at  New  York,  that 
those  who  differ  from  them  hold  “ an- 
other gospel,”  and  ought  to  be  “ re- 
sisted and  denounced.”  Thus  the  wars 
of  Christians  will  be  perpetual.  Never 
will  there  be  peace  until  Christians  agree 
to  differ,  and  agree  to  look  for  the  evi- 
dences of  Christian  character  in  the 
temper  and  the  life. 

Another  argument  against  this  prac- 
tice of  denouncing  the  supposed  errors 
of  sincere  professors  of  Christianity  is 
this.  It  exalts  to  supremacy  in  the 
church  men  who  have  the  least  claim 
to  influence.  Humble,  meek,  and  affec- 
tionate Christians  are  least  disposed  to 
make  creeds  for  their  brethren,  and  to 
denounce  those  who  differ  from  them. 
On  the  contrary,  the  impetuous,  proud, 
and  enthusiastic,  men  who  cannot  or 
will  not  weigh  the  arguments  of  oppo- 
nents, are  always  most  positive  and 
most  unsparing  in  denunciation.  These 
take  the  lead  in  a system  of  exclusion. 


They  have  no  false  modesty,  no  false 
charity,  to  shackle  their  zeal  in  framing 
fundamentals  for  their  brethren,  and  in 
punishing  the  obstinate  in  error.  The 
consequence  is,  that  creeds  are  formed 
which  exclude  from  Christ’s  church 
some  of  his  truest  followers,  which 
outrage  reason  as  well  as  revelation, 
and  which  subsequent  ages  are  obliged 
to  mutilate  and  explain  away,  lest  the 
whole  religion  be  rejected  by  men  of 
reflection.  Such  has  been  the  history 
of  the  church.  It  is  strange  that  we  do 
not  learn  wisdom  from  the  past.  What 
man,  who  feels  his  own  fallibility,  who 
sees  the  errors  into  which  the  positive 
and  “ orthodox  ” of  former  times  have 
been  betrayed,  and  who  considers  his 
own  utter  inability  to  decide  on  the 
degree  of  truth  which  every  mind,  of 
every  capacity,  must  receive  in  order 
to  salvation,  will  not  tremble  at  the 
responsibility  of  prescribing  to  his 
brethren,  in  his  own  words,  the  views 
they  must  maintain  on  the  most  per- 
plexing subjects  of  religion  ? Humility 
will  always  leave  this  work  to  others. 

Another  important  consideration  is, 
that  this  system  of  excluding  men  of 
apparent  sincerity,  for  their  opinions, 
entirely  subverts  free  inquiry  into  the 
Scriptures.  When  once  a particular 
system  is  surrounded  by  this  bulwark  ; 
when  once  its  defenders  have  brought 
the  majority  to  believe  that  the  rejec- 
tion of  it  is  a mark  of  depravity  and 
perdition,  what  but  the  name  of  liberty 
is  left  to  Christians  ? The  obstacles 
to  inquiry  are  as  real,  and  may  be  as 
powerful,  as  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Inquisition.  The  multitude  dare  not 
think,  and  the  thinking  dare  not  speak. 
The  right  of  private  judgment  may  thus, 
in  a Protestant  country,  be  reduced  to 
a nullity.  It  is  true  that  men  are  sent 
to  the  Scriptures  ; but  they  are  told 
before  they  go  that  they  will  be  driven 
from  the  church  on  earth  and  in  heaven, 
unless  they  find  in  the  Scriptures  the 
doctrines  which  are  embodied  in  the 
popular  creed.  They  ^re  told,  indeed, 
to  inquire  for  themselves  ; but  they  are 
also  told  at  what  points  inquiry  must  ar- 
rive ; and  the  sentence  of  exclusion  hangs 
over  them  if  they  happen  to  stray,  with 
some  of  the  best  and  wisest  men,  into 
forbidden  paths.  Now  this  “ Protestant 
liberty”  is,  in  one  respect,  more  irri- 
tating than  papal  bondage.  It  mocks 


AND  DENUNCIA  TION  IN  RELIGION. 


483 


as  well  as  enslaves  us.  It  talks  to 
us  courteously  as  friends  and  brethren 
whilst  it  rivets  our  chains.  It  invites 
and  even  charges  us  to  look  with  our 
own  eyes,  but  with  the  same  breath 
warns  us  against  seeing  any  thing  which 
“ Orthodox  ” eyes  have  not  seen  before 
us.  Is  this  a state  of  things  favorable 
to  serious  inquiry  into  the  truths  of  the 
gospel  ? yet,  how  long  has  the  church 
been  groaning  under  this  cruel  yoke  ! 

Another  objection  to  this  system  of 
excluding  professed  disciples  of  Christ, 
on  account  of  their  opinions,  is,  that  it 
is  inconsistent  with  the  great  principles 
of  Congregationalism.  In  churches 
where  the  power  is  lodged  in  a few 
individuals,  who  are  supposed  to  be 
the  most  learned  men  in  the  commu- 
nity, the  work  of  marking  out  and  ex- 
cluding the  erroneous  may  seem  less 
difficult.  But  among  Congregational- 
ists,  the  tribunal  before  which  the  of- 
fender is  to  be  brought  is  the  whole 
church,  consisting  partly  of  men  in 
humble  circumstances  and  of  unim- 
proved minds  ; partly  of  men  engaged 
in  active  and  pressing  business  ; and 
partly  of  men  of  education,  whose 
studies  have  been  directed  to  law  and 
medicine.  Now,  is  this  a tribunal  be- 
fore which  the  most  intricate  points  of 
theology  are  to  be  discussed,  and  seri- 
ous inquirers  are  to  answer  for  opinions 
which  they  have  perhaps  examined  more 
laboriously  and  faithfully  than  all  their 
judges  ? Would  a church  of  humble 
men,  conscious  of  their  limited  oppor- 
tunities, consent  to  try,  for  these  pre- 
tended crimes,  professing  Christians  as 
intelligent,  as  honest,  and  as  exemplary 
as  themselves  ? It  is  evident  that,  in 
the  business  of  excluding  men  for  opin- 
ions, a church  can  be  little  more  than 
the  tool  of  the  minister,  or  a few  influ- 
ential members  ; and  our  churches  are, 
in  general,  too  independent  and  too  up- 
right to  take  this  part  in  so  solemn  a 
transaction.  To  correct  their  deficien- 
cies, and  to  quicken  their  zeal  on  this 
point,  we  are  now  threatened  with  new 
tribunals,  or  consociations,  whose  office 
it  will  be  to  try  ministers  for  their  errors, 
to  inspect  the  churches,  and  to  advise 
and  assist  them  in  the  extirpation  of 
“ heresy.”  Whilst  the  laity  are  slum- 
bering, the  ancient  and  free  constitution 
of  our  churches  is  silently  undermined, 
and  is  crumbling  away.  Since  argument 


is  insufficient  to  produce  uniformity  of 
opinion,  recourse  must  be  had  to  more 
powerful  instruments  of  conviction,  — I 
mean  to  ecclesiastical  courts.  And 
are  this  people  indeed  prepared  to  sub- 
mit to  this  most  degrading  form  of  vas- 
salage, — a vassalage  which  reaches  and 
palsies  the  mind,  and  imposes  on  it  the 
dreams  and  fictions  of  men  for  the  ever- 
lasting truth  of  God  ? 

These  remarks  lead  me  to  the  last  con- 
sideration which  I shall  urge  against  the 
proposed  system  of  exclusion  and  sepa- 
ration. This  system  will  shake  to  the 
foundation  our  religious  institutions,  and 
destroy  many  habits  and  connections 
which  have  had  the  happiest  influence 
on  the  religious  character  of  this  people. 
In  the  first  place,  if  Christian  commun- 
ion and  all  acknowledgments  of  Chris- 
tian character  are  to  be  denied  on  the 
ground  of  difference  of  opinion,  the 
annual  “ Convention  of  Congregational 
Ministers  of  Massachusetts,”  that  ancient 
bond  of  union,  must  be  dissolved ; and 
in  its  dissolution  we  shall  lose  the  edi- 
fying, honorable,  and  rare  example  of 
ministers  regularly  assembling,  not  to 
exercise  /power  and  to  fetter  the  con- 
science, but  to  reciprocate  kind  affec- 
tion, and  to  unite  in  sending  relief  to 
the  families  of  their  deceased  brethren. 
This  event  may  gladden  the  heart  of  the 
sectarian  ; it  will  carry  no  joy  to  the 
widow  and  orphan.  In  the  next  place, 
the  “ Associations  of  Ministers,”  in  our 
different  counties,  must  in  many  cases 
be  broken  up,  to  make  room  for  new 
associations,  founded  on  similarity  of 
opinion.  Thus,  that  intercourse  which 
now  subsists  between  ministers  of  dif- 
ferent persuasions,  and  which  tends  to 
enlarge  the  mind  and  to  give  a liberality 
to  the  feelings,  will  be  diminished,  if 
not  destroyed  ; and  ministers,  becoming 
more  contracted  and  exclusive,  will  com- 
municate more  of  this  unhappy  spirit 
to  their  societies.  In  the  next  place, 
neighboring  churches,  which,  from  their 
very  foundation,  have  cultivated  Chris- 
tian communion,  and  counselled  and 
comforted  each  other,  will  be  mutually 
estranged,  and,  catching  the  temper  of 
their  religious  guides,  will  exchange 
fellowship  for  denunciation ; and  in- 
stead of  delighting  in  each  other’s 
prosperity,  will  seek  each  other’s  de- 
struction. Again  : in  the  same  church, 
where  Christians  of  different  views  have 


ON  THE  SYSTEM  OF  EXCLUSION 


484 

long  acknowledged  each  other  as  dis- 
ciples of  our  Master,  and  have  partaken 
the  same  feast  of  charity,  angry  divi- 
sions will  break  forth,  parties  will  be 
marshalled  under  different  leaders,  the 
sentence  of  excommunication  will  be 
hurled  by  the  majority  on  their  guilt- 
less brethren  (if  the  majority  should  be 
“ Orthodox  ”),  and  thus  anger,  heart- 
burnings, and  bitter  recriminations  will 
spread  through  many  of  our  towns  and 
churches.  Again  : many  of  our  religious 
societies  will  be  rent  asunder,  their  min- 
isters dismissed,  and  religious  institu- 
tions cease.  It  is  well  known  that  many 
of  our  country  parishes  are  able  to  sup- 
port but  a single  minister.  At  the  same 
time,  they  are  divided  in  sentiment ; and 
nothing  but  a spirit  of  charity  and  for- 
bearance has  produced  that  union  by 
which  public  worship  has  been  main- 
tained. Once  let  the  proposed  war  be 
proclaimed,  let  the  standard  of  party  be 
raised,  and  a minister  must  look  for 
support  to  that  party  only  to  which  he 
is  attached.  An  “ Orthodox  ” minister 
should  blush  to  ask  it  from  men  whom 
he  denounces  for  honest  opinions,  and 
to  whom  he  denies  all  the  ordinances  of 
the  gospel.  It  surely  cannot  be  expected 
that  Liberal  Christians  will  contribute, 
by  their  property,  to  uphold  a system 
of  exclusion  and  intolerance  directed 
against  themselves.  What,  then,  will 
be  the  fate  of  many  of  our  societies  ? 
Their  ministers,  even  now,  can  with  dif- 
ficulty maintain  the  conflict  with  other 
denominations.  Must  they  not  sink, 
when  deserted  by  their  most  efficient 
friends  ? Many  societies  will  be  left, 
as  sheep  without  a shepherd,  a prey  to 
those  whom  we  call  sectarians,  but  who 
will  no  longer  have  an  exclusive  right  to 
the  name,  if  the  system  of  division  which 
has  been  proposed  be  adopted.  Many 
ministers  will  be  compelled  to  leave  the 
field  of  their  labors  and  their  prospects 
of  usefulness ; and  I fear  the  ministry 
will  lose  its  hold  on  the  affection  and 
veneration  of  men,  when  it  shall  have 
engendered  so  much  division  and  con- 
tention. But  this  is  not  all.  The  sys- 
tem of  denying  the  Christian  name  to 
those  who  differ  from  us  in  interpreting 
the  Scriptures  will  carry  discord  not  only 
into  churches  but  families.  In  how  many 
instances  are  heads  of  families  divided  in 
opinion  on  the  present  subjects  of  con- 
troversy ? Hitherto  they  have  loved 


each  other  as  partakers  of  the  same 
glorious  hopes,  and  have  repaired  in 
their  domestic  joys  and  sorrows  to  the 
same  God  (as  they  imagined)  through 
the  same  Mediator.  But  now,  they  are 
taught  that  they  have  different  Gods  and 
different  gospels,  and  are  taught  that  the 
friends  of  truth  are  not  to  hold  commun- 
ion with  its  rejecters.  Let  this  doctrine 
be  received,  and  one  of  the  tenderest 
ties  by  which  many  wedded  hearts  are 
knit  together  will  be  dissolved.  The 
family  altar  must  fall.  Religion  will  be 
known  in  many  a domestic  retreat,  not 
as  a bond  of  union,  but  a subject  of 
debate,  a source  of  discord  or  depres- 
sion. 

Now  I ask,  For  what  boon  are  all 
these  sacrifices  to  be  made  ? The 
great  end  is,  that  certain  opinions, 
which  have  been  embraced  by  many 
serious  and  inquiring  Christians  as  the 
truth  of  God,  may  be  driven  from  the 
church,  and  be  dreaded  by  the  people  as 
among  the  worst  of  crimes.  Uniformity 
of  opinion,  — that  airy  good,  which  em- 
perors, popes,  councils,  synods,  bishops, 
and  ministers  have  been  seeking  for 
ages,  by  edicts,  creeds,  threatenings, 
excommunications,  inquisitions,  and 
flames,  — this  is  the  great  object  of 
the  system  of  exclusion,  separation,  and 
denunciation,  which  is  now  to  be  intro- 
duced. To  this  we  are  to  sacrifice  our 
established  habits  and  bonds  of  union  ; 
and  this  is  to  be  pursued  by  means 
which,  as  many  reflecting  men  believe, 
threaten  our  dearest  rights  and  liberties. 

It  is  sincerely  hoped  that  reflecting 
laymen  will  no  longer  shut  their  eyes  on 
this  subject.  It  is  a melancholy  fact 
that  our  long-established  Congregational 
form  of  church  government  is  menaced, 
and  tribunals  unknown  to  our  churches, 
and  unknown,  as  we  believe,  to  the 
Scriptures,  are  to  be  introduced ; and 
introduced  for  the  very  purpose,  that 
the  supposed  errors  and  mistakes  of 
ministers  and  private  Christians  may 
be  tried  and  punished  as  heresies,  that 
is,  as  crimes.  In  these  tribunals,  as  in 
all  ecclesiastical  bodies,  the  clergy,  who 
make  theology  their  profession,  will  of 
necessity  have  a preponderating  influ- 
ence, so  that  the  question  now  before 
the  public  is,  in  fact,  only  a new  form 
of  the  old  controversy  which  has  agi- 
tated all  ages ; namely,  whether  the 
clergy  shall  think  for  the  laity,  or  pre- 


AND  DENUNCIATION  IN  RELIGION 


scribe  to  them  their  religion.  Were  this 
question  fairly  proposed  to  the  public, 
there  would  be  but  one  answer ; but  it 
is  wrapped  up  in  a dark  phraseology 
about  the  purity  and  order  of  the 
church, — a phraseology  which,  I be- 
lieve, imposes  on  multitudes  of  min- 
isters as  well  as  laymen,  and  induces 
acquiescence  in  measures,  the  real  ten- 
dency of  which  they  would  abhor.  It 
is,  I hope,  from  no  feeling  of  party,  but 
from  a sincere  regard  to  the  religion  of 
Christ,  that  I would  rouse  the  slumber- 
ing minds  of  this  community  to  the 
dangers  which  hang  over  their  religious 
institutions.  No  power  is  so  rapidly 
accumulated,  or  so  dreadfully  abused, 
as  ecclesiastical  power.  It  assails  men 
with  menaces  of  eternal  woe  unless  they 
submit,  and  gradually  awes  the  most 
stubborn  and  strongest  minds  into  sub- 
jection. I mean  not  to  ascribe  the  inten- 
tion of  introducing  ecclesiastical  tyranny 
to  any  class  of  Christians  among  us  ; but 
I believe  that  many,  in  the  fervor  of  a 
zeal  which  may  be  essentially  virtuous, 
are  about  to  touch  with  unhallowed 
hands  the  ark  of  God,  to  support 
Christianity  by  measures  which  its 
mild  and  charitable  spirit  abhors.  I 
believe  that  many,  overlooking  the 
principles  of  human  nature  and  the 
history  of  the  church,  are  about  to  set 
in  motion  a spring  of  which  they  know 
not  the  force,  and  cannot  calculate  the 
effects.  I believe  that  the  seed  of  spir- 
itual tyranny  is  sown,  and  although  to 
a careless  spectator  it  may  seem  the 
“smallest of  all  seeds,”  it  has  yet  within 
itself  a fatal  principle  of  increase,  and 
may  yet  darken  this  region  of  our  coun- 
try with  its  deadly  branches. 

The  time  is  come  when  the  friends  of 
Christian  liberty  and  Christian  charity 
are  called  to  awake,  and  to  remember 
their  duties  to  themselves,  to  posterity, 
and  to  the  church  of  Christ.  The  time 
is  come  when  the  rights  of  conscience 
and  the  freedom  of  our  churches  must 
be  defended  with  zeal.  The  time  is 
come  when  menace  and  denunciation 
must  be  met  with  a spirit  which  will 
show  that  we  dread  not  the  frowns 
and  lean  not  on  the  favor  of  man.  The 
time  is  come  when  every  expression 
of  superiority  on  the  part  of  our  breth- 
ren should  be  repelled  as  criminal  usur- 
pation. But,  in  doing  this,  let  the  friends 
of  liberal  and  genuine  Christianity  re- 


485 

1 member  the  spirit  of  their  religion.  Let 
I no  passion  or  bitterness  dishonor  their 
sacred  cause.  In  contending  for  the 
gospel,  let  them  not  lose  its  virtues  or 
forfeit  its  promises.  We  are,  indeed, 
called  to  pass  through  one  of  the  se- 
verest trials  of  human  virtue,  — the  trial 
of  controversy.  We  should  carry  with 
us  a sense  of  its  danger.  Religion, 
when  made  a subject  of  debate,  seems 
often  to  lose  its  empire  over  the  heart 
and  life.  The  mild  and  affectionate 
spirit  of  Christianity  gives  place  to 
angry  recriminations  and  cruel  sur- 
mises. Fair  dealing,  uprightness,  and 
truth  are  exchanged  for  the  arts  of 
sophistry.  The  devotional  feelings,  too, 
decline  in  warmth  and  tenderness.  Let 
us,  then,  watch  and  pray.  Let  us  take 
heed  that  the  weapons  of  our  warfare 
be  not  carnal.  Whilst  we  repel  usurpa- 
tion, let  us  be  just  to  the  general  recti- 
tude of  many  by  whom  our  Christian 
rights  are  invaded.  Whilst  we  repel  the 
uncharitable  censures  of  men,  let  us  not 
forget  that  deep  humility  and  sense  of 
unworthiness  with  which  we  should  ever 
appear  before  God.  In  our  zeal  to  main- 
tain the  great  truth,  that  our  Father 
in  Heaven  is  alone  the  Supreme  God, 
let  us  not  neglect  that  intercourse  with 
him  without  which  the  purest  concep- 
tions will  avail  little  to  enthrone  him  in 
our  hearts.  In  our  zeal  to  hold  fast  the 
“ word  of  Christ,”  in  opposition  to  hu- 
man creeds  and  formularies,  let  us  not 
forget  that  our  Lord  demands  another 
and  a still  more  unsuspicious  confession 
of  him,  even  the  exhibition  of  his  spirit 
and  religion  in  our  lives. 

The  controversy  in  which  we  are  en- 
gaged is  indeed  painful  ; but  it  was  not 
chosen,  but  forced  upon  us,  and  we 
ought  to  regard  it  as  a part  of  the  dis- 
cipline to  which  a wise  Providence  has 
seen  fit  to  subject  us.  Like  all  other 
trials,  it  is  designed  to  promote  our 
moral  perfection.  I trust,  too,  that  it  is 
designed  to  promote  the  cause  of  truth. 
Whilst  I would  speak  diffidently  of  the 
future,  I still  hope  that  a brighter  day  is 
rising  on  the  Christian  church  than  it 
has  yet  enjoyed.  The  gospel  is  to  shine 
forth  in  its  native  glory.  The  violent 
excitement  by  which  some  of  the  cor- 
ruptions of  this  divine  system  are  now 
supported  cannot  be  permanent ; and 
the  uncharitableness  with  which  they 
are  enforced  will  react,  like  the  perse- 


ON  CREEDS. 


486 

cutions  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  in  favor 
of  truth.  Already  we  have  the  comfort 
of  seeing  many  disposed  to  inquire,  and 
to  inquire  without  that  terror  which  has 
bound  as  with  a spell  so  many  minds. 
We  doubt  not  that  this  inquiry  will 
result  in  a deep  conviction  that  Chris- 
tianity is  yet  disfigured  by  errors  which 
have  been  transmitted  from  ages  of  dark- 
ness. Of  this,  at  least,  we  are  sure  that 
inquiry,  by  discovering  to  men  the  diffi- 


culties and  obscurities  which  attend  the 
present  topics  of  controversy,  will  ter- 
minate in  what  is  infinitely  more  desi- 
rable than  doctrinal  concord,  — in  the 
diffusion  of  a mild,  candid,  and  chari- 
table temper.  I pray  God  that  this 
most  happy  consummation  may  be  in 
no  degree  obstructed  by  any  unchristian 
feelings,  which,  notwithstanding  my  sin- 
cere efforts,  have  escaped  me  in  the 
present  controversy. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  A 

My  aversion  to  human  creeds  as  bonds 
of  Christian  union,  as  conditions  of  Chris- 
tian fellowship,  as  means  of  fastening 
chains  on  men’s  minds,  constantly  gains 
strength. 

My  first  objection  to  them  is,  that 
they  separate  us  from  Jesus  Christ.  To 
whom  am  I to  go  for  my  knowledge  of 
the  Christian  religion  but  to  the  Great 
Teacher,  to  the  Son  of  God,  to  him  in 
whom  the  fulness  of  the  Divinity  dwelt  ? 
This  is  my  great  privilege  as  a Christian, 
that  I may  sit  at  the  feet  not  of  a human 
but  divine  Master  ; that  I may  repair  to 
him  in  whom  truth  lived  and  spoke  with- 
out a mixture  of  error  ; who  was  emi- 
nently the  wisdom  of  God  and  the  light 
of  the  world.  And  shall  man  dare  to 
interpose  between  me  and  my  heavenly 
guide  and  Saviour,  and  prescribe  to  me 
the  articles  of  my  Christian  faith  ? What 
is  the  state  of  mind  in  which  I shall  best 
learn  the  truth  ? It  is  that  in  which  I 
forsake  all  other  teachers  for  Christ,  in 
which  my  mind  is  brought  nearest  to 
him  ; it  is  that  in  which  I lay  myself 
open  most  entirely  to  the  impressions  of 
his  mind.  Let  me  go  to  Jesus  with  a 
human  voice  sounding  in  my  ears,  and 
telling  me  what  I must  hear  from  the 
Great  Teacher,  and  how  can  I listen  to 
him  in  singleness  of  heart  ? All  Prot- 
estant sects,  indeed,  tell  the  learner  to 
listen  to  Jesus  Christ : but  most  of  them 
shout  around  him  their  own  articles  ‘so 
vehemently  and  imperiously,  that  the 
voice  of  the  heavenly  Master  is  well 
( nigh  drowned.  He  is  told  to  listen  to 
Christ,  but  told  that  he  will  be  damned 


LETTER  ON  CREEDS. 

if  he  receives  any  lessons  but  such  as 
are  taught  in  the  creed.  He  is  told  that 
Christ’s  word  is  alone  infallible,  but  that 
unless  it  is  received  as  interpreted  by 
fallible  men,  he  will  be  excluded  from 
the  communion  of  Christians.  This  is 
what  shocks  me  in  the  creed-maker.  He 
interposes  himself  between  me  and  my 
Saviour.  He  dares  not  trust  me  alone 
with  Jesus.  He  dares  not  leave  me  to 
the  word  of  God.  This  I cannot  en- 
dure. The  nearest  possible  communi- 
cation with  the  mind  of  Christ  is  my 
great  privilege  as  a Christian.  I must 
learn  Christ’s  truth  from  Christ  himself, 
as  he  speaks  in  the  records  of  his  life, 
and  in  the  men  whom  he  trained  up  and 
supernaturally  prepared  to  be  his  wit- 
nesses to  the  world.  On  what  ground, 
I ask,  do  the  creed-makers  demand  as- 
sent to  their  articles  as  condition  of 
church  membership  or  salvation  ? What 
has  conferred  on  them  infallibility  ? 
“ Show  me  your  proofs,”  I say  to  them, 
“ of  Christ  speaking  in  you.  Work  some 
miracle.  Utter  some  prophecy.  Show 
me  something  divine  in  you,  which  other 
men  do  not  possess.  Is  it  possible  that 
you  are  unaided  men  like  myself,  having 
no  more  right  to  interpret  the  New  Tes- 
tament than  myself,  and  that  you  yet 
exalt  your  interpretations  as  infallible 
standards  of  truth,  and  the  necessary 
conditions  of  salvation  ? Stand  out  of 
my  path.  I wish  to  go  to  the  Master. 
Have  you  words  of  greater  power  than 
his  ? Can  you  speak  to  the  human  con- 
science or  heart  in  a mightier  voice  than 
he  ? What  is  it  which  emboldens  you 


ON  CREEDS. 


487 


. to  tell  me  what  I must  learn  of  Christ 
or  be  lost  ? ” 

I cannot  but  look  on  human  creeds  with 
feelings  approaching  contempt.  When 
I bring  them  into  contrast  with  the  New 
Testament,  into  what  insignificance  do 
they  sink  ! What  are  they  ? Skeletons, 
freezing  abstractions,  metaphysical  ex- 
pressions of  unintelligible  dogmas  ; and 
these  I am  to  regard  as  the  expositions 
of  the  fresh,  living,  infinite  truth  which 
came  from  Jesus  ! I might  with  equal 
propriety  be  required  to  hear  and  receive 
the  lispings  of  infancy  as  the  expressions 
of  wisdom.  Creeds  are  to  the  Scriptures 
what  rush-lights  are  to  the  sun.  The 
creed-maker  defines  Jesus  in  half  a dozen 
lines,  perhaps  in  metaphysical  terms,  and 
calls  me  to  assent  to  this  account  of  my 
Saviour.  I learn  less  of  Christ  by  this 
process  than  I should  learn  of  the  sun 
by  being  told  that  this  glorious  luminary 
is  a circle  about  a foot  in  diameter. 
There  is  but  one  way  of  knowing  Christ. 
We  must  place  ourselves  near  him,  see 
him,  hear  him,  follow  him  from  his  cross 
to  the  heavens,  sympathize  with  him 
and  obey  him,  and  thus  catch  clear  and 
bright  glimpses  of  his  divine  glory. 

Christian  truth  is  infinite.  Who  can 
think  of  shutting  it  up  in  a few  lines  of 
an  abstract  creed  ? You  might  as  well 
compress  the  boundless  atmosphere,  the 
fire,  the  all-pervading  light,  the  free 
winds  of  the  universe,  into  separate  par- 
cels, and  weigh  and  label  them,  as  break 
up  Christianity  into  a few  propositions. 
Christianity  is  freer,  more  illimitable, 
than  the  light  or  the  winds.  It  is  too 
mighty  to  be  bound  down  by  man’s  puny 
hands.  It  is  a spirit  rather  than  a rigid 
doctrine,  — the  spirit  of  boundless  love. 
The  infinite  cannot  be  defined  and  meas- 
ured out  like  a human  manufacture.  It 
cannot  be  reduced  to  a system.  It  can- 
not be  comprehended  in  a set  of  precise 
ideas.  It  is  to  be  felt  rather  than 
described.  The  spiritual  impressions 
which  a true  Christian  receives  from 
the  character  and  teachings  of  Christ, 
and  in  which  the  chief  efficacy  of  the  re- 
ligion lies,  can  be  poorly  brought  out  in 
words.  Words  are  but  brief,  rude  hints 
of  a Christian's  mind.  His  thoughts  and 
feelings  overflow  them.  To  those  who 
feel  as  he  does,  he  can  make  himself 
known ; for  such  can  understand  the 
tones  of  the  heart ; but  he  can  no  more 
lay  down  his  religion  in  a series  of  ab- 


stract propositions,  than  he  can  make 
known  in  a few  vague  terms  the  expres- 
sive features  and  inmost  soul  of  a much- 
loved friend.  It  has  been  the  fault  of 
all  sects  that  they  have  been  too  anxious 
to  define  their  religion.  They  have 
labored  to  circumscribe  the  infinite. 
Christianity,  as  it  exists  in  the  mind  of 
the  true  disciple,  is  not  made  up  of  frag- 
ments, of  separate  ideas  which  he  can 
express  in  detached  propositions.  It  is 
a vast  and  ever-unfolding  whole,  per- 
vaded by  one  spirit,  each  precept  and 
doctrine  deriving  its  vitality  from  its 
union  with  all.  When  I see  this  gener- 
ous, heavenly  doctrine  compressed  and 
cramped  in  human  creeds,  I feel  as  I 
should  were  I to  see  screws  and  chains 
applied  to  the  countenance  and  limbs  of 
a noble  fellow-creature,  deforming  and 
destroying  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
works  of  God. 

From  the  infinity  of  Christian  truth, 
of  which  I have  spoken,  it  follows  that 
our  views  of  it  must  always  be  very  im- 
perfect, and  ought  to  be  continually 
enlarged.  The  wisest  theologians  are 
children  who  have  caught  but  faint 
glimpses  of  the  religion ; who  have 
taken  but  their  first  lessons  ; and  whose 
business  it  is  “ to  grow  in  the  knowl- 
edge of  Jesus  Christ.”  Need  I say 
how  hostile  to  this  growth  is  a fixed 
creed,  beyond  which  we  must  never 
wander  ? Such  a religion  as  Christ’s 
demands  the  highest  possible  activity 
and  freedom  of  the  soul.  Every  new 
gleam  of  light  should  be  welcomed  with 
joy.  Every  hint  should  be  followed  out 
with  eagerness.  Every  whisper  of  the 
divine  voice  in  the  soul  should  be  heard. 
The  love  of  Christian  truth  should  be 
so  intense  as  to  make  us  willing  to  part 
with  all  other  things  for  a better  com- 
prehension of  it.  Who  does  not  see 
that  human  creeds,  setting  bounds  to 
thought,  and  telling  us  where  all  inquiry 
must  stop,  tend  to  repress  this  holy  zeal, 
to  shut  our  eyes  on  new  illumination,  to 
hem  us  within  the  beaten  paths  of  man’s 
construction,  to  arrest  that  perpetual 
progress  which  is  the  life  and  glory  of 
an  immortal  mind  ? 

It  is  another  and  great  objection  to 
creeds  that,  wherever  they  acquire  au- 
thority, they  interfere  with  that  simplic- 
ity and  godly  sincerity  on  which  the 
efficacy  of  religious  teaching  very  much 
depends.  That  a minister  should  speak 


ON  CREEDS. 


488 

with  power,  it  is  important  that  he 
should  speak  from  his  own  soul,  and 
not  studiously  conform  himself  to  modes 
of  speaking  which  others  have  adopted. 
It  is  important  that  he  should  give  out 
the  truth  in  the  very  form  in  which  it 
presents  itself  to  his  mind,  in  the  very 
words  which  offer  themselves  sponta- 
neously as  the  clothing  of  his  thoughts. 
To  express  our  own  minds  frankly, 
directly,  fearlessly,  is  the  way  to  reach 
other  minds.  Now,  it  is  the  effect  of 
creeds  to  check  this  free  utterance  of 
thought.  The  minister  must  seek  words 
which  will  not  clash  with  the  consecrated 
articles  of  his  church.  If  new  ideas 
spring  up  in  his  mind,  not  altogether 
consonant  with  what  the  creed-monger 
has  established,  he  must  cover  them 
with  misty  language.  If  he  happen  to 
doubt  the  standard  of  his  church,  he 
must  strain  its  phraseology,  must  force 
it  beyond  its  obvious  import,  that  he  may 
give  his  assent  to  it  without  departures 
from  truth.  All  these  processes  must 
have  a blighting  effect  on  the  mind  and 
heart.  They  impair  self-respect.  They 
cloud  the  intellectual  eye.  They  accus- 
tom men  to  tamper  with  truth.  In  pro- 
portion as  a man  dilutes  his  thought  and 
suppresses  his  conviction,  to  save  his 
orthodoxy  from  suspicion  ; in  proportion 
as  he  borrows  his  words  from  others, 
instead  of  speaking  in  his  own  tongue  ; 
in  proportion  as  he  distorts  language 
from  its  common  use,  that  he  may  stand 
well  with  his  party  ; in  that  proportion 
he  clouds  and  degrades  his  intellect,  as 
well  as  undermines  the  manliness  and 
integrity  of  his  character.  How  deeply 
do  I commiserate  the  minister  who,  in 
the  warmth  and  freshness  of  youth,  is 
visited  with  glimpses  of  higher  truth 
than  is  embodied  in  the  creed,  but 
who  dares  not  be  just  to  himself,  and  is 
made  to  echo  what  is  not  the  simple, 
natural  expression  of  his  own  mind  ! 
Better  were  it  for  us  to  beg  our  bread 
and  clothe  ourselves  in  rags,  than  to 
part  with  Christian  simplicity  and  frank- 
ness. Better  for  a minister  to  preach  in 
barns  or  the  open  air,  where  he  may 
speak  the  truth  from  the  fulness  of  his 
soul,  than  to  lift  up  in  cathedrals,  amidst 
pomp  and  wealth,  a voice  which  is  not 
true  to  his  inward  thoughts.  If  they 
who  wear  the  chains  of  creeds  once 
knew  the  happiness  of  breathing  the  air 
of  freedom,  and  of  moving  with  an  unin- 


cumbered spirit,  no  wealth  or  power  in 
the  world’s  gift  would  bribe  them  to  part 
with  their  spiritual  liberty. 

Another  sad  effect  of  creeds  is,  that 
they  favor  unbelief.  It  is  not  the  object 
of  a creed  to  express  the  simple  truths 
of  our  religion,  though  in  these  its  effi- 
ciency chiefly  lies,  but  to  embody  and 
decree  those  mysteries  about  which 
Christians  have  been  contending.  I use 
the  word  “ mysteries,”  not  in  the  Script- 
ural but  popular  sense,  as  meaning  doc- 
trines which  give  a shock  to  the  reason 
and  seem  to  contradict  some  acknowl- 
edged truth.  Such  mysteries  are  the 
staples  of  creeds.  The  celestial  virtues 
of  Christ’s  character,  these  are  not  in- 
serted into  articles  of  faith.  On  the 
contrary,  doctrines  which  from  their 
darkness  or  unintelligibleness  have  pro- 
voked controversy,  and  which  owe  their 
importance  very  much  to  the  circum- 
stance of  having  been  fought  for  or 
fought  against  for  ages,  these  are  thrown 
by  the  creed-makers  into  the  foremost 
ranks  of  the  religion,  and  made  its  es- 
pecial representatives.  Christianity  as 
set  forth  in  creeds  is  a propounder  of 
dark  sayings,  of  riddles,  of  knotty  prop- 
ositions, of  apparent  contradictions. 
Who,  on  reading  these  standards,  would 
catch  a glimpse  of  the  simple,  pure, 
benevolent,  practical  character  of  Chris- 
tianity ? And  what  is  the  result  ? Chris- 
tianity becoming  identified,  by  means  of 
creeds,  with  so  many  dark  doctrines,  is 
looked  on  by  many  as  a subject  for  the- 
ologians to  quarrel  about,  but  too  thorny 
or  perplexed  for  common  minds,  while 
it  is  spurned  by  many  more  as  an  insult 
on  human  reason,  as  a triumph  of  fa- 
naticism over  common-sense. 

It  is  a little  remarkable  that  most 
creeds,  whilst  they  abound  in  mysteries 
of  human  creation,  have  renounced  the 
great  mystery  of  religion.  There  is  in 
religion  a great  mystery.  I refer  to  the 
doctrine  of  free-will,  or  moral  liberty. 
How  to  reconcile  this  with  God’s  fore- 
knowledge and  human  dependence,  is  a 
question  which  has  perplexed  the  great- 
est minds.  It  is  probable  that  much  of 
the  obscurity  arrises  from  our  applying 
to  God  the  same  kind  of  foreknowledge 
as  men  possess  by  their  acquaintance 
with  causes,  and  from  our  supposing  the 
Supreme  Being  to  bear  the  same  rela- 
tion to  time  as  man.  It  is  probable  that 
juster  views  on  these  subjects  will  re- 


THE  DUTIES  OF  CHILDREN. 


lieve  the  freedom  of  the  will  from  some 
of  its  difficulties.  Still  the  difficulties 
attending  it  are  great.  It  is  a mystery 
in  the  popular  sense  of  the  word.  Now, 
is  it  not  strange  that  theologians  who 
have  made  and  swallowed  so  many  other 
mysteries,  have  generally  rejected  this, 
and  rejected  it  on  the  ground  of  objec- 
tions less  formidable  than  those  which 
may  be  urged  against  their  own  inven- 
tions ? A large  part  of  the  Protestant 
world  have  sacrificed  man’s  freedom  of 
will  to  God’s  foreknowledge  and  sover- 
eignty, thus  virtually  subverting  all  relig- 
ion, all  duty,  all  responsibility.  They 
have  made  man  a machine,  and  destroyed 


489 

the  great  distinction  between  him  and 
the  brute.  There  seems  a fatality  at- 
tending creeds.  After  burdening  Chris- 
tianity with  mysteries  of  which  it  is  as 
innocent  as  the  unborn  child,  they  have 
generally  renounced  the  real  mystery  of 
religion,  of  human  nature.  They  have 
subverted  the  foundation  of  moral  gov- 
ernment, by  taking  from  man  the  only 
capacity  which  makes  him  responsible, 
and  in  this  way  have  fixed  on  the  com- 
mands and  threatenings  of  God  the 
character  of  a cruel  despotism.  What 
a lesson  against  man’s  attempting  to 
impose  his  wisdom  on  his  fellow-creat- 
ures as  the  truth  of  God  ! 


THE  DUTIES  OF  CHILDREN: 

Discourse  delivered  to  the  Religious  Society  in  Federal  Street , Boston . 


Ephesians  vi.  1,  2:  “Children,  obey  your  parents 
in  the  Lord:  for  this  is  right.  Honor  thy  father  and 
thy  mother,  which  is  the  first  commandment  with 
promise.” 

From  these  words  I propose  to  point 
out  the  duties  of  children  to  their  par- 
ents. My  young  friends,  let  me  ask 
your  serious  attention.  I wish  to  ex- 
plain to  you  the  honor  and  obedience 
which  you  are  required  to  render  your 
parents  ; and  to  impress  you  with  the 
importance,  excellence,  and  happiness 
of  this  temper  and  conduct. 

It  will  be  observed,  in  the  progress  of 
this  discourse,  that  I have  chiefly  in 
view  the  youngest  part  of  my  hearers  ; 
but  I would  not  on  this  account  be  sup- 
posed to  intimate  that  those  who  have 
reached  more  advanced  periods  of  life 
are  exempted  from  the  obligation  of 
honoring  their  parents.  However  old 
we  may  be,  we  should  never  forget  that 
tenderness  which  watched  over  our  in- 
fancy, which  listened  to  our  cries  before 
we  could  articulate  our  wants,  and  was 
never  weary  with  ministering  to  our  com- 
fort and  enjoyments.  There  is  scarcely 
any  thing  more  interesting  than  to  see 
the  man  retaining  the  respect  and  grati- 
tude which  belong  to  the  child ; than  to 
see  persons,  who  have  come  forward 
into  life,  remembering  with  affection  the 


guides  and  friends  of  their  youth,  and 
laboring  by  their  kind  and  respectful 
attention  to  cheer  the  declining  years, 
and  support  the  trembling  infirmities,  of 
those  whose  best  days  were  spent  in 
solicitude  and  exertion  for  their  happi- 
ness and  improvement.  He  who  suffers 
any  objects  or  pursuits  to  shut  out  a 
parent  from  his  heart,  who  becomes  so 
weaned  from  the  breast  which  nourished 
and  the  arms  which  cherished  him,  as 
coldly  to  forsake  a parent’s  dwelling, 
and  neglect  a parent’s  comfort,  not  only 
renounces  the  dictates  of  religion  and 
morality,  but  deserves  to  be  cast  out 
from  society  as  a stranger  to  the  com- 
mon sensibilities  of  human  nature. 

In  the  observations  I am  now  to  make, 
all  who  have  parents  should  feel  an  in- 
terest ; for  some  remarks  will  apply  to 
all.  But  I shall  principally  confine  my- 
self to  those  who  are  so  young  as  to 
depend  on  the  care  and  to  live  under 
the  eye  of  their  parents  ; who  surround 
a parent’s  table,  dwell  beneath  a parent’s 
roof,  and  hear  continually  a parent’s 
voice.  To  such  the  text  addresses  it- 
self, “ Honor  and  obey  your  father  and 
mother.” 

I shall  now  attempt  to  explain  and 
enforce  what  is  here  required  of  you. 

First,  You  are  required  to  view  and 


490 


THE  DUTIES  OF  CHILDREN. 


treat  your  parents  with  respect.  Your 
tender,  inexperienced  age  requires  that 
you  think  of  yourselves  with  humility, 
and  conduct  yourselves  with  modesty  ; 
that  you  respect  the  superior  age  and 
wisdom  and  improvements  of  your  par- 
ents, and  observe  towards  them  a sub- 
missive deportment.  Nothing  is  more 
unbecoming  in  you,  nothing  will  render 
you  more  unpleasant  in  the  eyes  of 
others,  than  froward  or  contemptuous 
conduct  towards  your  parents.  There 
are  children  — and  I wish  I could  say 
there  are  only  a few  — who  speak  to 
their  parents  with  rudeness,  grow  sullen 
at  their  rebukes,  behave  in  their  pres- 
ence as  if  they  deserved  no  attention, 
hear  them  speak  without  noticing  them, 
and  rather  ridicule  than  honor  them. 
There  are  many  children  at  the  present 
day  who  think  more  highly  of  themselves 
than  of  their  elders  ; who  think  that 
their  own  wishes  are  first  to  be  gratified  ; 
who  abuse  the  condescension  and  kind- 
ness of  their  parents,  and  treat  them  as 
servants  rather  than  superiors. 

Beware,  my  young  friends,  lest  you 
grow  up  with  this  assuming  and  selfish 
spirit.  Regard  your  parents  as  kindly 
given  you  by  God,  to  support,  direct, 
and  govern  you  in  your  present  state  of 
weakness  and  inexperience.  Express 
your  respect  for  them  in  your  manner 
and  conversation.  Do  not  neglect  those 
outward  signs  of  dependence  and  infe- 
riority which  suit  your  age.  You  are 
young,  and  you  should  therefore  take 
the  lowest  place,  and  rather  retire  than 
thrust  yourselves  forward  into  notice. 
You  have  much  to  learn,  and  you  should 
therefore  hear  instead  of  seeking  to  be 
heard.  You  are  dependent,  and  you 
should  therefore  ask  instead  of  demand- 
ing what  you  desire  ; and  you  should 
receive  every  thing  from  your  parents 
as  a favor  and  not  as  a debt.  I do  not 
mean  to  urge  upon  you  a slavish  fear  of 
your  parents.  Love  them,  and  love  them 
ardently ; but  mingle  a sense  of  their 
superiority  with  your  love.  Feel  a con- 
fidence in  their  kindness  ; but  let  not 
this  confidence  make  you  rude  and  pre- 
sumptuous, and  lead  to  indecent  famil- 
iarity. Talk  to  them  with  openness  and 
freedom  ; but  never  contradict  with  vio- 
lence ; never  answer  with  passion  or 
contempt. 

The  Scriptures  say,  “ Cursed  be  he 
that  setteth  light  by  his  father  or  his 


mother.”  “ The  eye  that  mocketh  at 
his  father,  the  ravens  of  the  valley  shall 
pluck  it  out,  and  the  young  ravens  shall 
eat  it.”  The  sacred  history  teaches  us 
that  when  Solomon  on  his  throne  saw 
his  mother  approaching  him  he  rose  to 
meet  her,  and  bowed  himself  unto  her, 
and  caused  a seat  to  be  set  for  her  on 
his  right  hand.  Let  this  wise  and  great 
king  teach  you  to  respect  your  parents. 

Secondly,  You  should  be  grateful  to 
your  parents.  Consider  how  much  you 
owe  them.  The  time  has  been,  and  it 
was  not  a long  time  past,  when  you  de- 
pended wholly  on  their  kindness,  when 
you  had  no  strength  to  make  a single 
effort  for  yourselves,  when  you  could 
neither  speak,  nor  walk,  and  knew  not 
the  use  of  any  of  your  powers.  Had 
not  a parent’s  arm  supported' you,  you 
must  have  fallen  to  the  earth  and  per- 
ished. Observe  with  attention  the  in- 
fants which  you  so  often  see,  and  con- 
sider that  a little  while  ago  you  were  as 
feeble  as  they  are  ; you  were  only  a 
burden  and  a care,  and  you  had  nothing 
with  which  you  could  repay  your  par- 
ents’ affection.  But  did  they  forsake 
you  ? How  many  sleepless  nights  have 
they  been  disturbed  by  your  cries  ! 
When  you  were  sick,  how  tenderly  did 
they  hang  over  you  ! With  what  pleas- 
ure have  they  seen  you  grow  up  in 
health  to  your  present  state  ! and  what 
do  you  now  possess  which  you  have  not 
received  from  their  hands  ? God  indeed 
is  your  great  parent,  your  best  friend, 
and  from  him  every  good  gift  descends  ; 
but  God  is  pleased  to  bestow  every 
thing  upon  you  through  the  kindness  of 
your  parents.  To  your  parents  you  owe 
every  comfort ; you  owe  to  them  the  shel- 
ter you  enjoy  from  the  rain  and  cold,  the 
raiment  which  covers  and  the  food  which 
nourishes  you.  While  you  are  seeking 
amusement,  or  are  employed  in  gaining 
knowledge  at  school,  your  parents  are 
toiling  that  you  may  be  happy,  that  your 
wants  be  supplied,  that  your  minds  may 
be  improved,  that  you  may  grow  up  and 
be  useful  in  the  world.  And  when  you 
consider  how  often  you  have  forfeited 
all  this  kindness,  and  yet  how  ready 
they  have  been  to  forgive  you,  and  to 
continue  their  favors,  ought  you  not  to 
look  upon  them  with  the  tenderest  grati- 
tude ? What  greater  monster  can  there 
be  than  an  unthankful  child,  whose  heart 
is  never  warmed  and  melted  by  the 


THE  DUTIES  OF  CHILDREN. 


49 1 


daily  expressions  of  parental  solicitude  ; 
who,  instead  of  requiting  his  best  friend 
by  his  affectionate  conduct,  is  sullen 
. and  passionate,  and  thinks  that  his  par- 
ents have  done  nothing  for  him,  because 
they  will  not  do  all  he  desires  ? My 
young  friends,  your  parents’  hearts  have 
ached  enough  for  you  already ; you 
should  strive  from  this  time,  by  your 
expressions  of  gratitude  and  love,  to 
requite  their  goodness.  Do  you  ask 
how  you  may  best  express  these  feelings 
of  respect  and  gratitude,  which  have 
been  enjoined  ? In  answer,  I would  ob- 
serve, 

Thirdly,  That  you  must  make  it  your 
study  to  obey  your  parents,  to  do  what 
they  command,  and  do  it  cheerfully. 
Your  own  hearts  will  tell  you  that  this 
is  a most  natural  and  proper  expression 
of  honor  and  love.  For  how  often  do 
we  see  children  opposing  their  wills  to 
the  will  of  their  parents  ; refusing  to 
comply^with  absolute  commands  ; grow- 
ing more  obstinate,  the  more  they  are 
required  to  do  what  they  dislike  ; and 
at  last  sullenly  and  unwillingly  obeying, 
because  they  can  no  longer  refuse  with- 
out exposing  themselves  to  punishment. 
Consider,  my  young  friends,  that  by 
such  conduct  you  very  much  displease 
God,  who  has  given  you  parents  that 
they  may  control  your  passions  and 
train  you  up  in  the  way  you  should  go. 
Consider  how  much  better  they  can  de- 
cide for  you  than  you  can  for  yourselves. 
You  know  but  little  of  the  world  in 
which  you  live.  You  hastily  catch  at 
every  thing  which  promises  you  pleas- 
ure ; and  unless  the  authority  of  a 
parent  should  restrain  you,  you  would 
soon  rush  into  ruin,  without  a thought 
or  a fear.  In  pursuing  your  own  in- 
clinations, your  health  would  be  de- 
stroyed, your  minds  would  run  waste, 
you  would  grow  up  slothful,  selfish,  a 
trouble  to  others,  and  burdensome  to 
yourselves.  Submit,  then,  cheerfully  to 
your  parents.  Have  you  not  experi- 
enced their  goodness  long  enough  to 
know  that  they  wish  to  make  you  happy, 
even  when  their  commands  are  most 
severe  ? Prove,  then,  your  sense  of 
their  goodness  by  doing  cheerfully  what 
they  require.  When  they  oppose  your 
wishes,  do  not  think  that  you  have  more 
knowledge  than  they.  Do  not  receive 
their  commands  with  a sour,  angry,  sul- 
len look,  which  says  louder  than  words, 


that  you  obey  only  because  you  dare 
not  rebel.  If  they  deny  your  requests, 
do  not  persist  in  urging  them,  but  con- 
sider how  many  requests  they  have  al- 
ready granted  you.  Consider  that  you 
have  no  claim  upon  them,  and  that  it 
will  be  base  and  ungrateful  for  you, 
after  all  their  tenderness,  to  murmur 
and  complain.  Do  not  expect  that  your 
parents  are  to  give  up  every  thing  to 
your  wishes  ; but  study  to  give  up  every 
thing  to  theirs.  Do  not  wait  for  them 
to  threaten ; but,  when  a look  tells  you 
what  they  want,  fly  to  perform  it.  This 
is  the  way  in  which  you  can  best  reward 
them  for  all  their  pains  and  labors.  In 
this  way  you  will  make  their  houses 
pleasant  and  cheerful.  But  if  you  are 
disobedient,  perverse,  and  stubborn,  you 
will  be  uneasy  yourselves,  and  will  make 
all  around  you  unhappy.  You  will  make 
home  a place  of  contention,  noise,  and 
anger  ; and  your  best  friends  will  have 
reason  to  wish  that  you  had  never  been 
born.  A disobedient  child  almost  always 
grows  up  ill-natured  and  disobliging  to  all 
with  whom  he  is  connected.  None  love 
him,  and  he  has  no  heart  to  love  any  but 
himself.  If  you  would  be  amiable  in 
your  temper  and  manner,  and  desire  to 
be  beloved,  let  me  advise  you  to  begin 
life  with  giving  up  your  wills  to  your 
parents. 

Fourthly,  You  must  further  express 
your  respect,  affection,  and  gratitude, 
by  doing  all  in  your  power  to  assist  and 
oblige  your  parents.  Children  can  very 
soon  make  some  return  for  the  kindness 
they  receive.  Every  day  you  can  render 
your  parents  some  little  service,  and 
often  save  them  many  cares,  and  some- 
times not  a little  expense.  There  have 
been  children  who  in  early  life  have 
been  great  supports  to  their  sick,  poor, 
and  helpless  parents.  This  is  the  most 
honorable  way  in  which  you  can  be  em- 
ployed. You  must  never  think  too 
highly  of  yourselves  to  be  unwilling  to 
do  any  thing  for  those  who  have  done 
so  much  for  you.  You  should  never 
let  your  amusements  take  such  a hold 
of  your  minds  as  to  make  you  slothful, 
backward,  and  unwilling  when  you  are 
called  to  serve  your  parents.  Some 
children  seem  to  think  that  they  have 
nothing  to  seek  but  their  own  pleasure. 
They  will  run  from  every  task  which  is 
imposed  on  them  ; and  leave  their  par- 
ents to  want  many  comforts  rather  than 


492 


THE  DUTIES  OF  CHILDREN, 


expose  themselves  to  a little  trouble. 
But  consider,  had  they  loved  you  no  bet- 
ter than  you  loved  them,  how  wretched 
would  have  been  your  state  ! There 
are  some  children  who  not  only  refuse 
to  exert  themselves  for  their  parents, 
but  add  very  much  to  their  cares,  give 
them  unnecessary  trouble,  and,  by  care- 
lessness, by  wasting,  by  extravagance, 
help  to  keep  them  in  poverty  and 
toil.  Such  children,  as  they  grow  up, 
instead  of  seeking  to  provide  for  them- 
selves, generally  grow  more  and  more 
burdensome  to  their  friends,  and  lead 
useless,  sluggish,  and  often  profligate 
lives.  My  young  friends,  you  should 
be  ashamed,  after  having  given  your 
parents  so  much  pain,  to  multiply  their 
cares  and  labors  unnecessarily.  You 
should  learn  very  early  to  be  active  in 
pleasing  them,  and  active  in  doing  what 
you  can  for  yourselves.  Do  not  waste 
all  your  spirit  upon  play,  but  learn  to 
be  useful.  Perhaps  the  time  is  coming 
when  your  parents  will  need  as  much 
attention  from  you  as  you  have  received 
from  them  ; and  you  should  endeavor 
to  form  such  industrious,  obliging  habits, 
that  you  may  render  their  last  years  as 
happy  as  they  have  rendered  the  first 
years  of  your  existence. 

Fifthly,  You  should  express  your  re- 
spect for  your  parents,  and  your  sense 
of  their  kindness  and  superior  wisdom, 
by  placing  unreserved  confidence  in 
them.  This  is  a very  important  part  of 
your  duty.  Children  should  learn  to 
be  honest,  sincere,  and  open-hearted  to 
their  parents.  An  artful,  hypocritical 
child  is  one  of  the  most  unpromising 
characters  in  the  world.  You  should 
have  no  secrets  which  you  are  unwilling 
to  disclose  to  your  parents.  If  you 
have  done  wrong,  you  should  openly 
confess  it,  and  ask  that  forgiveness 
which  a parent’s  heart  is  ready  to  be- 
stow. If  you  wish  to  undertake  any 
thing,  ask  their  consent.  Never  begin 
any  thing  in  the  hope  that  you  can  con- 
ceal your  design.  If  you  once  strive  to 
impose  on  your  parents,  you  will  be  led 
on,  from  one  step  to  another,  to  invent 
falsehoods,  to  practise  artifice,  till  you 
will  become  contemptible  and  hateful. 
You  will  soon  be  detected,  and  then 
none  will  trust  you.  Sincerity  in  a child 
will  make  up  for  many  faults.  Of  chil- 
dren, he  is  the  worst  who  watches  the 
eyes  of  his  parents,  pretends  to  obey  as 


long  as  they  see  him,  but  as  soon  as 
they  have  turned  away  does  what  they 
have  forbidden.  Whatever  else  you  do, 
never  deceive.  Let  your  parents  always 
learn  your  faults  from  your  own  lips  ; 
and  be  assured  they  will  never  love  you 
the  less  for  your  openness  and  sin- 
cerity. 

Lastly,  You  must  prove  your  respect 
and  gratitude  to  your  parents  by  attend- 
ing seriously  to  their  instructions  and 
admonitions,  and  by  improving  the  ad- 
vantages they  afford  you  for  becoming 
wise,  useful,  good,  and  happy  for  ever. 

I hope,  my  young  friends,  that  you  have 
parents  who  take  care  not  only  of  your 
bodies  but  your  souls  ; who  instruct  you 
in  your  duty,  who  talk  to  you  of  your 
God  and  Saviour,  who  teach  you  to 
pray  and  to  read  the  Scriptures,  and 
who  strive  to  give  you  such  knowledge 
and  bring  you  up  in  such  habits  as  will 
lead  you  to  usefulness  on  earth  and  to 
happiness  in  heaven.  If  you  haye  not, 
I can  only  pity  you  : I have  little  hope 
that  I can  do  you  good  by  what  I have 
here  said.  But  if  your  parents  are  faith- 
ful in  instructing  and  guiding  you,  you 
must  prove  your  gratitude  to  them  and 
to  God,  by  listening  respectfully  and 
attentively  to  what  they  say ; by  shun- 
ning the  temptations  of  which  they  warn 
you,  and  by  walking  in  the  paths  they 
mark  out  before  you.  You  must  labor 
to  answer  their  hopes  and  wishes  by 
improving  in  knowledge  ; by  being  in- 
dustrious at  school  ; by  living  peaceably 
with  your  companions  ; by  avoiding  all 
profane  and  wicked  language ; by  flee- 
ing bad  company ; by  treating  all  per- 
sons with  respect ; by  being  kind  and 
generous  and  honest,  and  by  loving  and 
serving  your  Father  in  heaven.  This  is 
the  happiest  and  most  delightful  way  of 
repaying  the  kindness  of  your  parents. 
Let  them  see  you  growing  up  with  ami- 
able tempers  and  industrious  habits  ; 
let  them  see  you  delighting  to  do  good, 
and  fearing  to  offend  God ; and  they 
will  think  you  have  never  been  a bur- 
den. Their  fears  and  anxieties  about 
you  will  give  place  to  brighter  views. 
They  will  hope  to  see  you  prosperous, 
respected,  and  beloved  in  the  present 
world.  But  if  in  this  they  are  to  be 
disappointed,  if  they  are  soon  to  see 
you  stretched  on  the  bed  of  sickness 
and  death,  they  will  still  smile  amidst 
I their  tears,  and  be  comforted  by  the 


DAILY  PLAYED. 


493 


thought  that  you  are  the  children  of 
God,  and  that  you  are  going  to  a Father 
that  loves  you  better  than  they.  If,  on 
the  contrary,  you  slight  and  despise 
their  instructions,  and  suffer  your  youth 
to  run  waste,  you  will  do  much  to  em- 
bitter their  happiness  and  shorten  their 
days.  Many  parents' have  gone  to  the 
grave  broken-hearted  by  the  ingrati- 
tude, perverseness,  impiety,  and  licen- 
tiousness of  their  children.  • My  young 
friends,  listen  seriously  to  parental  ad- 
monition. Beware,  lest  you  pierce  with 
anguish  that  breast  on  which  you  have 
so  often  leaned.  Beware,  lest  by  early 
contempt  of  instruction  you  bring  your- 
selves to  shame  and  misery  in  this 
world,  and  draw  on  your  heads  still  heav- 
ier ruin  in  the  world  beyond  the  grave. 


Children,  I have  now  set  before  you 
your  duties.  Let  me  once  more  be- 
seech you  to  honor  your  father  and 
mother.  Ever  cling  to  them  with  confi- 
dence and  love.  Be  to  them  an  honor, 
an  ornament,  a solace,  and  a support. 
Be  more  than  they  expect,  and  if  pos- 
sible be  all  that  they  desire.  To  you 
they  are  now  looking  with  an  affection 
which  trembles  for  your  safety.  So  live 
that  their  eyes  may  ever  fix  on  you  with 
beams  of  hope  and  joy.  So  live  that 
the  recollection  of  you  may  soothe  their 
last  hours.  May  you  now  walk  by 
their  side  in  the  steps  of  the  holy  Sav- 
iour, and  through  his  grace  may  you 
meet  again  in  a better  and  happier 
world ! Amen. 


DAILY  PRAYER. 


The  Scriptures  of  the  Old  and  New 
Testaments  agree  in  enjoining  prayer. 
Let  no  man  call  himself  a Christian  who 
lives  without  giving  a part  of  life  to  this 
duty.  We  are  not  taught  how  often  we 
must  pray ; but  our  Lord,  in  teaching 
us  to  say,  “ Give  us  this  day  our  daily 
bread,”  implies  that  we  should  pray 
daily.  He  has  even  said  to  us,  “pray 
always  ” — an  injunction  to  be  explained, 
indeed,  with  that  latitude  which  many 
of  his  precepts  require,  but  which  is 
not  to  be  satisfied,  we  think,  without 
regular  and  habitual  devotion.  As  to 
the  particular  hours  to  be  given  to  this 
duty,  every  Christian  may  choose  them 
for  himself.  Our  religion  is  too  liberal 
and  spiritual  to  bind  us  to  any  place  or 
any  hour  of  prayer.  But  there  are  parts 
of  the  day  particularly  favorable  to  this 
duty,  and  which,  if  possible,  should  be 
redeemed  for  it.  On  these  we  shall 
offer  a few  reflections. 

The  first  of  these  periods  is  the  morn- 
ing, which  even  nature  seems  to  have 
pointed  out  to  men  of  different  religions 
as  a fit  time  for  offerings  to  the  Divinity. 
In  the  morning  our  minds  are  not  so 
much  shaken  by  worldly  cares  and  pleas- 
ures as  in  other  parts  of  the  day.  Re- 
tirement and  sleep  have  helped  to  allay 
the  violence  of  our  feelings,  to  calm  the 


feverish  excitement  so  often  produced 
by  intercourse  with  men.  The  hour  is 
a still  one.  The  hurry  and  tumults  of 
life  are  not  begun,  and  we  naturally 
share  in  the  tranquillity  around  us. 
Having  for  so  many  hours  lost  our 
hold  on  the  world,  we  can  banish  it 
more  easily  from  the  mind,  and  wor- 
ship  with  less  divided  attention.  This, 
then,  is  a favorable  time  for  approaching 
the  invisible  Author  of  our  being,  for 
strengthening  the  intimacy  of  our  minds 
with  him,  for  thinking  upon  a future  life, 
and  for  seeking  those  spiritual  aids  which 
we  need  in  the  labors  and  temptations  of 
every  day. 

In  the  morning  there  is  much  to 
feed  the  spirit  of  devotion.  It  offers 
an  abundance  of  thoughts  friendly  to 
pious  feeling.  When  we  look  on  crea- 
tion, what  a happy  and  touching  change 
do  we  witness  ! A few  hours  past,  the 
earth  was  wrapped  in  gloom  and  silence. 
There  seemed  “a  pause  in  nature.” 
But  now  a new  flood  of  light  has  broken 
forth,  and  creation  rises  before  us  in 
fresher  and  brighter  hues,  and  seems 
to  rejoice  as  if  it  had  just  received  birth 
from  its  Author.  The  sun  never  sheds 
more  cheerful  beams,  and  never  pro- 
claims more  loudly  God’s  glory  and 
goodness,  than  when  he  returns  after 


DAILY  PLAYED. 


494 

the  coldness  and  dampness  of  night, 
and  awakens  man  and  inferior  animals 
to  the  various  purposes  of  their  being. 
A spirit  of  joy  seems  breathed  over  the 
earth  and  through  the  sky.  It  requires 
little  effort  of  imagination  to  read  de- 
light in  the  kindled  clouds,  or  in  the 
fields  bright  with  dew.  This  is  the 
time  when  we  can  best  feel  and  bless 
the  Power  which  said,  Met  there  be 
light ; ” which  “ set  a tabernacle  for  the 
sun  in  the  heavens,”  and  made  him  the 
dispenser  of  fruitfulness  and  enjoyment 
through  all  regions. 

If  we  next  look  at  ourselves,  what 
materials  does  the  morning  furnish  for 
devout  thought ! At  the  close  of  the 
past  day,  we  were  exhausted  by  our 
labors,  and  unable  to  move  without 
wearisome  effort.  Our  minds  were 
sluggish,  and  could  not  be  held  to  the 
most  interesting  objects.  From  this 
state  of  exhaustion,  we  sunk  gradually 
into  entire  insensibility.  Our  limbs 
became  motionless ; our  senses  were 
shut  as  in  death.  Our  thoughts  were 
suspended,  or  only  wandered  confusedly 
and  without  aim.  Our  friends,  and  the 
universe,  and  God  himself  were  forgot- 
ten. And  what  a change  does  the  morn- 
ing bring  with  it ! On  waking,  we  find 
that  sleep,  the  image  of  death,  has 
silently  infused  into  us  a new  life. 
The  weary  limbs  are  braced  again. 
The  dim  eye  has  become  bright  and 
piercing.  The  mind  is  returned  from 
the  region  of  forgetfulness  to  its  old 
possessions.  Friends  are  met  again 
with  a new  interest.  We  are  again 
capable  of  devout  sentiment,  virtuous 
effort,  and  Christian  hope.  With  what 
subjects  of  gratitude,  then,  does  the 
morning  furnish  us  ! We  can  hardly 
recall  the  state  of  insensibility  from 
which  we  have  just  emerged  without  a 
consciousness  of  our  dependence,  or 
think  of  the  renovation  of  our  powers 
and  intellectual  being  without  feeling  our 
obligation  to  God.  There  is  something 
very  touching  in  the  consideration,  if 
we  will  fix  our  minds  upon  it,  that  God 
thought  of  us  when  we  could  not  think ; 
that  he  watched  over  us  when  we  had 
no  power  to  avert  peril  from  ourselves  ; 
that  he  continued  our  vital  motions,  and 
in  due  time  broke  the  chains  of  sleep,, 
and  set  our  imprisoned  faculties  free. 
How  fit  is  it,  at  this  hour,  to  raise  to 
God  the  eyes  which  he  has  opened,  and 


the  arm  which  he  has  strengthened ; to 
acknowledge  his  providence ; and  to 
consecrate  to  him  the  powers  which  he 
has  renewed  ! How  fit  that  he  should 
be  the  first  object  of  the  thoughts  and 
affections  which  he  has  restored  ! How 
fit  to  employ  in  his  praise  the  tongue 
which  he  has  loosed,  and  the  breath 
which  he  has  spared. 

But  the  morning  is  a fit  time  for  de- 
votion, not  only  from  its  relation  to  the 
past  night,  but  considered  as  the  in- 
troduction of  a new  day.  To  a thinking 
mind,  how  natural  at  this  hour  are  such 
reflections  as  the  following  : — I am  now 
to  enter  on  a new  period  of  my  life,  to 
start  afresh  in  my  course.  I am  to  re- 
turn to  that  world  where  I have  often 
gone  astray ; to  receive  impressions 
which  may  never  be  effaced  ; to  per- 
form actions  which  will  never  be  for- 
gotten ; to  strengthen  a character  which 
will  fit  me  for  heaven  or  hell.  I am  this 
day  to  meet  temptations  which  have  often 
subdued  me  ; I am  to  be  intrusted  again 
with  opportunities  of  usefulness  which 
I have  often  neglected.  I am  to  in- 
fluence the  minds  of  others,  to  help  in 
moulding  their  characters,  and  in  de- 
ciding the  happiness  of  their  present 
and  future  life.  How  uncertain  is  this 
day  ! What  unseen  dangers  are  before 
me  ! What  unexpected  changes  may 
await  me  ! It  may  be  my  last  day  ! It 
will  certainly  bring  me  nearer  to  death 
and  judgment  ! Now,  when  entering  on 
a period  of  life  so  important,  yet  so  un- 
certain, how  fit  and  natural  is  it,  before 
we  take  the  first  step,  to  seek  the  favor 
of  that  Being  on  whom  the  lot  of  every 
day  depends,  to  commit  all  our  interests 
to  his  almighty  and  wise  providence,  to 
seek  his  blessing  on  our  labors  and  his 
succor  in  temptation,  and  to  consecrate 
to  his  service  the  day  which  he  raises 
upon  us  ! This  morning  devotion  not 
only  agrees  with  the  sentiments  of  the 
heart,  but  tends  to  make  the  day  happy, 
useful,  and  virtuous.  Having  cast  our- 
selves on  the  mercy  and  protection  of 
the  Almighty,  we  shall  go  forth  with 
new  confidence  to  the  labors  and  duties 
which  he  imposes.  Our  early  prayer 
will  help  to  shed  an  odor  of  piety  through 
the  whole  life.  God,  having  first  occu- 
pied, will  more  easily  recur  to  our  mind. 
Our  first  step  will  be  in  the  right  path, 
and  we  may  hope  a happy  issue. 

So  fit  and  useful  is  morning  devotion, 


DAILY  PRAYER. . 


495 


it  ought  not  to  be  omitted  without  neces- 
sity. If  our  circumstances  will  allow 
the  privilege,  it  is  a bad  sign  when  no 
part  of  the  morning  is  spent  in  prayer. 
If  God  find  no  place  in  our  minds  at 
that  early  and  peaceful  hour,  He  will 
hardly  recur  to  us  in  the  tumults  of  life. 
If  the  benefits  of  the  morning  do  not 
soften  us,  we  can  hardly  expect  the 
heart  to  melt  with  gratitude  through  the 
day.  If  the  world  then  rush  in  and  take 
possession  of  us,  when  we  are  at  some 
distance  and  have  had  a respite  from  its 
cares,  how  can  we  hope  to  shake  it  off 
when  we  shall  be  in  the  midst  of  it, 
pressed  and  agitated  by  it  on  every 
side  ? Let  a part  of  the  morning,  if 
possible,  be  set  apart  to  devotion  ; and 
to  this  end  we  should  fix  the  hour  of 
rising,  so  that  we  may  have  an  early 
hour  at  our  own  disposal.  Our  piety  is 
suspicious  if  we  can  renounce,  as  too 
many  do,  the  pleasures  and  benefits  of 
early  prayer,  rather  than  forego  the 
senseless  indulgence  of  unnecessary 
sleep.  What ! we  can  rise  early  enough 
for  business.  We  can  even  anticipate 
the  dawn,  if  a favorite  pleasure  or  an 
uncommon  gain  requires  the  effort.  But 
we  cannot  rise  that  we  may  bless  our 
great  Benefactor,  that  we  may  arm  our- 
selves for  the  severe  conflicts  to  which 
our  principles  are  to  be  exposed  ! We 
are  willing  to  rush  into  the  world,  with- 
out thanks  offered,  or  a blessing  sought! 
From  a day  thus  begun,  what  ought  we 
to  expect  but  thoughtlessness  and  guilt? 

Let  us  now  consider  another  part  of 
the  day  which  is  favorable  to  the  duty 
of  prayer,  — we  mean  the  evening.  This 
season,  like  the  morning,  is  calm  and 
quiet.  Our  labors  are  ended.  The 
bustle  of  life  has  gone  by.  The  dis- 
tracting glare  of  the  day  has  vanished. 
The  darkness  which  surrounds  us  favors 
seriousness,  composure,  and  solemnity. 
At  night  the  earth  fades  from  our  sight, 
and  nothing  of  creation  is  left  us  but 
the  starry  heavens,  so  vast,  so  magnifi- 
cent, so  serene,  as  if  to  guide  up  our 
thoughts  above  all  earthly  things  to 
God  and  immortality. 

This  period  should  in  part  be  given 
to  prayer,  as  it  furnishes  a variety  of 
devotional  topics  and  excitements.  The 
evening  is  the  close  of  an  important 
division  of  time,  and  is  therefore  a fit 
and  nacural  season  for  stopping  and 
looking  back  on  the  day.  And  can  we 


ever  look  back  on  a day  which  bears  no 
witness  to  God,  and  lays  no  claim  to 
our  gratitude  ? Who  is  it  that  strength- 
ens us  for  daily  labor,  gives  us  daily 
bread,  continues  our  friends  and  common 
pleasures,  and  grants  us  the  privilege 
of  retiring,  after  the  cares  of  the  day,  to 
a quiet  and  beloved  home  ? The  review 
of  the  day  will  often  suggest  not  only 
these  ordinary  benefits,  but  peculiar 
proofs  of  God’s  goodness,  unlooked-for 
successes,  singular  concurrences  of  fa- 
vorable events,  signal  blessings  sent  to 
our  friends,  or  new  and  powerful  aids 
to  our  own  virtue,  which  call  for  peculiar 
thankfulness.  And  shall  all  these  bene- 
fits pass  away  unnoticed  ? Shall  we 
retire  to  repose  as  insensible  as  the 
wearied  brute  ? How  fit  and  natural  is 
it  to  close  with  pious  acknowledgment 
the  day  which  has  been  filled  with  Di- 
vine beneficence  ! 

But  the  evening  is  the  time  to  review, 
not  only  our  blessings,  but  our  actions. 
A reflecting  mind  will  naturally  remem- 
ber at  this  hour  that  another  day  is 
gone,  and  gone  to  testify  of  us  to  our 
Judge.  How  natural  and  useful  to  in- 
quire what  report  it  has  carried  to  heaven. 
Perhaps  we  have  the  satisfaction  oflook- 
ing  back  on  a day  which,  in  its  general 
tenor,  has  been  innocent  and  pure,  which, 
having  begun  with  God’s  praise,  has  been 
spent  as  in  his  presence  ; which  has 
proved  the  reality  of  our  principles  in 
temptation  ; and  shall  such  a day  end 
without  gratefully  acknowledging  him 
in  whose  strength  we  have  been  strong, 
and  to  whom  we  owe  the  powers  and 
opportunities  of  Christian  improvement  ? 
But  no  day  will  present  to  us  recollec- 
tions of  purity  unmixed  with  sin.  Con- 
science, if  suffered  to  inspect  faithfully 
and  speak  plainly,  will  recount  irregular 
desires  and  defective  motives,  talents 
wasted  and  time  misspent ; and  shall 
we  let  the  day  pass  from  us  without 
penitently  confessing  our  offences  to 
him  who  has  witnessed  them,  and  who 
has  promised  pardon  to  true  repentance  ? 
Shall  we  retire  to  rest  with  a burden  of 
unlamented  and  unforgiven  guilt  upon  our 
consciences  ? Shall  we  leave  these  stains 
to  spread  over  and  sink  into  the  soul  ? 
A religious  recollection  of  our  lives  is 
one  of  the  chief  instruments*  of  piety. 
If  possible,  no  day  should  end  without 
it.  If  we  take  no  account  of  our  sins 
on  the  day  on  which  they  are  committed, 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


496 

can  we  hope  that  they  will  recur  to  us 
at  a more  distant  period,  that  we  shall 
watch  against  them  to-morrow,  or  that 
we  shall  gain  the  strength  to  resist  them, 
which  we  will  not  implore  ? 

One  observation  more,  and  we  have 
done.  The  evening  is  a fit  time  for 
prayer,  not  only  as  it  ends  the  day,  but 
as  it  immediately  precedes  the  period  of 
repose.  The  hours  of  activity  having 
passed,  we  are  soon  to  sink  into  insensi- 
bility and  sleep.  How  fit  that  we  resign 
ourselves  to  the  care  of  that  Being  who 


never  sleeps,  to  whom  the  darkness  is 
as  the  light,  and  whose  providence  is 
our  only  safety ! How  fit  to  entreat 
him,  that  He  would  keep  us  to  another 
day ; or,  if  our  bed  should  prove  our 
grave,  that  He  would  give  us  a part  in 
the  resurrection  of  the  just,  and  awake 
us  to  a purer  and  immortal  life.  The 
most  important  periods  of  prayer  have 
now  been  pointed  out.  Let  our  prayers, 
like  the  ancient  sacrifices,  ascend  morn- 
ing and  evening.  Let  our  days  begin 
and  end  with  God. 


REMARKS  ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND  WRITINGS  OF 

JOHN  MILTON. 


[“  A Treatise  on  Christian  Doctrine,  compiled  from  the 
Holy  Scriptures  alone.”  By  John  Milton.  Trans- 
lated from  the  original  by  Charles  R.  Sumner, 
M.A.,  Librarian  and  Historiographer  to  His  Maj- 
esty, and  Prebendary  of  Canterbury.  From  the 
London  Edition.  Boston,  1825.  2 vols.  8vo] 

The  discovery  of  a work  of  Milton, 
unknown  to  his  own  times,  is  an  impor- 
tant event  in  literary  history.  The  con- 
sideration that  we  of  this  age  are  the 
first  readers  of  this  Treatise  naturally 
heightens  our  interest  in  it ; for  we  seem 
in  this  way  to  be  brought  nearer  to  the 
author,  and  to  sustain  the  same  relation 
which  his  contemporaries  bore  to  his 
writings.  The  work  opens  with  a salu- 
tation, which,  from  any  other  man,  might 
be  chargeable  with  inflation  ; but  which 
we  feel  to  be  the  natural  and  appropriate 
expression  of  the  spirit  of  Milton.  En- 
dowed with  gifts  of  the  soul  which  have 
been  imparted  to  few  of  our  race,  and 
conscious  of  having  consecrated  them 
through  life  to  God  and  mankind,  he  rose 
without  effort  or  affectation  to  the  style 
of  an  Apostle:  — “John  Milton,  to 
all  the  Churches  of  Christ,  and 

TO  ALL  WHO  PROFESS  THE  CHRIS- 
TIAN Faith  throughout  the  world, 
PEACE,  AND  THE  RECOGNITION  OF  THE 
TRUTH,  AND  ETERNAL  SALVATION  IN 

God  the  Father,  and  in  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.”  Our  ears  are  the  first 
to  hear  this  benediction,  and  it  seems 
not  so  much  to  be  borne  to  us  from  a 
distant  age,  as  to  come  immediately 
from  the  sainted  spirit  by  which  it  was 
indited. 


Without  meaning  to  disparage  the 
“ Treatise  on  Christian  Doctrine,”  we 
may  say  that  it  owes  very  much  of  the 
attention  which  it  has  excited  to  the  fame 
of  its  author.  We  value  it  chiefly  as 
showing  us  the  mind  of  Milton  on  that 
subject  which,  above  all  others,  presses 
upon  men  of  thought  and  sensibility. 
We  want  to  know  in  what  conclusions 
such  a man  rested  after  a life  of  exten- 
sive and  profound  research,  of  magnani- 
mous efforts  for  freedom  and  his  country, 
and  of  communion  with  the  most  gifted 
minds  of  his  own  and  former  times.  The 
book  derives  its  chief  interest  from  its 
author,  and  accordingly  there  seems  to 
be  a propriety  in  introducing  our  re- 
marks upon  it  with  some  notice  of  the 
character  of  Milton.  We  are  not  sure 
that  we  could  have  abstained  from  this 
subject,  even  if  we  had  not  been  able  to 
offer  so  good  an  apology  for  attempting 
it.  The  intellectual  and  moral  qualities 
of  a great  man  are  attractions  not  easily 
withstood ; and  we  can  hardly  serve 
others  or  ourselves  more  than  by  re- 
calling to  him  the  attention  which  is 
scattered  among  inferior  topics. 

In  speaking  of  the  intellectual  quali- 
ties of  Milton,  we  may  begin  with  observ- 
ing that  the  very  splendor  of  hjs  poetic 
fame  has  tended  to  obscure  or  conceal 
the  extent  of  his  mind,  afid  the  variety 
of  its  energies  and  attainments.  To 
many  he  seems  only  a poet,  When  in 
truth  he  was  a profound  scholar,  a man 
of  vast  compass  of  thought,  imbued 


WRITINGS  OF  MILTON 


497 


thoroughly  with  all  ancient  and  modern 
learning,  and  able  to  master,  to  mould, 
to  impregnate  with  his  own  intellectual 
power,  his  great  and  various  acquisitions. 
He  had  not  learned  the  superficial  doc- 
trine of  a later  day,  that  poetry  flourishes 
most  in  an  uncultivated  soil,  and  that 
imagination  shapes  its  brightest  visions 
from  the  mists  of  a superstitious  age  ; 
and  he  had  no  dread  of  accumulating 
knowledge,  lest  it  should  oppress  and 
smother  his  genius.  He  was  conscious 
of  that  within  him  which  could  quicken 
all  knowledge,  and  wield  it  with  ease  and 
might ; which  could  give  freshness  to 
old  truths  and  harmony  to  discordant 
thoughts  ; which  could  bind  together,  by 
living  ties  and  mysterious  affinities,  the 
most  remote  discoveries,  and  rear  fabrics 
of  glory  and  beauty  from  the  rude  mate- 
rials which  other  minds  had  collected. 
Milton  had  that  universality  which  marks 
the  highest  order  of  intellect.  Though 
accustomed  almost  from  infancy  to  drink 
at  the  fountains  of  classical  literature, 
he  had  nothing  of  the  pedantry  and 
fastidiousness  which  disdain  all  other 
draughts.  His  healthy  mind  delighted 
in  genius,  on  whatever  soil  or  in  what- 
ever age  it  burst  forth  and  poured  out 
its  fulness.  He  understood  too  well  the 
rights  and  dignity  and  pride  of  creative 
imagination  to  lay  on  it  the  laws  of 
the  Greek  or  Roman  school.  Parnassus 
was  not  to  him  the  only  holy  ground  of 
genius.  He  felt  that  poetry  was  as  a 
universal  presence.  Great  minds  were 
everywhere  his  kindred.  He  felt  the 
enchantment  of  oriental  fiction,  surren- 
dered himself  to  the  strange  creations  of 
“ Araby  the  Blest,”  and  delighted  still 
more  in  the  romantic  spirit  of  chivalry, 
and  in  the  tales  of  wonder  in  which  it 
was  embodied.  Accordingly  his  poetry 
reminds  us  of  the  ocean,  which  adds 
to  its  own  boundlessness  contributions 
from  all  regions  under  heaven.  Nor  was 
it  only  in  the  department  of  imagina- 
tion that  his  acquisitions  were  vast.  He 
travelled  over  the  whole  field  of  knowl- 
edge, as  far  as  it  had  then  been  ex- 
plored. His  various  philological  attain- 
ments were  used  to  put  him  in  possession 
of  the  wisdom  stored  in  all  countries 
where  the  intellect  had  been  cultivated. 
The  natural  philosophy,  metaphysics, 
ethics,  history,  theology,  and  political 
science,  of  his  own  and  former  times, 
were  familiar  to  him.  Never  was  there 


a more  unconfined  mind  ; and  we  would 
cite  Milton  as  a practical  example  of  the 
benefits  of  that  universal  culture  of  in- 
tellect which  forms  one  distinction  of 
our  times,  but  which  some  dread  as  un- 
friendly to  original  thought.  Let  such 
remember  that  mind  is  in  its  own  nature 
diffusive.  Its  object  is  the  universe, 
which  is  strictly  one,  or  bound  together 
by  infinite  connections  and  correspond- 
ences ; and  accordingly  its  natural  prog- 
ress is  from  one  to  another  field  of 
thought ; and  wherever  original  power, 
creative  genius,  exists,  the  mind,  far 
from  being  distracted  or  oppressed  by 
the  variety  of  its  acquisitions,  will  see 
more  and  more  common  bearings  and 
hidden  and  beautiful  analogies  in  all  the 
objects  of  knowledge,  will  see  mutual 
light  shed  from  truth  to  truth,  and  will 
compel,  as  with  a kingly  power,  what- 
ever it  understands  to  yield  some  trib- 
ute of  proof,  or  illustration,  or  splendor, 
to  whatever  topic  it  would  unfold. 

Milton’s  fame  rests  chiefly  on  his 
poetry,  and  to  this  we  naturally  give 
our  first  attention.  By  those  who  are 
accustomed  to  speak  of  poetry  as  light 
reading,  Milton’s  eminence  in  this 
sphere  may  be  considered  only  as  giv- 
ing him  a high  rank  among  the  con- 
tributors to  public  amusement.  Not  so 
thought  Milton.  Of  all  God’s  gifts  of 
intellect,  he  esteemed  poetical  genius 
the  most  transcendent.  He  esteemed  it 
in  himself  as  a kind  of  inspiration,  and 
wrote  his  great  works  with  something 
of  the  conscious  dignity  of  a prophet. 
We  agree  with  Milton  in  his  estimate 
of  poetry.  It  seems  to  us  the  divinest 
of  all  arts  ; for  it  is  the  breathing  or 
expression  of  that  principle  or  sentiment 
which  is  deepest  and  sublimest  in  hu- 
man nature,  — we  mean,  of  that  thirst 
or  aspiration  to  which  no  mind  is  wholly 
a stranger,  for  something  purer  and 
lovelier,  something  more  powerful,  lofty, 
and  thrilling,  than  ordinary  and  real  life 
affords.  No  doctrine  is  more  common 
among  Christians  than  that  of  man’s 
immortality  ; but  it  is  not  so  generally 
understood  that  the  germs  or  princi- 
ples of  his  whole  future  being  are  now 
wrapped  up  in  his  soul,  as  the  rudi- 
ments of  the  future  plant  in  the  seed. 
As  a necessary  result  of  this  constitu- 
tion, the  soul,  possessed  and  moved  by 
these  mighty  though  infant  energies,  is 
perpetually  stretching  beyond  what  is 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


498 

present  and  visible,  struggling  against 
the  bounds  of  its  earthly  prison-house, 
and  seeking  relief  and  joy  in  imaginings 
of  unseen  and  ideal  being.  This  view 
of  our  nature,  which  has  never  been 
fully  developed,  and  which  goes  farther 
towards  explaining  the  contradictions  of 
human  life  than  all  others,  carries  us 
to  the  very  foundation  and  sources  of 
poetry.  He  who  cannot  interpret  by 
his  own  consciousness  what  we  now 
have  said,  wants  the  true  key  to  works 
of  genius.  He  has  not  penetrated  those 
secret  recesses  of  the  soul  where  poetry 
is  born  and  nourished,  and  inhales  im- 
mortal vigor,  and  wings  herself  for  her 
heavenward  flight.  In  an  intellectual 
nature,  framed  for  progress  and  for 
higher  modes  of  being,  there  must  be 
creative  energies,  powers  of  original 
and  ever-growing  thought ; and  poetry 
is  the  form  in  which  these  energies  are 
chiefly  manifested.  It  is  the  glorious 
prerogative  of  this  art,  that  it  “ makes 
all  things  new  ” for  the  gratification  of  a 
divine  instinct.  It  indeed  finds  its  ele- 
ments in  what  it  actually  sees  and  expe- 
riences, in  the  worlds  of  matter  and 
mind  ; but  it  combines  and  blends  these 
into  new  forms  and  according  to  new 
affinities  ; breaks  down,  if  we  may  so 
say,  the  distinctions  and  bounds  of  nat- 
ure ; imparts  to  material  objects  life, 
and  sentiment,  and  emotion,  and  invests 
the  mind  with  the  powers  and  splendors 
of  the  outward  creation  ; describes  the 
surrounding  universe  in  the  colors  which 
the  passions  throw  over  it,  and  depicts 
the  soul  in  those  modes  of  repose  or 
agitation,  of  tenderness  or  sublime  emo- 
tion, which  manifest  its  thirst  for  a 
more  powerful  and  joyful  existence. 
To  a man  of  a literal  and  prosaic  char- 
acter, the  mind  may  seem  lawless  in 
these  workings  ; but  it  observes  higher 
laws  than  it  transgresses,  — the  laws  of 
the  immortal  intellect ; it  is  trying  and 
developing  its  best  faculties  ; and  in  the 
objects  which  it  describes,  or  in  the 
emotions  which  it  awakens,  anticipates 
those  states  of  progressive  power,  splen- 
dor, beauty,  and  happiness,  for  which  it 
was  created. 

We  accordingly  believe  that  poetry, 
far  from  injuring  society,  is  one  of  the 
great  instruments  of  its  refinement  and 
exaltation.  It  lifts  the  mind  above 
ordinary  life,  gives  it  a respite  from 
depressing  cares,  and  awakens  the  con- 


sciousness of  its  affinity  with  what  is 
pure  and  noble.  In  its  legitimate  and 
highest  efforts,  it  has  the  same  tendency 
and  aim  with  Christianity ; that  is,  to 
spiritualize  our  nature.  True,  poetry 
has  been  made  the  instrument  of  vice, 
the  pander  of  bad  passions  ; but,  when 
genius  thus  stoops,  it  dims  its  fires,  and 
parts  with  much  of  its  power  ; and,  even 
when  poetry  is  enslaved  to  licentiousness 
or  misanthropy,  she  cannot  wholly  for- 
get her  true  vocation.  Strains  of  pure 
feeling,  touches  of  tenderness,  images 
of  innocent  happiness,  sympathies  with 
suffering  virtue,  bursts  of  scorn  or  in- 
dignation at  the  hollowness  of  the  world, 
passages  true  to  our  moral  nature,  often 
escape  in  an  immoral  work,  and  show 
us  how  hard  it  is  for  a gifted  spirit  to 
divorce  itself  wholly  frorp  what  is  good. 
Poetry  has  a natural  alliance  with  our 
best  affections.  It  delights  in  the 
beauty  and  sublimity  of  the  outward 
creation  and  of  the  soul.  It  indeed  por- 
trays, with  terrible  energy,  the  excesses 
of  the  passions  ; but  they  are  passions 
which  show  a mighty  nature,  which  are 
full  of  power,  which  command  awe,  and 
excite  a deep  though  shuddering  sym- 
pathy. Its  great  tendency  and  purpose 
is,  to  carry  the  mind  beyond  and  above 
the  beaten,  dusty,  weary  walks  of  ordi- 
nary life  ; to  lift  it  into  a purer  element ; 
and  to  breathe  into  it  more  profound 
and  generous  emotion.  It  reveals  to  us 
the  loveliness  of  nature,  brings  back  the 
freshness  of  early  feeling,  revives  the 
relish  of  simple  pleasures,  keeps  un- 
quenched the  enthusiasm  which  warmed 
the  spring-time  of  our  being,  refines 
youthful  love,  strengthens  our  interest 
in  human  nature  by  vivid  delineations 
of  its  tenderest  and  loftiest  feelings, 
spreads  our  sympathies  over  all  classes 
of  society,  knits  us  by  new  ties  with 
universal  being,  and,  through  the  bright- 
ness of  its  prophetic  visions,  helps  faith 
to  lay  hold  on  the  future  life. 

We  are  aware  that  it  is  objected  to 
poetry  that  it  gives  wrong  views  and 
excites  false  expectations  of  life,  peo- 
ples the  mind  with  shadows  and  illu- 
sions, and  builds  up  imagination  on  the 
ruins  of  wisdom.  That  there  is  a wis- 
dom against  which  poetry  wars  — the 
wisdom  of  the  senses,  which  makes 
physical  comfort  and  gratification  the 
supreme  good,  and  wealth  the  chief  in- 
terest of  life  — we  do  not  deny  ; nor  do 


WAITINGS  OF  MILTON 


499 


we  deem  it  the  least  service  which 
poetry  renders  to  mankind  that  it  re- 
deems them  from  the  thraldom  of  this 
earthborn  prudence.  But,  passing  over 
this  topic,  we  would  observe  that  the 
complaint  against  poetry,  as  abounding 
in  illusion  and  deception,  is  in  the  main 
groundless.  In  many  poems  there  is 
more  truth  than  in  many  histories  and 
philosophic  theories.  The  fictions  of 
genius  are  often  the  vehicles  of  the  sub- 
limest  verities,  and  its  flashes  often  open 
new  regions  of  thought,  and  throw  new 
light  on  the  mysteries  of  our  being.  In 
poetry,  when  the  letter  is  falsehood,  the 

(spirit  is  often  profoundest  wisdom.  And 
if  truth  thus  dwells  in  the  boldest  fic- 
tions of  the  poet,  much  more  may  it  be 
expected  in  his  delineations  of  life  ; for 
the  present  life,  which  is  the  first  stage 
of  the  immortal  mind,  abounds  in  the 
materials  of  poetry,  and  it  is  the  high 
office  of  the  bard  to  detect  this  divine 
element  among  the  grosser  labors  and 
pleasures  of  our  earthly  being.  The 
present  life  is  not  wholly  prosaic,  pre- 
cise, tame,  and  finite.  To  the  gifted 
eye  it  abounds  in  the  poetic.  The 
affections,  which  spread  beyond  our- 
selves and  stretch  far  into  futurity  ; the 
workings  of  mighty  passions,  which 
seem  to  arm  the  soul  with  an  almost 
superhuman  energy ; the  innocent  and 
irrepressible  joy  of  infancy  ; the  bloom, 
and  buoyancy,  and  dazzling  hopes  of 
youth ; the  throbbings  of  the  heart, 
when  it  first  wakes  to  love,  and  dreams 
of  a happiness  too  vast  for  earth ; 
woman,  with  her  beauty,  and  grace,  and 
gentleness,  and  fulness  of  feeling,  and 
depth  of  affection,  and  blushes  of  pu- 
rity, and  the  tones  and  looks  which  only 
a mother’s  heart  can  inspire  ; — these 
are  all  poetical.  It  is  not  true  that  the 
poet  paints  a life  which  does  not  exist. 
He  only  extracts  and  concentrates,  as  it 
were,  life’s  ethereal  essence,  arrests  and 
condenses  its  volatile  fragrance,  brings 
together  its  scattered  beauties,  and  pro- 
longs its  more  refined  but  evanescent 
joys.  And  in  this  he  does  well ; for  it 
is  good  to  feel  that  life  is  not  wholly 
usurped  by  cares  for  subsistence  and 
physical  gratifications,  but  admits,  in 
measures  which  may  be  indefinitely  en- 
larged, sentiments  and  delights  worthy 
of  a higher  being.  This  power  of  poetry 
to  refine  our  views  of  life  and  happiness, 
is  more  and  more  needed  as  society 


advances.  It  is  needed  to  withstand 
the  encroachments  of  heartless  and  arti- 
ficial manners,  which  make  civilization 
so  tame  and  uninteresting.  It  is  needed 
to  counteract  the  tendency  of  physical 
science,  which,  being  now  sought,  not, 
as  formerly,  for  intellectual  gratification, 
but  for  multiplying  bodily  comforts,  re- 
quires a new  development  of  imagina- 
tion, taste,  and  poetry,  to  preserve  men 
from  sinking  into  an  earthly,  material, 
Epicurean  life.  Our  remarks  in  vindi- 
cation of  poetry  have  extended  beyond 
our  original  design.  They  have  had  a 
higher  aim  than  to  assert  the  dignity  of 
Milton  as  a poet,  and  that  is,  to  endear 
and  recommend  this  divine  art  to  all 
who  reverence  and  would  cultivate  and 
refine  their  nature. 

In  delineating  Milton’s  character  as  a 
poet , we  are  saved  the  necessity  of  look- 
ing far  for  its  distinguishing  attributes. 
His  name  is  almost  identified  with  sub- 
limity. He  is  in  truth  the  sublimest  of 
men.  He  rises,  not  by  effort  or  disci- 
pline, but  by  a native  tendency  and  a 
godlike  instinct,  to  the  contemplation  of 
objects  of  grandeur  and  awfulness.  He 
always  moves  with  a conscious  energy. 
There  is  no  subject  so  vast  or  terrific  as 
to  repel  or  intimidate  him.  The  over- 
powering grandeur  of  a theme  kindles 
and  attracts  him.  He  enters  on  the 
description  of  the  infernal  regions  with 
a fearless  tread,  as  if  he  felt  within  him- 
self a power  to  erect  the  prison-house 
of  fallen  spirits,  to  encircle  them  with 
flames  and  horrors  worthy  of  their 
crimes,  to  call  forth  from  them  shouts 
which  should  “ tear  hell’s  concave,”  and 
to  embody  in  their  chief  an  archangel’s 
energies  and  a demon’s  pride  and  hate. 
Even  the  stupendous  conception  of 
Satan  seems  never  to  oppress  his  facul- 
ties. This  character  of  power  runs 
through  all  Milton’s  works.  His  de- 
scriptions of  nature  show  a free  and 
bold  hand.  He  has  no  need  of  the 
minute,  graphic  skill  which  we  prize  in 
Cowper  or  Crabbe.  With  a few  strong 
or  delicate  touches,  he  impresses,  as  it 
were,  his  own  mind  on  the  scenes  which 
he  would  describe,  and  kindles  the  im- 
agination of  the  gifted  reader  to  clothe 
them  with  the  same  radiant  hues  under 
which  they  appeared  to  his  own. 

This  attribute  of  power  is  universally 
felt  to  characterize  Milton.  His  sub- 
limity is  in  every  man’s  mouth.  Is  it 


S°o 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


felt  that  his  poetry  breathes  a sensibility 
and  tenderness  hardly  surpassed  by  its 
sublimity  ? We  apprehend  that  the 
grandeur  of  Milton’s  mind  has  thrown 
some  shade  over  his  milder  beauties  ; 
and  this  it  has  done,  not  only  by  being 
more  striking  and  imposing,  but  by  the 
tendency  of  vast  mental  energy  to  give 
a certain  calmness  to  the  expression  of 
tenderness  and  deep  feeling.  A great 
mind  is  the  master  of  its  own  enthu- 
siasm, and  does  not  often  break  out 
into  those  tumults  which  pass  with 
many  for  the  signs  of  profound  emotion. 
Its  sensibility,  though  more  intense  and 
enduring,  is  more  self-possessed  and 
less  perturbed  than  that  of  other  men, 
and  is  therefore  less  observed  and  felt, 
except  by  those  who  understand,  through 
their  own  consciousness,  the  workings 
and  utterance  of  genuine  feeling.  We 
might  quote  pages  in  illustration  of  the 
qualities  here  ascribed  to  Milton.  Turn 
to  “ Comus,”  one  of  his  earliest  pro- 
ductions. What  sensibility  breathes  in 
the  descriptions  of  the  benighted  Lady’s 
singing,  by  Comus  and  the  Spirit ! 

u Comus.  — Can  any  mortal  mixture  of  earth’s 
mould 

Breathe  such  divine  enchanting  ravishment  ? 

Sure  something  holy  lodges  in  that  breast, 

And  with  these  raptures  moves  the  vocal  air 
To  testify  his  hidden  residence  : 

How  sweetly  did  they  float  upon  the  wings 
Of  silence,  through  the  empty-vaulted  night, 

• At  every  fall  smoothing  the  raven  down 
Of  darkness  till  it  smiled  ! I have  oft  heard 
My  mother  Circe  with  the  Sirens  three, 

Amidst  the  flowery -kirtled  Naiades, 

Culling  their  potent  herbs,  and  baleful  drugs, 
Who,  as  they  sung,  would  take  the  prison’d  soul 
And  lap  it  in  Elysium  ; Scylla  wept, 

And  chid  her  barking  waves  into  attention, 

And  fell  Charybdis  murmur’d  soft  applause : 

Yet  they  in  pleasing  slumber  lull’d  the  sense, 

And  in  sweet  madness  robb’d  it  of  itself ; 

But  such  a sacred  and  home-felt  delight, 

Such  sober  certainty  of  waking  bliss, 

I never  heard  till  now.”  Lines  244-264. 

“ Spirit.  — At  last  a soft  and  solemn -breathing 
sound 

Rose  like  a steam  of  rich  distill’d  perfumes, 

And  stole  upon  the  air,  that  even  Silence 
Was  took  ere  she  was  ’ware,  and  wish’d  she  might 
Deny  her  nature,  and  be  never  more, 

Still  to  be  so  displaced.  I was  all  ear, 

And  took  in  strains  that  might  create  a soul 
Under  the  ribs  of  death.”  Lines  555-563. 

In  illustration  of  Milton’s  tenderness, 
we  will  open  almost  at  a venture. 

u Now  Mom,  her  rosy  steps  in  th’  eastern  clime 
Advancing,  sow’d  the  earth  with  orient  pearl, 


When  Adam  waked,  so  custom’d,  for  his  sleep 
Was  aery-light,  from  pure  digestion  bred, 

And  temperate  vapors  bland,  which  th’  only  sound 
Of  leaves  and  fuming  rills,  Aurora’s  fan, 

Lightly  dispersed,  and  the  shrill  matin  song 
Of  birds  on  every  bough  ; so  much  the  more 
His  wonder  was  to  find  unwaken’d  Eve 
With  tresses  discomposed,  and  glowing  cheek, 

As  through  unquiet  rest : He,  on  his  side 
Leaning  half-raised,  with  looks  of  cordial  love 
Hung  over  her  enamour’d,  and  beheld 
Beauty,  which,  whether  waking  or  asleep, 

Shot  forth  peculiar  graces  ; then  with  voice 
Mild,  as  when  Zephyrus  on  Flora  breathes, 

Her  hand  soft  touching,  whisper’d  thus  : Awake, 
My  fairest,  my  espoused,  my  latest  found, 
Heaven’s  last  best  gift,  my  ever  new  delight, 
Awake  ! the  morning  shines,  and  the  fresh  field 
Calls  us  ; we  lose  the  prime,  to  mark  how  spring 
Our  tender  plants,  how  blows  the  citron  grove, 
What  drops  the  myrrh,  and  what  the  balmy  reed, 
How  nature  paints  her  colors,  how  the  bee 
Sits  on  the  bloom  extracting  liquid  sweet.” 

Par.  Lost , B.  V.  lines  1-25. 

“So  cheer’d  he  his  fair  spouse,  and  she  was 
cheer’d ; 

But  silently  a gentle  tear  let  fall 

From  either  eye,  and  wiped  them  with  her  hair ; 

Two  other  precious  drops  that  ready  stood, 

Each  in  their  crystal  sluice,  he  ere  they  fell 
Kiss’d,  as  the  gracious  signs  of  sweet  remorse, 
And  pious  awe  that  fear’d  to  have  offended.” 

Par.  Lost , B.  V.  lines  129-135. 

From  this  very  imperfect  view  of  the 
qualities  of  Milton’s  poetry,  we  hasten 
to  his  great  work,  “ Paradise  Lost,” 
perhaps  the  noblest  monument  of  human 
genius.  The  two  first  books,  by  uni- 
versal consent,  stand  pre-eminent  in 
sublimity.  Hell  and  hell’s  king  have  a 
terrible  harmony,  and  dilate  into  new 
grandeur  and  awfulness  the  longer  we 
contemplate  them.  From  one  element, 
“solid  and  liquid  fire,”  the  poet  has 
framed  a world  of  horror  and  suffering, 
such  as  imagination  had  never  traversed. 
But  fiercer  flames  than  those  which  en- 
compass Satan  burn  in  his  own  soul. 
Revenge,  exasperated  pride,  consuming 
wrath,  ambition,  though  fallen,  yet  un- 
conquered by  the  thunders  of  the  Omnip- 
otent, and  grasping  still  at  the  empire 
of  the  universe,  — these  form  a picture 
more  sublime  and  terrible  than  hell. 
Hell  yields  to  the  spirit  which  it  im- 
prisons. The  intensity  of  its  fires  re- 
veals the  intenser  passions  and  more 
vehement  will  of  Satan : and  the  ruined 
archangel  gathers  into  himself  the  sub- 
limity of  the  scene  which  surrounds 
him.  This  forms  the  tremendous  inter- 
est of  these  wonderful  books.  We  see 
mind  triumphant  over  the  most  terrible 
powers  of  nature.  We  see  unutterable 


WRITINGS  OF  MILTON 


SOI 


agony  subdued  by  energy  of  soul.  We 
have  not,  indeed,  in  Satan  those  bursts 
of  passion  which  rive  the  soul,  as  well 
as  shatter  the  outward  frame,  of  Lear. 
But  we  have  a depth  of  passion  which 
only  an  archangel  could  manifest.  The 
all-enduring,  all-defying  pride  of  Satan, 
assuming  so  majestically  hell’s  burning 
throne,  and  coveting  the  diadem  which 
scorches  his  thunder-blasted  brow,  is  a 
creation  requiring  in  its  author  almost 
the  spiritual  energy  with  which  he  in- 
vests the  fallen  seraph.  Some  have 
doubted  whether  the  moral  effect  of 
such  delineations  of  the  storms  and 
terrible  workings  of  the  soul  is  good ; 
whether  the  interest  felt  in  a spirit  so 
transcendently  evil  as  Satan  favors  our 
sympathies  with  virtue.  But  our  inter- 
est fastens,  in  this  and  like  cases,  on 
what  is  not  evil.  We  gaze  on  Satan 
with  an  awe  not  unmixed  with  mysteri- 
ous pleasure,  as  on  a miraculous  mani- 
festation of  th z power  of  mind.  What 
chains  us,  as  with  a resistless  spell,  in 
such  a character,  is  spiritual  might  made 
visible  by  the  racking  pains  which  it 
overpowers.  There  is  something  kind- 
ling and  ennobling  in  the  consciousness, 
however  awakened,  of  the  energy  which 
resides  in  mind ; and  many  a virtuous 
man  has  borrowed  new  strength  from 
the  force,  constancy,  and  dauntless  cour- 
age of  evil  agents. 

Milton’s  description  of  Satan  attests 
in  various  ways  the  power  of  his  genius. 
Critics  have  often  observed,  that  the 
great  difficulty  of  his  work  was  to  recon- 
cile the  spiritual  properties  of  his  super- 
natural beings  with  the  human  modes  of 
existence  which  he  is  obliged  to  ascribe 
to  them.  The  difficulty  is  too  great  for 
any  genius  wholly  to  overcome,  and  we 
must  acknowledge  that  our  enthusiasm 
is  in  some  par|s  of  the  poem  checked 
by  a feeling  of  incongruity  between  the 
spiritual  agent  and  his  sphere  and  mode 
of  agency.  But  we  are  visited  with  no 
such  chilling  doubts  and  misgivings  in 
the  description  of  Satan  in  hell.  Im- 
agination has  here  achieved  its  highest 
triumph,  in  imparting  a character  of 
reality  and  truth  to  its  most  daring  cre- 
ations. That  world  of  horrors,  though 
material,  is  yet  so  remote  from  our  or- 
dinary nature,  that  a spiritual  being, 
exiled  from  heaven,  finds  there  an  ap- 
propriate home.  There  is,  too,  an  in- 
definiteness in  the  description  of  Satan’s 


person,  which  excites  without  shocking 
the  imagination,  and  aids  us  to  reconcile, 
in  our  conception  of  him,  a human  form 
with  his  superhuman  attributes.  To 
the  production  of  this  effect,  much  de- 
pends on  the  first  impression  given  by 
the  poet ; for  this  is  apt  to  follow  us 
through  the  whole  work ; and  here  we 
think  Milton  eminently  successful.  The 
first  glimpse  of  Satan  is  given  us  in  the 
following  lines,  which,  whilst  too  indefi- 
nite to  provoke,  and  too  sublime  to  al- 
low, the  scrutiny  of  the  reason,  fill  the 
imagination  of  the  reader  with  a form 
which  can  hardly  be  effaced  : — 

“ Thus  Satan,  talking  to  his  nearest  mate 
With  head  uplift  above  the  wave,  and  eyes 
That  sparkling  blazed ; his  other  parts  besides 
Prone  on  the  flood,  extended  long  and  large, 

Lay  floating  many  a rood.  ’ ’ 

Par . Lost,  B.  /.  lines  192-196. 

‘ 1 F orthwith  upright  he  rears  from  off  the  pool 
His  mighty  stature ; on  each  hand  the  flames, 
Driven  backward,  slope  their  pointing  spires,  and, 

roll’d 

In  billows,  leave  i’  the  midst  a horrid  vale.” 

Lines  221-224. 

We  have  more  which  we  would  gladly 
say  of  the  delineation  of  Satan,  espe- 
cially of  the  glimpses  which  are  now 
and  then  given  of  his  deep  anguish  and 
despair,  and  of  the  touches  of  better 
feelings  which  are  skilfully  thrown  into 
the  dark  picture,  both  suited  and  de- 
signed to  blend,  with  our  admiration, 
dread,  and  abhorrence,  a measure  of 
that  sympathy  and  interest  with  which 
every  living,  thinking  being  ought  to  be 
regarded,  and  without  which  all  other 
feelings  tend  to  sin  and  pain.  But 
there  is  another  topic  which  we  cannot 
leave  untouched.  From  hell  we  flee  to 
Paradise,  a region  as  lovely  as  hell  is 
terrible,  and  which,  to  those  who  do  not 
know  the  universality  of  true  genius,  will 
appear  doubly  wonderful,  when  consid- 
ered as  the  creation  of  the  same  mind 
which  had  painted  the  infernal  world. 

Paradise  and  its  inhabitants  are  in 
sweet  accordance,  and  together  form  a 
scene  of  tranquil  bliss,  which  calms  and 
soothes,  whilst  it  delights,  the  imagi- 
nation. Adam  and  Eve,  just  moulded 
by  the  hand  and  quickened  by  the 
breath  of  God,  reflect  in  their  counte- 
nances and  forms,  as  well  as  minds,  the 
intelligence,  benignity,  and  happiness  of 
their  Author.  Their  new  existence  has 
the  freshness  and  peacefulness  of  the 
dewy  morning.  Their  souls,  unsated 


502 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


and  untainted,  find  an  innocent  joy  in 
the  youthful  creation,  which  spreads  and 
smiles  around  them.  Their  mutual  love 
is  deep,  for  it  is  the  love  of  young,  un- 
worn, unexhausted  hearts,  which  meet 
in  each  other  the  only  human  objects 
on  whom  to  pour  forth  their  fulness  of 
affection  ; and  still  it  is  serene,  for  it  is 
the  love  of  happy  beings,  who  know  not 
suffering  even  by  name,  whose  inno- 
cence excludes  not  only  the  tumults  but 
the  thought  of  jealousy  and  shame,  who, 
“ imparadised  in  one  another’s  arms,” 
scarce  dream  of  futurity,  so  blessed  is 
their  present  being.  We  will  not  say 
that  we  envy  our  first  parents  ; for  we 
feel  that  there  may  be  higher  happiness 
than  theirs,  — a happiness  won  through 
struggle  with  inward  and  outward  foes, 
— the  happiness  of  power  and  moral  vic- 
tory, — the  happiness  of  disinterested 
sacrifices  and  wide-spread  love,  — the 
happiness  of  boundless  hope,  and  of 
“ thoughts  which  wander  through  eter- 
nity.” Still  there  are  times  when  the 
spirit,  oppressed  with  pain,  worn  with 
toil,  tired  of  tumult,  sick  at  the  sight  of 
guilt,  wounded  in  its  love,  baffled  in  its 
hope,  and  trembling  in  its  faith,  almost 
longs  for  the  “ wings  of  a dove,  that  it 
might  fly  away  ” and  take  refuge  amidst 
the  “ shady  bowers,”  the  “ vernal  airs,” 
the  “ roses  without  thorns,”  the  quiet,  the 
beauty,  the  loveliness  of  Eden.  It  is  the 
contrast  of  this  deep  peace  of  Paradise 
with  the  storms  of  life  which  gives  to 
the  fourth  and  fifth  books  of  this  poem 
a charm  so  irresistible,  that  not  a few 
would  sooner  relinquish  the  two  first 
books,  with  all  their  sublimity,  than 
part  with  these.  It  has  sometimes  been 
said  that  the  English  language  has  no 
good  pastoral  poetry.  We  would  ask, 
in  what  age  or  country  has  the  pastoral 
reed  breathed  such  sweet  strains  as  are 
borne  to  us  on  “ the  odoriferous  wings 
of  gentle  gales  ” from  Milton’s  Paradise  ? 

We  should  not  fulfil  our  duty  were  we 
not  to  say  one  word  on  what  has  been 
justly  celebrated,  the  harmony  of  Mil- 
ton’s versification.  His  numbers  have 
the  prime  charm  of  expressiveness. 
They  vary  with,  and  answer  to,  the 
depth,  or  tenderness,  or  sublimity  of 
his  conceptions,  and  hold  intimate  alli- 
ance with  the  soul.  Like  Michael  An- 
gelo, in  whose  hands  the  marble  was 
said  to  be  flexible,  he  bends  our  lan- 
guage, which  foreigners  reproach  with 


hardness,  into  whatever  forms  the  sub- 
ject demands.  All  the  treasures  of 
sweet  and  solemn  sound  are  at  his  com- 
mand. Words,  harsh  and  discordant  in 
the  writings  of  less  gifted  men,  flow 
through  his  poetry  in  a full  stream  of 
harmony.  This  power  over  language  is 
not  to  be  ascribed  to  Milton’s  musical 
ear.  It  belongs  to  the  soul.  It  is  a 
gift  or  exercise  of  genius,  which  has 
pow’er  to  impress  itself  on  whatever  it 
touches,  and  finds  or  frames,  in  sounds, 
motions, and  material  forms,  correspond- 
ences and  harmonies  with  its  own  fer- 
vid thoughts  and  feelings. 

We  close  our  remarks  on  Milton’s 
poetry  with  observing,  that  it  is  charac- 
terized by  seriousness.  Great  and  vari- 
ous as  are  its  merits,  it  does  not  discover 
all  the  variety  of  genius  which  we  find  in 
Shakspeare,  whose  imagination  revelled 
equally  in  regions  of  mirth,  beauty,  and 
terror,  now  evoking  spectres,  now  sport- 
ing with  fairies,  and  now  “ ascending  the 
highest  heaven  of  invention.”  Milton 
was  cast  on  times  too  solemn  and  event- 
ful, was  called  to  take  part  in  transac- 
tions too  perilous,  and  had  too  perpetual 
need  of  the  presence  of  high  thoughts 
and  motives,  to  indulge  himself  in  light 
and  gay  creations,  even  had  his  genius 
been  more  flexible  and  sportive.  But 
Milton’s  poetry,  though  habitually  seri- 
ous, is  always  healthful,  and  bright,  and 
vigorous.  It  has  no  gloom.  He  took 
no  pleasure  in  drawing  dark  pictures  of 
life  ; for  he  knew  by  experience  that 
there  is  a power  in  the  soul  to  trans- 
mute calamity  into  an  occasion  and 
nutriment  of  moral  power  and  trium- 
phant virtue.  We  find  nowhere  in  his 
writings  that  whining  sensibility  and 
exaggeration  of  morbid  feeling  which 
makes  so  much  of  modern  poetry  effem- 
inating. If  he  is  not  gay,  he  is  not 
spirit-broken.  His  “ L’ Allegro  ” proves 
that  he  understood  thoroughly  the  bright 
and  joyous  aspects  of  nature  ; and  in 
his  “ Penseroso,”  where  he  was  tempted 
to  accumulate  images  of  gloom,  we  learn 
that  the  saddest  views  which  he  took  of 
creation  are  such  as  inspire  only  pen- 
sive musing  or  lofty  contemplation. 

From  Milton’s  poetry  we  turn  to  his 
prose . We  rejoice  that  the  dust  is  be- 
ginning to  be  wiped  from  his  prose  writ- 
ings, and  that  the  public  are  now  learn- 
ing, what  the  initiated  have  long  known, 
that  these  contain  passages  hardly  infe- 


WRITINGS  OF  MILTON 


503 


rior  to  his  best  poetry,  and  that  they  are 
throughout  marked  with  the  same  vig- 
orous mind  which  gave  us  “ Paradise 
Lost.”  The  attention  to  these  works 
has  been  discouraged  by  some  objec- 
tions, on  which  we  shall  bestow  a few 
remarks. 

And  first,  it  is  objected  to  his  prose 
writings,  that  the  style  is  difficult  and 
obscure,  abounding  in  involutions,  trans- 
positions, and  Latinisms  ; that  his  pro- 
tracted sentences  exhaust  and  weary  the 
mind,  and  too  often  yield  it  no  better 
recompense  than  confused  and  indistinct 
perceptions.  We  mean  not  to  deny  that 
these  charges  have  some  grounds  ; blit 
they  seem  to  us  much  exaggerated  ; and, 
when  we  consider  that  the  difficulties  of 
Milton’s  style  have  almost  sealed  up  his 
prose  writings,  we  cannot  but  lament 
the  fastidiousness  and  effeminacy  of 
modern  readers.  We  know  that  sim- 
plicity and  perspicuity  are  important 
qualities  of  style  ; but  there  are  vastly 
nobler  and  more  important  ones,  such 
as  energy  and  richness,  and  in  these 
Milton  is  not  surpassed.  The  best  style 
is  not  that  which  puts  the  reader  most 
easily  and  in  the  shortest  time  in  pos- 
session of  a writer’s  naked  thoughts  ; 
but  that  which  is  the  truest  image  of  a 
great  intellect,  which  conveys  fully  and 
carries  farthest  into  other  souls  the 
conceptions  and  feelings  of  a profound 
and  lofty  spirit  To  be  universally  in- 
telligible is  not  the  highest  merit.  A 
great  mind  cannot,  without  injurious 
constraint,  shrink  itself  to  the  grasp  of 
common  passive  readers.  Its  natural 
movement  is  free,  bold,  and  majestic, 
and  it  ought  not  to  be  required  to  part 
with  these  attributes,  that  the  multitude 
may  keep  pace  with  it.  A full  mind  will 
naturally  overflow  in  long  sentences, 
and,  in  the  moment  of  inspiration,  when 
thick-coming  thoughts  and  images  crowd 
upon  it,  will  often  pour  them  forth  in 
a splendid  confusion,  dazzling  to  com- 
mon readers,  but  kindling  to  congenial 
spirits.  There  are  writings  which  are 
clear  through  their  shallowness.  We 
must  not  expect  in  the  ocean  the  trans- 
parency of  the  calm  inland  stream.  For 
ourselves,  we  love  what  is  called  easy 
reading  perhaps  too  well,  especially  in 
our  hours  of  relaxation  ; but  we  love,  too, 
to  have  our  faculties  tasked  by  master- 
spirits. We  delight  in  long  sentences, 
in  which  a great  truth,  instead  of  being 


broken  up  into  numerous  periods,  is 
spread  out  in  its  full  proportions,  is  ir- 
radiated with  variety  of  illustration  and 
imagery,  is  set  forth  in  a splendid  afflu- 
ence of  language,  and  flows,  like  a full 
stream,  with  a majestic  harmony  which 
fills  at  once  the  ear  and  the  soul.  Such 
sentences  are  worthy  and  noble  mani- 
festations of  a great  and  far-looking 
mind,  which  grasps  at  once  vast  fields 
of  thought,  just  as  the  natural  eye  takes 
in  at  a moment  wide  prospects  of  gran- 
deur and  beauty.  We  would  not  indeed 
have  all  compositions  of  this  character. 
Let  abundant  provision  be  made  for  the 
common  intellect.  Let  such  writers  as 
Addison,  an  honored  name,  “ bring  down 
philosophy  from  heaven  to  earth.”  But 
let  inspired  genius  fulfil  its  higher  func- 
tion of  lifting  the  prepared  mind  from 
earth  to  heaven.  Impose  upon  it  no 
strict  laws,  for  it  is  its  own  best  law. 
Let  it  speak  in  its  own  language,  in 
tones  which  suit  its  own  ear.  Let  it  not 
lay  aside  its'  natural  port,  or  dwarf  itself 
that  it  may  be  comprehended  by  the  sur- 
rounding multitude.  If  not  understood 
and  relished  now,  let  it  place  a generous 
confidence  in  other  ages,  and  utter  ora- 
cles which  futurity  will  expound.  We 
are  led  to  these  remarks  not  merely  for 
Milton’s  justification,  but  because  our 
times  seem  to  demand  them.  Litera- 
ture, we  fear,  is  becoming  too  popular. 
The  whole  community  is  now  turned 
into  readers,  and  in  this  we  heartily  re- 
joice ; and  we  rejoice,  too,  that  so  much 
talent  is  employed  in  making  knowledge 
accessible  to  all.  We  hail  the  general 
diffusion  of  intelligence  as  the  brightest 
feature  of  the  present  age.  But  good 
and  evil  are  never  disjoined ; and  one 
bad  consequence  of  the  multitude  of 
readers  is,  that  men  of  genius  are  too 
anxious  to  please  the  multitude,  and 
prefer  a present  shout  of  popularity  to 
that  less  tumultuous,  but  deeper,  more 
thrilling  note  of  the  trump  of  Fame, 
which  resounds  and  grows  clearer  and 
louder  through  all  future  ages. 

We  now  come  to  a much  more  serious 
objection  to  Milton’s  prose  writings,  and 
that  is,  that  they  are  disfigured  by  party- 
spirit,  coarse  invective,  and  controversial 
asperity ; and  here  we  are  prepared  to 
say  that  there  are  passages  in  these 
works  which  every  admirer  of  his  char- 
aracter  must  earnestly  desire  to  expunge. 
Milton's  alleged  virulence  was  mani- 


504 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


fested  toward  private  and  public  foes. 
The  first,  such  as  Salmasius  and  Morus, 
deserved  no  mercy.  They  poured  out 
on  his  spotless  character  torrents  of  cal- 
umny, charging  him  with  the  blackest 
vices  of  the  heart  and  the  foulest  enor- 
mities of  the  life.  It  ought  to  be  added, 
that  the  manners  and  spirit  of  Milton’s 
age  justified  a retaliation  on  such  of- 
fenders, which  the  more  courteous,  and, 
we  will  hope,  more  Christian  spirit  of 
the  present  times  will  not  tolerate.  Still 
we  mean  not  to  be  his  apologists.  Mil- 
ton,  raised  as  he  was  above  his  age,  and 
fortified  with  the  consciousness  of  high 
virtue,  ought  to  have  been,  both  to  his 
own  and  future  times,  an  example  of 
Christian  equanimity.  In  regard  to  the 
public  enemies  whom  he  assailed,  we 
mean  the  despots  in  church  and  state, 
and  the  corrupt  institutions  which  had 
stirred  up  a civil  war,  the  general  strain 
of  his  writings,  though  strong  and  stern, 
must  exalt  him,  notwithstanding  his  oc- 
casional violence,  among  the  friends  of 
civil  and  religious  liberty.  That  liberty 
was  in  peril.  Great  evils  were  struggling 
for  perpetuity,  and  could  only  be  broken 
down  by  great  power.  Milton  felt  that  in- 
terests of  infinite  moment  were  at  stake  ; 
and  who  will  blame  him  for  binding  him- 
self to  them  with  the  whole  energy  of 
his  great  mind,  and  for  defending  them 
with  fervor  and  vehemence  ? We  must 
not  mistake  Christian  benevolence,  as  if 
it  had  but  one  voice,  that  of  soft  entreaty. 
It  can  speak  in  piercing  and  awful  tones. 
There  is  constantly  going  on  in  our 
world  a conflict  between  good  and  evil. 
The  cause  of  human  nature  has  always 
to  wrestle  with  foes.  All  improvement 
is  a victory  won  by  struggles.  It  is  es- 
pecially true  of  those  great  periods 
which  have  been  distinguished  by  revo- 
lutions in  government  and  religion,  and 
from  which  we  date  the  most  rapid  move- 
ments of  the  human  mind,  that  they  have 
been  signalized  by  conflict.  Thus  Chris- 
tianity convulsed  the  world  and  grew  up 
amidst  storms  ; and  the  Reformation  of 
Luther  was  a signal  to  universal  war  ; 
and  liberty  in  both  worlds  has  encoun- 
tered opposition  over  which  she  has  tri- 
umphed only  through  her  own  immortal 
energies.  At  such  periods,  men,  gifted 
with  great  power  of  thought  and  lofti- 
ness of  sentiment,  are  especially  sum- 
moned to  the  conflict  with  evil.  They 
hear,  as  it  were,  in  their  own  magnanim- 


ity and  generous  aspirations,  the  voice 
of  a divinity  ; and  thus  commissioned, 
and  burning  with  a passionate  devotion 
to  truth  and  freedom,  they  must  and 
will  speak  with  an  indignant  energy,  and 
they  ought  not  to  be  measured  by  the 
standard  of  ordinary  minds  in  ordinary 
times.  Men  of  natural  softness  and  ti- 
midity, of  a sincere  but  effeminate  virtue, 
will  be  apt  to  look  on  these  bolder, 
hardier  spirits,  as  violent,  perturbed, 
and  uncharitable  ; and  the  charge  will 
not  be  wholly  groundless.  But  that 
deep  feeling  of  evils,  which  is  necessary 
to  effectual  conflict  with  them,  and  which 
mforks  God’s  most  powerful  messengers 
to  mankind,  cannot  breathe  itself  in  soft 
and  tender  accents.  The  deeply  moved 
soul  will  speak  strongly,  and  ought  to 
speak  so  as  to  move  and  shake  nations. 

We  have  offered  these  remarks  as 
strongly  applicable  to  Milton.  He  rev- 
erenced and  loved  human  nature,  and 
attached  himself  to  its  great  interests 
with  a fervor  of  which  only  such  a mind 
was  capable.  He  lived  in  one  of  those 
solemn  periods  which  determine  the 
character  of  ages  to  come.  His  spirit 
was  stirred  to  its  very  centre  by  the 
presence  of  danger.  He  lived  in  the 
midst  of  the  battle.  That  the  ardor  of 
his  spirit  sometimes  passed  the  bounds 
of  wisdom  and  charity,  and  poured 
forth  unwarrantable  invective,  we  see 
and  lament.  But  the  purity  and  lofti- 
ness of  his  mind  break  forth  amidst  his 
bitterest  invectives.  We  see  a noble 
nature  still.  We  see  that  no  feigned 
love  of  truth  and  freedom  was  a cover- 
ing for  selfishness  and  malignity.  He 
did  indeed  love  and  adore  uncorrupted 
religion,  and  intellectual  liberty,  and  let 
his  name  be  enrolled  among  their  truest 
champions.  Milton  has  told  us,  in  his 
own  noble  style,  that  he  entered  on  his 
principal  controversy  with  Episcopacy 
reluctantly,  and  only  through  a deep 
conviction  of  duty.  The  introduction 
to  the  second  book  of  his  “ Reason  of 
Church  Government  ” shows  us  the 
workings  of  his  mind  on  this  subject, 
and  is  his  best  vindication  from  the 
charge  we  are  now  repelling.  He 
says  : — 

“ Surely  to  every  good  and  peaceable 
man,  it  must  in  nature  needs  be  a hateful 
thing,  to  be  the  displeaser  and  molester  of 
thousands  ; much  better  would  it  like  him, 
doubtless,  to  be  the  messenger  of  gladness 


WRITINGS  OF  MILTON 


and  contentment,  which  is  his  chief  intend- 
ed business  to  all  mankind,  but  that  they 
resist  and  oppose  their  own  true  happiness. 
But  when  God  commands  to  take  the  trum- 
pet, and  blow  a dolorous  or  a jarring  blast, 
it  lies  not  in  man’s  will  what  he  shall  say, 
or  what  he  shall  conceal.  . . . This  I fore- 
see, that  should  the  church  be  brought 
under  heavy  oppression,  and  God  have 
given  me  ability  the  while  to  reason  against 
that  man  that  should  be  the  author  of  so 
foul  a deed,  or  should  she,  by  blessing  from 
above  on  the  industry  and  courage  of  faith- 
ful men,  change  this  her  distracted  estate 
into  better  days,  without  the  least  further- 
ance or  contribution  of  those  few  talents 
which  God  at  that  present  had  lent  me ; I 
foresee  what  stories  I should  hear  within 
myself,  all  my  life  after,  of  discourage  and 
reproach.  ‘ Timorous  and  ungrateful,  the 
church  of  God  is  now  again  at  the  foot  of 
her  insulting  enefnies,  and  thou  bewailest ; 
what  matters  it  for  thee  or  thy  bewailing  ? 
When  time  was,  thou  couldst  not  find  a 
syllable  of  all  that  thou  hast  read  or  stud- 
ied, to  utter  in  her  behalf.  Yet  ease  and 
leisure  was  given  thee  for  thy  retired 
thoughts,  out  of  the  sweat  of  other  men. 
Thou  hadst  the  diligence,  the  parts,  the 
language  of  a man,  if  a vain  subject  were 
to  be  adorned  or  beautified  ; but  when  the 
cause  of  God  and  his  church  was  to  be 
pleaded,  for  which  purpose  that  tongue  was 
given  thee  which  thou  hast,  God  listened  if 
he  could  hear  thy  voice  among  his  zealous 
servants,  but  thou  wert  dumb  as  a beast : 
from  henceforward  be  that  which  thine  own 
brutish  silence  hath  made  thee.’  . . . But 
now,  by  this  little  diligence,  mark  what  a 
privilege  I have  gained  with  good  men  and 
saints,  to  claim  my  right  of  lamenting  the 
tribulations  of  the  church,  if  she  should 
suffer,  when  others,  that  have  ventured 
nothing  for  her  sake,  have  not  the  honor 
to  be  admitted  mourners.  But,  if  she  lift 
up  her  drooping  head  and  prosper,  among 
those  that  have  something  more  than  wished 
her  welfare,  I have  my  charter  and  freehold 
of  rejoicing  to  me  and  my  heirs. 

“Concerning  therefore  this  wayward  sub- 
ject against  prelaty,  the  touching  whereof  is 
so  distasteful  and  disquietous  to  a number 
of  men,  as  by  what  hath  been  said  I may  de- 
serve of  charitable  readers  to  be  credited, 
that  neither  envy  nor  gall  hath  entered  me 
upon  this  controversy,  but  the  enforcement 
of  conscience  only,  and  a preventive  fear 
lest  the  omitting  of  this  duty  should  be 
against  me,  when  I would  store  up  to  my- 
self the  good  provision  of  peaceful  hours.” 
Vol.  /.,  pp.  i 39-141.* 

* From  the  introduction  to  the  second  book  of 
“The  Reason  of  Church  Government,”  &c.  Vol.  I., 
PP-  x37>  &c  of  “ A Selection  from  the  English  Prose 
Works  of  John  Milton,  Boston,  1826,”  to  which  all 
our  references  are  made. 


505 

He  then  goes  on  to  speak  of  his  con- 
sciousness of  possessing  great  poetical 
powers,  which  he  was  most  anxious  to 
cultivate.  Of  these  he  speaks  thus 
magnificently  : — 

“These  abilities,  wheresoever  they  be 
found,  are  the  inspired  gift  of  God  rarely 
bestowed,  but  yet  to  some,  though  most 
abuse,  in  every  nation  ; and  are  of  power, 
— to  imbreed  and  cherish  in  a great  people 
the  seeds  of  virtue,  and  public  civility,  to 
allay  the  perturbations  of  the  mind,  and 
set  the  affections  in  right  tune  ; to  cele- 
brate in  glorious  and  lofty  hymns  the 
throne  and  equipage  of  God’s  almightiness, 
and  what  he  works,  and  what  he  suffers  to 
be  wrought  with  high  providence  in  his 
church  ; to  sing  victorious  agonies  of  mar- 
tyrs and  saints,  the  deeds  and  triumphs 
of  just  and  pious  nations,  doing  valiantly 
through  faith  against  the  enemies  of  Christ*; 
to  deplore  the  general  relapses  of  king- 
doms and  states  from  justice  and  God’s 
true  worship  ; lastly,  whatsoever  in  re- 
ligion is  holy  and  sublime,  in  virtue  ami- 
able or  grave,  whatsoever  hath  passion  or 
admiration  in  all  the  changes  of  that  which 
is  called  fortune  from  without,  or  the  wily 
subtilties  and  refluxes  of  man’s  thoughts 
from  within ; all  these  things  with  a solid 
and  treatable  smoothness  to  paint  out  and 
describe.” — Vol.  I.,  pp.  145,  146. 

He  then  gives  intimations  of  his  hav- 
ing proposed  to  himself  a great  poetical 
work,  “ a work,”  he  says , — 

“ Not  to  be  raised  from  the  heat  of 
youth,  or  the  vapors  of  wine,  like  that 
which  flows  at  waste  from  the  pen  of 
some  vulgar  amourist,  or  the  rencher  fury 
of  a rhyming  parasite,  nor  to  be  obtained 
by  the  invocation  of  dame  Memory  and 
her  syren  daughters,  but  by  devout  prayer 
to  that  eternal  Spirit,  who  can  enrich  with 
all  utterance  and  knowledge,  and  sends  out 
his  seraphim,  with  the  hallowed  fire  of  his 
altar,  to  touch  and  purify  the  lips  of  whom 
he  pleases.” — Vol.  I.,p.  148. 

He  then  closes  with  a passage,  show- 
ing from  what  principles  he  forsook  these 
delightful  studies  for  controversy  : — 

“ I trust  hereby  to  make  it  manifest  with 
what  small  willingness  I endure  to  inter- 
rupt the  pursuit  of  no  less  hopes  than 
these,  and  leave  a calm  and  pleasing  soli- 
tariness, fed  with  cheerful  and  confident 
thoughts,  to  embark  in  a troubled  sea  of 
noises  and  hoarse  disputes,  put  from  be- 
holding the  bright  countenance  of  truth  in 
the  quiet  and  still  air  of  delightful  studies. 

. . . But  were  it  the  meanest  underservice, 
if  God  by  his  secretary  conscience  enjoin 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


506 

it,  it  were  sad  for  me  if  I should  draw 
back ; for  me  especially,  now  when  all  men 
offer  their  aid  to  help,  ease,  and  lighten 
the  difficult  labors  of  the  church,  to  whose 
service,  by  the  intentions  of  my  parents 
and  friends,  I was  destined  of  a child,  and 
in  mine  own  resolutions,  till  coming  to  some 
maturity  of  years,  and  perceiving  what  ty- 
ranny had  invaded  the  church,  that  he  who 
would  take  orders  must  subscribe  slave, 
and  take  an  oath  withal,  which  unless  he 
took  with  a conscience  that  would  retch, 
he  must  either  strait  perjure  or  split  his 
faith,  I thought  it  better  to  prefer  a blame- 
less silence  before  the  sacred  office  of  speak- 
ing, bought  and  begun  with  servitude  and 
forswearing.” — Vol.  /.,  p.  149. 

These  passages,  replete  with  Milton’s 
genius  and  greatness  of  soul,  show  us 
the  influences  and  motives  under  which 
his  prose  works  were  written,  and  help 
us  to  interpret  passages,  which,  if  taken 
separately,  might  justify  us  in  ascribing 
to  him  a character  of  excessive  indigna- 
tion and  scorn. 

Milton’s  most  celebrated  prose  work  is 
his  “ Areopagitica,  or  a Speech  for  the 
Liberty  of  Unlicensed  Printing,”  a noble 
work  indeed,  a precious  manual  of  free- 
dom, an  aflsenal  of  immortal  weapons  for 
the  defence  of  man’s  highest  preroga- 
tive,— intellectual  liberty.  His  “Ref- 
ormation in  England  ” and  “ Reason  of 
Church  Government  ” are  the  most  im- 
portant theological  treatises  published 
during  his  life.  They  were  his  earliest 
prose  compositions,  and  thrown  off  with 
much  haste,  and  on  these  accounts  are 
more  chargeable  with  defects  of  Style 
than  any  other  of  his  writings.  But  these, 
with  all  their  defects,  abound  in  strong 
and  elevated  thought,  and  in  power  and 
felicity  of  expression.  Their  great  blem- 
ish is  an  inequality  of  style,  often  spring- 
ing from  the  conflict  and  opposition  of 
the  impulses  under  which  he  wrote.  It 
is  not  uncommon  to  find,  in  the  same 
sentence,  his  affluent  genius  pouring 
forth  magnificent  images  and  expres- 
sions, and  suddenly  his  deep  scorn  for 
his  opponents,  suggesting  and  throwing 
into  the  midst  of  this  splendor  sarcasms 
and  degrading  comparisons  altogether  at 
variance  with  the  general  strain.  From 
this  cause,  and  from  negligence,  many 
powerful  passages  in  his  prose  writings 
are  marred  by  an  incongruous  mixture 
of  unworthy  allusions  and  phrases.  In 
the  close  of  his  first  work,  that  on  “ Ref- 
ormation in  England,”  he  breaks  out 


into  an  invocation  and  prayer  to  the 
Supreme  Being,  from  which  we  extract 
a passage  containing  a remarkable  inti- 
mation of  his  having  meditated  some 
great  poetical  enterprise  from  his  ear- 
liest years,  and  giving  full  promise  of 
that  grandeur  of  thought  and  language 
which  characterizes  “ Paradise  Lost.” 
Having  “ lifted  up  his  hands  to  that  eter- 
nal and  propitious  Throne,  where  noth- 
ing is  readier  than  grace  and  refuge  to 
the  distresses  of  mortal  suppliants,”  and 
besought  God  to  perfect  the  work  of 
civil  and  religious  deliverance  begun  in 
England,  he  proceeds  thus  : — 

“ Then,  amidst  the  hymns  and  hallelujahs 
of  saints,  some  one  may  perhaps  be  heard 
offering  at  high  strains  in  new  and  lofty 
measures,  to  sing  and  celebrate  thy  divine 
mercies,  and  marvellous  judgments  in  this 
land  throughout  all  ages,  whereby  this  great 
and  warlike  nation,  instructed  and  inured 
to  the  fervent  and  continual  practice  of 
truth  and  righteousness,  and  casting  far 
from  her  the  rags  of  her  old  vices,  may 
press  on  hard  to  that  high  and  happy  emu- 
lation to  be  found  the  soberest,  wisest,  and 
most  Christian  people  at  that  day,  when 
Thou,  the  eternal  and  shortly  expected 
King,  shalt  open  the  clouds  to  judge  the 
several  kingdoms  of  the  world,  and,  dis- 
tributing national  honors  and  rewards  to 
religious  and  just  commonwealths,  shalt 
put  an  end  to  all  earthly  tyrannies,  pro- 
claiming thy  universal  and  mild  monarchy 
through  heaven  and  earth  ; where  they  un- 
doubtedly, that  by  their  labors,  counsels, 
and  prayers,  have  been  earnest  for  the 
common  good  of  religion  and  their  country, 
shall  receive,  above  the  inferior  orders  of 
the  blessed,  the  regal  addition  of  princi- 
palities, legions,  and  thrones  into  their 
glorious  titles,  and,  in  supereminence  of 
beatific  vision,  progressing  the  dateless  and 
irrevoluble  circle  of  eternity,  shall  clasp 
inseparable  hands  with  joy  and  bliss,  in 
overmeasure  for  ever.”  — Vol.  /.,  pp.  69,  70. 

We  have  not  time  to  speak  of  Milton’s 
political  treatises.  We  close  our  brief 
remarks  on  his  prose  writings  with  rec- 
ommending them  to  all  who  can  enjoy 
great  beauties  in  the  neighborhood  of 
great  faults,  and  who  would  learn  the 
compass,  energy,  and  richness  of  our 
language ; and  still  more  do  we  rec- 
ommend them  to  those  who  desire  to 
nourish  in  their  breast  magnanimity  of 
sentiment  and  an  unquenchable  love  of 
freedom.  They  bear  the  impress  of  that 
seal  by  which  genius  distinguishes  its 
productions  from  works  of  learning  and 


WRITINGS  OF  MILTON. 


SO  7 


taste.  The  great  and  decisive  test  of 
genius  is,  that  it  calls  forth  power  in 
the  souls  of  others.  It  not  merely  gives 
knowledge,  but  breathes  energy.  There 
are  authors,  and  among  these  Milton 
holds  the  highest  rank,  in  approaching 
whom  we  are  conscious  of  an  access  of 
intellectual  strength.  A “virtue  goes 
out”  from  them.  We  discern  more 
clearly,  not  merely  because  a new  light 
is  thrown  over  objects,  but  because  our 
own  vision  is  strengthened.  Sometimes 
a single  word,  spoken  by  the  voice  of 
genius,  goes  far  into  the  heart.  A hint, 
a suggestion,  an  undefined  delicacy  of 
expression,  teaches  more  than  we  gather 
from  volumes  of  less  gifted  men.  The 
works  which  we  should  chiefly  study  are 
not  those  which  contain  the  greatest  fund 
of  knowledge,  but  which  raise  us  into 
sympathy  with  the  intellectual  energy  of 
the  author,  and  through  which  a great 
mind  multiplies  itself,  as  it  were,  in  the 
reader.  Milton’s  prose  works  are  im- 
bued as  really,  if  not  as  thoroughly,  as 
his  poetry,  with  this  quickening  power, 
and  they  will  richly  reward  those  who 
are  receptive  of  this  influence. 

We  now  leave  the  writings  of  Milton 
to  offer  a few  remarks  on  his  moral 
qualities.  His  moral  character  was  as 
strongly  marked  as  his  intellectual,  and 
it  may  be  expressed  in  one  word,  mag- 
nanimity. It  was  in  harmony  with  his 
poetry.  He  had  a passionate  love  of 
the  higher,  more  commanding,  and  ma- 
jestic virtues,  and  fed  his  youthful  mind 
with  meditations  on  the  perfection  of  a 
human  being.  In  a letter  written  to  an 
Italian  friend  before  his  thirtieth  year, 
and  translated  by  Hay  ley,  we  have  this 
vivid  picture  of  his  aspirations  after  vir- 
tue : — 

“ As  to  other  points,  what  God  may  have 
determined  for  me  I know  not  ; but  this  I 
know,  that  if  he  ever  instilled  an  intense 
love  of  moral  beauty  into  the  breast  of  any 
man,  he  has  instilled  it  into  mine.  Ceres, 
in  the  fable,  pursued  not  her  daughter  with 
a greater  keenness  of  inquiry,  than  I day 
and  night  the  idea  of  perfection.  Hence, 
wherever  I find  a man  despising  the  false 
estimates  of  the  vulgar,  and  daring  to  as- 
pire, in  sentiment,  language,  and  conduct, 
to  what  the  highest  wisdom,  through  every 
age,  has  taught  us  as  most  excellent,  to  him 
I unite  myself  by  a sort  of  necessary  at- 
tachment ; and  if  I am  so  influenced  by 
nature  or  destiny,  that  by  no  exertion  or 
labors  of  my  own  I may  exalt  myself  to 


this  summit  of  worth  and  honor,  yet  no 
powers  of  heaven  or  earth  will  hinder  me 
from  looking  with  reverence  and  affection 
upon  those  who  have  thoroughly  attained 
this  glory,  or  appeared  engaged  in  the  suc- 
cessful pursuit  of  it.” 

His  “ Comus  ” was  written  in  his 
twenty-sixth  year,  and  on  reading  this 
exquisite  work  our  admiration  is  awa- 
kened, not  so  much  by  observing  how  the 
whole  spirit  of  poetry  had  descended  on 
him  at  that  early  age,  as  by  witnessing 
how  his  whole  youthful  soul  was  pene- 
trated, awed,  and  lifted  up  by  the  aus- 
tere charms,  “the  radiant  light,”  the 
invincible  power,  the  celestial  peace  of 
saintly  virtue.  He  reverenced  moral 
purity  and  elevation,  not  only  for  its 
own  sake,  but  as  the  inspirer  of  intel- 
lect, and  especially  of  the  higher  efforts 
of  poetry.  “ I was  confirmed,”  he  says, 
in  his  usual  noble  style,  — 

“ I was  confirmed  in  this  opinion ; that 
he  who  would  not  be  frustrate  of  his  hope 
to  write  well  hereafter  in  laudable  things, 
ought  himself  to  be  a true  poem  ; that  is, 
a composition  and  pattern  of  the  best  and 
honorablest  things  ; not  presuming  to  sing 
of  high  praises  of  heroic  men  or  famous 
cities,  unless  he  have  in  himself  the  expe- 
rience and  the  practice  of  all  that  which  is 
praiseworthy.” — Vol.  /.,  pp.  237,  238. 

We  learn  from  his  works  that  he  used 
his  multifarious  reading  to  build  up 
within  himself  this  reverence  for  virtue. 
Ancient  history,  the  sublime  musings  of 
Plato,  and  the  heroic  self-abandonment 
of  chivalry,  joined  their  influences  with 
prophets  and  apostles  in  binding  him 
“ everlastingly  in  willing  homage  ” to 
the  great,  the  honorable,  and  the  lovely 
in  character.  A remarkable  passage  to 
this  effect  we  quote  from  his  account  of 
his  youth  : — 

“ I betook  me  among  those  lofty  fables 
and  romances,  which  recount,  in  solemn 
cantos,  the  deeds  of  knighthood  founded 
by  our  victorious  kings,  and  from  hence  had 
in  renown  over  all  Christendom.  There 
I read  it  in  the  oath  of  every  knight,  that 
he  should  defend  to  the  expense  of  his  best 
blood  or  of  his  life,  if  it  so  befell  him,  the 
honor  and  chastity  of  virgin  or  matron  ; 
from  whence  even  then  I learned  what  a 
noble  virtue  chastity  sure  must  be,  to  the 
defence  of  which  so  many  worthies  by 
such  a dear  adventure  of  themselves,  had 
sworn.  ...  So  that  even  these,  books 
which  to  many  others  have  been  the  fuel 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


508 

of  wantonness  and  loose  living,  I cannot 
think  how,  unless  by  divine  indulgence, 
proved  to  me  so  many  incitements,  as  you 
have  heard,  to  the  love  and  steadfast  ob- 
servation of  virtue.”  — Vol.  pp . 238, 

239- 

All  Milton’s  habits  were  expressive 
of  a refined  and  self-denying  character. 
When  charged  by  his  unprincipled 
slanderers  with  licentious  habits,  he 
thus  gives  an  account  of  his  morning 
hours  : — 

“ Those  morning  haunts  are  where  they 
should  be,  at  home  ; not  sleeping,  or  con- 
cocting the  surfeits  of  an  irregular  feast, 
but  up  and  stirring,  in  winter  often  ere  the 
sound  of  any  bell  awake  men  to  labor,  or 
devotion ; in  summer  as  oft  with  the  bird 
that  first  rouses,  or  not  much  tardier,  to 
read  good  authors,  or  cause  them  to  be 
read,  till  the  attention  be  weary  or  memory 
have  its  full  fraught ; then  with  useful 
and  generous  labors  preserving  the  body’s 
health  and  hardiness,  to  render  lightsome, 
clear,  and  not  lumpish  obedience  to  the 
mind,  to  the  cause  of  religion,  and  our 
country’s  liberty,  when  it  shall  require  firm 
hearts  in  sound  bodies  to  stand  and  cover 
their  stations,  rather  than  to  see  the  ruin 
of  our  protestation,  and  the  enforcement 
of  a slavish  life.”  — Vol  /.,  p.  233. 

We  have  enlarged  on  the  strictness 
and  loftiness  of  Milton’s  virtue,  not 
only  from  our  interest  in  the  subject, 
but  that  we  may  put  to  shame  and 
silence  those  men  who  make  genius 
an  apology  for  vice,  and  take  the  sacred 
fire,  kindled  by  God  within  them,  to  in- 
flame men’s  passions,  and  to  minister 
to  a vile  sensuality. 

We  see  Milton’s  greatness  of  mind  in 
his  fervent  and  constant  attachment  to 
liberty.  Freedom,  in  all  its  forms  and 
branches,  was  dear  to  him,  but  especially 
freedom  of  thought  and  speech,  of  con- 
science and  worship,  freedom  to  seek, 
profess,  and  propagate  truth.  The  lib- 
erty of  ordinary  politicians,  which  pro- 
tects men’s  outward  rights,  and  removes 
restraints  from  the  pursuit,  of  property 
and  outward  good,  fell  very  short  of  that 
for  which  Milton  lived,  and  was  ready 
to  die.  The  tyranny  which  he  hated 
most  was  that  which  broke  the  intellect- 
ual and  moral  power  of  the  community. 
The  worst  feature  of  the  institutions 
which  he  assailed  was,  that  they  fet- 
tered the  mind.  He  felt  within  himself 
that  the  human  mind  had  a principle  of 
perpetual  growth,  that  it  was  essentially 


diffusive  and  made  for  progress,  and  he 
wished  every  chain  broken,  that  it  might 
run  the  race  of  truth  and  virtue  with 
increasing  ardor  and  success.  This 
attachment  to  a spiritual  and  refined 
freedom,  which  never  forsook  him  in 
the  hottest  controversies,  contributed 
greatly  to  protect  his  genius,  imagina- 
tion, taste,  and  sensibility,  from  the 
withering  and  polluting  influences  of 
public  station,  and  of  the  rage  of  par- 
ties. It  threw  a hue  of  poetry  over 
politics,  and  gave  a sublime  reference 
to  his  service  of  the  commonwealth. 
The  fact  that  Milton,  in  that  stormy 
day,  and  amidst  the  trials  of  public 
office,  kept  his  high  faculties  unde- 
praved, was  a proof  of  no  common 
greatness.  Politics,  however  they  make 
the  intellect  active,  sagacious,  and  in- 
ventive, within  a certain  sphere,  gener- 
ally extinguish  its  thirst  for  universal 
truth,  paralyze  sentiment  and  imagina- 
tion, corrupt  the  simplicity  of  the  mind, 
destroy  that  confidence  in  human  virtue 
which  lies  at  the  foundation  of  philan- 
thropy and  generous  sacrifices,  and  end 
in  cold  and  prudent  selfishness.  Milton 
passed  through  a revolution  which,  in  its 
last  stages  and  issue,  was  peculiarly 
fitted  to  damp  enthusiasm,  to  scatter 
the  visions  of  hope,  and  to  infuse 
doubts  of  the  reality  of  virtuous  prin- 
ciple ; and  yet  the  ardor,  and  moral 
feeling,  and  enthusiasm  of  his  youth 
came  forth  unhurt,  and  even  exalted, 
from  the  trial. 

Before  quitting  the  subject  of  Milton’s 
devotion  to  liberty,  it  ought  to  be  re- 
corded that  he  wrote  his  celebrated 
“ Defence  of  the  People  of  England,” 
after  being  distinctly  forewarned  by  his 
physicians  that  the  effect  of  this  exer- 
tion would  be  the  utter  loss  of  sight. 
His  reference  to  this  part  of  his  history, 
in  a short  poetical  effusion,  is  too  char- 
acteristic to  be  withheld.  It  is  inscribed 
to  Cyriac  Skinner,  the  friend  to  whom 
he  appears  to  have  confided  his  lately 
discovered  “ Treatise  on  Christian  Doc- 
trine.” 

“ Cyriac,  this  three  years  day  these  eyes,  though 
clear, 

To  outward  view,  of  blemish  or  of  spot, 

Bereft  of  light,  their  seeing  have  forgot ; 

Nor  to  their  idle  orbs  doth  sight  appear 
Of  sun,  or  moon,  or  star,  throughout  the  year, 

Or  man,  or  woman.  Yet  I argue  not 
Against  Heaven’s  hand  or  will,  nor  bate  a jot 
Of  heart  or  hope,  but  still  bear  up  and  steer 


WRITINGS  OF  MILTON 


509 


Right  onward.  What  supports  me,  dost  thou  ask  ? 

The  conscience,  F riend,  to  have  lost  them  over- 
plied 

In  Liberty’s  defence,  my  noble  task, 

Of  which  all  Europe  rings  from  side  to  side. 

This  thought  might  lead  me  through  the  world’s 
vair  mask, 

Content  though  blind,  had  I no  better  guide.” 

Sonnet  XXII. 

We  see  Milton’s  magnanimity  in  the 
circumstances  under  which  “ Paradise 
Lost  ” was  written.  It  was  not  in  pros- 
perity, in  honor,  and  amidst  triumphs, 
but  in  disappointment,  desertion,  and 
in  what  the  world  calls  disgrace,  that  he 
composed  that  work.  The  cause  with 
which  he  had  identified  himself  had 
failed.  His  friends  were  scattered  ; 
liberty  was  trodden  under  foot,  and  her 
devoted  champion  was  a by-word  among 
the  triumphant  royalists.  But  it  is  the 
prerogative  of  true  greatness  to  glorify 
itself  in  adversity,  and  to  meditate  and 
execute  vast  enterprises  in  defeat.  Mil- 
ton,  fallen  in  outward  condition,  afflicted 
with  blindness,  disappointed  in  his  best 
hopes,  applied  himself  with  characteristic 
energy  to  the  sublimest  achievement  of 
intellect,  solacing  himself  with  great 
thoughts,  with  splendid  creations,  and 
with  a prophetic  confidence  that,  how- 
ever neglected  in  his  own  age,  he  was 
framing  in  his  works  a bond  of  union  and 
fellowship  with  the  illustrious  spirits  of 
a brighter  day.  We  delight  to  contem- 
plate him  in  his  retreat  and  last  years. 
To  the  passing  spectator,  he  seemed 
fallen  and  forsaken,  and  his  blindness 
was  reproached  as  a judgment  from  God. 
But  though  sightless,  he  lived  in  light. 
His  inward  eye  ranged  through  universal 
nature,  and  his  imagination  shed  on  it 
brighter  beams  than  the  sun.  Heaven 
and  hell  and  paradise  were  open  to  him. 
He  visited  past  ages,  and  gathered  round 
him  ancient  sages  and  heroes,  prophets 
and  apostles,  brave  knights  and  gifted 
bards.  As  he  looked  forward,  ages  of 
liberty  dawned  and  rose  to  his  view,  and 
he  felt  that  he  was  about  to  bequeath  to 
them  an  inheritance  of  genius,  “which 
would  not  fade  away,”  and  was  to  live 
in  the  memory,  reverence,  and  love  of 
remotest  generations. 

We  have  enlarged  on  Milton’s  char- 
acter, not  only  from  the  pleasure  of  pay- 
ing that  sacred  debt  which  the  mind 
owes  to  him  who  has  quickened  and 
delighted  it,  but  from  an  apprehension 
that  Milton  has  not  yet  reaped  his  due 


harvest  of  esteem  and  veneration.  The 
mists  which  the  prejudices  and  bigotry 
of  Johnson  spread  over  his  bright  name 
are  not  yet  wholly  scattered,  though 
fast  passing  away.  We  wish  not  to  dis- 
parage Johnson.  We  could  find  no 
pleasure  in  sacrificing  one  great  man  to 
the  manes  of  another.  But  we  owe  it 
to  Milton  and  to  other  illustrious  names, 
to  say,  that  Johnson  has  failed  of  the 
highest  end  of  biography,  which  is  to 
give  immortality  to  virtue,  and  to  call 
forth  fervent  admiration  towards  those 
who  have  shed  splendor  on  past  ages. 
We  acqtait  Johnson,  however,  of  inten- 
tional misrepresentation.  He  did  not, 
and  could  not,  appreciate  Milton.  We 
doubt  whether  two  other  minds,  having 
so  little  in  common  as  those  of  which  we 
are  now  speaking,  can  be  found  in  the 
higher  walks  of  literature.  Johnson  was 
great  in  his  own  sphere,  but  that  sphere 
was  comparatively  “ of  the  earth,”  whilst 
Milton’s  was  only  inferior  to  that  of 
angels.  It  was  customary,  in  the  day  of 
Johnson’s  glory,  to  call  him  a giant,  to 
class  him  with  a mighty,  but  still  an 
earth-born  race.  Milton  we  should 
rank  among  seraphs.  Johnson’s  mind 
acted  chiefly  on  man’s  actual  condition, 
on  the  realities  of  life,  on  the  springs  of 
human  action,  on  the  passions  which 
now  agitate  society,  and  he  seems  hardly 
to  have  dreamed  of  a higher  state  of  the 
human  mind  than  was  then  exhibited. 
Milton,  on  the  other  hand,  burned  with 
a deep  yet  calm  love  of  moral  grandeur 
and  celestial  purity.  He  thought,  not 
so  much  of  what  man  is,  as  of  what  he 
might  become.  His  own  mind  was  a 
revelation  to  him  of  a higher  condition 
of  humanity,  and  to  promote  this  he 
thirsted  and  toiled  for  freedom,  as  the 
element  for  the  growth  and  improve- 
ment of  his  nature.  In  religion  John- 
son was  gloomy  and  inclined  to  supersti- 
tion, and  on  the  subject  of  government 
leaned  towards  absolute  power ; and  the 
idea  of  reforming  either  never  entered  his 
mind  but  to  disturb  and  provoke  it.  The 
church  and  the  civil  polity  under  which  he 
lived  seemed  to  him  perfect,  unless  he 
may  have  thought  that  the  former  would 
be  improved  by  a larger  infusion  of  Rom- 
ish rites  and  doctrines,  and  the  latter  by 
an  enlargement  of  the  royal  prerogative. 
Hence  a tame  acquiescence  in  the  pres- 
ent forms  of  religion  and  government 
marks  his  works.  Hence  we  find  so 


5io 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


little  in  his  writings  which  is  electric 
and  soul-kindling,  and  which  gives  the 
reader  a consciousness  of  being  made 
for  a state  of  loftier  thought  and  feeling 
than  the  present.  Milton’s  whole  soul, 
on  the  contrary,  revolted  against  the 
maxims  of  legitimacy,  hereditary  faith, 
and  servile  reverence  for  established 
power.  He  could  not  brook  the  bond- 
age to  which  men  had  bowed  for  ages. 
“ Reformation  ” was  the  first  word  of 
public  warning  which  broke  from  his 
youthful  lips,  and  the  hope  of  it  was  the 
solace  of  his  declining  years.  The  dif- 
ference between  Milton  and  Johnson 
may  be  traced,  not  only  in  these  great 
features  of  mind,  but  in  their  whole 
characters.  Milton  was  refined  and 
spiritual  in  his  habits,  temperate  almost 
to  abstemiousness,  and  refreshed  him- 
self after  intellectual  effort  by  music. 
Johnson  inclined  to  more  sensual  de- 
lights. Milton  was  exquisitely  alive  to 
the  outward  creation,  to  sounds,  motions, 
and  forms,  to  natural  beauty  and  gran- 
deur. Johnson,  through  defect  of  phys- 
ical organization,  if  not  through  deeper 
deficiency,  had  little  susceptibility  of 
these  pure  and  delicate  pleasures,  and 
would  not  have  exchanged  the  Strand 
for  the  vale  of  Tempe  or  the  gardens  of 
the  Hesperides.  How  could  Johnson 
be  just  to  Milton!  The  comparison 
which  we  have  instituted  has  compelled 
us  to  notice  Johnson’s  defects.  But  we 
trust  we  are  not  blind  to  his  merits. 
His  stately  march,  his  pomp  and  power 
of  language,  his  strength  of  thought,  his 
reverence  for  virtue  and  religion,  his 
vigorous  logic,  his  practical  wisdom, 
his  insight  into  the  springs  of  human 
action,  and  the  solemn  pathos  which 
occasionally  pervades  his  descriptions  of 
life  and  his  references  to  his  own  his- 
tory, command  our  willing  admiration. 
That  he  wanted  enthusiasm  and  creative 
imagination  and  lofty  sentiment,  was 
not  his  fault.  We  do  not  blame  him  for 
not  being  Milton.  We  love  intellectual 
power  in  all  its  forms,  and  delight  in 
the  variety  of  mind.  We  blame  him 
only  that  his  passions,  prejudices,  and 
bigotry  engaged  him  in  the  unworthy 
task  of  obscuring  the  brighter  glory  of 
one  of  the  most  gifted  and  virtuous  men. 
We  would  even  treat  what  we  deem  the 
faults  of  Johnson  with  a tenderness  ap- 
proaching respect ; for  they  were  results, 
to  a degree  which  man  cannot  estimate, 


of  a diseased,  irritable,  nervous  unhappy 
physical  temperament,  and  belonged  to 
the  body  more  than  to  the  mind.  We 
only  ask  the  friends  of  genius  not  to  put 
their  faith  in  Johnson’s  delineations  of 
it.  His  biographical  works  are  tinged 
with  his  notoriously  strong  prejudices, 
and,  of  all  his  “ Lives,”  we  hold  that  of 
Milton  to  be  the  most  apocryphal. 

We  here  close  our  general  remarks  on 
Milton’s  intellectual  and  moral  qualities. 
We  venerate  him  as  a man  of  genius,  , 
but  still  more  as  a man  of  magnanimity 
and  Christian  virtue,  who  regarded  gen- 
ius and  poetry  as  sacred  gifts,  imparted 
to  him,  not  to  amuse  men  or  to  build  up 
a reputation,  but  that  he  might  quicken 
and  call  forth  what  was  great  and  divine 
in  his  fellow-creatures,  and  might  secure 
the  only  true  fame,  the  admiration  of 
minds  which  his  writings  were  to  kindle 
and  exalt. 

We  come  now  to  the  examination  of 
the  newly  discovered  “Treatise  on 
Christian  Doctrine.”  This  work,  we 
have  said,  owes  its  chief  interest  to  the 
character  of  its  author.  From  its  very 
nature,  it  cannot  engage  and  fix  general 
attention.  It  consists  very  much  of  col- 
lections of  texts  of  Scripture,  which, 
however  exciting  in  their  proper  places, 
are  read  with  little  thought  or  emotion 
when  taken  from  their  ordinary  connec- 
tion, and  marshalled  under  systematic 
heads.  Milton  aims  to  give  us  the  doc- 
trines of  revelation  in  its  own  words. 
We  have  them  in  a phraseology  long 
familiar  to  us,  and  we  are  disappointed  ; 
for  we  expected  to  see  them,  not  in  the 
language  of  the  Bible,  but  as  existing  in 
the  mind  of  Milton,  modified  by  his 
peculiar  intellect  and  sensibility,  com- 
bined and  embodied  with  his  various 
knowledge,  illustrated  by  the  analogies, 
brightened  by  the  new  lights,  and  clothed 
with  the  associations,  with  which  they 
were  surrounded  by  this  gifted  man. 
We  hoped  to  see  these  doctrines  as 
they  were  viewed  by  Milton  in  his  mo- 
ments of  solemn  feeling  and  deep  con- 
templation, when  they  pervaded  and 
moved  his  whole  soul.  Still  there  are 
passages  in  which  Milton’s  mind  is  laid 
open  to  us.  We  refer  to  the  parts  of 
the  work  where  the  peculiarity  of  his 
opinions  obliges  him  to  state  his  reasons 
for  adopting  them  ; and  these  we  value 
highly  for  the  vigor  and  independence 
of  intellect  with  which  they  are  im- 


WRITINGS  OF  MILTON. 


pressed.  The  work  is  plain  and  unambi- 
tious in  style.  Its  characteristics  are  a 
calm  earnestness,  and  that  profound 
veneration  for  Scripture  which  certain 
denominations  of  Christians,  who  have 
little  congeniality  with  Milton,  seem  to 
claim  as  a monopoly. 

His  introduction  is  worthy  every  man’s 
attention,  as  a deliberate,  mild  assertion 
of  the  dearest  right  of  human  nature, 
that  of  free  inquiry  : — 

“ If  I communicate  the  result  of  my  in- 
quiries to  the  world  at  large  ; if,  as  God  is 
my  witness,  it  be  with  a friendly  and  benig- 
nant feeling  towards  mankind,  that  I readily 
give  as  wide  a circulation  as  possible  to 
what  I esteem  my  best  and  richest  posses- 
sion, I hope  to  meet  with  a candid  reception 
from  all  parties,  and  that  none  at  least  will 
take  unjust  offence,  even  though  many 
things  should  be  brought  to  light,  which 
will  at  once  be  seen  to  differ  from  certain 
received  opinions.  I earnestly  beseech  all 
lovers  of  truth  not  to  cry  out  that  the 
church  is  thrown  into  confusion  by  that 
freedom  of  discussion  and  inquiry,  which 
is  granted  to  the  schools,  and  ought  cer- 
tainly to  be  refused  to  no  believer,  since  we 
are  ordered  to  prove  all  things , and  since  the 
daily  progress  of  the  light  of  truth  is  pro- 
ductive, far  less  of  disturbance  to  the 
church,  than  of  illumination  and  edifica- 
tion.”— VoL  /.,  pp.  5,  6. 

“ It  has  also  been  my  object  to  make  it 
appear  from  the  opinions  I shall  be  found 
to  have  advanced,  whether  new  or  old,  of 
how  much  consequence  to  the  Christian 
religion  is  the  liberty,  not  only  of  winnow- 
ing and  sifting  every  doctrine,  but  also  of 
thinking  and  even  writing  respecting  it, 
according  to  our  individual  faith  and  per- 
suasion ; an  inference  which  will  be  stronger 
in  proportion  to  the  weight  and  importance 
of  those  opinions,  or  rather  in  proportion 
to  the  authority  of  Scripture,  on  the  abun- 
dant testimony  of  which  they  rest.  Without 
this  liberty  there  is  neither  religion  nor  gos- 
pel,— force  alone  prevails,  by  which  it  is 
disgraceful  for  the  Christian  religion  to  be 
supported.  Without  this  liberty  we  are 
still  enslaved,  not,  indeed,  as  formerly, 
under  the  divine  law,  but,  what  is  worst 
of  all,  under  the  law  of  man,  or,  to  speak 
more  truly,  under  a barbarous  tyranny.”  — 
VoL  /.,  pp.  7,  8. 

On  that  great  subject,  the  character 
of  God,  Milton  has  given  nothing  par- 
ticularly worthy  of  notice,  except  that 
he  is  more  disposed  than  Christians  in 
general  to  conceive  of  the  Supreme  Be- 
ing under  the  forms  and  affections  of 
human  nature : — 


511 

“ If  God  habitually  assign  to  himself  the 
members  and  form  of  man,  why  should  we 
be  afraid  of  attributing  to  him  what  he 
attributes  to  himself,  so  long  as  what  is 
imperfection  and  weakness,  when  viewed 
in  reference  to  ourselves,  be  considered  as 
most  complete  and  excellent  whenever  it  is 
imputed  to  God.”  — VoL  p.  23. 

Milton  is  not  the  first  Christian  who 
has  thought  to  render  the  Supreme  Be- 
ing more  interesting  by  givi  ng  him  human 
shape.  We  doubt  the  wisdom  of  this 
expedient.  To  spiritualize  our  concep- 
tions of  him  seems  to  us  the  true  process 
for  strengthening  our  intimacy  with  him  ; 
for  in  this  way  only  can  we  think  of  him 
as  immediately  present  to  our  minds. 
As  far  as  we  give  him  a material  form, 
we  must  assign  to  him  a place,  and  that 
place  will  almost  necessarily  be  a distant 
one,  and  thus  we  shall  remove  him  from 
the  soul,  which  is  his  true  temple.  Be- 
sides, a definite  form  clashes  with  God’s 
infinity,  which  is  his  supreme  distinction, 
and  on  no  account  to  be  obscured  ; for, 
strange  as  it  may  seem  to  those  who 
know  not  their  own  nature,  this  incom- 
prehensible attribute  is  that  which  above 
all  things  constitutes  the  correspondence 
or  adaptation,  if  we  may  so  speak,  of 
God  to  the  human  mind. 

In  treating  of  God’s  efficiency,  Milton 
strenuously  maintains  human  freedom, 
in  opposition  to  the  Calvinistic  doctrine 
of  predestination.  He  maintains  that 
. God’s  decrees  do  not  encroach  on  moral 
liberty  ; for  our  free  agency  is  the  very 
object  decreed  and  predestined  by  the 
Creator.  He  maintains  that  some  of 
the  passages  of  Scripture  which  speak 
of  election  are  to  be  understood  of  an 
election  to  outward  privileges,  not  to 
everlasting  life  ; and  that  in  other  texts, 
which  relate  to  the  future  state,  the 
election  spoken  of  is  not  an  arbitrary 
choice  of  individuals,  but  of  that  class 
or  descriptions  of  persons,  be  it  large  or 
small,  who  shall  comply  with  the  pre- 
scribed terms  o.f  salvation;  in  other 
words,  it  is  a conditional,  not  an  abso- 
lute election,  and  such  that  every  indi- 
vidual, if  he  will,  may  be  included  in  it. 
Milton  has  so  far  told  us  truth.  We 
wish  that  we  could  add  that  he  had 
thrown  new  light  on  free  agency.  This 
great  subject  has  indeed  baffled  as  yet 
the  deepest  thinkers,  and  seems  now  to 
be  consigned,  with  other  sublime  topics, 
under  the  sweeping  denomination  of 
“metaphysics,”  to  general  neglect.  But 


512 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


let  it  not  be  given  up  in  despair.  The 
time  is  coming  when  the  human  intellect 
is  to  strike  into  new  fields,  and  to  view 
itself  and  its  Creator  and  the  universe 
from  new  positions,  and  we  trust  that 
the  darkness  which  has  so  long  hung 
over  our  moral  nature  will  be  gradually 
dispersed.  This  attribute  of  free  agency, 
through  which  an  intelligent  being  is 
strictly  and  properly  a cause,  an  agent, 
an  originator  of  moral  good  or  moral  evil, 
and  not  a mere  machine,  determined  by 
outward  influences,  or  by  a secret,  yet  re- 
sistless efficiency  of  God,  which  virtually 
makes  him  the  author  and  sole  author  of 
all  human  actions,  — this  moral  freedom, 
which  is  the  best  image  of  the  creative 
energy  of  the  Deity,  seems  to  us  the 
noblest  object  of  philosophical  investi- 
gation. However  questioned  and  dark- 
ened by  a host  of  metaphysicians,  it  is 
recognized  in  the  common  conscious- 
ness of  every  human  being.  It  is  the 
ground  of  responsibility,  the  fountain  of 
moral  feeling.  It  is  involved  in  all 
moral  judgments  and  affections,  and 
thus  gives  to  social  life  its  whole  inter- 
est ; whilst  it  is  the  chief  tie  between 
the  soul  and  its  Creator.  The  fact  that 
philosophers  have  attempted  to  discard 
free  agency  from  their  explanations  of 
moral  phenomena,  and  to  subject  all 
human  action  to  necessity,  to  mechani- 
cal causes,  or  other  extraneous  influ- 
ences, is  proof  enough  that  the  science 
of  the  mind  has  as  yet  penetrated  little 
beneath  the  surface,  that  the  depths  of 
the  soul  are  still  unexplored. 

Milton  naturally  passes  from  his  chap- 
ter on  the  Supreme  Being  to  the  con- 
sideration of  those  topics  which  have 
always  been  connected  with  this  part  of 
theology,  — we  mean,  the  character  of 
Jesus  Christ,  and  the  nature  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  All  our  readers  are  probably 
aware  that  Milton  has  here  declared 
himself  an  Anti-trinitarian,  and  strenu- 
ously asserted  the  strict  and  proper  unity 
of  God.  His  chapter  on  “ The  Son  of 
God  ” is  the  most  elaborate  one  in  the 
work.  His  “ Prefatory  Remarks  ” are 
highly  interesting,  as  joining  with  a 
manly  assertion  of  his  right  an  affec- 
tionate desire  to  conciliate  the  Chris- 
tians from  whom  he  differed. 

“ I cannot  enter  upon  subjects  of  so  much 
difficulty  as  the  Son  of  God  and  the  Holy 
Spirit , without  again  premising  a few  intro- 
ductory words.  If,  indeed,  I were  a mem- 


ber of  the  Church  of  Rome,  which  requires 
implicit  obedience  to  its  creed  on  all  points 
of  faith,  I should  have  acquiesced  from 
education  or  habit  in  its  simple  decree  and 
authority,  even  though  it  denies  that  the 
doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  as  now  received, 
is  capable  of  being  proved  from  any  pas- 
sage of  Scripture.  But  since  I enrol  my- 
self among  the  number  of  those  who 
acknowledge  the  Word  of  God  alone  as 
the  rule  of  faith,  and  freely  advance  what 
appears  to  me  much  more  clearly  deducible 
from  the  Holy  Scriptures  than  the  com- 
monly received  opinion,  I see  no  reason 
why  any  one,  who  belongs  to  the  same 
Protestant  or  Reformed  Church,  and  pro- 
fesses to  acknowledge  the  same  rule  of 
faith  as  myself,  should  take  offence  at  my 
freedom,  particularly  as  I impose  my  au- 
thority on  no  one,  but  merely  propose  what 
I think  more  worthy  of  belief  than  the  creed 
in  general  acceptation.  I onl)  entreat  that 
my  readers  will  ponder  and  examine  my 
statements  in  a spirit  which  desires  to  dis- 
cover nothing  but  the  truth,  and  with  a 
mind  free  from  prejudice.  For,  without 
intending  to  oppose  the  authority  of  Scrip- 
ture, which  I consider  inviolably  sacred,  I 
only  take  upon  myself  to  refute  human 
interpretations  as  often  as  the  occasion 
requires,  conformably  to  my  right,  or  rather 
to  my  duty,  as  a man.  If,  indeed,  those  with 
whom  I have  to  contend  were  able  to  pro- 
duce direct  attestation  from  Heaven  to  the 
truth  of  the  doctrine  which  they  espouse,  it 
would  be  nothing  less  than  impiety  to  vent- 
ure to  raise,  I do  not  say  a clamor,  but  so 
much  as  a murmur  against  it.  But,  inas- 
much as  they  can  lay  claim  to  nothing  more 
than  human  powers,  assisted  by  that  spirit- 
ual illumination  which  is  common  to  all,  it 
is  not  unreasonable  that  they  should  on 
their  part  allow  the  privileges  of  diligent 
research  and  free  discussion  to  another 
inquirer,  who  is  seeking  truth  through 
the  same  means  and  in  the  same  way  as 
themselves,  and  whose  desire  of  benefiting 
mankind  is  equal  to  their  own.” — Vol.  /., 
pp.  103-105. 

Milton  teaches  that  the  Son  of  God  is 
a distinct  being  from  God,  and  inferior 
to  him,  that  he  existed  before  the  world 
was  made,  that  he  is  the  first  of  the 
creation  of  God,  and  that  afterwards  all 
other  things  were  made  by  him,  as  the 
instrument  or  minister  of  his  Father. 
He  maintains,  in  agreement  with  Dr. 
Clarke,  that  the  Holy  Spirit  is  a person, 
an  intelligent  agent,  but  created  and 
inferior  to  God.  This  opinion  of  Mil- 
ton  is  the  more  remarkable,  because  he 
admits  that,  before  the  time  of  Christ, 
the  Jews,  though  accustomed  to  the 
phrase  Holy  Spirit,  never  attached  to 


WRITINGS  OF  MILTON 


513 


it  the  idea  of  personality,  and  that,  both 
in  the  Old  and  the  New  Testament,  it 
is  often  used  to  express  God  himself, 
or  his  power  and  agency.  It  is  strange 
that,  after  these  concessions,  he  could 
have  found  a difficulty  in  giving  a fig- 
urative interpretation  to  the  few  pas- 
sages in  the  New  Testament  which 
speak  of  the  Holy  Spirit  as  a person. 

We  are  unable  within  our  limits  to 
give  a sketch  of  Milton’s  strong  reason- 
ing against  the  supreme  divinity  of  Jesus 
Christ.  We  must,  however,  pause  a 
moment  to  thank  God  that  He  has  raised 
up  this  illustrious  advocate  of  the  long- 
obscured  doctrine  of  the  Divine  Unity. 
We  can  now  bring  forward  the  three 
greatest  and  noblest  minds  of  modern 
times,  and,  we  may  add,  of  the  Chris- 
tian era,  as  witnesses  to  that  great  truth, 
of  which,  in  an  humbler  and  narrower 
sphere,  we  desire  to  be  the  defenders. 
Our  Trinitarian  adversaries  are  perpet- 
ually ringing  in  our  ears  the  names  of 
Fathers  and  Reformers.  We  take  Mil- 
ton,  Locke,  and  Newton,  and  place  them 
in  our  front,  and  want  no  others  to  op- 
pose to  the  whole  array  of  great  names 
on  the  opposite  side.  Before  these 
intellectual  suns,  the  stars  of  self- 
named  Orthodoxy  “hide  their  dimin- 
ished heads.”  To  these  eminent  men 
God  communicated  such  unusual  meas- 
ures of  light  and  mental  energy,  that 
their  names  spring  up  spontaneously 
when  we  think  or  would  speak  of  the 
greatness  of  our  nature.  Their  theo- 
logical opinions  were  the  fruits  of 
patient,  profound,  reverent  study  of 
the  Scriptures.  They  came  to  this 
work  with  minds  not  narrowed  by  a 
technical,  professional  education,  but 
accustomed  to  broad  views,  to  the 
widest  range  of  thought.  They  were 
shackled  by  no  party  connections. 
They  were  warped  by  no  clerical  am- 
bition, and  subdued  by  no  clerical  timid- 
ity. They  came  to  this  subject  in  the 
fulness  of  their  strength,  with  free  minds 
open  to  truth,  and  with  unstained  purity 
of  life.  They  came  to  it  in  an  age  when 
the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  was  instilled 
by  education,  and  upheld  by  the  author- 
ity of  the  church  and  by  penal  laws. 
And  what  did  these  great  and  good 
men,  whose  intellectual  energy  and  love 
of  truth  have  made  them  the  chief  bene- 
factors of  the  human  mind,  what,  we 
ask,  did  they  discover  in  the  Scriptures  ? 


a triple  divinity  ? three  infinite  agents  ? 
three  infinite  objects  of  worship  ? three 
persons,  each  of  whom  possesses  his 
own  distinct  offices,  and  yet  shares 
equally  in  the  godhead  with  the  rest  ? 
No!  Scripture  joined  with  nature  and 
with  that  secret  voice  in  the  heart  which 
even  idolatry  could  not  always  stifle,  and 
taught  them  to  bow  reverently  before 
the  one  Infinite  Father,  and  to  ascribe 
to  him  alone  supreme,  self-existent  di- 
vinity. Our  principal  object  in  these 
remarks  has  been  to  show  that,  as  far 
as  great  names  are  arguments,  the  cause 
of  Anti-trinitarianism,  or  c«f  God’s  proper 
Unity,  is  supported  by  the  strongest. 
But  we  owe  it  to  truth  to  say  that  we 
put  little  trust  in  these  fashionable 
proofs.  The  chief  use  of  great  names 
in  religious  controversy  Is,  to  balance 
and  neutralize  one  another,  that  the 
unawed  and  unfettered  mind  may  think 
and  judge  with  a due  self-reverence,  and 
with  a solemn  sense  of  accountableness 
to  God  alone. 

We  have  called  Milton  an  Anti-trini- 
tarian. But  we  have  no  desire  to  iden- 
tify him  with  any  sect.  His  mind  was 
too  independent  and  universal  to  narrow 
itself  to  human  creeds  and  parties.  He 
is  supposed  to  have  separated  himself, 
in  his  last  years,  from  all  the  denomina- 
tions around  him ; and,  were  he  now 
living,  we  are  not  sure  that  he  would 
find  one  to  which  he  would  be  strongly 
attracted.  He  would  probably  stand 
first  among  that  class  of  Christians, 
more  numerous  than  is  supposed,  and, 
we  hope,  increasing,  who  are  too  jealous 
of  the  rights  of  the  mind,  and  too  dis- 
satisfied with  the  clashing  systems  of 
the  age,  to  attach  themselves  closely  to 
any  party ; in  whom  the  present  im- 
proved state  of  theology  has  created  a 
consciousness  of  defect,  rather  than  the 
triumph  of  acquisition  ; who,  however 
partial  to  their  own  creed,  cannot  per- 
suade themselves  that  it  is  the  ultimate 
attainment  of  the  human  mind,  and  that 
distant  ages  will  repeat  its  articles  as 
reverently  as  the  Catholics  do  the  de- 
crees of  Trent;  who  contend  earnestly 
for  free  inquiry,  not  because  all  who  in- 
quire will  think  as  they  do,  but  because 
some  at  least  may  be  expected  to  out- 
strip them,  and  to  be  guides  to  higher 
truth.  With  this  nameless  and  spread- 
ing class  we  have  strong  sympathies. 
We  want  new  light,  and  care  not  whence 


5H 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


it  comes  ; we  want  reformers  worthy  of 
the  name ; and  we  should  rejoice  in 
such  a manifestation  of  Christianity  as 
would  throw  all  present  systems  into 
obscurity. 

We  come  now  to  a topic  on  which 
Milton  will  probably  startle  a majority 
of  readers.  He  is  totally  opposed,  as 
were  most  of  the  ancient  philosophers, 
to  the  doctrine  of  God’s  creating  the 
universe  out  of  nothing.  He  maintains 
that  there  can  be  no  action  without  a 
passive  material  on  which  the  act  is  ex- 
erted, and  that  accordingly  the  world 
was  framed  out  of  a pre-existent  matter. 
To  the  question,  What  and  whence  is 
this  primary  matter  ? he  answers,  It  is 
from  God,  “an  efflux  of  the  Deity.” 
“ It  proceeded  from  God,”  and  conse- 
quently no  additional  existence  was  pro- 
duced by  creation,  nor  is  matter  capa- 
ble of  annihilation.  A specimen  of  his 
speculations  on  this  subject  is  given  in 
the  following  quotation  : — 

“ It  is  clear,  then,  that  the  world  was 
framed  out  of  matter  of  some  kind  or 
other.  For,  since  action  and  passion  are 
relative  terms,  and  since,  consequently,  no 
agent  can  act  externally,  unless  there  be 
some  patient,  such  as  matter,  it  appears 
impossible  that  God  could  have  created 
this  world  out  of  nothing  ; not  from  any 
defect  of  power  on  his  part,  but  because  it 
was  necessary  that  something  should  have 
previously  existed  capable  of  receiving  pas- 
sively the  exertion  of  the  divine  efficacy. 
Since,  therefore,  both  Scripture  and  reason 
concur  in  pronouncing  that  all  these  things 
were  made,  not  out  of  nothing,  but  out  of 
matter,  it  necessarily  follows,  that  matter 
must  either  have  always  existed  indepen- 
dently of  God,  or  have  originated  from  God 
at  some  particular  point  of  time.  That  mat- 
ter should  have  been  always  independent  of 
God  (seeing  that  it  is  only  a passive  prin- 
ciple, dependent  on  the  Deity,  and  subser- 
vient to  him  ; and  seeing,  moreover,  that  as 
in  number,  considered  abstractly,  so  also  in 
time  or  eternity,  there  is  no  inherent  force 
or  efficacy),  that  matter,  I say,  should  have 
existed  of  itself  from  all  eternity,  is  incon- 
ceivable. If,  on  the  contrary,  it  did  not 
exist  from  all  eternity,  it  is  difficult  to 
understand  from  whence  it  derives  its 
origin.  There  remains,  therefore,  but  one 
solution  of  the  difficulty,  for  which,  more- 
over, we  have  the  authority  of  Scripture, 
namely,  that  all  things  are  of  God.”  — Vol. 
I.,pp.  236,  237. 

This  doctrine  naturally  led  Milton  to 
another,  viz.,  that  there  is  no  ground  for 


the  supposed  distinction  between  body 
and  soul ; for,  if  matter  is  an  “ efflux  of 
the  Deity,”  it  is  plainly  susceptible  of 
intellectual  functions.  Accordingly  our 
author  affirms,  — 

“ That  man  is  a living  being,  intrinsically 
and  properly  one  and  individual,  not  com- 
pound or  separable,  not,  according  to  the 
common  opinion,  made  up  and  framed  of 
two  distinct  and  different  natures,  as  of 
soul  and  body, — but  the  whole  man  is 
soul,  and  the  soul  man  ; that  is  to  say,  a 
body,  or  substance,  individual,  animated, 
sensitive,  and  rational.”  — Vol.  /.,  pp.  250, 
251. 

We  here  learn  that  a passage  in  “ Par- 
adise Lost,”  which  we  have  admired  as 
poetry,  was  deemed  by  Milton  sound 
philosophy  : — 

“ O Adam,  One  Almighty  is,  from  whom 
All  things  proceed,  and  up  to  him  return, 

If  not  depraved  from  good,  created  all 
Such  to  perfection,  one  first  matter  all ’ 

Indued  with  various  forms,  various  degrees 
Of  substance,  and,  in  things  that  live,  of  life : 

But  more  refined,  more  spirituous,  and  pure, 

As  nearer  to  him  placed  or  nearer  tending, 

Each  in  their  several  active  spheres  assigned, 

Till  body  up  to  spirit  work , in  bounds 
Proportioned  to  each  kind.  So  from  the  root 
Springs  lighter  the  green  stalk,  from  thence  the 

leaves 

More  aery,  last  the  bright  consummate  flower 
Spirits  odorous  breathes  ; flowers  and  their  fruit, 
Man’s  nourishment,  by  gradual  scale  sublimed, 

To  vital  spirits  aspire,  to  animal, 

To  intellectual.  ’ ’ 

Par.  Lost , B.  V.  lines  469-485. 

These  speculations  of  Milton  will  be 
received  in  this  age  with  more  favor,  or 
with  less  aversion,  than  in  his  own ; for, 
from  the  time  of  Locke,  the  discussions 
of  philosophers  have  tended  to  unsettle 
our  notions  of  matter,  and  no  man  is 
hardy  enough  now  to  say  what  it  is,  or 
what  it  may  not  be.  The  idealism  of 
Berkeley,  though  it  has  never  organized 
a sect,  has  yet  sensibly  influenced  the 
modes  of  thinking  among  metaphysi- 
cians ; and  the  coincidence  of  this  sys- 
tem with  the  theory  of  certain  Hindoo 
philosophers  may  lead  us  to  suspect  that 
it  contains  some  great  latent  truth,  of 
which  the  European  and  Hindoo  intel- 
lect, so  generally  at  variance,  have  caught 
a glimpse.  Matter  is  indeed  a Proteus, 
which  escapes  us  at  the  moment  we  hope 
to  seize  it.  Priestley  was  anxious  to  make 
the  soul  material ; but  for  this  purpose 
he  was  obliged  to  change  matter  from  a 
substance  into  a power,  that  is,  into  no 


WRITINGS  OF  MILTON 


5*5 


matter  at  all  ; so  that  he  destroyed  in  at- 
tempting to  diffuse  it.  We  have  thrown 
out  these  remarks  to  rescue  Milton’s 
memory  from  the  imputation,  which  he 
was  the  last  man  to  deserve,  of  irrever- 
ence towards  God  ; for  of  this  some  will 
deem  him  guilty  in  tracing  matter  to  the 
Deity  as  its  fountain.  Matter,  which 
seems  to  common  people  so  intelligible, 
is  still  wrapped  in  mystery.  We  know 
it  only  by  its  relation  to  mind,  or  as  an 
assemblage  of  powers  to  awaken  certain 
sensations.  Of  its  relation  to  God  we 
may  be  said  to  know  nothing.  Perhaps, 
as  knowledge  advances,  we  shall  dis- 
cover that  the  Creator  is  bound  to  his 
works  by  stronger  and  more  intimate 
ties  than  we  now  imagine.  We  do  not, 
then,  quarrel  with  such  suggestions  as 
Milton’s,  though  we  cannot  but  wonder 
at  the  earnestness  with  which  he  follows 
out  such  doubtful  speculations. 

Milton  next  proceeds  to  the  considera- 
tion of  man’s  state  in  Paradise,  and,  as 
marriage  was  the  only  social  relation 
then  subsisting,  he  introduces  here  his 
views  of  that  institution,  and  of  polyg- 
amy and  divorce.  These  views  show, 
if  not  the  soundness,  yet  the  character- 
istic independence  of  his  mind.  No  part 
of  his  book  has  given  such  offence  as 
his  doctrine  of  the  lawfulness  of  polyg- 
amy, and  yet  nowhere  is  he  less  liable 
to  reproach.  It  is  plain  that  his  error 
was  founded  on  his  reverence  for  Script- 
ure. He  saw  that  polygamy  was  allowed 
to  the  best  men  in  the  Old  Testament, 
to  patriarchs  before  the  law,  who,  he 
says,  were  the  objects  of  God’s  special 
favor,  and  to  eminent  individuals  in 
subsequent  ages  ; and,  finding  no  prohi- 
bition of  it  in  the  New  Testament,  he  be- 
lieved that  not  only  holy  men  would  be 
traduced,  but  Scripture  dishonored,  by 
pronouncing  it  morally  evil.  We  are 
aware  that  some  will  say  that  the  prac- 
tice is  condemned  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment ; and  we  grant  that  it  is  censured 
by  implication  in  these  words  of  Christ, 
“ Whosoever  shall  put  away  his  wife, 
except  it  be  for  fornication,  and  shall 
marry  another,  committeth  adultery.”  * 
But  we  believe  it  to  be  an  indisputable 
fact  that,  although  Christianity  was  first 
preached  in  Asia,  which  had  been  from 
the  earliest  ages  the  seat  of  polygamy, 
the  Apostles  never  denounced  it  as  a 


crime,  and  never  required  their  converts 
to  put  away  all  wives  but  one.  “ What 
then  ? ” some  may  say.  “ Are  you,  too, 
the  advocates  of  the  lawfulness  of  polyg- 
amy ? ” We  answer,  No.  We  consider 
our  religion  as  decidedly  hostile  to  this 
practice  ; and  we  add,  what  seems  to  us 
of  great  importance,  that  this  hostility 
is  not  the  less  decided  because  no  ex- 
press prohibition  of  polygamy  is  found 
in  the  New  Testament ; for  Christianity 
is  not  a system  of  precise  legislation, 
marking  out  with  literal  exactness  every 
thing  to  be  done,  and  every  thing  to  be 
avoided ; but  an  inculcation  of  broad 
principles,  which  it  intrusts  to  individuals 
and  to  society  to  be  applied  according  to 
their  best  discretion.  It  is  through  this 
generous  peculiarity  that  Christianity  is 
fitted  to  be  a universal  religion.  Through 
this  it  can  subsisjt  and  blend  itself  with 
all  stages  of  society,  and  can  live  in  the 
midst  of  abuses  which  it  silently  and 
powerfully  overcomes,  but  against  which 
it  would  avail  little  were  it  immediately 
to  lift  up  the  voice  of  denunciation.  We 
all  know  that  long-cherished  corruptions, 
which  have  sent  their  roots  through  the 
whole  frame  of  a community,  cannot  be 
torn  up  at  once  without  dissolving  soci- 
ety. To  Christianity  is  committed  the 
sublime  office  of  eradicating  all  the  er- 
rors and  evils  of  the  world ; but  this  it 
does  by  a process  corresponding  with 
man’s  nature,  by  working  a gradual  rev- 
olution in  the  mind,  which,  in  its  turn, 
works  a safe  and  effectual  revolution  in 
manners  and  life.  No  argument,  there- 
fore, in  favor  of  a practice  can  be  ad- 
duced from  the  fact  that  it  is  not  explic- 
itly reprobated  in  the  New  Testament. 
For  example,  Christianity  went  forth  into 
communities  where  multitudes  were  held 
in  slavery,  and  all  ranks  were  ground 
and  oppressed  by  despotism,  — abuses  on 
which  the  spirit  of  our  religion  frowns 
as  sternly  as  on  any  which  can  be  named. 
Yet  Christianity  did  not  command  the 
master  to  free  his  slaves,  or  the  despot 
to  descend  from  his  absolute  throne  ; 
but  satisfied  itself  with  proclaiming  sub- 
lime truths  in  regard  to  God’s  paternal 
character  and  administration,  and  broad 
and  generous  principles  of  action,  leav- 
ing to  these  the  work  of  breaking  every 
chain,  by  a gradual,  inward,  irresistible 
influence,  and  of  asserting  the  essential 
equality  and  unalienable  rights  of  the 
whole  human  race.  We  cannot  leave 


* Matt.  xix.  9. 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


516 

this  topic  without  adding  that  not  only 
Milton’s  error  on  polygamy  but  many 
other  noxious  mistakes  have  resulted 
from  measuring  Christianity  by  the  con- 
dition of  the  primitive  church,  as  if  that 
* were  the  standard  of  faith  and  practice, 
as  if  every  thing  allowed  then  were  wise 
and  good,  as  if  the  religion  were  then  un- 
folded in  all  its  power  and  extent.  The 
truth  is,  that  Christianity  was  then  in 
its  infancy.  The  Apostles  communicated 
its  great  truths  to  the  rude  minds  of  Jews 
and  Heathens  ; but  the  primitive  church 
did  not,  and  could  not,  understand  all 
that  was  involved  in  those  principles,  all 
the  applications  of  which  they  are  sus- 
ceptible, all  the  influences  they  were  to 
exert  on  the  human  mind,  all  the  com- 
binations they  were  to  form  with  the  new 
truths  which  time  was  to  unfold,  all  the 
new  lights  in  which  they  were  to  be 
placed,  all  the  adaptations  to  human 
nature  and  to  more  advanced  states  of 
society,  which  they  were  progressively 
to  manifest.  In  the  first  age,  the  relig- 
ion was  administered  with  a wise  and 
merciful  conformity  to  the  capacities  of 
its  recipients.  With  the  progress  of  in- 
telligence, and  the  development  of  the 
moral  faculties,  Christianity  is  freeing 
itself,  and  ought  to  be  freed,  from  the 
local,  temporary,  and  accidental  associa- 
tions of  its  childhood.  Its  great  princi- 
ples are  coming  forth  more  distinctly 
and  brightly,  and  condemning  abuses  and 
errors  which  have  passed  current  for 
ages.  This  great  truth,  for  such  we 
deem  it,  that  Christianity  is  a growing 
light,  and  that  it  must  be  more  or  less 
expounded  by  every  age  for  itself,  was 
not  sufficiently  apprehended  by  Milton  ; 
nor  is  it  now  understood  as  it  will  be. 
For  want  of  apprehending  it,  Christi- 
anity is  administered  now  too  much  as 
it  was  in  ages  when  nothing  of  our  liter- 
ature, philosophy,  and  spirit  of  improve- 
ment existed  ; and  consequently  it  does 
not,  we  fear,  exert  that  entire  and 
supreme  sway  over  strong  and  cultivated 
minds  which  is  its  due,  and  which  it 
must  one  day  obtain. 

Milton  has  connected  with  polygamy 
the  subject  of  divorce,  on  which  he  is 
known  to  have  differed  from  many  Chris- 
tians. He  strenuously  maintains  in  the 
work  under  review,  and  more  largely  in 
other  treatises,  that  the  violation  of  the 
marriage  bed  is  not  the  sole  ground  of 
divorce,  but  that  “the  perpetual  inter- 


ruption of  peace  and  affection,  by  mut- 
ual differences  and  unkindness,  is  a 
sufficient  reason  ” for  dissolving  the  con- 
jugal relation.  On  this  topic  we  cannot 
enlarge. 

We  now  arrive  at  that  part  of  Milton’s 
work  in  which  his  powerful  mind  might 
have  been  expected  to  look  beyond  the 
prevalent  opinions  of  his  day,  but  in 
which  he  has  followed  the  beaten  road, 
almost  without  deviation,  seldom  notic- 
ing difficulties,  and  hardly  seeming  to 
know  their  existence.  We  refer  to  the 
great  subjects  of  the  moral  condition  of 
mankind,  and  of  redemption  by  Jesus 
Christ.  The  doctrine  of  original  sin  he 
has  assumed  as  true,  and  his  faith  in  it 
was  evidently  strengthened  by  his  doc- 
trine  of  the  identity  of  the  soul  with  the 
body,  in  consequence  of  which  he  teaches 
that  souls  are  propagated  from  parents 
to  children,  and  not  immediately  derived 
from  God,  and  that  they  are  born  with 
an  hereditary  taint,  just  as  the  "body 
contracts  hereditary  disease.  It  is  hum- 
bling to  add,  that  he  supports  this  doc- 
trine of  the  propagation  of  sin  by  physical 
contagion,  on  the  ground  that  it  relieves 
the  Creator  from  the  charge  of  originat- 
ing the  corruption  which  we  are  said  to 
bring  into  life  ; as  if  the  infinitely  pure 
and  good  God  could,  by  a covert  agency, 
infect  with  moral  evil  the  passive  and 
powerless  mind  of  the  infant,  and  then 
absolve  himself  of  the  horrible  work  by 
imputing  it  to  instruments  of  his  own 
ordination  ! Milton  does  not,  however, 
believe  in  total  depravity,  feeling  that 
this  would  free  men  from  guilt,  by  tak- 
ing away  all  power ; and  he  therefore 
leaves  us  a portion  of  the  divine  image, 
— not  enough  to  give  us  a chance  of 
virtue,  but  enough  to  take  away  excuse 
from  sin.  Such  are  the  “ tender  mercies  ” 
of  theology  ! With  respect  to  Christ’s 
mediation,  he  supposes  that  Christ  saves 
us  by  bearing  our  punishment,  and  in 
this  way  satisfying  God’s  justice.  His 
views,  indeed,  are  not  expressed  with 
much  precision,  and  seem  to  have  been 
formed  without  much  investigation.  On 
these  great  subjects,  of  human  nature 
and  redemption,  we  confess  we  are  dis- 
appointed in  finding  the  spirit  of  Milton 
satisfying  itself  with  the  degrading  no- 
tions which  prevailed  around  him.  But 
we  remember  that  it  is  the  order  of  Prov- 
idence that  the  greatest  minds  should 
sympathize  much  with  their  age,  and  that 


WRITINGS  OF  MILTON. 


5*7 


they  contribute  the  more  to  the  progress 
of  mankind  by  not  advancing  too  fast 
and  too  far  beyond  their  contemporaries. 
In  this  part  of  his  work,  Milton  main- 
tains that  the  death  threatened  to  sin 
extends  equally  to  body  and  soul,  which 
ind-eed  he  was  bound  to  do,  as  he  holds 
the  soul  and  body  to  be  one  ; and  he 
then  proceeds  to  defend,  with  his  usual 
power,  the  necessary  inference,  that  all 
consciousness  is  suspended  between 
death  and  the  resurrection.  We  have 
no  faith  in  this  doctrine  ; but  we  respect 
the  courage  with  which  he  admits  and 
maintains  whatever  can  be  fairly  deduced 
from  his  opinions. 

Having  concluded  the  subject  of  re- 
demption, he  passes  to  what  he  calls 
“ man’s  renovation,  or  the  change 
whereby  the  sinner  is  brought  into  a 
state  of  grace  ; ” and  here,  though  he 
is  not  always  perspicuous,  yet  he  seldom 
deviates  from  what  was  then  the  beaten 
road.  We  owe  it,  however,  to  Milton* 
to  say  that,  although  he  sometimes  ap- 
proached, he  never  adopted  Calvinism. 
All  the  distinguished  articles  of  that 
creed,  — total  depravity,  election  and 
reprobation,  Christ  dying  for  the  elect 
only,  irresistible  grace,  the  perseverance 
of  the  saints,  and  justification  by  mere 
faith,  — all  are  denied  and  opposed 
by  him,  and  some  with  great  strength. 
Swayed  as  Milton  was  by  the  age  in 
which  he  lived,  his  spirit  could  not  be 
subdued  to  the  heart-withering  faith  of 
the  Genevan  school. 

We  now  come  to  a subject  in  which 
Milton  was  deeply  interested,  — we 
mean  Christian  liberty,  under  which 
head  may  be  included  the  discipline  of 
the  church,  the  power  of  ministers,  and 
the  rights  of  the  people.  To  vindicate 
the  liberty  of  Christians,  and  to  secure 
them  from  all  outward  impositions  and 
ordinances,  he  maintains  that  the  whole 
Mosaic  law  is  abolished,  so  that  no  part 
is  binding  on  Christians,  — a doctrine 
which  may  startle  many  who  believe 
that  the  moral  precepts  of  that  law  are 
as  binding  now  as  ever.  But  such  per- 
sons differ  little  in  reality  from  Milton, 
whose  true  meaning  is  that  these  pre- 
cepts bind  Christians,  not  through  the 
authority  of  Moses,  which  is  wholly 
done  away,  but  only  because  they  are 
taken  up  and  incorporated  into  Chris- 
tianity which  is  our  only  law,  and  which 
has  set  forth  whatever  was  permanently 


valuable  in  Judaism,  in  a more  perfect 
form,  and  with  more  powerful  sanctions. 

As  another  branch  of  the  liberty  of 
Christians,  he  maintains,  as  we  may 
well  suppose,  the  right  of  every  be- 
liever to  consult  the  Scriptures  and  to 
judge  of  them  for  himself.  Not  satis- 
fied with  this,  he  takes  the  ground  of 
Quakerism,  and  maintains  that  the 
Christian,  in  addition  to  the  Scriptures, 
has  an  inward  guide,  with  which  no  hu^- 
man  authority  should  interfere  : — 

“ Under  the  gospel  we  possess,  as  it  were, 
a twofold  Scripture,  — one  external,  which 
is  the  written  word,  and  the  other  internal, 
which  is  the  Holy  Spirit,  written  in  the 
hearts  of  believers,  according  to  the  prom- 
ise of  God,  and  with  the  intent  that  it 
should  by  no  means  be  neglected.”  — Vol. 
//.,/.  172.  “ The  external  Scripture  . . . 

has  been  liable  to  frequent  corruption,  and 
in  some  instances  has  been  corrupted, 
through  the  number,  and  occasionally  the 
bad  faith,  of  those  by  whom  it  has  been 
handed  down,  the  variety  and  discrepancy 
of  the  original  manuscripts,  and  the  ad- 
ditional diversity  produced  by  subsequent 
transcripts  and  printed  editions.  But  the 
Spirit  which  leads  to  truth  cannot  be  cor- 
rupted, neither  is  it  easy  to  deceive  a man 
who  is  really  spiritual.” — p.  173.  “It  is 
difficult  to  conjecture  the  purpose  of  Provi- 
dence in  committing  the  writings  of  the 
New  Testament  to  such  uncertain  and  vari- 
able guardianship,  unless  it  were  to  teach 
us,  by  this  very  circumstance,  that  the 
Spirit  which  is  given  to  us  is  a more  cer- 
tain guide  than  Scripture,  whom,  therefore, 
it  is  our  duty  to  follow.” — p.  174.  “Hence 
it  follows,  that  when  an  acquiescence  in 
human  opinions  or  an  obedience  to  human 
authority  in  matters  of  religion  is  exacted, 
in  the  name  either  of  the  church  or  of  the 
Christian  magistrate,  from  those  who  are 
themselves  led  individually  by  the  Spirit 
of  God,  this  is  in  effect  to  impose  a yoke, 
not  on  man,  but  on  the  Holy  Spirit  it- 
self.”—/. 176. 

This,  in  words,  is  genuine  Quakerism  ; 
but  whether  Milton  understood  by  the 
Holy  Spirit  that  immediate  revelation 
which  forms  the  leading  doctrine  of 
that  creed,  we  doubt.  To  this  doctrine 
it  may  be  objected,  and  we  think  Milton 
must  have  felt  the  objection,  that  it  dis* 
parages  and  discourages  our  faculties, 
and  produces  inaction  of  mind,  leading 
men  to  expect  from  a sudden  flash  from 
heaven  the  truth  which  we  are  taught 
to  seek  by  the  right  use  of  our  own 
powers.  We  imagine  that  Milton  be- 
lieved that  the  Holy  Spirit  works  with 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


518 

and  by  our  own  understandings,  and, 
instead  of  superseding  reason,  invigo- 
rates and  extends  it.  But  this  is  not 
the  only  place  where  his  precise  views 
are  obscured  by  general  expressions, 
or  by  rapid  and  superficial  notices  of 
subjects. 

In  Milton’s  views  of  the  church  and 
the  ministry,  we  have  other  proofs  of 
his  construing  the  Scriptures  in  the 
manner  most  favorable  to  Christian 
liberty.  He  teaches  that  the  universal 
church  has  no  head  but  Christ,  and 
that  the  power  arrogated  by  popes, 
councils,  and  bishops,  is  gross  usurpa- 
tion. In  regard  to  particular  churches, 
he  is  a strict  Congregationalist.  Each 
church,  he  says,  is  competent  to  its  own 
government,  and  connected  with  others 
only  by  the  bond  of  charity.  No  others 
are  authorized  to  interfere  with  any  of 
its  concerns,  but  in  the  way  of  brotherly 
counsel : — 

“Every  church  consisting  of  the  above 
parts,”  i.e.,  well-instructed  believers,  “ how- 
ever small  its  numbers,  is  to  be  considered  as 
in  itself  an  integral  and  perfect  church,  so 
far  as  regards  its  religious  rights  ; nor  has 
it  any  superior  on  earth,  whether  individual, 
or  assembly,  or  convention,  to  whom  it  can 
be  lawfully  required  to  render  submission  ; 
inasmuch  as  no  believer  out  of  its  pale, 
nor  any  order  or  council  of  men  whatever, 
has  a greater  right  than  itself  to  expect  a 
participation  in  the  written  word  and  the 
promises,  in  the  presence  of  Christ,  in  the 
presiding  influence  of  the  Spirit,  and  in 
those  gracious  gifts  which  are  the  reward 
of  united  prayer.” — Vol.  II.,  /.  194. 

The  choice  of  the  minister,  he  says, 
belongs  to  the  people.  The  minister,  if 
possible,  should  serve  the  church  gra- 
tuitously, and  live  by  the  labor  of  his 
own  hands.  This  unpaid  service  he 
pronounces  more  noble  and  consonant 
to  our  Lord’s  example  and  that  of  the 
Apostles.  In  accordance  with  these 
views,  he  favors  the  idea  of  a church 
consisting  of  few  members  : — 

“ All  that  pertains  to  the  worship  of  God 
and  the  salvation  of  believers,  all,  in  short, 
that  is  necessary  to  constitute  a church, 
may  be  duly  and  orderly  transacted  in  a 
particular  church,  within  the  walls  of  a 
private  house,  and  where  the  numbers  as- 
sembled are  inconsiderable.  Nay,  such  a 
church,  when  in  compliance  with  the  in- 
terested views  of  its  pastor  it  allows  of  an 
increase  of  numbers  beyond  what  is  con- 
venient, deprives  itself  in  a great  measure 


of  the  advantages  to  be  derived  from  meet- 
ing in  common.” — Vol.  II., p.  194. 

He  maintains  that  ministers  are  not 
to  monopolize  public  instruction,  or  the 
administration  of  the  ordinances  ; but 
that  all  Christians,  having  sufficient 
gifts,  are  to  participate  in  these  ser- 
vices : — 

“ The  custom  of  holding  assemblies  is  to 
be  maintained,  not  after  the  present  mode, 
but  according  to  the  apostolical  institution, 
which  did  not  ordain  that  an  individual, 
and  he  a stipendiary,  should  have  the  sole 
right  of  speaking  from  a higher  place,  but 
that  each  believer  in  turn  should  be  author- 
ized to  speak,  or  prophesy,  or  teach,  or 
exhort,  according  to  his  gifts ; insomuch 
that  even  the  weakest  among  the  brethren 
had  the  privilege  of  asking  questions,  and 
consulting  the  elders  and  more  experienced 
members  of  the  congregation.”  — Vol.  //., 
p.  203.  “ Any  believer  is  competent  to  act 

as  an  ordinary  minister,  according  as  con- 
venience may  require,  provided  only  he  be 
endowed  with  the  necessary  gifts ; these 
gifts  constituting  his  mission.” — p.  153. 
“ If,  therefore,  it  be  competent  to  any  be- 
liever whatever  to  preach  the  gospel,  pro- 
vided he  be  furnished  with  the  requisite 
gifts,  it  is  also  competent  to  him  to  admin- 
ister the  rite  of  baptism ; inasmuch  as  the 
latter  office  is  inferior  to  the  former.” — p. 
15 7.  “With  regard  to  the  Lord’s  supper 
also,  it  has  been  shown,  in  the  preceding 
chapter,  that  all  are  entitled  to  participate 
in  that  rite,  but  that  the  privilege  of  dis- 
pensing the  elements  is  confined  to  no  par- 
ticular man,  or  order  of  men.” — p.  158. 

We  entirely  accord  with  the  spirit  of 
freedom  which  these  passages  breathe  ; 
but  from  some  of  the  particular  views 
we  dissent.  The  great  error  of  Milton 
lies  in  supposing  that  the  primitive 
church  was  meant  to  be  a model  for  all 
ages.  But  can  we  suppose  that  the 
church  at  its  birth,  when  it  was  poor, 
persecuted,  hemmed  in  by  Judaism  and 
Heathenism,  supplied  imperfectly  with 
written  rules  and  records,  dependent 
for  instruction  chiefly  on  inspired  teach- 
ers, and  composed  of  converts  who  had 
grown  up  and  been  steeped  in  Jewish 
and  Heathen  errors,  — can  we  imagine 
that  in  these  circumstances  the  church 
took  a form  which  it  ought  to  retain  as 
sacred  and  unalterable,  in  its  triumphs, 
and  prosperity,  and  diffusion,  and  in 
ages  of  greater  light  and  refinement  ? 
We  know  that  in  the  first  ages  there 
were  no  ministers  with  salaries,  or  edi- 
fices for  public  worship.  Christians 


WRITINGS  OF  MILTON 


5 19 


met  in  private  houses,  and  sometimes  in 
the  obscurest  they  could  find.  On  these 
occasions,  the  services  were  not  monop- 
olized by  an  individual,  but  shared  by 
the  fraternity  ; nor  is  there  a hint  in  the 
New  Testament  that  the  administration 
of  the  Lord’s  supper  and  baptism  was 
confined  to  the  minister.  But  in  all  this 
we  have  no  rule  for  the  present  day. 
Indeed  it  seems  to  us  utterly  repugnant 
to  the  idea  of  a universal  religion,  in- 
tended for  all  ages  and  nations,  and  for 
all  the  progressive  states  of  society  to 
the  end  of  the  world,  to  suppose  that 
in  its  infancy  it  established  an  order 
of  worship,  instruction,  and  discipline, 
which  was  to  remain  inviolable  in  all 
future  times.  This  doctrine  of  an  in- 
flexible form  seems  to  us  servile,  super- 
stitious, and  disparaging  to  Christianity. 
Our  religion  is  too  spiritual  and  inward, 
and  cares  too  little  about  its  exterior,  to 
bind  itself  in  this  everlasting  chain. 
The  acknowledged  indefiniteness  of  the 
New  Testament,  in  regard  to  this  sub- 
ject, is  no  mean  proof  of  the  enlarged 
and  prospective  wisdom  of  its  Founder. 
We  believe  that,  with  the  diffusion  of 
liberal  views,  the  question  will  arise, 
whether  our  religion  cannot  be  taught 
and  administered  in  methods  and  forms 
more  adapted  than  those  which  now 
prevail  to  its  spirit  and  great  design,  to 
the  principles  of  human  nature,  and  to 
the  condition  and  wants  of  society. 
Among  the  changes  which  may  grow 
from  this  discussion,  we  do  not  antici- 
pate the  adoption  of  Milton’s  plan  of 
sentencing  ministers  to  earn  their  bread 
by  the  sweat  of  their  brow ; for  we 
think  that  we  see  reasons,  in  the  gen- 
eral spread  of  knowledge,  for  enlarging 
their  means  and  opportunities  of  study 
and  intellectual  culture,  that  they  may 
meet  the  increasing  demand  for  more 
enlightened  inculcation  of  Christian 
truth.  At  the  same  time,  it  seems  to 
us  not  unlikely  that,  in  conformity  to 
Milton’s  suggestion,  public  instruction, 
instead  of  continuing  to  be  a monopoly 
of  ministers,  may  be  extended  freely  to 
men  of  superior  intelligence  and  piety, 
and  that  the  results  of  this  arrangement 
may  be  the  infusion  of  new  life,  power, 
and  practical  wisdom  into  religious 
teaching,  and  the  substitution  of  a 
more  natural,  free,  and  various  elo- 
quence, for  the  technical  and  monoto- 
nous mode  of  treating  subjects  which 


clings  so  often  and  so  obstinately  to  the 
performances  of  the  pulpit.  Again,  we 
do  not  expect,  among  the  changes  of 
forms  and  outward  worship,  that  Chris- 
tians, to  meet  our  author’s  views,  will 
shut  their  churches  and  meet  in  private 
houses  ; for  large  religious  edifices,  and 
large  congregations,  seem  to  us  among 
the  important  means  of  collecting,  and 
interesting  in  Christianity,  the  mass  of 
the  community.  But  perhaps  narrower 
associations  for  religious  improvement 
may  be  formed,  in  which  the  formalities 
of  public  worship  will  be  relaxed,  and 
Christians  may  reap  the  benefits  of  the 
more  familiar  and  confidential  meetings 
of  the  primitive  converts.  It  is,  indeed, 
a great  question,  how  the  public  ad- 
ministration of  Christianity,  including 
modes  of  discipline,  instruction,  and 
worship,  may  be  rendered  more  im- 
pressive and  effectual.  This  field  is 
almost  untrodden  ; but,  if  we  read  aright 
the  signs  of  the  times,  the  day  for  ex- 
ploring it  draws  nigh. 

We  have  said  that,  whilst  we  dissent 
from  some  of  Milton’s  views  on  the  sub- 
ject of  our  present  remarks,  we  agree  in 
their  spirit.  It  was  evidently  the  aim 
of  all  his  suggestions  to  strip  the  clergy, 
as  they  are  called,  of  that  peculiar,  arti- 
ficial sanctity  with  which  superstition 
had  long  arrayed  them,  and  which  had 
made  their  simple,  benignant  office  one 
of  the  worst  instruments  of  ambition 
and  despotism.  We  believe  that  this 
institution  will  never  exert  its  true  and 
full  power  on  the  church  and  on  the 
world  until  the  childish  awe  with  which 
it  has  been  viewed  shall  be  exchanged 
for*  enlightened  esteem,  and  until  men, 
instead  of  expecting  from  it  certain  mys- 
terious, undefined  influences,  shall  see 
in  it  a rational  provision  for  promoting 
virtue  and  happiness,  not  by  magic,  but 
according  to  the  fixed  laws  of  human 
nature. 

The  remainder  of  the  “ Treatise  on 
Christian  Doctrine  ” furnishes  topics  on 
which  we  should  willingly  remark  ; but 
we  have  only  time  to  glance  at  the  opin- 
ions in  which  Milton  differs  from  the 
majority.  He  rejects  infant  baptism, 
and  argues  against  it  with  his  usual 
earnestness  and  strength.  He  not  only 
affirms,  with  many  other  Christians,  that 
the  fourth  commandment,  relating  to  the 
Sabbath,  is  abolished  with  the  rest  of 
the  Mosaic  system,  but  maintains,  what 


520 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


few  have  done,  that  under  the  gospel  no 
time  is  appointed  for  public  worship, 
but  that  the  observance  of  the  first  day 
of  the  week  rests  wholly  on  expediency, 
and  on  the  agreement  of  Christians.  He 
believes  that  Christ  is  to  appear  visibly 
for  the  judgment  of  the  world,  and  that 
he  will  reign  a thousand  years  on  earth, 
at  the  end  of  which  period  Satan  will 
assail  the  church  with  an  innumerable 
confederacy,  and  be  overwhelmed  with 
everlasting  ruin.  He  speaks  of  the  judg- 
ment as  beginning  with  Christ’s  second 
advent,  and  as  comprehending  his  whole 
government  through  the  millennium,  as 
well  as  the  closing  scene,  when  sentence 
will  be  pronounced  on  evil  angels,  and 
on  the  whole  human  race.  We  have 
now  given,  we  believe,  all  the  peculiar- 
ities of  Milton’s  faith.  As  for  that  large 
part  of  his  work  in  which  he  has  accumu- 
lated scriptural  proofs  of  doctrines  and 
duties  in  which  all  Christians  are  agreed, 
its  general  tenor  may  be  understood 
without  further  remarks. 

It  may  now  be  asked,  What  is  the 
value  of  this  book  ? We  prize  it  chiefly 
as  a testimony  to  Milton’s  profound  rev- 
erence for  the  Christian  religion,  and  an 
assertion  of  the  freedom  and  rights  of 
the  mind.  We  are  obliged  to  say  that 
the  work  throws  little  new  light  on  the 
great  subjects  of  which  it  treats.  Some 
will  say  that  this  ought  not  to  surprise 
us  ; for  new  light  is  not  to  be  looked  for 
in  the  department  of  theology.  But,  if 
this  be  true,  our  religion  may  be  charged 
with  the  want  of  adaptation  to  our  nature 
in  an  essential  point ; for  one  of  the 
most  striking  features  of  the  human 
mind  is  its  thirst  for  constantly  enlarg- 
ing knowledge,  and  its  proneness  to  lose 
its  interest  in  subjects  which  it  has  ex- 
hausted. The  chief  cause  of  Milton’s  fail- 
ure was,  that  he  sought  truth  too  exclu- 
sively in  the  past,  and  among  the  dead. 
He  indeed  called  no  man  master,  and 
disclaimed  the  authority  of  Fathers,  and 
was  evidently  dissatisfied  with  all  the 
sects  which  had  preceded  or  were  spread 
around  him.  Still  he  believed  in  the 
perfection  of  the  primitive  church,  and 
that  Christianity,  instead  of  being  car- 
ried forward,  was  to  be  carried  back  to 
its  original  purity.  To  use  his  own 
striking  language,  “the  lovely  form  of 
Truth,”  which  Christians  at  first  em- 
braced, “ had  been  hewn  into  a thousand 
pieces,  like  the  mangled  body  of  Osiris, 


and  scattered  to  the  four  winds  ; ” and 
consequently  he  believed  that  the  great 
duty  of  her  friends  was  “ to  gather  up 
limb  by  limb,  and  bring  together  every 
joint  and  member.”  In  conformity  with 
this  doctrine,  he  acted  too  much  as  an 
eclectic  theologian,  culling  something 
from  almost  every  sect,  and  endeavoring 
to  form  an  harmonious  system  from  ma- 
terials “gathered  from  the  four  winds.” 
He  would  have  done  better  had  he 
sought  truth  less  in  other  minds,  and 
more  in  the  communion  of  his  own 
soul  with  Scripture,  nature,  God,  and 
itself.  The  fact  is,  that  the  church, 
from  its  beginning,  had  been  imperfect 
in  knowledge  and  practice,  and  our 
business  is  not  to  rest  in  the  past,  but 
to  use  it  as  a means  of  a purer  and 
brighter  futurity.  Christianity  began  to 
be  corrupted  at  its  birth,  to  be  debased 
by  earthly  mixtures  as  soon  as  it  touched 
the  earth.  The  seeds  of  that  corruption, 
which  grew  and  shot  up  into  the  over- 
shadowing despotism  of  Papal  Rome, 
were  sown  in  the  age  of  the  Apostles, 
as  we  learn  in  the  Epistles  ; and  we  infer 
from  the  condition  of  the  world,  that 
nothing  but  a stupendous  moral  miracle, 
subverting  all  the  laws  of  the  human 
mind,  could  have  prevented  their  devel- 
opment. Who,  that  understands  human 
nature,  does  not  know  that  old  associa- 
tions are  not  broken  up  in  a moment ; 
that,  to  minds  plunged  in  a midnight  of 
error,  truth  must  gradually  open  like  the 
dawning  day  ; that  old  views  will  mingle 
with  the  new  ; that  old  ideas,  which  we 
wish  to  banish,  will  adhere  to  the  old 
words  to  which  they  were  formerly  at- 
tached ; and  that  the  sudden  and  entire 
eradication  of  long-rooted  errors  would 
be  equivalent  to  the  creation  of  a new 
intellect  ? How  long  did  the  Apostles, 
under  Christ’s  immediate  tuition,  with- 
stand his  instructions ! Even  Peter, 
after  the  miraculous  illumination  of  the 
day  of  Pentecost,  remained  ignorant, 
until  the  message  from  Cornelius,  of 
that  glorious  feature  of  Christianity,  the 
abolition  of  the  Jewish  peculiarity,  and 
the  equal  participation  of  the  Gentiles 
with  the  Jews  in  the  blessings  of  the 
Messiah.  As  soon  as  Christianity  was 
preached,  it  was  blended  with  Judaism, 
which  had  power  to  neutralize  the  au- 
thority of  Paul  in  many  churches.  I n like 
manner,  it  soon  began  to  be  “spoiled  ” of 
its  simplicity  “by  philosophy  and  sci- 


WRITINGS  OF  MILTON 


521 


ence  falsely  so  called,”  and  to  be  en- 
cumbered by  Pagan  ceremonies.  The 
first  Christians  were  indeed  brought  into 
“ wonderful  light, ” if  their  Christian 
state  be  compared  with  the  darkness 
from  which  they  had  emerged  ; but  not  if 
compared  with  the  perfection  of  knowl- 
edge to  which  Christ  came  to  exalt  the 
human  race.  The  earliest  Fathers,  as 
we  learn  from  their  works,  were  not 
receptive  of  large  communications  of 
truth.  Their  writings  abound  in  pue- 
rilities and  marks  of  childish  credulity, 
and  betray  that  indistinctness  of  vision 
which  is  experienced  by  men  who  issue 
from  thick  darkness  into  the  light  of 
day.  In  the  ages  of  barbarism  which 
followed  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire, 
Christianity,  though  it  answered  wise 
purposes  of  Providence,  was  more  and 
more  disfigured  and  obscured.  The 
Reformation  was  indeed  a glorious  era, 
but  glorious  for  its  reduction  of  papal 
and  clerical  power,  and  for  the  partial 
liberation  of  the  mind,  rather  than  for 
immediate  improvements  of  men’s  ap- 
prehensions of  Christianity.  Some  of 
the  Reformers  invented  or  brought  back 
as  injurious  errors  as  those  they  over- 
threw. Luther’s  consubstantiation  dif- 
fered from  the  Pope’s  transubstantiation 
by  a syllable,  and  that  was  all  the  gain  ; 
and  we  may  safely  say  that  transubstan- 
tiation was  a less  monstrous  doctrine 
than  the  five  points  of  Calvin.  How 
vain,  therefore,  was  Milton’s  search  for 
“the  mangled  Osiris,”  for  “the  lovely 
form  and  immortal  features  of  Truth,” 
in  the  history  of  the  church  ! 

Let  us  not  be  misunderstood,  as  if  we 
would  cut  off  the  present  age  from  the 
past.  We  mean  not  that  Milton  should 
have  neglected  the  labors  of  his  pre- 
decessors. He  believed  justly  that  all 
the  periods  and  generations  of  the  hu- 
man family  are  bound  together  by  a 
sublime  connection,  and  that  the  wis- 
dom of  each  age  is  chiefly  a derivation 
from  all  preceding  ages,  not  excepting 
the  most  ancient,  just  as  a noble  stream, 
through  its  whole  extent  and  in  its  widest 
overflowings,  still  holds  communication 
with  its  infant  springs,  gushing  out  per- 


haps in  the  depths  of  distant  forests, 
or  on  the  heights  of  solitary  mountains. 
We  only  mean  to  say,  that  the  stream 
of  religious  knowledge  is  to  swell  and 
grow  through  its  whole  course,  and  to 
receive  new  contributions  from  gifted 
minds  in  successive  generations.  We 
only  regret  that  Milton  did  not  draw 
more  from  the  deep  and  full  fountains 
of  his  own  soul.  We  wish  only  to  teach 
that  antiquity  was  the  infancy  of  our 
race,  and  that  its  acquisitions,  instead 
of  being  rested  in,  are  to  bear  us  onward 
to  new  heights  of  truth  and  virtue.  We 
mean  not  to  complain  of  Milton  for  not 
doing  more.  He  rendered  to  mankind 
a far  greater  service  than  that  of  a 
teacher  of  an  improved  theology.  He 
taught  and  exemplified  that  spirit  of  in- 
tellectual freedom,  through  which  all 
the  great  conquests  of  truth  are  to  be 
achieved,  and  by  which  the  human  mind 
is  to  attain  to  a new  consciousness  of 
its  sublime  faculties,  and  to  invigorate 
and  expand  itself  for  ever. 

We  here  close  our  remarks  on  Milton. 
In  offering  this  tribute,  we  have  aimed 
at  something  higher  than  to  express  and 
gratify  our  admiration  of  an  eminent 
man.  We  believe,  that  an  enlightened 
and  exalted  mind  is  a brighter  manifes- 
tation of  God  than  the  outward  uni- 
verse ; and  we  have  set  forth,  as  we 
have  been  able,  the  praises  of  an  illus- 
trious servant  of  the  Most  High,  that, 
through  him,  glory  may  redound  to  the 
Father  of  all  spirits,  the  Fountain  of  all 
wisdom  and  magnanimous  virtue.  And 
still  more  ; we  believe  that  the  sublime 
intelligence  of  Milton  was  imparted,  not 
for  his  own  sake  only,  but  to  awaken 
kindred  virtue  and  greatness  in  other 
souls.  Far  from  regarding  him  as  stand- 
ing alone  and  unapproachable,  we  be- 
lieve that  he  is  an  illustration  of  what 
all,  who  are  true  to  their  nature,  will 
become  in  the  progress  of  their  being ; 
and  we  have  held  him  forth,  not  to  ex- 
cite an  ineffectual  admiration,  but  to 
stir  up  our  own  and  others’  breasts  to 
an  exhilarating  pursuit  of  high  and  ever- 
growing attainments  in  intellect  and 
virtue. 


5 22 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


REMARKS  ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER  OF 
NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

1827-28. 


Part  I. 

The  Life  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  by 
Sir  Walter  Scott  has  been  anticipated 
with  an  eagerness  proportioned  to  the 
unrivalled  powers  of  the  author,  and  to 
the  wonderful  endowments  and  fortunes 
of  the  hero.  That  the  general  expecta- 
tion has  been  satisfied,  we  cannot  affirm. 
But  few  will  deny  that  the  writer  has 
given  us  a monument  of  his  great  tal- 
ents. The  rapidity  with  which  such  a 
work  has  been  thrown  off  astonishes  us. 
We  think,  however,  that  the  author 
owed  to  himself  and  to  the  public  a 
more  deliberate  execution  of  this  impor- 
tant undertaking.  He  should  either  have 
abandoned  it  or  have  bestowed  on  it  the 
long  and  patient  labor  which  it  required. 
The  marks  of  negligence  and  haste  which 
are  spread  through  the  work  are  seri- 
ous blemishes,  and,  to  more  fastidious 
readers,  inexpiable  defects.  It  wants 
compression  and  selection  throughout. 
Many  passages  are  encumbered  with 
verbiage.  Many  thoughts  are  weakened 
by  useless  expansion  and  worse  than 
useless  repetition.  Comparisons  are  ac- 
cumulated to  excess,  and,  whilst  many 
are  exquisite,  perhaps  as  many  are  trite 
and  unworthy  of  history.  The  remarks 
are  generally  just,  but  obvious.  We 
state  these  defects  plainly,  that  we  may 
express  the  more  freely  our  admiration 
of  the  talents  which  have  executed  so 
rapidly  a work  so  extensive  and  various, 
so  rich  in  information,  so  fresh  and  vivid 
in  description,  and  furnishing  such  abun- 
dant specimens  of  a free,  graceful,  and 
vigorous  style. 

The  work  has  the  great  merit  of  im- 
partiality. It  is  probably  inaccurate  in 
many  of  its  details,  but  singularly  free 
from  prejudice  and  passion.  Not- a few, 
who  considered  that  the  author  was  both 
a Briton  and  a friend  of  the  principles 
and  policy  of  Pitt,  were  expecting  from 
his  pen  a discolored  delineation  of  the 
implacable  foe  of  England  and  of  that 


great  minister.  But  the  rectitude  of  his 
mind,  and  his  reverence  for  historical 
truth,  have  effectually  preserved  him 
from  abusing  the  great  power  conferred 
on  him  by  his  talents  over  public  opin- 
ion. We  think  that  his  laudable  fear  of 
wronging  the  enemy  of  his  country, 
joined  to  an  admiration  of  the  dazzling 
qualities  of  Napoleon,  has  led  him  to 
soften  unduly  the  crimes  of  his  hero, 
and  to  give  more  favorable  impressions 
than  truth  will  warrant. 

But  enough  of  the  author,  who  needs 
not  our  praise,  and  can  suffer  little  by 
our  censure.  Our  concern  is  with  his 
subject.  A just  estimate  of  the  late 
Emperor  of  France  seems  to  us  impor- 
tant. That  extraordinary  man,  having 
operated  on  the  world  with  unprece- 
dented power  during  his  life,  is  now 
influencing  it  by  his  character.  That 
character,  we  apprehend,  is  not  viewed 
as  it  should  be.  The  kind  of  admiration 
which  it  inspires,  even  in  free  countries, 
is  a bad  omen.  The  greatest  crime 
against  society,  that  of  spoiling  it  of  its 
rights  and  loading  it  with  chains,  still 
fails  to  move  that  deep  abhorrence  which 
is  its  due ; and  which,  if  really  felt,  would 
fix  on  the  usurper  a brand  of  indelible 
infamy.  Regarding  freedom  as  the  chief 
interest  of  human  nature,  as  essential  to 
its  intellectual,  moral,  and  religious  prog- 
ress, we  look  on  men  who  have  signal- 
ized themselves  by  their  hostility  to  it 
with  an  indignation  at  once  stern  and 
sorrowful,  which  no  glare  of  successful 
war,  and  no  admiration  of  the  crowd, 
can  induce  us  to  suppress.  We  mean, 
then,  to  speak  freely  of  Napoleon.  But, 
if  we  know  ourselves,  \ve  could  on  no 
account  utter  one  unjust  reproach.  We 
speak  the  more  freely,  because  conscious 
of  exemption  from  every  feeling  like 
animosity.  We  war  not  with  the  dead. 
We  would  resist  only  what  we  deem  the 
pernicious  influence  of  the  dead.  We 
would  devote  ourselves  to  the  cause  of 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE . 


523 


freedom  and  humanity,  — a cause  per- 
petually betrayed  by  the  admiration  lav- 
ished on  prosperous  crime  and  all-grasp- 
ing ambition.  Our  great  topic  will  be 
the  character  of  Napoleon  ; and  with 
this  we  shall  naturally  intersperse  reflec- 
tions on  the  great  interests  which  he 
perpetually  influenced. 

We  begin  with  observing  that  it  is  an 
act  of  justice  to  Bonaparte  to  remember 
that  he  grew  up  under  disastrous  influ- 
ences, in  a troubled  day,  when  men’s 
minds  were  convulsed,  old  institutions 
overthrown,  old  opinions  shaken,  old 
restraints  snapped  asunder ; when  the 
authority  of  religion  was  spurned,  and 
youth  abandoned  to  unwonted  license  ; 
when  the  imagination  was  made  fever- 
ish by  visions  of  indistinct  good,  and 
the  passions  swelled,  by  the  sympathy 
of  millions,  to  a resistless  torrent.  A 
more  dangerous  school  for  the  character 
cannot  well  be  conceived.  That  all-see- 
ing Being,  who  knows  the  trials  of  his 
creatures  and  the  secrets  of  the  heart, 
can  alone  judge  to  what  degree  crimes 
are  extenuated  by  circumstances  so  in- 
auspicious. This  we  must  remember  in 
reviewing  the  history  of  men  who  were 
exposed  to  trials  unknown  to  ourselves. 
But,  because  the  turpitude  of  an  evil 
agent  is  diminished  by  infelicities  of 
education  or  condition,  we  must  not 
therefore  confound  the  immutable  dis- 
tinctions of  right  and  wrong,  and  with- 
hold our  reprobation  from  atrocities 
which  have  spread  misery  and  slavery 
far  and  wide. 

It  is  also  due  to  Napoleon  to  observe 
that  there  has  always  existed,  and  still 
exists,  a mournful  obtuseness  of  moral 
feeling  in  regard  to  the  crimes'  of  mili- 
tary and  political  life.  The  wrong-doing 
of  public  men  on  a large  scale  has  never 
drawn  upon  them  that  sincere,  hearty 
abhorrence  which  visits  private  vice. 
Nations  have  seemed  to  court  aggres- 
sion and  bondage  by  their  stupid,  insane 
admiration  of  successful  tyrants.  The 
wrongs  from  which  men  have  suffered 
most  in  body  and  mind  are  yet  unpun- 
ished. True,  Christianity  has  put  into 
our  lips  censures  on  the  aspiring  and  the 
usurping.  But  these  reproaches  are  as 
yet  little  more  than  sounds,  and  unmean- 
ing commonplaces.  They  are  repeated 
for  form’s  sake.  When  we  read  or  hear 
them,  we  feel  that  they  want  depth  and 
strength.  They  are  not  inward,  solemn, 


burning  convictions,  breaking  from  the 
indignant  soul  with  a tone  of  reality, 
before  which  guilt  would  cower.  The 
true  moral  feeling  in  regard  to  the  crimes 
of  public  men  is  almost  to  be  created. 
We  believe,  then,  that  such  a character 
as  Bonaparte’s  is  formed  with  very  little 
consciousness  of  its  turpitude  ; and  so- 
ciety, which  contributes  so  much  to  its 
growth,  is  responsible  for  its  existence, 
and  merits  in  part  the  misery  which  it 
spreads. 

Of  the  early  influences  under  which 
Bonaparte  was  formed,  we  know  little. 
He  was  educated  in  a military  school, 
and  this,  we  apprehend,  is  not  an  insti- 
tution to  form  much  delicacy,  or  inde- 
pendence of  moral  feeling ; for  the  young 
soldier  is  taught,  as  his  first  duty,  to 
obey  his  superior  without  consulting  his 
conscience  ; to  take  human  life  at  an- 
other’s bidding  ; to  perform  that  deed, 
which  above  all  others  requires  delib- 
erate conviction,  without  a moment’s 
inquiry  as  to  its  justice  ; and  to  place 
himself  a passive  instrument  in  hands 
which,  as  all  history  teaches,  often  reek 
with  blood  causelessly  shed. 

His  first  political  association  was  with 
the  Jacobins,  the  most  sanguinary  of  all 
the  factions  which  raged  in  France,  and 
whose  sway  is  emphatically  called  “ the 
reign  of  terror.”  The  service  which 
secured  his  command  in  Italy  was  the 
turning  of  his  artillery  on  the  people, 
who,  however  dangerous  when  acting 
as  a mob,  happened  in  the  present  case 
to  understand  their  rights,  and  were 
directing  their  violence  against  manifest 
usurpation. 

His  first  campaign  was  in  Italy,  and 
we  have  still  a vivid  recollection  of  the 
almost  rapturous  admiration  with  which 
we  followed  his  first  triumphs  ; for  then 
we  were  simple  enough  to  regard  him 
as  the  chosen  guardian  of  liberty.  His 
peculiar  tactics  were  not  then  under- 
stood ; the  secret  of  his  success  had 
not  reached  us  ; and  his  rapid  victories 
stimulated  the  imagination  to  invest  him 
with  the  mysterious  powers  of  a hero 
of  romance.  We  confess  that  we  can- 
not now  read  the  history  of  his  Italian 
wars  without  a quickened  movement  in 
the  veins.  The  rapidity  of  his  concep- 
tions ; the  inexhaustibleness  of  his  in- 
vention ; the  energy  of  his  will ; the 
decision  which  suffered  not  a moment’s 
pause  between  the  purpose  and  its  ex- 


524 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHAT  ACTED 


ecution ; the  presence  of  mind  which, 
amidst  sudden  reverses  and  on  the 
brink  of  ruin,  devised  the  means  of 
safety  and  success  ; these  commanding 
attributes,  added  to  a courage  which, 
however  suspected  afterwards,  never 
faltered  then,  compel  us  to  bestow, 
what  indeed  we  have  no  desire  to  with- 
hold, the  admiration  which  is  due  to 
superior  power. 

Let  not  the  friends  of  peace  be  of- 
fended. We  have  said,  and  we  repeat 
it,  that  we  have  no  desire  to  withhold 
our  admiration  from  the  energies  which 
war  often  awakens.  Great  powers,  even 
in  their  perversion,  attest  a glorious  nat- 
ure, and  we  may  feel  their  grandeur 
whilst  we  condemn,  with  our  whole 
strength  of  moral  feeling,  the  evil  pas- 
sions by  which  they  are  depraved.  We 
are  willing  to  grant  that  war,  abhor  it 
as  we  may,  often  develops,  and  places 
in  strong  light,  a force  of  intellect  and 
purpose  which  raises  our  conceptions 
of  the  human  soul.  There  is  perhaps 
no  moment  in  life  in  which  the  mind 
is  brought  into  such  intense  action,  in 
which  the  will  is  so  strenuous,  and  in 
which  irrepressible  excitement  is  so 
tempered  with  self-possession,  as  in  the 
hour  of  battle.  Still  the  greatness  of 
the  warrior  is  poor  and  low  compared 
with  the  magnanimity  of  virtue.  It 
vanishes  before  the  greatness  of  prin- 
ciple. The  martyr  to  humanity,  to  free- 
dom, or  religion ; the  unshrinking  ad- 
herent of  despised  and  deserted  truth, 
who,  alone,  unsupported,  and  scorned, 
with  no  crowd  to  infuse  into  him  cour- 
age, no  variety  of  objects  to  draw  his 
thoughts  from  himself,  no  opportunity 
of  effort  or  resistance  to  rouse  and 
nourish  energy,  still  yields  himself 
calmly,  resolutely,  with  invincible  phi- 
lanthropy, to  bear  prolonged  and  ex- 
quisite suffering,  which  one  retracting 
word  might  remove,  — such  a man  is  as 
superior  to  the  warrior  as  the  tranquil 
and  boundless  heavens  above  us  to  the 
low  earth  we  tread  beneath  our  feet. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  energies  of 
mind  called  forth  by  war.  If  we  may 
be  allowed  a short  digression,  — which, 
however,  bears  directly  on  our  main 
subject,  the  merits  of  Napoleon,  — we 
would  observe,  that  military  talent,  even 
of  the  highest  order,  is  far  from  holding 
the  first  place  among  intellectual  endow- 
ments. It  is  one  of  the  lower  forms  of 


genius  ; for  it  is  not  conversant  with  the 
highest  and  richest  objects  of  thought. 
We  grant  that  a mind,  which  takes  in 
a wide  country  at  a glance,  and  under- 
stands, almost  by  intuition,  the  positions 
it  affords  for  a successful  campaign,  is 
a comprehensive  and  vigorous  one.  The 
general  who  disposes  his  forces  so  as  to 
counteract  a greater  force  ; who  supplies 
by  skill,  science,  and  invention,  the  want 
of  numbers  ; who  dives  into  the  counsels 
of  his  enemy,  and  who  gives  unity,  energy, 
and  success  to  a vast  variety  of  opera- 
tions, in  the  midst  of  casualties  and  ob- 
structions which  no  wisdom  could  fore- 
see, manifests  great  power.  But  still 
the  chief  work  of  a general  is  to  apply 
physical  force  ; to  remove  physical  ob- 
structions ; to  avail  himself  of  physical 
aids  and  advantages  ; to  act  on  matter  ; 
to  overcome  rivers,  ramparts,  moun- 
tains, and  human  muscles  ; and  these 
are  not  the  highest  objects  of  mind,  nor 
do  they  demand  intelligence  of  the  high- 
est order;  and  accordingly  nothing  is 
more  common  than  to  find  men,  eminent 
in  this  department,  who  are  wanting  in 
the  noblest  energies  of  the  soul ; in 
habits  of  profound  and  liberal  thinking, 
in  imagination  and  taste,  in  the  capacity 
of  enjoying  works  of  genius,  and  in  large 
and  original  views  of  human  nature  and 
society.  The  office  of  a great  general 
does  not  differ  widely  from  that  of  a 
great  mechanician,  whose  business  it  is 
to  frame  new  combinations  of  physical 
forces,  to  adapt  them  to  new  circum- 
stances, and  to  remove  new  obstruc- 
tions. Accordingly  great  generals,  away 
from  the  camp,  are  often  no  greater  men 
than  the  mechanician  taken  from  his 
workshop.  In  conversation  they  are 
often  dull.  Deep  and  refined  reason- 
ings they  cannot  comprehend.  We 
know  that  there  are  splendid  excep- 
tions. Such  was  Caesar,  at  once  the 
greatest  soldier  and  the  most  sagacious 
statesman  of  his  age,  whilst,  in  eloquence 
and  literature,  he  left  behind  him  almost 
all  who  had  devoted  themselves  exclu- 
sively to  these  pursuits.  But  such  cases 
are  rare.  The  conqueror  of  Napoleon, 
the  hero  of  Waterloo,  possesses  undoubt- 
edly great  military  talents  ; but  we  do 
not  understand  that  his  most  partial 
admirers  claim  for  him  a place  in  the 
highest  class  of  minds.  We  will  not 
go  down  for  illustration  to  such  men  as 
Nelson,  a man  great  on  the  deck,  but 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE . 


debased  by  gross  vices,  and  who  never 
pretended  to  enlargement  of  intellect. 
To  institute  a comparison  in  point  of 
talent  and  genius  between  such  men 
and  Milton,  Bacon,  and  Shakspeare,  is 
almost  an  insult  on  these  illustrious 
names.  Who  can  think  of  these  truly 
great  intelligences  ; of  the  range  of  their 
minds  through  heaven  and  earth ; of 
their  deep  intuition  into  the  soul ; of 
their  new  and  glowing  combinations 
of  thought ; of  the  energy  with  which 
they  grasped,  and  subjected  to  their 
main  purpose,  the  infinite  materials  of 
illustration  which  nature  and  life  afford, 
— who  can  think  of  the  forms  of  tran- 
scendent beauty  and  grandeur  which 
they  created,  or  which  were  rather  ema- 
nations of  their  own  minds  ; of  the  calm 
wisdom  and  fervid  imagination  which 
they  conjoined  ; of  the  voice  of  power, 
in  which  “ though  dead,  they  still  speak,” 
and  awaken  intellect,  sensibility,  and 
genius  in  both  hemispheres,  — who  can 
think  of  such  men,  and  not  feel  the  im- 
mense inferiority  of  the  most  gifted 
warrior,  whose  elements  of  thought  are 
physical  forces  and  physical  obstruc- 
tions, and  whose  employment  is  the 
combination  of  the  lowest  class  of  ob- 
jects on  which  a powerful  mind  can  be 
employed. 

We  return  to  Napoleon.  His  splen- 
did victories  in  Italy  spread  his  name 
like  lightning  through  the  civilized  world. 
Unhappily,  they  emboldened  him  to  those 
unprincipled  and  open  aggressions,  to 
the  indulgence  of  that  lawless,  imperi- 
ous spirit  which  marked  his  future 
course,  and  kept  pace  with  his  growing 
power.  In  his  victorious  career  he 
soon  came  in  contact  with  states,  some 
of  which,  as  Tuscany  and  Venice,  had 
acknowledged  the  French  Republic, 
whilst  others,  as  Parma  and  Modena, 
had  observed  a strict  neutrality.  The 
old-fashioned  laws  of  nations,  under 
which  such  states  would  have  found 
shelter,  seemed  never  to  have  crossed 
the  mind  of  the  young  victor.  Not 
satisfied  with  violating  the  neutrality  of 
all,  he  seized  the  port  of  Leghorn,  and 
ruined  the  once  flourishing  commerce 
of  Tuscany  ; and,  having  exacted  heavy 
tribute  from  Parma  and  Modena,  he 
compelled  these  powers  to  surrender, 
what  had  hitherto  been  held  sacred  in 
the  utmost  extremities  of  war,  some  of 
their  choicest  pictures,  the  chief  orna- 


525 

ments  of  their  capitals.  We  are  some- 
times told  of  the  good  done  by  Napoleon 
to  Italy.  But  we  have  heard  his  name 
pronounced  as  indignantly  there  as  here. 
An  Italian  cannot  forgive  him  for  rob- 
bing that  country  of  its  noblest  works 
of  art,  its  dearest  treasures  and  glories, 
which  had  made  it  a land  of  pilgrimage 
to  men  of  taste  and  genius  from  the 
whole  civilized  world,  and  which  had 
upheld  and  solaced  its  pride  under  con- 
quest and  humiliation.  From  this  use 
of  power  in  the  very  dawn  of  his  for- 
tunes, it  might  easily  have  been  foretold 
what  part  he  would  act  in  the  stormy 
day  which  was  approaching,  when  the 
sceptre  of  France  and  Europe  was  to  be 
offered  to  any  strong  hand  which  should 
be  daring  enough  to  grasp  it. 

Next  to  Italy,  Egypt  became  the  stage 
for  the  display  of  Napoleon  ; Egypt,  a 
province  of  the  Grand  Signior,  with 
whom  France  was  in  profound  peace, 
and  who,  according  to  the  long-estab- 
lished relations  of  Europe,  was  her 
natural  ally.  It  would  seem  that  this 
expedition  was  Bonaparte’s  own  project. 
His  motives  are  not  very  distinctly  stated 
by  his  biographer.  We  doubt  not  that 
his  great  aim  was  conspicuousness.  He 
chose  a theatre  where  all  eyes  could  be 
turned  upon  him.  He  saw  that  the 
time  for  usurpation  had  not  yet  come  in 
France.  To  use  his  own  language, 
“the  fruit  was  not  yet  ripe.”  He  want-t 
ed  a field  of  action  which  would  draw 
upon  him  the  gaze  of  the  world,  and 
from  which  he  might  return  at  the  favor- 
able moment  for  the  prosecution  of  his 
enterprises  at  home.  At  the  same  time 
he  undoubtedly  admitted  into  his  mind, 
which  success  had  already  intoxicated, 
some  vague,  wild  hope  of  making  an 
impression  on  the  Eastern  world,  which 
might  place  its  destinies  at  his  com- 
mand, and  give  him  a throne  more  envi- 
able than  Europe  could  bestow.  His 
course  in  the  East  exhibited  the  same 
lawlessness  — the  same  contempt  of  all 
restraints  on  his  power  — which  we  have 
already  noted.  No  means  which  prom- 
ised success  were  thought  the  worse 
for  their  guilt.  It  was  not  enough  for 
him  to  boast  of  his  triumphs  over  the 
cross,  or  to  profess  Mahometanism.  He 
claimed  inspiration  and  a commission 
from  God,  and  was  anxious  to  join  the 
character  of  prophet  to  that  of  hero. 
This  was  the  beginning  of  the  great 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHAE ACTED 


5 26 

weaknesses  and  errors  into  which  he 
was  betrayed  by  that  spirit  of  self-exag- 
geration which,  under  the  influence  of 
past  success  and  of  unbounded  flattery, 
was  already  growing  into  a kind  of  in- 
sanity. In  his  own  view  he  was  fit  to 
be  a compeer  with  Mahomet.  His  great- 
ness in  his  own  eyes  made  him  blind  to 
the  folly  of  urging  his  supernatural 
claims  on  the  Turk,  who  contemned, 
even  more  than  he  abhorred,  a Frank  ; 
and  who  would  sooner  have  sold  himself 
a slave  to  Christians  than  have  acknowl- 
edged a renegade  Christian  as  a sharer 
of  the  glories  of  Mahomet.  It  was  not 
enough  for  Bonaparte  on  this  expedition 
to  insult  God,  to  show  an  impiety  as 
foolish  as  it  was  daring.  He  proceeded 
to  trample  on  the  sentiments  and  dic- 
tates of  humanity  with  equal  hardihood. 
The  massacre  of  Jaffa  is  universally 
known.  Twelve  hundred  prisoners,  and 
probably  more,  who  had  surrendered 
themselves  to  Napoleon,  and  were  ap- 
parently admitted  to  quarter,  were  two 
days  afterwards  marched  out  of  the  fort, 
divided  into  small  bodies,  and  then  de- 
liberately shot,  and,  in  case  the  musket 
was  not  effectual,  were  despatched  by 
bayonets.  This  was  an  outrage  which 
cannot  be  sheltered  by  the  laws  and 
usages  of  war,  barbarous  as  they  are. 
It  was  the  deed  of  a bandit  and  savage, 
and  ought  to  be  execrated  by  good  men 
who  value,  and  would  preserve,  the  miti- 
gations which  Christianity  has  infused 
into  the  conduct  of  national  hostilities. 

The  next  great  event  in  Bonaparte’s 
history  was  the  usurpation  of  the  su- 
preme power  of  the  state,  and  the  es- 
tablishment of  military  despotism  over 
France.  On  the  particulars  of  this 
criminal  act  we  have  no  desire  to  en- 
large, nor  are  we  anxious  to  ascertain 
whether  our  hero,  on  this  occasion,  lost 
his  courage  and  self-possession,  as  he 
is  reported  to  have  done.  We  are  more 
anxious  to  express  our  convictions  of 
the  turpitude  of  this  outrage  on  liberty 
and  justice.  For  this  crime  but  one 
apology  can  be  offered.  Napoleon,  it 
is  said,  seized  the  reins  when,  had  he 
let  them  slip,  they  would  have  fallen 
into  other  hands.  He  enslaved  France 
at  a moment  when,  had  he  spared  her, 
she  would  have  found  another  tyrant. 
Admitting  the  truth  of  the  plea,  what  is 
it  but  the  reasoning  of  the  highway- 
man, who  robs  and  murders  the  trav- 


eller because  the  booty  was  about  to  be 
seized  by  another  hand,  or  because 
another  dagger  was  ready  to  do  the 
bloody  deed  ? We  are  aware  that  the 
indignation  with  which  we  regard  this 
crime  of  Napoleon  will  find  a response 
in  few  breasts  ; for,  to  the  multitude,  a 
throne  is  a temptation  which  no  virtue 
can  be  expected  to  withstand.  But 
moral  truth  is  immovable  amidst  the 
sophistry,  ridicule,  and  abject  reason- 
ings of  men,  and  the  time  will  come  when 
it  will  find  a meet  voice  to  give  it  utter- 
ance. Of  all  crimes  against  society, 
usurpation  is  the  blackest.  He  who  lifts 
a parricidal  hand  against  his  country’s 
rights  and  freedom  ; who  plants  his 
foot  on  the  necks  of  thirty  millions  of 
his  fellow-creatures  ; who  concentrates 
in  his  single  hand  the  powers  of  a 
mighty  empire  ; and  who  wields  its 
powers,  squanders  its  treasures,  and 
pours  forth  its  blood  like  water,  to  make 
other  nations  slaves  and  the  world  his 
prey,  — this  man,  as  he  unites  all  crimes 
in  his  sanguinary  career,  so  he  should 
be  set  apart  by  the  human  race  for  their 
unmingled  and  unmeasured  abhorrence, 
and  should  bear  on  his  guilty  head  a 
mark  as  opprobrious  as  that  which  the 
first  murderer  wore.  We  cannot  think 
with  patience  of  one  man  fastening 
chains  on  a whole  people,  and  subject- 
ing millions  to  his  single  will ; of  whole 
regions  overshadowed  by  the  tyranny 
of  a frail  being  like  ourselves.  In 
anguish  of  spirit  we  exclaim,  How  long 
will  an  abject  world  kiss  the  foot  which 
tramples  it  ? How  long  shall  crime  find 
shelter  in  its  very  aggravations  and 
excess  ? v 

Perhaps  it  may  be  said  that  our  in- 
dignation seems  to  light  on  Napoleon, 
not  so  much  because  he  was  a despot  as 
because  he  became  a despot  by  usurpa- 
tion ; that  we  seem  not  to  hate  tyranny 
itself  so  much  as  a particular  mode  of 
gaining  it.  We  do  indeed  regard  usur- 
pation as  a crime  of  peculiar  blackness, 
especially  when  committed,  as  in  the 
case  of  Napoleon,  in  the  name  of  lib- 
erty. All  despotism,  however,  whether 
usurped  or  hereditary,  is  our  abhorrence. 
We  regard  it  as  the  most  grievous  wrong 
and  insult  to  the  human  race.  But  tow- 
ards the  hereditary  despot  we  have 
more  of  compassion  than  indignation. 
Nursed  and  brought  up  in  delusion, 
worshipped  from  his  cradle,  never  spo- 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE . 


527 


ken  to  in  the  tone  of  fearless  truth, 
taught  to  look  on  the  great  mass  of 
his  fellow-beings  as  an  inferior  race, 
and  to  regard  despotism  as  a law  of 
nature  and  a necessary  element  of  social 
life  ; such  a prince,  whose  education  and 
condition  almost  deny  him  the  possibility 
of  acquiring  healthy  moral  feeling  and 
manly  virtue,  must  not  be  judged  se- 
verely. Still,  in  absolving  the  despot 
from  much  of  the  guilt  which  seems 
at  first  to  attach  to  his  unlawful  and 
abused  power,  we  do  not  the  less  ac- 
count despotism  a wrong  and  a curse. 
The  time  for  its  fall,  we  trust,  is  coming. 
It  cannot  fall  too  soon.  It  has  long 
enough  wrung  from  the  laborer  his  hard 
earnings  ; long  enough  squandered  a 
nation’s  wealth  on  its  parasites  and 
minions  ; long  enough  warred  against 
the  freedom  of  the  mind,  and  arrested 
the  progress  of  truth.  It  has  filled 
dungeons  enough  with  the  brave  and 
good,  and  shed  enough  of  the  blood 
of  patriots.  Let  its  end  come.  It  can- 
not come  too  soon. 

We  have  now  followed  Bonaparte  to 
the  moment  of  possessing  himself  of  the 
supreme  power.  Those  who  were  asso- 
ciated with  him  in  subverting  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  Directory  essayed  to  lay 
restraints  on  the  First  Consul  who  was 
to  take  their  place.  But  he  indignantly 
repelled  them.  He  held  the  sword,  and 
with  this  not  only  intimidated  the  selfish, 
but  awed  and  silenced  the  patriotic,  who 
saw  too  plainly  that  it  could  only  be 
wrested  from  him  by  renewing  the  hor- 
rors of  the  Revolution.  We  now  proceed 
to  consider  some  of  the  means  by  which 
he  consolidated  his  power,  and  raised  it 
into  the  imperial  dignity.  We  consider 
these  as  much  more  important  illustra- 
tions of  his  character  than  his  successive 
campaigns,  to  which,  accordingly,  we 
shall  give  little  attention. 

One  of  his  first  measures  for  giving 
stability  to  his  power  was  certainly  a 
wise  one,  and  was  obviously  dictated 
by  his  situation  and  character.  Having 
seized  the  first  dignity  in  the  state  by 
military  force,  and  leaning  on  a devoted 
soldiery,  he  was  under  no  necessity  of 
binding  himself  to  any  of  the  parties 
which  had  distracted  the  country, — a 
vassalage  to  which  his  domineering 
spirit  could  ill  have  stooped.  Policy 
and  his  love  of  mastery  pointed  out  to 
him  an  indiscriminate  employment  of 


the  leading  men  of  all  parties ; and 
not  a few  of  these  had  become  so 
selfish  and  desperate  in  the  disastrous 
progress  of  the  Revolution,  that  they 
were  ready  to  break  up  old  connections, 
and  to  divide  the  spoils  of  the  Republic 
with  a master.  Accordingly  he  adopted 
a system  of  comprehension  and  lenity, 
from  which  even  the  emigrants  were 
not  excluded,  and  had  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  almost  the  whole  talent,  which 
the  Revolution  had  quickened,  leagued 
in  the  execution  of  his  plans.  Under 
the  able  men  whom  he  called  to  his  aid, 
the  finances  and  the  war  department, 
which  had  fallen  into  a confusion  that 
threatened  ruin  to  the  State,  were  soon 
restored  to  order,  and  means  and  forces 
provided  for  retrieving  the  recent  defeats 
and  disgraces  of  the  French  armies. 

This  leads  us  to  mention  another  and 
most  important  and  effectual  means  by 
which  Napoleon  secured  and  enlarged 
his  power.  We  refer  to  the  brilliant 
campaign  immediately  following  his 
elevation  to  the  Consulate,  and  which 
restored  to  France  the  ascendency 
which  she  had  lost  during  his  absence. 
On  his  success  at  this  juncture  his 
future  fortunes  wholly  depended.  It 
was  in  this  campaign  that  he  proved 
himself  the  worthy  rival  of  Hannibal. 
The  energy  which  conducted  an  army, 
with  its  cavalry,  artillery,  and  supplies, 
across  the  Alps,  by  untried  paths,  which 
only  the  chamois  hunter,  born  and  bred 
amidst  glaciers  and  everlasting  snows, 
had  trodden,  gave  the  impression,  which 
of  all  others  he  most  desired  to  spread, 
of  his  superiority  to  nature,  as  well  as  to 
human  opposition.  This  enterprise  was 
in  one  view  a fearful  omen  to  Europe. 
It  showed  a power  over  the  minds  of  his 
soldiers,  the  effects  of  which  were  not 
to  be  calculated.  The  conquest  of  St. 
Bernard  by  a French  army  was  the  boast 
of  the  nation  ; but  a still  more  wonderful 
thing  was,  the  capacity  of  the  general  to 
inspire  into  that  army  the  intense  force, 
confidence,  resolution,  and  patience,  by 
which  alone  the  work  could  be  accom- 
plished. The  victory  of  Marengo,  gained 
by  one  of  the  accidents  of  war  in  the 
moment  of  apparent  defeat  and  ruin, 
secured  to  Bonaparte  the  dominion 
which  he  coveted.  France,  who,  in 
her  madness  and  folly,  had  placed  her 
happiness  in  conquest,  now  felt  that 
the  glory  of  her  arms  was  safe  only  in 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHAT  ACTED 


528 

the  hands  of  the  First  Consul ; whilst  the 
soldiery,  who  held  the  sceptre  in  their 
gift,  became  more  thoroughly  satisfied 
that  triumph  and  spoils  waited  on  his 
standard. 

Another  important  and  essential  means 
of  securing  and  building  up  his  power 
was  the  system  of  espionage , called  the 
Police,  which,  under  the  Directory,  had 
received  a development  worthy  of  those 
friends  of  freedom,  but  which  was  des- 
tined to  be  perfected  by  the  wisdom  of 
Napoleon.  It  would  seem  as  if  despot- 
ism, profiting  by  the  experience  of  ages, 
had  put  forth  her  whole  skill  and  re- 
sources in  forming  the  French  police, 
and  had  framed  an  engine,  never  to  be 
surpassed,  for  stifling  the  faintest  breath- 
ings of  disaffection,  and  chaining  every 
free  thought.  This  system  of  espionage 
(we  are  proud  that  we  have  no  English 
word  for  the  infernal  machine)  had  in- 
deed been  used  under  all  tyrannies.  But 
it  wanted  the  craft  of  Fouchd,  and  the 
energy  of  Bonaparte,  to  disclose  all  its 
powers.  In  the  language  of  our  author, 
“ it  spread  through  all  the  ramifications 
of  society  ; ” that  is,  every  man,  of  the 
least  importance  in  the  community,  had 
the  eye  of  a spy  upon  him.  He  was 
watched  at  home  as  well  as  abroad, 
in  the  boudoir  and  theatre,  in  the 
brothel  and  gaming-house  ; and  these 
last-named  haunts  furnished  not  a few 
ministers  of  the  Argus-eyed  police. 
There  was  an  ear  open  through  all 
France  to  catch  the  whispers  of  dis- 
content, — a power  of  evil  which  aimed 
to  rival  in  omnipresence  and  invisible- 
ness the  benignant  agency  of  the  Deity. 
Of  all  instruments  of  tyranny,  this  is  the 
most  detestable.  It  chills  social  inter- 
course ; locks  up  the  heart ; infects  and 
darkens  men’s  minds  with  mutual  jeal- 
ousies and  fears  ; and  reduces  to  system 
a wary  dissimulation,  subversive  of  force 
and  manliness  of  character.  We  find, 
however,  some  consolation  in  learning 
that  tyrants  are  the  prey  of  distrust,  as 
well  as  the  people  over  whom  they  set 
this  cruel  guard  ; that  tyrants  cannot 
confide  in  their  own  spies,  but  must 
keep  watch  over  the  machinery  which 
we  have  described,  lest  it  recoil  upon 
themselves.  Bonaparte  at  the  head  of 
an  army  is  a dazzling  spectacle  ; but 
Bonaparte,  heading  a horde  of  spies, 
compelled  to  doubt  and  fear  these  base 
instruments  of  his  power,  compelled  to 


divide  them  into  bands,  and  to  receive 
daily  reports  from  each,  so  that  by 
balancing  them  against  each  other  and 
sifting  their  testimony,  he  might  gather 
the  truth  ; Bonaparte,  thus  employed,  is 
any  thing  but  imposing.  It  requires  no 
great  elevation  of  thought  to  look  down 
on  such  an  occupation  with  scorn  ; and 
we  see,  in  the  anxiety  and  degradation 
which  it  involves,  the  beginning  of  that 
retribution  which  tyranny  cannot  es- 
cape. 

Another  means  by  which  the  First 
Consul  protected  his  power  can  excite 
no  wonder.  That  he  should  fetter  the 
press,  should  banish  or  imprison  refrac- 
tory editors,  should  subject  the  journals 
and  more  important  works  of  literature 
to  jealous  superintendence,  these  were 
things  of  course.  Free  writing  and  des- 
potism are  such  implacable  foes,  that 
we  hardly  think  of  blaming  a tyrant  for 
keeping  no  terms  with  the  press.  He 
cannot  do  it.  He  might  as  reasonably 
choose  a volcano  for  the  foundation  of 
his  throne.  Necessity  is  laid  upon  him, 
unless  he  is  in  love  with  ruin,  to  check 
the  bold  and  honest  expression  of 
thought.  But  the  necessity  is  his  own 
choice  ; and  let  infamy  be  that  man’s 
portion  who  seizes  a power  which  he 
cannot  sustain,  but  by  dooming  the 
mind  through  a vast  empire  to  slavery, 
and  by  turning  the  press,  that  great  or- 
gan of  truth,  into  an  instrument  of  public 
delusion  and  debasement. 

We  pass  to  another  means  of  remov- 
ing obstructions  to  his  power  and  ambi- 
tion, still  worse  than  the  last.  We  refer 
to  the  terror  which  he  spread  by  his 
severities,  just  before  assuming  the  im- 
perial power.  The  murder  of  the  Duke 
d’Enghien  was  justified  by  Napoleon  as 
a method  of  striking  fear  into  the  Bour- 
bons, who,  as  he  said,  were  plotting  his 
death.  This  may  have  been  one  motive  ; 
for  we  have  reason  to  think  that  he  was 
about  that  time  threatened  with  assassi- 
nation. But  we  believe  still  more  that 
he  intended  to  awe  into  acquiescence  the 
opposition  which  he  knew  would  be 
awakened  in  many  breasts  by  the  pros- 
tration of*  the  forms  of  the  Republic,  and 
the  open  assumption  of  the  imperial  dig- 
nity. There  were  times  when  Bona- 
parte disclaimed  the  origination  of  the 
murder  of  the  Duke  d’Enghien.  But  no 
other  could  have  originated  it.  It  bears 
internal  marks  of  its  author.  The  bold- 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE . 


529 


ness,  decision,  and  overpowering  rapidity 
of  the  crime,  point  unerringly  to  the  soul 
where  it  was  conceived.  We  believe 
that  one  great  recommendation  of  this 
murder  was,  that  it  would  strike  amaze- 
ment and  terror  into  France  and  Europe, 
and  show  that  he  was  prepared  to  shed 
any  blood,  and  to  sweep  before  him 
every  obstruction,  in  his  way  to  absolute 
power.  Certain  it  is  that  the  open  mur- 
der of  the  Duke  d’Enghien,  and  the 
justly  suspected  assassinations  of  Piche- 
gru  and  Wright,  did  create  a dread,  such 
as  had  not  been  felt  before  ; and,  whilst 
on  previous  occasions  some  faint  breath- 
ings of  liberty  were  to  be  heard  in  the 
legislative  bodies,  only  one  voice,  that 
of  Carnot,  was  raised  against  investing 
Bonaparte  with  the  imperial  crown,  and 
laying  France  an  unprotected  victim  at 
his  feet. 

There  remain  for  our  consideration 
other  means  employed  by  Bonaparte  for 
building  up  and  establishing  his  power, 
of  a different  character  from  those  we 
have  named,  and  which  on  this  account 
we  cannot  pass  without  notice.  One  of 
these  was  the  Concordat  which  he  ex- 
torted from  the  Pope,  and  which  pro- 
fessed to  re-establish  the  Catholic  relig- 
ion in  France.  Our  religious  prejudices 
have  no  influence  on  our  judgment  of  this 
measure.  We  make  no  objections  to  it 
as  the  restoration  of  a worship  which 
on  many  accounts  we  condemn.  We 
view  it  now  simply  as  an  instrument  of 
policy,  and,  in  this  light,  it  seems  to  us 
no  proof  of  the  sagacity  of  Bonaparte. 
It  helps  to  confirm  in  us  an  impression, 
which  other  parts  of  his  history  give  us, 
that  he  did  not  understand  the  peculiar 
character  of  his  age,  and  the  peculiar 
and  original  policy  which  it  demanded. 
He  always  used  commonplace  means 
of  power,  although  the  unprecedented 
times  in  which  he  lived  required  a system 
which  should  combine  untried  resources, 
and  touch  new  springs  of  action.  Be- 
cause old  governments  had  found  a 
convenient  prop  in  religion,  Napoleon 
imagined  that  it  was  a necessary  append- 
age and  support  of  his  sway,  and  re- 
solved to  restore  it.  But  at  this  moment 
there  were  no  foundations  in  France  for 
a religious  establishment,  which  could 
give  strength  and  a character  of  sacred- 
ness to  the  supreme  power.  There  was 
comparatively  no  faith,  no  devout  feel- 
ing, and,  still  more,  no  superstition  to 


supply  the  place  of  these.  The  time  for 
the  reaction  of  the  religious  principle 
had  not  yet  arrived  ; and  a more  likely 
means  of  retarding  it  could  hardly  have 
been  devised  than  the  nursing  care  ex- 
tended to  the  church  by  Bonaparte,  the 
recent  Mussulman,  the  known  despiser 
of  the  ancient  faith,  who  had  no  wor- 
ship at  heart  but  the  worship  of  himself. 
Instead  of  bringing  religion  to  the  aid  of 
the  state,  it  was  impossible  that  such  a 
man  should  touch  it  without  loosening 
the  faint  hold  which  it  yet  retained  on 
the  people.  There  were  none  so  igno- 
rant as  to  be  the  dupes  of  the  First 
Consul  in  this  particular.  Every  man, 
woman,  and  child  knew  that  he  was 
playing  the  part  of  a juggler.  Not  one 
religious  association  could  be  formed 
with  his  character  or  government.  It 
was  a striking  proof  of  the  self-exagger- 
ating vanity  of  Bonaparte,  and  of  his 
ignorance  of  the  higher  principles  of 
human  nature,  that  he  not  only  hoped  to 
revive  and  turn  to  his  account  the  old 
religion,  but  imagined  that  he  could,  if 
necessary,  have  created  a new  one. 
“ Had  the  Pope  never  existed  before,  he 
should  have  been  made  for  the  occasion, ” 
was  the  speech  of  this  political  charla- 
tan ; as  if  religious  opinion  and  feeling 
were  things  to  be  manufactured  by  a 
consular  decree.  Ancient  legislators,  by 
adopting  and  sympathizing  with  popular 
and  rooted  superstitions,  were  able  to 
press  them  into  the  service  of  their  insti- 
tutions. They  were  wise  enough  to  build 
on  a pre-existing  faith,  and  studiously  to 
conform  to  it.  Bonaparte,  in  a country 
of  infidelity  and*  atheism,  and  whilst  un- 
able to  refrain  from  sarcasms  on  the 
system  which  he  patronized,  was  weak 
enough  to  believe  that  he  might  make  it 
a substantial  support  of  his  government. 
He  undoubtedly  congratulated  himself 
on  the  terms  which  he  exacted  from  the 
Pope,  and  which  had  never  been  con- 
ceded to  the  most  powerful  monarchs, 
forgetting  that  his  apparent  success  was 
the  defeat  of  his  plans  ; for,  just  as  far 
as  he  severed  the  church  from  the  su- 
preme pontiff,  and  placed  himself  con- 
spicuously at  its  head,  he  destroyed  the 
only  connection  which  could  give  it  in- 
fluence. Just  so  far  its  power  over 
opinion  and  conscience  ceased.  It  be- 
came a coarse  instrument  of  state,  con- 
temned by  the  people,  and  serving  only 
to  demonstrate  the  aspiring  views  of  its 


530 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


master.  Accordingly,  the  French  bishops 
in  general  refused  to  hold  their  dignities 
under  this  new  head,  preferred  exile  to 
the  sacrifice  of  the  rights  of  the  church, 
and  left  behind  them  a hearty  abhor- 
rence of  the  Concordat  among  the  more 
zealous  members  of  their  communion. 
Happy  would  it  have  been  for  Napoleon 
had  he  left  the  Pope  and  the  church  to 
themselves.  By  occasionally  recogniz- 
ing and  employing,  and  then  insulting 
and  degrading,  the  Roman  pontiff,  he 
exasperated  a large  part  of  Christendom, 
fastened  on  himself  the  brand  of  impiety, 
and  awakened  a religious  hatred  which 
contributed  its  full  measure  to  his  fall. 

As  another  means  employed  by  Bona- 
parte for  giving  strength  and  honor  to 
his  government,  we  may  name  the  gran- 
deur of  his  public  works,  which  he  began 
in  his  consulate  and  continued  after  his 
accession  to  the  imperial  dignity.  These 
dazzled  France,  and  still  impress  travel- 
lers with  admiration.  Could  we  sepa- 
rate these  from  his  history,  and  did  no 
other  indication  of  his  character  survive, 
we  should  undoubtedly  honor  him  with 
the  title  of  a beneficent  sovereign  ; but, 
connected  as  they  are,  they  do  little  or 
nothing  to  change  our  conceptions  of 
him  as  an  all-grasping,  unprincipled 
usurper.  Paris  was  the  chief  object  of 
these  labors  ; and  surely  we  cannot  won- 
der that  he  who  aimed  at  universal  do- 
minion should  strive  to  improve  and 
adorn  the  metropolis  of  his  empire.  It 
is  the  practice  of  despots  to  be  lavish 
of  expense  on. the  royal  residence  and 
the  seat  of  government.  Travellers  in 
France,  as  in  other  countries  of  the  con- 
tinent, are  struck  and  pained  by  the  con- 
trast between  the  magnificent  capital  and 
the  mud-walled  village  and  uninteresting 
province.  Bonaparte  had  a special  mo- 
tive for  decorating  Paris,  for  “ Paris  is 
France,”  as  has  often  been  observed; 
and,  in  conciliating  the  vanity  of  the 
great  city,  he  secured  the  obedience  of 
the  whole  country.  The  boasted  internal 
improvements  of  Napoleon  scarcely  de- 
serve to  be  named,  if  we  compare  their 
influence  with  the  operation  of  h»is  pub- 
lic measures.  The  conscription,  which 
drew  from  agriculture  its  most  effective 
laborers,  and  his  continental  system, 
which  sealed  up  every  port  and  anni- 
hilated the  commerce  of  his  empire, 
drained  and  exhausted  France  to  a de- 
gree for  which  his  artificial  stimulants 


of  industry,  and  his  splendid  projects, 
afforded  no  compensation.  Perhaps  the 
most  admired  of  all  his  public  works  is 
the  road  over  the  Simplon,  to  which  all 
travellers  concur  in  giving  the  epithet, 
stupendous.  But  it  ought  not  to  amaze 
us  that  he,  who  was  aspiring  at  unlimited 
dominion,  should  establish  communica- 
tions between  the  different  provinces  of 
his  empire.  It  ought  not  to  amaze  us 
that  he,  who  had  scaled  the  glaciers  of 
St.  Bernard,  should  covet  some  easier 
passage  for  pouring  his  troops  into  Italy  ; 
nor  is  it  very  wonderful  that  a sovereign, 
who  commanded  the  revenues  of  Europe, 
and  who  lived  in  an  age  when  civil  en- 
gineering had  been  advanced  to  a per- 
fection before  unknown,  should  accom- 
plish a bolder  enterprise  than  his  prede- 
cessors. We  would  add,  that  Napoleon 
must  divide  with  Fabbroni  the  glory  of 
the  road  over  the  Simplon  ; for  the  gen- 
ius which  contrived  and  constructed  is 
more  properly  its  author  than  the  will 
which  commanded  it. 

There  is,  however,  one  great  work 
which  gives  Bonaparte  a fair  claim  on 
the  gratitude  of  posterity,  and  entitles 
him  to  an  honorable  renown.  We  refer 
to  the  new  code  of  laws  which  was  given 
to  France  under  his  auspices.  His  par- 
ticipation in  this  work  has  indeed  been 
unwarrantably  and  ridiculously  magni- 
fied. Because  he  attended  the  meetings 
of  the  commissioners  to  whom  it  was 
assigned,  and  made  some  useful  and 
sagacious  suggestions,  he  has  been 
praised  as  if  he  had  struck  out,  by  the 
miraculous  force  of  his  genius,  a new 
code  of  laws.  The  truth  is,  that  he 
employed  for  this  work,  as  he  should 
have  done,  the  most  eminent  civilians 
of  the  empire ; and  it  is  also  true  that 
these  learned  men  have  little  claim  to 
originality  : for,  as  our  author  observes, 
the  code  “ has  few  peculiarities  making 
a difference  between  its  principles  and 
those  of  the  Roman  law.”  In  other 
words,  they  preferred  wisdom  to  novelty. 
Still  Bonaparte  deserves  great  praise  for 
his  interest  in  the  work,  for  the  impulse 
he  gave  to  those  to  whom  it  was  com- 
mitted, and  for  the  time  and  thought 
which,  amidst  the  cares  of  a vast  em- 
pire, he  bestowed  upon  it.  That  his 
ambition  incited  him  to  this  labor,  we 
doubt  not.  He  meant  to  entwine  the 
laurels  of  Justinian  with  those  of  Alex- 
ander. But  we  will  not  quarrel  with 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE . 


531 


ambition,  when  it  is  wise  enough  to 
devote  itself  to  the  happiness  of  man- 
kind. In  the  present  case,  he  showed 
that  he  understood  something  of  true 
glory ; and  we  prize  the  instance  more 
because  it  stands  almost  alone  in  his 
history.  We  look  on  the  conqueror, 
the  usurper,  the  spoiler  of  kingdoms, 
the  insatiable  despot,  with  disgust,  and 
see  in  all  these  characters  an  essential 
vulgarness  of  mind.  But,  when  we  re- 
gard him  as  a fountain  of  justice  to  a 
vast  empire,  we  recognize  in  him  a re- 
semblance to  the  just  and  benignant 
Deity,  and  cheerfully  accord  to  him 
the  praise  of  bestowing  on  a nation 
one  of  the  greatest  gifts  which  it  is 
permitted  to  man  to  confer.  It  was, 
however,  the  misery  of  Bonaparte,  a 
curse  brought  on  him  by  his  crimes, 
that  he  could  touch  nothing  without 
leaving  on  it  the  polluting  mark  of  des- 
potism. His  usurpation  took  from  him 
the  power  of  legislating  with  magna- 
nimity, where  his  own  interest  was 
concerned.  He  could  provide  for  the 
administration  of  justice  between  man 
and  man,  but  not  between  the  citizen 
and  the  ruler.  Political  offences,  the 
very  class  which  ought  to  be  submitted 
to  a jury,  were  denied  that  mode  of 
trial.  Juries  might  decide  on  other 
criminal  questions  ; but  they  were  not 
to  be  permitted  to  interpose  between 
the  despot  and  the  ill-fated  subjects 
who  might  fall  under  his  suspicion. 
These  were  arraigned  before  “special 
tribunals,  invested  with  a half  military 
character,”  the  ready  ministers  of  nefa- 
rious prosecutions,  and  only  intended 
to  cloak  by  legal  forms  the  murderous 
purpose  of  the  tyrant. 

We  have  thus  considered  some  of 
the  means  by  which  Bonaparte  con- 
solidated and  extended  his  power.  We 
now  see  him  advanced  to  that  imperial 
throne  on  which  he  had  long  fixed  his 
eager  eye.  We  see  France  alternately 
awed  and  dazzled  by  the  influences  we 
have  described,  and  at  last  surrendering, 
by  public,  deliberate  acts,  without  a 
struggle  or  a show  of  opposition,  her 
rights,  liberties,  interests,  and  power  to 
an  absolute  master  and  to  his  posterity 
for  ever.  Thus  perished  the  name  and 
forms  of  the  Republic.  Thus  perished 
the  hopes  of  philanthropy.  The  air, 
which  a few  years  ago  resounded  with 
the  shouts  of  a great  people  casting 


away  their  chains,  and  claiming  their 
birthright  of  freedom,  now  rung  with 
the  servile  cries  of  long  life  to  a blood- 
stained usurper.  There  were,  indeed, 
generous  spirits,  true  patriots,  like  our 
own  La  Fayette,  still  left  in  France. 
But,  few  and  scattered,  they  were  left 
to  shed  in  secret  the  tears  of  sorrowful 
and  indignant  despair.  By  this  base 
and  disastrous  issue  of  their  revolution, 
the  French  nation  not  only  renounced 
their  own  rights,  but  brought  reproach 
on  the  cause  of  freedom,  which  years 
cannot  wash  away.  This  is  to  us  a 
more  painful  recollection  than  all  the 
desolations  which  France  spread  through 
Europe,  and  than  her  own  bitter  suffer- 
ings, when  the.hour  of  retribution  came 
upon  her.  Themelds  which  she  laid  waste 
are  again  waving  with  harvest ; and  the 
groans  which  broke  forth  through  her 
cities  and  villages,  when  her  bravest 
sons  perished  by  thousands  and  ten 
thousands  on  the  snows  of  Russia, 
have  died  away,  and  her  wasted  popu- 
lation is  renewed.  But  the  wounds 
which  she  inflicted  on  freedom  by  the 
crimes  perpetrated  in  that  sacred  name, 
and  by  the  abject  spirit  with  which  that 
sacred  cause  was  deserted,  are  still  fresh 
and  bleeding.  F ranee  not  only  subjected 
herself  to  a tyrant,  but,  what  is  worse, 
she  has  given  tyranny  everywhere  new 
pleas  and  arguments,  and  emboldened 
it  to  preach  openly,  in  the  face  of  heaven, 
the  impious  doctrines  of  absolute  power 
and  unconditional  submission. 

Napoleon  was  now  Emperor  of 
France  ; and  a man  unacquainted  with 
human  nature  would  think  that  such  an 
empire,  whose  bounds  now  extended  to 
the  Rhine,  might  have  satisfied  even  an 
ambitious  man.  But  Bonaparte  obeyed 
that  law  of  progress  to  which  the  high- 
est minds  are  peculiarly  subjected  ; and 
acquisition  inflamed,  instead  of  appeas- 
ing, the  spirit  of  dominion.  He  had 
long  proposed  to  himself  the  conquest 
of  Europe,  of  the  world ; and  the  title 
of  Emperor  added  intenseness  to  this 
purpose.  Did  we  not  fear  that  by  repe- 
tition we  might  impair  the  conviction 
which  we  are  most  anxious  to  impress, 
we  would  enlarge  on  the  enormity  of  the 
guilt  involved  in  the  project  of  universal 
empire.  Napoleon  knew  distinctly  the 
price  which  he  must  pay  for  the  emi- 
nence which  he  coveted.  He  knew  that 
the  path  to  it  lay  over  wounded  and 


532 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


slaughtered  millions,  over  putrefying 
heaps  of  his  fellow-creatures,  over  rav- 
aged fields,  smoking  ruins,  pillaged 
cities.  He  knew  that  his  steps  would 
be  followed  by  the  groans  of  widowed 
mothers  and  famished  orphans ; of  be- 
reaved friendship  and  despairing  love  ; 
and  that,  in  addition  to  this  amount  of 
misery,  he  would  create  an  equal  amount 
of  crime,  by  multiplying  indefinitely 
the  instruments  and  participators  of  his 
rapine  and  fraud.  He  knew  the  price, 
a»nd  resolved  to  pay  it.  But  we  do  not 
insist  on  a topic  which  few,  very  few 
as  yet,  understand  or  feel.  Turning, 
then,  for  the  present  from  the  moral 
aspect  of  this  enterprise,  we  will  view 
it  in  another  light,  which  is  of  great  im- 
portance to  a just  estimate  of  his  claims 
on  admiration.  We  will  inquire  into  the 
nature  and  fitness  of  the  measures  and 
policy  which  he  adopted  for  compass- 
ing the  subjugation  of  Europe  and  the 
world. 

We  are  aware  that  this  discussion 
may  expose  us  to  the  charge  of  great 
presumption.  It  may  be  said  that  men, 
having  no  access  to  the  secrets  of  cab- 
inets, and  no  participation  in  public 
affairs,  are  not  the  best  judges  of  the 
policy  of  such  a man  as  Napoleon.  This 
we  are  not  anxious  to  disprove.  We  do 
not  deny  the  disadvantages  of  our  posi- 
tion, nor  shall  we  quarrel  with  our  read- 
ers for  questioning  the  soundness  of  our 
opinions.  But  we  will  say,  that  though 
distant,  we  have  not  been  indifferent 
observers  of  the  great  events  of  our  age, 
and  that,  though  conscious  of  exposure 
to  many  errors,  we  have  a strong  per- 
suasion of  the  substantial  correctness  of 
our  views.  We  express,  then,  without 
reserve,  our  belief  that  the  policy  of 
Napoleon  was  wanting  in  sagacity,  and 
that  he  proved  himself  incapable,  as  we 
before  suggested,  of  understanding  the 
character  and  answering  the  demands  of 
his  age.  His  system  was  a repetition  of 
old  means,  when  the  state  of  the  world 
was  new.  The  sword  and  the  police, 
which  had  sufficed  him  for  enslaving 
France,  were  not  the  only  powers  re- 
quired for  his  designs  against  the  human 
race.  Other  resources  were  to  be  dis- 
covered or  created ; and  the  genius  for 
calling  them  forth  did  not,  we  conceive, 
belong  to  Napoleon. 

The  circumstances  under  which  Na- 
poleon aspired  to  universal  empire  dif- 


fered in  many  respects  from  those  under 
which  former  conquerors  were  placed. 
It  was  easy  for  Rome,  when  she  had 
subdued  kingdoms,  to  reduce  them  to 
provinces  and  to  govern  them  by  force  ; 
for  nations  at  that  period  were  bound 
together  by  no  tie.  They  had  little 
communication  with  each  other.  Differ- 
ences of  origin,  of  religion,  of  manners, 
of  language,  of  modes  of  warfare  ; dif- 
ferences aggravated  by  long  and  fero- 
cious wars,  and  by  the  general  want  of 
civilization,  prevented  joint  action,  and 
almost  all  concern  for  one  another’s 
fate.  Modern  Europe,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  an  assemblage  of  civilized 
states,  closely  connected  by  commerce, 
by  literature,  by  a common  faith,  by  in- 
terchange of  thoughts  and  improvements, 
and  by  a policy  which  had  for  ages  pro- 
posed, as  its  chief  object,  the  establish- 
ment of  such  a balance  of  power  as 
would  secure  national  independence. 
Under  these  influences  the  human  mind 
had  made  great  progress  ; and,  in  truth, 
the  French  Revolution  had  resulted  from 
an  unprecedented  excitement  and  devel- 
opment of  men’s  faculties,  and  from  the 
extension  of  power  and  intelligence 
through  a vastly  wider  class  than  had 
participated  in  them  at  any  former  period. 
The  very  power  which  Napoleon  was 
wielding  might  be  traced  to  an  enthusi- 
asm essentially  generous,  and  manifest- 
ing a tendency  of  the  civilized  world  to 
better  institutions.  It  is  plain  that  the 
old  plans  of  conquest,  and  the  maxims 
of  comparatively  barbarous  ages,  did  not 
suit  such  a state  of  society.  An  ambi- 
tious man  was  to  make  his  way  by  ally- 
ing himself  with  the  new  movements 
and  excitements  of  the  world.  The  ex- 
istence of  a vast  maritime  power  like 
England,  which,  by  its  command  of  the 
ocean  and  its  extensive  commerce,  was 
brought  into  contact  with  every  commu- 
nity, and  which  at  the  same  time  enjoyed 
the  enviable  pre-eminence  of  possessing 
the  freest  institutions  in  Europe,  was  of 
itself  a sufficient  motive  for  a great  mod- 
ification of  the  policy  by  which  one  state 
was  now  to  be  placed  at  the  head  of  the 
nations.  The  peculiar  character  and 
influence  of  England,  Bonaparte  seemed 
indeed  never  able  to  comprehend  ; and 
the  violent  measures  by  which  he  essayed 
to  tear  asunder  the  old  connections  of 
that  country  with  the  continent,  only 
gave  them  strength,  by  adding  to  the 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE . 


533 


ties  of  interest  those  of  sympathy,  of 
common  suffering,  and  common  danger. 

Force  and  corruption  were  the  great 
engines  of  Napoleon,  and  he  plied  them 
without  disguise  or  reserve,  not  caring 
how  far  he  insulted,  and  armed  against 
himself,  the  moral  and  national  feelings 
of  Europe.  His  great  reliance  was  on 
the  military  spirit  and  energy  of  the 
French  people.  To  make  France  a 
nation  of  soldiers  was  the  first  and  main 
instrument  of  his  policy  ; and  here  he 
was  successful.  The  Revolution,  indeed, 
had  in  no  small  degree  done  this  work 
to  his  hands.  To  complete  it,  he  intro- 
duced a national  system  of  education, 
having  for  its  plain  end  to  train  the 
whole  youth  of  France  to  a military  life, 
to  familiarize  the  mind  to  this  destina- 
tion from  its  earliest  years,  and  to  asso- 
ciate the  idea  of  glory  almost  exclusively 
with  arms.  The  conscription  gave  full 
efficacy  to  this  system*;  for,  as  every 
young  man  in  the  empire  had  reason  to 
anticipate  a summons  to  the  army,  the 
first  object  in  education  naturally  was 
to  fit  him  for  the  field.  The  public 
honors  bestowed  on  military  talent,  and 
a rigorous  impartiality  in  awarding  pro- 
motion to  merit,  so  that  no  origin,  how- 
ever obscure,  was  a bar  to  what  were 
deemed  the  highest  honors  of  Europe, 
kindled  the  ambition  of  the  whole  peo- 
ple into  a flame,  and  directed  it  exclu- 
sively to  the  camp.  It  is  true,  the  con- 
scription, which  thinned  so  terribly  the 
ranks  of  her  youth,  and  spread  anxiety 
and  bereavement  through  all  her  dwell- 
ings, was  severely  felt  in  France.  But 
Napoleon  knew  the  race  whom  it  was 
his  business  to  manage  ; and  by  the 
glare  of  victory  and  the  title  of  the 
Grand  Empire,  he  succeeded  in  recon- 
ciling them  for  a time  to  the  most 
painful  domestic  privations,  and  to  an 
unexampled  waste  of  life.  Thus  he 
secured  what  he  accounted  the  most 
important  instrument  of  dominion,  — a 
great  military  force.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  stimulants  which  for  this  pur- 
pose he  was  forced  to  apply  perpetually 
to  French  vanity,  the  ostentation  with 
which  the  invincible  power  of  France 
was  trumpeted  to  the  world,  and  the 
haughty,  vaunting  style  which  became 
the  most  striking  characteristic  of  that 
intoxicated  people,  were  perpetual  irri- 
tations of  the  national  spirit  and  pride  of 
Europe,  and  implanted  a deep  hatred 


towards  the  new  and  insulting  empire, 
which  waited  but  for  a favorable  moment 
to  repay  with  interest  the  debt  of  humil- 
iation. 

The  condition  of  Europe  forbade,  as 
we  believe,  the  establishment  of  univer- 
sal monarchy  by  mere  physical  force. 
The  sword,  however  important,  was  now 
to  play  but  a secondary  part.  The  true 
course  for  Napoleon  seems  to  us  to  have 
been  indicated,  not  only  by  the  state  of 
Europe,  but  by  the  means  which  France 
in  the  beginning  of  her  Revolution  had 
found  most  effectual.  He  should  have 
identified  himself  with  some  great  inter- 
ests, opinion,  or  institutions,  by  which 
he  might  have  bound  to  himself  a large 
party  in  every  nation.  He  should  have 
contrived  to  make  at  least  a specious 
cause  against  all  old  establishments. 
To  contrast  himself  most  strikingly  and 
most  advantageously  with  former  gov- 
ernments, should  have  been  the  key  of 
his  policy.  He  should  have  placed  him- 
self at  the  head  of  a new  order  of  things, 
which  should  have  worn  the  face  of  an 
improvement  of  the  social  state.  Nor 
did  the  subversion  of  republican  forms 
prevent  his  adoption  of  this  course,  or 
of  some  other  which  would  have  secured 
to  him  the  sympathy  of  multitudes.  He 
might  still  have  drawn  some  broad  lines 
between  his  own  administration  and  that 
of  other  states,  tending  to  throw  the  old 
dynasties  into  the  shade.  He  might  have 
cast  away  the  ancient  pageantry  and 
forms,  distinguished  himself  by  the  sim- 
plicity of  his  establishments,  and  exag- 
gerated the  relief  which  he  gave  to  his 
people,  by  saving  them  the  burdens  of  a 
wasteful  and  luxurious  court.  He  might 
have  insisted  on  the  great  benefits  that 
had  accrued  to  France  from  the  estab- 
lishment of  uniform  laws,  which  pro- 
tected alike  all  classes  of  men  ; and  he 
might  have  virtually  pledged  himself  to 
the  subversion  of  the  feudal  inequalities 
which  still  disfigure  Europe.  He  might 
have  insisted  on  the  favorable  changes 
to  be  introduced  into  property,  by  abol- 
ishing the  entails  which  fettered  it,  the 
rights  of  primogeniture,  and  the  exclusive 
privileges  of  a haughty  aristocracy.  He 
might  have  found  abuses  enough  against 
which  to  array  himself  as  a champion. 
By  becoming  the  head  of  new  institu- 
tions, which  would  have  involved  the 
transfer  of  power  into  new  hands,  and 
would  have  offered  to  the  people  a real 


534 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHAT  ACTED 


improvement,  be  might  everywhere  have 
summoned  to  his  standard  the  bold  and 
enterprising,  and  might  have  disarmed 
the  national  prejudices  to  which  he  fell 
a prey.  Revolution  was  still  the  true 
instrument  of  power.  In  a word,  Napo- 
leon lived  at  a period  when  he  could 
only  establish  a durable  and  universal 
control  through  principles  and  institu- 
tions of  some  kind  or  other,  to  which  he 
would  seem  to  be  devoted. 

It  was  impossible,  however,  for  such 
a man  as  Napoleon  to  adopt,  perhaps  to 
conceive,  a system  such  as  has  now  been 
traced  ; for  it  was  wholly  at  war  with 
that  egotistical,  self-relying,  self-exag- 
gerating principle,  which  was  the  most 
striking  feature  of  his  mind.  He  imag- 
ined himself  able,  not  only  to  conquer 
nations,  but  to  hold  them  together  by 
the  awe  and  admiration  which  his  own 
character  would  inspire  ; and  this  bond 
he  preferred  to  every  other.  An  indirect 
sway,  a control  of  nations  by  means  of 
institutions,  principles,  or  prejudices,  of 
which  he  was  to  be  only  the  apostle  and 
defender,  was  utterly  inconsistent  with 
that  vehemence  of  will,  that  passion  for 
astonishing  mankind,  and  that  persua- 
sion of  his  own  invincibleness,  which 
were  his  master  feelings,  and  which 
made  force  his  darling  instrument  of 
dominion.  He  chose  to  be  the  great, 
palpable,  and  sole  bond  of  his  empire  ; 
to  have  his  image  reflected  from  every 
establishment ; to  be  the  centre  in  which 
every  ray  of  glory  should  meet,  and  from 
which  every  impulse  should  be  propa- 
gated. In  consequence  of  this  egotism, 
he  never  dreamed  of  adapting  himself  to 
the  moral  condition  of  the  world.  The 
sword  was  his  chosen  weapon,  and  he 
used  it  without  disguise.  He  insulted 
nations  as  well  as  sovereigns.  He  did 
not  attempt  to  gild  their  chains,  or  to  fit 
the  yoke  gently  to  their  necks.  The 
excess  of  his  extortions,  the  audacity 
of  his  claims,  and  the  insolent  language 
in  which  Europe  was  spoken  of  as  the 
vassal  of  the  great  empire,  discovered 
that  he  expected  to  reign,  not  only  with- 
out linking  himself  with  the  interests, 
prejudices,  and  national  feelings  of  men, 
but  by  setting  all  at  defiance. 

It  would  be  easy  to  point  out  a multi- 
tude of  instances  in  which  he  sacrificed 
the  only  policy  by  which  he  could  pre- 
vail, to  the  persuasion  that  his  own  great- 
ness could  more  than  balance  whatever 


opposition  his  violence  might  awaken. 
In  an  age  in  which  Christianity  was 
exerting  some  power,  there  was  certainly 
a degree  of  deference  due  to  the  moral 
convictions  of  society.  But  Napoleon 
thought  himself  more  than  a match  for 
the  moral  instincts  and  sentiments  of 
our  nature.  He  thought  himself  able  to 
cover  the  most  atrocious  deeds  by  the 
splendor  of  his  name,  and  even  to  extort 
applause  for  crimes  by  the  brilliancy  of 
his  success.  He  took  no  pains  to  con- 
ciliate esteem.  In  his  own  eyes  he  was 
mightier  than  conscience  ; and  thus  he 
turned  against  himself  the  power  and 
resentment  of  virtue  in  every  breast 
where  that  divine  principle  yet  found 
a home. 

Through  the  same  blinding  egotism, 
he  was  anxious  to  fill  the  thrones  of 
Europe  with  men  bearing  his  own  name, 
and  to  multiply  everywhere  images  of 
himself.  Instead  of  placing  over  con- 
quered countries  efficient  men,  taken 
from  themselves,  who,  by  upholding 
better  institutions,  would  carry  with 
them  large  masses  of  the  people,  and 
who  would  still,  by  their  hostility  to 
the  old  dynasties,  link  their  fortunes 
with  his  own,  he  placed  over  nations 
such  men  as  Jerome  and  Murat.  He 
thus  spread  a jealousy  of  his  power, 
whilst  he  rendered  it  insecure  ; for  as 
none  of  the  princes  of  his  creation, 
however  well  disposed,  were  allowed  to 
identify  themselves  with  their  subjects, 
and  to  take  root  in  the  public  heart,  but 
were  compelled  to  act,  openly  and  with- 
out disguise,  as  satellites  and  prefects  of 
the  French  emperor,  they  gained  no  hold 
on  their  subjects,  and  could  bring  no 
strength  to  their  master  in  his  hour  of 
peril.  In  none  of  his  arrangements  did 
Napoleon  think  of  securing  to  his  cause 
the  attachment  of  nations.  Astonish- 
ment, awe,  and  force  were  his  weapons, 
and  his  own  great  name  the  chosen  pil- 
lar of  his  throne. 

So  far  was  Bonaparte  from  magnifying 
the  contrast  and  distinctions  between 
himself  and  the  old  dynasties  of  Europe, 
and  from  attaching  men  to  himself  by 
new  principles  and  institutions,  that  he 
had  the  great  weakness  — for  so  we  view 
it — to  revive  the  old  forms  of  monarchy, 
and  to  ape  the  manners  of  the  old  court, 
and  thus  to  connect  himself  with  the 
herd  of  legitimate  sovereigns.  This 
was  not  only  to  rob  his  government  of 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE . 


535 


that  imposing  character  which  might 
have  been  given  to  it,  and  of  that  inter- 
est which  it  might  have  inspired  as  an 
improvement  on  former  institutions,  but 
was  to  become  competitor  in  a race  in 
which  he  could  not  but  be  distanced. 
He  could,  indeed,  pluck  crowns  from 
the  heads  of  monarchs  ; but  he  could 
not  by  any  means  infuse  their  blood  into 
his  veins,  associate  with  himself  the 
ideas  which  are  attached  to  a long  line 
of  ancestry,  or  give  to  his  court  the 
grace  of  manners  which  belongs  to  older 
establishments.  His  true  policy  was, 
to  throw  contempt  on  distinctions  which 
he  could  not  rival ; and,  had  he  pos- 
sessed the  genius  and  spirit  of  the 
founder  of  a new  era,  he  would  have 
substituted  for  a crown,  and  for  other 
long-worn  badges  of  power,  a new  and 
simple  style  of  grandeur,  and  new  in- 
signia of  dignity,  more  consonant  with 
an  enlightened  age,  and  worthy  of  one 
who  disdained  to  be  a vulgar  king.  By 
the  policy  which  he  adopted,  if  it  be 
worthy  of  that  name,  he  became  a vulgar 
king,  and  showed  a mind  incapable  of 
answering  the  wants  and  demands  of  his 
age.  It  is  well  known  that  the  progress 
of  intelligence  had  done  much  in  Europe 
to  weaken  men’s  reverence  for  pageantry 
and  show.  Nobles  had  learned  to  lay 
aside  their  trappings  in  ordinary  life, 
and  to  appear  as  gentlemen.  Even  roy- 
alty had  begun  to  retrench  its  pomp  ; 
and,  in  the  face  of  all  this  improvement, 
Bonaparte  'stooped  from  his  height  to 
study  costumes,  to  legislate  about  court 
dresses  and  court  manners,  and  to  out- 
shine his  brother  monarchs  in  their  own 
line.  He  desired  to  add  the  glory  of 
master  of  ceremonies  to  that  of  con- 
queror of  nations.  In  his  anxiety  to 
belong  to  the  caste  of  kings,  he  exacted 
scrupulously  the  observance  and  eti- 
quette with  which  they  are  approached. 
Not  satisfied  with  this  approximation  to 
the  old  sovereigns,  with  whom  he  had 
no  common  interest,  and  from  whom  he 
could  not  have  removed  himself  too  far, 
he  sought  to  ally  himself  by  marriage 
with  the  royal  families  in  Europe,  to  in- 
graft himself  and  his  posterity  on  an  old 
imperial  tree.  This  was  the  very  way 
to  turn  back  opinion  into  its  old  chan- 
nels ; to  carry  back  Europe  to  its  old 
prejudices  ; to  facilitate  the  restoration 
of  its  old  order ; to  preach  up  legitimacy ; 
to  crush  every  hope  that  he  was  to  work 


a beneficent  change  among  nations.  It 
may  seem  strange  that  his  egotism  did 
not  preserve  him  from  the  imitation  of 
antiquated  monarchy.  But  his  egotism, 
though  excessive,  was  not  lofty,  nor  was 
it  seconded  by  a genius,  rich  and  in- 
ventive, except  in  war. 

We  have  now  followed  Napoleon  to 
the  height  of  his  power,  and  given  our 
views  of  the  policy  by  which  he  hoped 
to  make  that  power  perpetual  and  un- 
bounded. His  fall  is  easily  explained. 
It  had  its  origin  in  that  spirit  of  self- 
reliance  and  self-exaggeration  of  which 
we  have  seen  so  many  proofs.  It  began 
in  Spain.  That  country  was  a province 
in  reality.  He  wanted  to  make  it  one  in 
name  ; to  place  over  it  a Bonaparte  ; to 
make  it  a more  striking  manifestation  of 
his  power.  For  this  purpose  he  “ kid- 
napped ” its  royal  family,  stirred  up  the 
unconquerable  spirit  of  its  people,  and, 
after  shedding  on  its  plains  and  moun- 
tains the  best  blood  of  France,  lost  it 
for  ever.  Next  came  his  expedition 
against  Russia,  an  expedition  against 
which  his  wisest  counsellors  remon- 
strated, but  which  had  every  recom- 
mendation to  a man  who  regarded  him- 
self as  an  exception  to  his  race,  and  able 
to  triumph  over  the  laws  of  nature.  So 
insane  were  his  self-confidence  and  impa- 
tience of  opposition,  that  he  drove  by  his 
outrages  Sweden,  the  old  ally  of  France, 
into  the  arms  of  Russia,  at  the  very 
moment  that  he  was  about  to  throw  him- 
self into  the  heart  of  that  mighty  empire. 
On  his  Russian  campaign  we  have  no 
desire  to  enlarge.  Of  all  the  mournful 
pages  of  history,  none  are  more  sad  than 
that  which  records  the  retreat  of  the 
French  army  from  Moscow.  We  re- 
member that,  when  the  intelligence  of 
Napoleon’s  discomfiture  in  Russia  first 
reached  this  country,  we  were  among 
those  who  exulted  in  it,  thinking  only 
of  the  results.  But  when  subsequent 
and  minuter  accounts  brought  distinctly 
before  our  eyes  that  unequalled  army  of 
France,  broken,  famished,  slaughtered, 
seeking  shelter  under  snowdrifts,  and 
perishing  by  intense  cold,  we  looked 
back  on  our  joy  with  almost  a conscious- 
ness of  guilt,  and  expiated  by  a sincere 
grief  our  insensibility  to  the  sufferings 
of  our  fellow-creatures.  We  understand 
that  many  interesting  notices  of  Napo- 
leon, as  he  appeared  in  this  disastrous 
campaign,  are  given  in  the  Memoirs  of 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


53<5 

Count  Segur,  a book  from  which  we 
have  been  repelled  by  the  sorrows  and 
miseries  which  it  details.  We  can  con- 
ceive few  subjects  more  worthy  of  Shak- 
speare  than  the  mind  of  Napoleon,  at 
the  moment  when  his  fate  was  sealed  ; 
when  the  tide  of  his  victories  was  sud- 
denly stopped  and  rolled  backwards  ; 
when  his  dreams  of  invincibleness  were 
broken  as  by  a peal  of  thunder  ; when 
the  word  which  had  awed  nations  died 
away  on  the  bleak  waste,  a powerless 
sound ; and  when  he,  whose  spirit  Eu- 
rope could  not  bound,  fled  in  fear  from 
a captive’s  doom.  The  shock  must  have 
been  tremendous  to  a mind  so  imperious, 
scornful,  and  unschooled  to  humiliation. 
The  intense  agony  of  that  moment,  when 
he  gave  the  unusual  orders  to  retreat ; 
the  desolateness  of  his  soul,  when  he 
saw  his  brave  soldiers  and  his  chosen 
guards  sinking  in  the  snows,  and  per- 
ishing in  crowds  around  him  ; his  un- 
willingness to  receive  the  details  of  his 
losses,  lest  self-possession  should  fail 
him  ; the  levity  and  badinage  of  his  in- 
terview with  the  Abbe  de  Pradt  at  War- 
saw, discovering  a mind  laboring  to 
throw  off  an  insupportable  weight,  wrest- 
ling with  itself,  struggling  against  mis- 
ery ; and,  though  last  not  least,  his 
unconquerable  purpose,  still  clinging  to 
lost  empire  as  the  only  good  of  life  ; — 
these  workings  of  such  a spirit  would 
have  furnished  to  the  great  dramatist 
a theme  worthy  of  his  transcendent 
powers. 

By  the  irretrievable  disasters  of  the 
Russian  campaign,  the  empire  of  the 
world  was  effectually  placed  beyond 
the  grasp  of  Napoleon.  The  tide  of 
conquest  had  ebbed,  never  to  return. 
The  spell  which  had  bound  the  nations 
was  dissolved.  He  was  no  longer  the 
Invincible.  The  weight  of  military 
power,  which  had  kept  down  the  spirit 
of  nations,  was  removed,  and  their  long- 
smothered  sense  of  wrong  and  insult 
broke  forth  like  the  fires  of  a volcano. 
Bonaparte  might  still,  perhaps,  have 
secured  the  throne  of  France  ; but  that 
of  Europe  was  gone.  This,  however, 
he  did  not,  could  not,  would  not  under- 
stand. He  had  connected  with  himself 
too  obstinately  the  character  of  the 
world’s  master  to  be  able  to  relinquish 
it.  Amidst  the  dark  omens  which  gath- 
ered round  him  he  still  saw,  in  his  past 
wonderful  escapes,  and  in  his  own  ex- 


aggerated energies,  the  means  of  re- 
building his  fallen  power.  Accordingly, 
the  thought  of  abandoning  his  preten- 
sions does  not  seem  to  have  crossed  his 
mind,  and  his  irreparable  defeat  was 
only  a summons  to  new  exertion.  We 
doubt,  indeed,  whether  Napoleon,  if  he 
could  have  understood  fully  his  con- 
dition, would  have  adopted  a different 
course.  Though  despairing,  he  would 
probably  have  raised  new  armies,  and 
fought  to  the  last.  To  a mind  which 
has  placed  its  whole  happiness  in  hav- 
ing no  equal,  the  thought  of  descending 
to  the  level  even  of  kings  is  intolerable. 
Napoleon’s  mind  had  been  stretched  by 
such  ideas  of  universal  empire  that 
France,  though  reaching  from  the  Rhine 
to  the  Pyrenees,  seemed  narrow  to  him. 
He  could  not  be  shut  up  in  it.  Accord- 
ingly, as  his  fortunes  darkened,  we  see 
no  signs  of  relenting.  He  could  not 
wear,  he  said,  “ a tarnished  crown ; ” 
that  is,  a crown  no  brighter  than  those 
of  Austria  and  Russia.  He  continued 
to  use  a master’s  tone.  Pie  showed  no 
change  but  such  as  opposition  works  in 
the  obstinate  ; he  lost  his  temper  and 
grew  sour.  He  heaped  reproaches  on 
his  marshals  and  the  legislative  body. 
He  insulted  Metternich,  the  statesman 
on  whom,  above  all  others,  his  fate  de- 
pended. He  irritated  Murat  by  sar- 
casms, which  rankled  within  him,  and 
accelerated,  if  they  did  not  determine, 
his  desertion  of  his  master.  It  is  a 
striking  example  of  retribution,  that  the 
very  vehemence  and  sternness  of  his 
will,  which  had  borne  him  onward  to 
dominion,  now  drove  him  to  the  rejec- 
tion of  terms  which  might  have  left  him 
a formidable  power,  and  thus  made  his 
ruin  entire.  Refusing  to  take  counsel 
of  events,  he  persevered  in  fighting  with 
a stubbornness  which  reminds  us  of  a 
spoiled  child,  who  sullenly  grasps  what 
he  knows  he  must  relinquish,  struggles 
without  hope,  and  does  not  give  over 
resistance  until  his  little  fingers  are  one 
by  one  unclenched  from  the  object  on 
which  he  has  set  his  heart.  Thus  fell 
Napoleon.  We  shall  follow  his  history 
no  farther.  His  retreat  to  Elba,  his 
irruption  into  France,  his  signal  over- 
throw, and  his  banishment  to  St.  Helena, 
though  they  add  to  the  romance  of  his 
history,  throw  no  new  light  on  his  char- 
acter, and  would,  of  course,  contribute 
‘ nothing  to  our  present  object.  There 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 


S3  7 


are,  indeed,  incidents  in  this  portion  of 
his  life  which  are  somewhat  inconsistent 
with  the  firmness  and  conscious  superi- 
ority which  belonged  to  him.  But  a 
man  into  whose  character  so  much  im- 
pulse and  so  little  principle  entered, 
must  not  be  expected  to  preserve  un- 
blemished, in  such  hard  reverses,  the 
dignity  and  self-respect  of  an  emperor 
and  a hero. 

In  the  course  of  these  remarks,  our 
views  of  the  Conqueror,  of  the  First 
Consul,  and  of  the  Emperor,  have  been 
given  plainly  and  freely.  The  subject, 
however,  is  so  important  and  interesting 
that  we  have  thought  it  worth  our  while, 
though  at  the  hazard  of  some  repetition, 
to  bring  together,  in  a narrower  com- 
pass, what  seem  to  us  the  great  leading 
features  of  the  intellectual  and  moral 
character  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte. 

His  intellect  was  distinguished  by  ra- 
pidity of  thought.  He  understood  by  a 
glance  what  most  men,  and  superior  men, 
could  learn  only  by  study.  He  darted  to 
a conclusion  rather  by  intuition  than 
reasoning.  In  war,  which  was  the  only 
subject  of  which  he  was  master,  he 
seized  in  an  instant  on  the  great  points 
of  his  own  and  his  enemy’s  positions  ; 
and  combined  at  once  the  movements 
by  which  an  overpowering  force  might 
be  thrown  with  unexpected  fury  on  a 
vulnerable  part  of  the  hostile  line,  and 
the  fate  of  an  army  be  decided  in  a 
day.  He  understood  war  as  a science  ; 
but  his  mind  was  too  bold,  rapid,  and 
irrepressible  to  be  enslaved  by  the  tech- 
nics of  his  profession.  He  found  the 
old  armies  fighting  by  rule,  and  he  dis- 
covered the  true  characteristic  of  genius, 
which,  without  despising  rules,  knows 
when  and  how  to  break  them.  He  under- 
stood thoroughly  the  immense  moral 
power  which  is  gained  by  originality 
and  rapidity  of  operation.  He  aston- 
ished and  paralyzed  his  enemies  by  his 
unforeseen  and  impetuous  assaults,  by 
the  suddenness  with  which  the  storm  of 
battle  burst  upon  them  ; and,  whilst 
giving  to  his  soldiers  the  advantages  of 
modern  discipline,  breathed  into  them, 
by  his  quick  and  decisive  movements, 
the  enthusiasm  of  ruder  ages.  This 
power  of  disheartening  the  foe,  and  of 
spreading  through  his  own  ranks  a con- 
fidence, and  exhilarating  courage,  which 
made  war  a pastime,  and  seemed  to 
make  victory  sure,  distinguished  Na- 


poleon in  an  age  of  uncommon  military 
talent,  and  was  one  main  instrument  of 
his  future  power. 

The  wonderful  effects  of  that  rapidity 
of  thought  by  which  Bonaparte  was 
marked,  the  signal  success  of  his  new 
mode  of  warfare,  and  the  almost  incred- 
ible speed  with  which  his  fame  was 
spread  through  the  nations,  had  no  small 
agency  in  fixing  his  character  and  de- 
termining for  a period  the  fate  of  em- 
pires. These  stirring  influences  infused 
a new  consciousness  of  his  own  might. 
They  gave  intensity  and  audacity  to  his 
ambition  ; gave  form  and  substance  to 
his  indefinite  visions  of  glory,  and  raised 
his  fiery  hopes  to  empire.  The  burst  of 
admiration  which  his  early  career  called 
forth  must  in  particular  have  had  an 
influence  in  imparting  to  his  ambition 
that  modification  by  which  it  was  char- 
acterized, and  which  contributed  alike 
to  its  success  and  to  its  fall.  He  began 
with  astonishing  the  world,  with  pro- 
ducing a sudden  and  universal  sensation , 
such  as  modern  times  had  not  witnessed. 
To  astonish , as  well  as  to  sway  by  his 
energies,  became  the  great  aim  of  his 
life.  Henceforth,  to  rule  was  not  enough 
for  Bonaparte.  Fie  wanted  to  amaze, 
to  dazzle,  to  overpower  men’s  souls,  by 
striking,  bold,  magnificent,  and  unan- 
ticipated results.  To  govern  ever  so 
absolutely  would  not  have  satisfied  him, 
if  he  must  have  governed  silently.  He 
wanted  to  reign  through  wonder  and 
awe,  by  the  grandeur  and  terror  of  his 
name,  by  displays  of  power  which  would 
rivet  on  him  every  eye,  and  make  him 
the  theme  of  every  tongue.  Power  was 
his  supreme  object,  but  a power  which 
should  be  gazed  at  as  well  as  felt,  which 
should  strike  men  as  a prodigy,  which 
should  shake  old  thrones  as  an  earth- 
quake, and,  by  the  suddenness  of  its 
new  creations,  should  awaken  something 
of  the  submissive  wonder  which  mirac- 
ulous agency  inspires. 

Such  seems  to  us  to  have  been  the 
distinction,  or  characteristic  modifica- 
tion of  his  love  of  fame.  It  was  a dis- 
eased passion  for  a kind  of  admiration, 
which,  from  the  principles  of  our  nature, 
cannot  be  enduring,  and  which  demands 
for  its  support  perpetual  and  more  stim- 
ulating novelty.  Mere  esteem  he  would 
have  scorned.  Calm  admiration,  though 
universal  and  enduring,  would  have  been 
insipid.  He  wanted  to  electrify  and 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHAT  ACTED 


538 

overwhelm.  He  lived  for  effect.  The 
world  was  his  theatre,  and  he  cared  lit- 
tle what  part  he  played  if  he  might  walk 
the  sole  hero  on  the  stage,  and  call  forth 
bursts  of  applause  which  would  silence 
all  other  fame.  In  war,  the  triumphs 
which  he  coveted  were  those  in  which 
he  seemed  to  sweep  away  his  foes  like 
a whirlwind  ; and  the  immense  and  un- 
paralleled sacrifices  of  his  own  soldiers, 
in  the  rapid  marches  and  daring  assaults 
to  which  he  owed  his  victories,  in  no 
degree  diminished  their  worth  to  the 
victor.  In  peace,  he  delighted  to  hurry 
through  his  dominions  ; to  multiply  him- 
self by  his  rapid  movements  ; to  gather 
at  a glance  the  capacities  of  improvement 
which  every  important  place  possessed  ; 
to  suggest  plans  which  would  startle  by 
their  originality  and  vastness  ; to  project 
in  an  instant  works  which  a life  could 
not  accomplish,  and  to  leave  behind  the 
impression  of  a superhuman  energy. 

Our  sketch  of  Bonaparte  would  be 
imperfect  indeed,  if  we  did  not  add  that 
he  was  characterized  by  nothing  more 
strongly  than  by  the  spirit  of  self-ex- 
aggeration. The  singular  energy  of  his 
intellect  and  will,  through  which  he  had 
mastered  so  many  rivals  and  foes,  and 
overcome  what  seemed  insuperable  ob- 
stacles, inspired  a consciousness  of  being 
something  more  than  man.  His  strong 
original  tendencies  to  pride  and  self- 
exaltation, fed  and  pampered  by  strange 
success  and  unbounded  applause,  swelled 
into  an  almost  insane  conviction  of  su- 
perhuman greatness.  In  his  own  view, 
he  stood  apart  from  other  men.  He  was 
not  to  be  measured  by  the  standard  of 
humanity.  He  was  not  to  be  retarded 
by  difficulties  to  which  all  others  yielded. 
He  was  not  to  be  subjected  to  laws  and 
obligations  which  all  others  were  ex- 
pected to  obey.  Nature  and  the  human 
will  were  to  bend  to  his  power.  He  was 
the  child  and  favorite  of  fortune,  and,  if 
not  the  lord,  the  chief  object  of  destiny. 
His  history  shows  a spirit  of  self-exag- 
geration unrivalled  in  enlightened  ages, 
and  which  reminds  us  of  an  oriental 
king  to  whom  incense  had  been  burnt 
from  his  birth  as  to  a deity.  This  was 
the  chief  source  of  his  crimes.  He 
wanted  the  sentiment  of  a common  nat- 
ure with  his  fellow-beings.  He  had  no 
sympathies  with  his  race.  That  feeling 
of  brotherhood,  which  is  developed  in 
truly  great  souls  with  peculiar  energy, 


and  through  which  they  give  up  them- 
selves willing  victims,  joyful  sacrifices, 
to  the  interests  of  mankind,  was  wholly 
unknown  to  him.  His  heart,  amidst  its 
wild  beatings,  never  had  a throb  of  dis- 
interested love.  The  ties  which  bind 
man  to  man  he  broke  asunder.  The 
proper  happiness  of  a man,  which  con- 
sists in  the  victory  of  moral  energy  and 
social  affection  over  the  selfish  passions, 
he  cast  away  for  the  lonely  joy  of  a 
despot.  With  powers  which  might  have 
made  him  a glorious  representative  and 
minister  of  the  beneficent  Divinity,  and 
with  natural  sensibilities  which  might 
have  been  exalted  into  sublime  virtues, 
he  chose  to  separate  himself  from  his 
kind,  to  forego  their  love,  esteem,  and 
gratitude,  that  he  might  become  their 
gaze,  their  fear,  their  wonder ; and,  for 
this  selfish,  solitary  good,  parted  with 
peace  and  imperishable  renown. 

This  insolent  exaltation  of  himself 
above  the  race  to  which  he  belonged 
broke  out  in  the  beginning  of  his  career. 
His  first  success  in  Italy  gave  him  the 
tone  of  a master,  and  he  never  laid  it 
aside  to  his  last  hour.  One  can  hardly 
help  being  struck  with  the  natural  man- 
ner with  which  he  arrogates  supremacy 
in  his  conversation  and  proclamations. 
We  never  feel  as  if  he  were  putting  on 
a lordly  air.  In  his  proudest  claims  he 
speaks  from  his  own  mind,  and  in  native 
language.  His  style  is  swollen,  but 
never  strained,  as  if  he  were  conscious 
of  playing  a part  above  his  real  claims. 
Even  when  he  was  foolish  and  impious 
enough  to  arrogate  miraculous  powers 
and  a mission  from  God,  his  language 
showed  that  he  thought  there  was  some- 
thing in  his  character  and  exploits  to 
give  a color  to  his  blasphemous  preten- 
sions. The  empire  of  the  world  seemed 
to  him  to  be  in  a measure  his  due,  for 
nothing  short  of  it  corresponded  with 
his  conceptions  of  himself ; and  he  did 
not  use  mere  verbiage,  but  spoke  a lan- 
guage to  which  he  gave  some  credit, 
when  he  called  his  successive  conquests 
“ the  fulfilment  of  his  destiny.” 

This  spirit  of  self-exaggeration 
wrought  its  own  misery,  and  drew  down 
upon  him  terrible  punishments ; and 
this  it  did  by  vitiating  and  perverting 
his  high  powers.  First,  it  diseased  his 
fine  intellect,  gave  imagination  the  as- 
cendency over  judgment,  turned  the 
inventiveness  and  fruitfulness  of  his 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 


539 


mind  into  rash,  impatient,  restless  ener- 
gies, and  thus  precipitated  him  into  pro- 
jects which,  as  the  wisdom  of  his  coun- 
sellors pronounced,  were  fraught  with 
ruin.  To  a man  whose  vanity  took  him 
out  of  the  rank  of  human  beings,  no 
foundation  for  reasoning  was  left.  All 
things  seemed  possible.  His  genius  and 
his  fortune  were  not  to  be  bounded  by 
the  barriers  which  experience  had  as- 
signed to  human  powers.  Ordinary 
rules  did  not  apply  to  him.  He  even 
found  excitement  and  motives  in  obsta- 
cles before  which  other  men  would  have 
wavered  ; for  these  would  enhance  the 
glory  of  triumph,  and  give  a new  thrill 
to  the  admiration  of  the  world.  Accord- 
ingly he  again  and  again  plunged  into 
the  depths  of  an  enemy’s  country,  and 
staked  his  whole  fortune  and  power  on 
a single  battle.  To  be  rash  was  indeed 
the  necessary  result  of  his  self-exalting 
and  self-relying  spirit ; for  to  dare  what 
no  other  man  would  dare,  to  accomplish 
what  no  other  man  would  attempt,  was 
the  very  way  to  display  himself  as  a 
superior  being  in  his  own  and  others’ 
eyes.  To  be  impatient  and  restless 
was  another  necessary  issue  of  the  attri- 
butes we  have  described.  The  calm- 
ness of  wisdom  was  denied  him.  He, 
who  was  next  to  omnipotent  in  his  own 
eyes,  and  who  delighted  to  strike  and 
astonish  by  sudden  and  conspicuous 
operations,  could  not  brook  delay  or 
wait  for  the  slow  operations  of  time.  A 
work,  which  was  to  be  gradually  ma- 
tured by  the  joint  agency  of  various 
causes,  could  not  suit  a man  who  wanted 
to  be  felt  as  the  great,  perhaps  only, 
cause  ; who  wished  to  stamp  his  own 
agency  in  the  most  glaring  characters  on 
whatever  he  performed  ; and  who  hoped 
to  rival,  by  a sudden  energy,  the  steady 
and  progressive  works  of  nature.  Hence 
so  many  of  his  projects  were  never 
completed,  or  only  announced.  They 
swelled,  however,  the  tide  of  flattery, 
which  ascribed  to  him  the  completion  of 
what  was  not  yet  begun,  whilst  his  rest- 
less spirit,  rushing  to  new  enterprises, 
forgot  its  pledges,  and  left  the  promised 
prodigies  of  his  creative  genius  to  exist 
only  in  the  records  of  adulation.  Thus 
the  rapid  and  inventive  intellect  of 
Bonaparte  was  depraved,  and  failed  to 
achieve  a growing  and  durable  greatness. 
It  reared,  indeed,  a vast  and  imposing 
structure,  but  disproportioned,  disjointed, 


without  strength,  without  foundations. 
One  strong  blast  was  enough  to  shake 
and  shatter  it,  nor  could  his  genius  up- 
hold it.  Happy  would  it  have  been  for 
his  fame  had  he  been  buried  in  its 
ruins ! 

One  of  the  striking  properties  of 
Bonaparte’s  character  was  decision,  and 
this,  as  we  have  already  seen,  was  per- 
verted, by  the  spirit  of  self-exaggeration, 
into  an  inflexible  stubbornness,  which 
counsel  could  not  enlighten,  nor  circum- 
stances bend.  Having  taken  the  first 
step,  he  pressed  onward.  His  purpose 
he  wished  others  to  regard  as  a law  of 
nature,  or  a decree  of  destiny.  It 
must  be  accomplished.  Resistance  but 
strengthened  it ; and  so  often  had  resist- 
ance been  overborne,  that  he  felt  as  if 
his  unconquerable  will,  joined  to  his 
matchless  intellect,  could  vanquish  all 
things.  On  such  a mind  the  warnings 
of  human  wisdom  and  of  Providence 
were  spent  in  vain;  and  the  Man  of 
Destiny  lived  to  teach  others,  if  not 
himself,  the  weakness  and  folly  of  that 
all-defying  decision  which  arrays  the 
purposes  of  a mortal  with  the  immuta- 
bleness of  the  counsels  of  the  Most 
High. 

A still  more  fatal  influence  of  the 
spirit  of  self-exaggeration  which  charac- 
terized Bonaparte  remains  to  be  named. 
It  depraved  to  an  extraordinary  degree 
his  moral  sense.  It  did  not  obliterate 
altogether  the  ideas  of  duty,  but,  by  a 
singular  perversion,  it  impelled  him  to 
apply  them  exclusively  to  others.  It 
never  seemed  to  enter  his  thought  that 
he  was  subject  to  the  great  obligations 
of  morality  which  all  others  are  called  to 
respect.  He  was  an  exempted  being. 
Whatever  stood  in  his  way  to  empire  he 
was  privileged  to  remove.  Treaties 
only  bound  his  enemies.  No  nation 
had  rights  but  his  own  France.  He 
claimed  a monopoly  in  perfidy  and  vio- 
lence. He  was  not  naturally  cruel ; but, 
when  human  life  obstructed  his  progress, 
it  was  a lawful  prey,  and  murder  and 
assassination  occasioned  as  little  com- 
punction as  war.  The  most  luminous 
exposition  of  his  moral  code  was  given 
in  his  counsels  to  the  King  of  Holland. 
“Never  forget  that,  in  the  situation  to 
which  my  political  system  and  the  inter- 
ests of  my  empire  have  called  you,  your 
first  duty  is  towards  ME,  your  second 
towards  France.  All  your  other  duties, 


540 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHAD  ACTED 


even  those  towards  the  people  whom  I 
have  called  you  to  govern,  rank  after 
these.”  To  his  own  mind  he  was  the 
source  and  centre  of  duty.  He  was  too 
peculiar  and  exalted  to  be  touched  by 
that  vulgar  stain  called  guilt.  Crimes 
ceased  to  be  such  when  perpetrated  by 
himself.  Accordingly  he  always  speaks 
of  his  transgressions  as  of  indifferent 
acts.  He  never  imagined  that  they  tar- 
nished his  glory,  or  diminished  his  claim 
on  the  homage  of  the  world.  In  St. 
Helena,  though  talking  perpetually  of 
himself,  and  often  reviewing  his  guilty 
career,  we  are  not  aware  that  a single 
compunction  escapes  him.  He  speaks 
of  his  life  as  calmly  as  if  it  had  been 
consecrated  to  duty  and  beneficence, 
whilst  in  the  same  breath  he  has  the 
audacity  to  reproach  unsparingly  the 
faithlessness  of  almost  every  individual 
and  nation  with  whom  he  had  been  con- 
nected. We  doubt  whether  history  fur- 
nishes so  striking  an  example  of  the 
moral  blindness  and  obduracy  to  which 
an  unbounded  egotism  exposes  and 
abandons  the  mind. 

His  spirit  of  self-exaggeration  was 
seen  in  his  openness  to  adulation. 
Policy  indeed  prompted  him  to  put  his 
praises  into  the  mouths  of  the  venal 
slaves,  who  administered  his  despotism. 
But  flattery  would  not  have  been  per- 
mitted to  swell  into  exaggerations,  now 
nauseous,  now  ludicrous,  and  now  im- 
pious, if,  in  the  bosom  of  the  chief, 
there  had  not  lodged  a flatterer  who 
sounded  a louder  note  of  praise  than  all 
around  him.  He  was  remarkably  sensi- 
tive to  opinion,  and  resented  as  a wrong 
the  suppression  of  his  praises.  The 
press  of  all  countries  was  watched,  and 
free  states  were  called  upon  to  curb  it 
for  daring  to  take  liberties  with  his 
name.  Even  in  books  published  in 
France  on  general  topics,  he  expected  a 
recognition  of  his  authority.  Works  of 
talent  were  suppressed,  when  their 
authors  refused  to  offer  incense  at  the 
new  shrine.  He  resolved,  indeed,  to 
stamp  his  name  on  the  literature,  as  on 
the  legislation,  policy,  warfare  of  his  age, 
and  to  compel  genius,  whose  pages  sur- 
vive statues,  columns,  and  empires,  to 
take  a place  among  his  tributaries. 

We  close  our  view  of  Bonaparte’s 
character  by  saying  that  his  original 
propensities,  released  from  restraint, 
and  pampered  by  indulgence,  to  a de- 


gree seldom  allowed  to  mortals,  grew 
up  into  a spirit  of  despotism  as  stern 
and  absolute  as  ever  usurped  the  hu- 
man heart.  The  love  of  power  and  su- 
premacy absorbed,  consumed  him.  No 
other  passion,  no  domestic  attachment, 
no  private  friendship,  no  love  of  pleas- 
ure, no  relish  for  letters  or  the  arts,  no 
human  sympathy,  no  human  weakness, 
divided  his  mind  with  the  passion  for 
dominion  and  for  dazzling  manifesta- 
tions of  his  power.  Before  this,  duty, 
honor,  love,  humanity,  fell  prostrate. 
Josephine,  we  are  told,  was  dear  to  him  ; 
but  the  devoted  wife,  who  had  stood 
firm  and  faithful  in  the  day  of  his  doubt- 
ful fortunes,  was  cast  off  in  his  pros- 
perity, to  make  room  for  a stranger, 
who  might  be  more  subservient  to  his 
power.  He  was  affectionate,  we  are 
told,  to  his  brothers  and  mother  ; but 
his  brothers,  the  moment  they  ceased 
to  be  his  tools,  were  disgraced  ; and  his 
mother,  it  is  said,  was  not  allowed  to 
sit  in  the  presence  of  her  imperial  son.* 
He  was  sometimes  softened,  we  are  told, 
by  the  sight  of  the  field  of  battle  strewn 
with  the  wounded  and  dead.  But,  if 
the  Moloch  of  his  ambition  claimed 
new  heaps  of  slain  to-morrow,  it  was 
never  denied.  With  all  his  sensibility, 
he  gave  millions  to  the  sword  with  as 
little  compunction  as  he  would  have 
brushed  away  so  many  insects  which 
had  infested  his  march.  To  him  all 
human  will,  desire,  power,  were  to  bend. 
His  superiority  none  might  question. 
He  insulted  the  fallen,  who  had  con- 
tracted the  guilt  of  opposing  his  prog- 
ress ; and  not  even  woman’s  loveliness, 
and  the  dignity  of  a queen,  could  give 
shelter  from  his  contumely.  His  allies 
were  his  vassals,  nor  was  their  vassalage 
concealed.  Too  lofty  to  use  the  arts 
of  conciliation,  preferring  command  to 
persuasion,  overbearing,  and  all-grasp- 
ing, he  spread  distrust,  exasperation,  fear, 
and  revenge  through  Europe  ; and,  when 
the  day  of  retribution  came,  the  old  an- 
tipathies and  mutual  jealousies  of  nations 
were  swallowed  up  in  one  burning  pur- 
pose to  prostrate  the  common  tyrant,  the 
universal  foe. 

Such  was  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  But 
some  will  say  he  was  still  a great  man. 
This  we  mean  not  to  deny.  But  we 

* See  “America,”  page  57.  We  should  not  give 
this  very  unamiable  trait  of  Napoleon’s  domestic  char- 
acter, but  on  authority  which  we  cannot  question. 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 


541 


would  have  it  understood  that  there  are 
various  kinds  or  orders  of  greatness, 
and  that  the  highest  did  not  belong  to 
Bonaparte.  There  are  different  orders 
of  greatness.  Among  these  the  first 
rank  is  unquestionably  due  to  moral 
greatness,  or  magnanimity  ; to  that  sub- 
lime energy  by  which  the  soul,  smitten 
with  the  love  of  virtue,  binds  itself  in- 
dissolubly, for  life  and  for  death,  to  truth 
and  duty ; espouses  as  its  own  the  in- 
terests of  human  nature ; scorns  all 
meanness  and  defies  all  peril ; hears  in 
its  own  conscience  a voice  louder  than 
threatenings  and  thunders  ; withstands 
all  the  powers  of  the  universe,  which 
would  sever  it  from  the  cause  of  free- 
dom and  religion  ; reposes  an  unfalter- 
ing trust  in  God  in  the  darkest  hour, 
and  is  ever  “ready  to  be  offered  up” 
on  the  altar  of  its  country  or  of  man- 
kind. Of  this  moral  greatness,  which 
throws  all  other  forms  of  greatness  into 
obscurity,  we  see  not  a trace  in  Napo- 
leon. Though  clothed  with  the  power 
of  a god,  the  thought  of  consecrating 
himself  to  the  introduction  of  a new  and 
higher  era,  to  the  exaltation  of  the  charac- 
ter and  condition  of  his  race,  seems  never 
to  have  dawned  on  his  mind.  The  spirit 
of  disinterestedness  and  self-sacrifice 
seems  not  to  have  waged  a moment’s 
war  with  self-will  and  ambition.  His 
ruling  passions,  indeed,  were  singularly 
at  variance  with  magnanimity.  Moral 
greatness  has  too  much  simplicity,  is 
too  unostentatious,  too  self-subsistent, 
&nd  enters  into  others’  interests  with 
too  much  heartiness,  to  live  an  hour 
for  what  Napoleon  always  lived,  to 
make  itself  the  theme,  and  gaze,  and 
wonder  of  a dazzled  world.  Next  to 
moral,  comes  intellectual  greatness,  or 
genius  in  the  highest  sense  of  that  word  ; 
and  by  this  we  mean  that  sublime  capac- 
ity of  thought  through  which  the  soul, 
smitten  with  the  love  of  the  true  and 
the  beautiful,  essays  to  comprehend  the 
universe,  soars  into  the  heavens,  pene- 
trates the  earth,  penetrates  itself,  ques- 
tions the  past,  anticipates  the  future, 
traces  out  the  general  and  all-compre- 
hending laws  of  nature,  binds  together 
by  innumerable  affinities  and  relations 
all  the  objects  of  its  knowledge,  rises 
from  the  finite  and  transient  to  the  in- 
finite and  the  everlasting,  frames  to 
itself  from  its  own  fulness  lovelier  and 
sublimer  forms  than  it  beholds,  discerns 


the  harmonies  between  the  world  within 
and  the  world  without  us,  and  finds  in 
every  region  of  the  universe  types  and 
interpreters  of  its  own  deep  mysteries 
and  glorious  inspirations.  This  is  the 
greatness  which  belongs  to  philosophers, 
and  to  the  master-spirits  in  poetry  and 
the  fine  arts.  Next  comes  the  great- 
ness of  actio7i ; and  by  this  we  mean 
the  sublime  power  of  conceiving  bold 
and  extensive  plans ; of  constructing 
and  bringing  to  bear  on  a mighty  object 
a complicated  machinery  of  means,  en- 
ergies, and  arrangements,  and  of  accom- 
plishing great  outward  effects.  To  this 
head  belongs  the  greatness  of  Bonaparte, 
and  that  he  possessed  it  we  need  not 
prove,  and  none  will  be  hardy  enough 
to  deny.  A man  who  raised  himself 
from  obscurity  to  a throne,  who  changed 
the  face  of  the  world,  who  made  him- 
self felt  through  powerful  and  civilized 
nations,  who  sent  the  terror  of  his  name 
across  seas  and  oceans,  whose  will  was 
pronounced  and  feared  as  destiny,  whose 
donatives  were  crowns,  whose  ante- 
chamber was  thronged  by  submissive 
princes,  who  broke  down  the  awful 
barrier  of  the  Alps  and  made  them  a 
highway,  and  whose  fame  was  spread 
beyond  the  boundaries  of  civilization 
to  the  steppes  of  the  Cossack,  and  the 
deserts  of  the  Arab  ; — a man,  who  has 
left  this  record  of  himself  in  history, 
has  taken  out  of  our  hands  the  question 
whether  he  shall  be  called  great.  All 
must  concede  to  him  a sublime  power 
of  action,  an  energy  equal  to  great  ef- 
fects. 

We  are  not  disposed,  however,  to  con- 
sider him  as  pre-eminent  even  in  this 
order  of  greatness.  War  was  his  chief 
sphere.  He  gained  his  ascendency  in 
Europe  by  the  sword.  But  war  is  not 
the  field  for  the  highest  active  talent, 
and  Napoleon,  we  suspect,  was  conscious 
of  this  truth.  The  glory  of  being  the 
greatest  general  of  his  age  would  not 
have  satisfied  him.  He  would  have 
scorned  to  take  his  place  by  the  side  of 
Marlborough  or  Turenne.  It  was  as  the 
founder  of  an  empire,  which  threatened 
for  a time  to  comprehend  the  world,  and 
which  demanded  other  talents  besides 
that  of  war,  that  he  challenged  unri- 
valled fame.  And  here  we  question  his 
claim.  Here  we  cannot  award  him  su- 
premacy. The  project  of  universal 
empire,  however  imposing,  was  not  orig- 


542 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


inal.  The  revolutionary  governments 
of  France  had  adopted  it  before  ; nor 
can  we  consider  it  as  a sure  indication 
of  greatness,  when  we  remember  that 
the  weak  and  vain  mind  of  Louis  the 
Fourteenth  was  large  enough  to  cherish 
it.  The  question  is,  Did  Napoleon  bring 
to  this  design  the  capacity  of  advancing 
it  by  bold  and  original  conceptions, 
adapted  to  an  age  of  civilization,  and  of 
singular  intellectual  and  moral  excite- 
ment ? Did  he  discover  new  founda- 
tions of  power  ? Did  he  frame  new 
bonds  of  union  for  subjugated  nations  ? 
Did  he  discover  or  originate  some  com- 
mon interests  by  which  his  empire  might 
be  held  together  ? Did  he  breathe  a 
spirit  which  could  supplant  the  old  na- 
tional attachments,  or  did  he  invent  any 
substitutes  for  those  vulgar  instruments 
of  force  and  corruption  which  any  and 
every  usurper  would  have  used  ? Never 
in  the  records  of  time  did  the  world  fur- 
nish such  materials  to  work  with,  such 
means  of  modelling  nations  afresh,  of 
building  up  a new  power,  of  introducing 
a new  era,  as  did  Europe  at  the  period 
of  the  French  Revolution.  Never  was 
the  human  mind  so  capable  of  new  im- 
pulses. And  did  Napoleon  prove  him- 
self equal  to  the  condition  of  the  world  ? 
Do  we  detect  one  original  conception  in 
his  means  of  universal  empire  ? Did  he 
seize  on  the  enthusiasm  of  his  age,  that 
powerful  principle,  more  efficient  than 
arms  or  policy,  and  bend  it  to  his  pur- 
pose ? What  did  he  do  but  follow  the 
beaten  track,  — but  apply  force  and  fraud 
in  their  very  coarsest  forms  ? Napoleon 
showed  a vulgar  mind  when  he  assumed 
self-interest  as  the  sole  spring  of  human 
action.  With  the  sword  in  one  hand 
and  bribes  in  the  other,  he  imagined 
himself  absolute  master  of  the  human 
mind.  The  strength  of  moral,  national, 
and  domestic  feeling  he  could  not  com- 
prehend. The  finest  and,  after  all,  the 
most  powerful  elements  in  human  nature 
hardly  entered  into  his  conceptions  of 
it : and  how,  then,  could  he  have  estab- 
lished a durable  power  over  the  human 
race  ? We  want  little  more  to  show  his 
want  of  originality  and  comprehensive- 
ness, as  the  founder  of  an  empire,  than 
the  simple  fact  that  he  chose  as  his 
chief  counsellors  Talleyrand  and  Fouch£, 
names  which  speak  for  themselves.  We 
may  judge  of  the  greatness  of  the  mas- 
ter-spirit from  the  minds  which  he  found 


most  congenial  with  his  own.  In  war 
Bonaparte  was  great,  for  he  was  bold, 
original,  and  creative.  Beyond  the  camp 
he  indeed  showed  talent,  but  not  supe- 
rior to  that  of  other  eminent  men. 

There  have  been  two  circumstances 
which  have  done  much  to  disarm  or 
weaken  the  strong  moral  reprobation 
with  which  Bonaparte  ought  to  have 
been  regarded,  and  which  we  deem  wor- 
thy of  notice.  We  refer  to  the  wrongs 
which  he  is  supposed  to  have  suffered 
at  St.  Helena,  and  to  the  unworthy  use 
which  the  Allied  Powers  have  made  of 
their  triumph  over  Napoleon.  First,  his 
supposed  wrongs  at  St.  Helena  have 
excited  a sympathy  in  his  behalf  which 
has  thrown  a veil  over  his  crimes.  We 
are  not  disposed  to  deny  that  an  unwar- 
rantable, because  unnecessary,  severity 
was  exercised  towards  Bonaparte.  We 
think  it  not  very  creditable  to  the  British 
government  that  it  tortured  a sensitive 
captive  by  refusing  him  a title  which  he 
had  long  worn.  We  think  that  not  only 
religion  and  humanity  but  self-respect 
forbids  us  to  inflict  a single  useless  pang 
on  a fallen  foe.  But  we  should  be  weak 
indeed  if  the  moral  judgments  and  feel- 
ings with  which  Napoleon’s  career  ought 
to  be  reviewed,  should  give  place  to 
sympathy  with  the  sufferings  by  which 
it  was  closed.  With  regard  to  the  scru- 
ples, which  not  a few  have  expressed,  as 
to  the  right  of  banishing  him  to  St.  He- 
lena, we  can  only  say  that  our  con- 
sciences are  not  yet  refined  to  such 
exquisite  delicacy  as  to  be  at  all  sensi- 
tive on  this  particular.  We  admire 
nothing  more  in  Bonaparte  than  the 
effrontery  with  which  he  claimed  pro- 
tection from  the  laws  of  nations.  That 
a man,  who  had  set  these  laws  at  open 
defiance,  should  fly  to  them  for  shelter ; 
that  the  oppressor  of  the  world  should 
claim  its  sympathy  as  an  oppressed  man, 
and  that  his  claim  should  find  advocates  ; 
these  things  are  to  be  set  down  among 
the  extraordinary  events  of  this  extraor- 
dinary age.  Truly  the  human  race  is  in 
a pitiable  state.  It  may  be  trampled  on, 
spoiled,  loaded  like  a beast  of  burden, 
made  the  prey  of  rapacity,  insolence, 
and  the  sword  ; but  it  must  not  touch  a 
hair,  or  disturb  the  pillow,  of  one  of  its 
oppressors,  unless  it  can  find  chapter 
and  verse  in  the  code  of  national  law  to 
authorize  its  rudeness  towards  the  priv- 
ileged offender.  F or  ourselves,  we  should 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE . 


543 


rejoice  to  see  every  tyrant,  whether  a 
usurper  or  hereditary  prince,  fastened  to 
a lonely  rock  in  the  ocean.  Whoever 
gives  clear,  undoubted  proof  that  he  is 
prepared  and  sternly  resolved  to  make 
the  earth  a slaughter-house,  and  to  crush 
every  will  adverse  to  his  own,  ought  to 
be  caged  like  a wild  beast ; and  to  re- 
quire mankind  to  proceed  against  him 
according  to  written  laws  and  precedents, 
as  if  he  were  a private  citizen  in  a quiet 
court  of  justice,  is  just  as  rational  as  to 
require  a man,  in  imminent  peril  from  an 
assassin,  to  wait  and  prosecute  his  mur- 
derer according  to  the  most  protracted 
forms  of  law.  There  are  great  solemn 
rights  of  nature,  which  precede  laws,  and 
on  which  law  is  founded.  There  are 
great  exigencies  in  human  affairs,  which 
speak  for  themselves,  and  need  no  prec- 
edent to  teach  the  right  path.  There 
are  awful  periods  in  the  history  of  our 
race,  which  do  not  belong  to  its  ordinary 
state,  and  which  are  not  to  be  governed 
and  judged  by  ordinary  rules.  Such  a 
period  was  that  when  Bonaparte,  by 
infraction  of  solemn  engagements,  had 
thrown  himself  into  France,  and  con- 
vulsed all  Europe  ; and  they  who  con- 
found this  with  the  ordinary  events  of 
history,  and  see  in  Bonaparte  but  an 
ordinary  foe  to  the  peace  and  indepen- 
dence of  nations,  have  certainly  very 
different  intellects  from  our  own. 

We  confess,  too,  that  we  are  not  only 
unable  to  see  the  wrong  done  to  Napo- 
leon in  sending  him  to  St.  Helena,  but 
that  we  cannot  muster  up  much  sym- 
pathy for  the  inconveniences  and  pri- 
vations which  he  endured  there.  Our 
sympathies  in  this  particular  are  way- 
ward and  untractable.  When  we  would 
carry  them  to  that  solitary  island,  and 
fasten  them  on  the  illustrious  victim  of 
British  cruelty,  they  will  not  tarry  there, 
but  take  their  flight  across  the  Mediter- 
ranean to  Jaffa,  and  across  the  Atlantic 
to  the  platform  where  the  Duke  d’En- 
ghien  was  shot,  to  the  prison  of  Tous- 
saint,  and  to  fields  of  battle  where 
thousands  at  his  bidding  lay  weltering 
in  blood.  When  we  strive  to  fix  our 
thoughts  upon  the  sufferings  of  the  in- 
jured hero,  other  and  more  terrible  suf- 
ferings, of  which  he  was  the  cause,  rush 
upon  us  ; and  his  complaints,  however 
loud  and  angry,  are  drowned  by  groans 
and  execrations,  which  fill  our  ears  from 
every  region  which  he  traversed.  We 


have  no  tears  to  spare  for  fallen  great- 
ness, when  that  greatness  was  founded 
in  crime,  and  reared  by  force  and  perfidy. 
We  reserve  them  for  those  on  whose 
ruin  it  rose.  We  keep  our  sympathies 
for  our  race,  for  human  nature  in  its 
humbler  forms,  for  the  impoverished 
peasant,  the  widowed  mother,  the  vio- 
lated virgin ; and  are  even  perverse 
enough  to  rejoice  that  the  ocean  has 
a prison-house  where  the  author  of 
those  miseries  may  be  safely  lodged. 
Bonaparte’s  history  is  to  us  too  solemn, 
the  wrongs  for  which  humanity  and  free- 
dom arraign  him  are  too  flagrant,  to  allow 
us  to  play  the  part  of  sentimentalists 
around  his  grave  at  St.  Helena.  We 
leave  this  to  the  more  refined  age  in 
which  we  live  ; and  we  do  so  in  the 
hope  that  an  age  is  coming  of  less  ten- 
der mould,  but  of  loftier,  sterner  feeling, 
and  of  deeper  sympathy  with  the  whole 
human  race.  Should  our  humble  page 
then  live,  we  trust,  with  an  undoubting 
faith,  that  the  uncompromising  indigna- 
tion with  which  we  plead  the  cause  of 
our  oppressed  and  insulted  nature  will 
not  be  set  down  to  the  account  of  vin- 
dictiveness and  hardness  of  heart. 

We  observed  that  the  moral  indigna- 
tion of  many  towards  Bonaparte  had 
been  impaired  or  turned  away,  not  only 
by  his  supposed  wrongs,  but  by  the  un- 
worthy use  which  his  conquerors  made 
of  their  triumph.  We  are  told  that,  bad 
as  was  his  despotism,  the  Holy  Alliance 
is  a worse  one  ; and  that  Napoleon  was 
less  a scourge  than  the  present  coalition 
of  the  continental  monarchs,  framed  for 
the  systematic  suppression  of  freedom. 
By  such  reasoning,  his  crimes  are 
cloaked,  and  his  fall  is  made  a theme  of 
lamentation.  It  is  not  one  of  the  small- 
est errors  and  sins  of  the  Allied  Sov- 
ereigns that  they  have  contrived,  by 
their  base  policy,  to  turn  the  resent- 
ments and  moral  displeasure  of  men 
from  the  usurper  upon  themselves.  For 
these  sovereigns  we  have  no  defence  to 
offer.  We  yield  to  none  in  detestation 
of  the  Holy  Alliance,  profanely  so  called. 
To  us  its  doctrines  are  as  false  and  pes- 
tilent as  any  broached  by  Jacobinism. 
The  Allied  Monarchs  are  adding  to  the 
other  wrongs  of  despots  that  of  flagrant 
ingratitude  ; of  ingratitude  to  the  gen- 
erous and  brave  nations  to  whom  they 
owe  their  thrones,  whose  spirit  of  inde- 
pendence and  patriotism,  and  whose 


544 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


hatred  of  the  oppressor,  contributed 
more  than  standing  armies  to  raise  up 
the  fallen,  and  to  strengthen  the  falling 
monarchies  of  Europe.  Be  it  never  for- 
gotten in  the  records  of  despotism,  let 
history  record  it  on  her  most  durable 
tablet,  that  the  first  use  made  by  the 
principal  continental  sovereigns  of  their 
regained  or  confirmed  power,  was  to 
conspire  against  the  hopes  and  rights 
of  the  nations  by  whom  they  had  been 
saved  ; to  combine  the  military  power 
of  Europe  against  free  institutions, 
against  the  press,  against  the  spirit  of 
liberty  and  patriotism  which  had  sprung 
up  in  the  glorious  struggle  with  Napo- 
leon, against  the  right  of  the  people  to 
exert  an  influence  on  the  governments 
by  which  their  dearest  interests  were  to 
be  controlled.  Never  be  it  forgotten 
that  such  was  the  honor  of  sovereigns, 
such  their  requital  for  the  blood  which 
had  been  shed  freely  in  their  defence. 
Freedom  and  humanity  send  up  a sol- 
emn and  prevailing  cry  against  them  to 
that  tribunal  where  kings  and  subjects 
are  soon  to  stand  as  equals. 

But  still  we  should  be  strangely  blind, 
if  we  were  not  to  feel  that  the  fall  of 
Napoleon  was  a blessing  to  the  world. 
Who  can  look,  for  example,  at  France, 
and  not  see  there  a degree  of  freedom 
which  could  never  have  grown  up  under 
the  terrible  frown  of  the  usurper  ? True, 
Bonaparte’s  life,  though  it  seemed  a 
charmed  one,  must  at  length  have  end- 
ed ; and  we  are  told  that  then  his  em- 
pire would  have  been  broken,  and  that 
the  general  crash,  by  some  inexplicable 
process,  would  have  given  birth  to  a 
more  extensive  and  durable  liberty  than 
can  now  be  hoped.  But  such  anticipa- 
tions seem  to  us  to  be  built  on  a strange 
inattention  to  the  nature  and  inevitable 
consequences  of  Napoleon’s  power.  It 
was  wholly  a military  power.  He  was 
literally  turning  Europe  into  a camp, 
and  drawing  its  best  talent  into  one 
occupation,  — war.  Thus  Europe  was 
retracing  its  steps  to  those  ages  of 
calamity  and  darkness,  when  the  only 
law  was  the  sword.  The  progress  of 
centuries,  which  had  consisted  chiefly 
in  the  substitution  of  intelligence,  public 
opinion,  and  other  mild  and  rational 
influences,  for  brutal  force,  was  to  be 
reversed.  At  Bonaparte’s  death,  his 
empire  must,  indeed,  have  been  dis- 
solved ; but  military  chiefs,  like  Alex- 


ander’s lieutenants,  would  have  divided 
it.  The  sword  alone  would  have  shaped 
its  future  communities  ; and,  after  years 
of  desolation  and  bloodshed,  Europe 
would  have  found,  not  repose,  but  a 
respite,  an  armed  truce,  under  warriors 
whose  only  title  to  empire  would  have 
been  their  own  good  blades,  and  the 
weight  of  whose  thrones  would  have  been 
upheld  by  military  force  alone.  Amidst 
such  convulsions,  during  which  the  press 
would  have  been  everywhere  fettered, 
and  the  military  spirit  would  have  tri- 
umphed over  and  swallowed  up  the 
spirit  and  glory  of  letters  and  liberal 
arts,  we  greatly  fear  that  the  human 
intellect  would  have  lost  its  present  im- 
pulse, its  thirst  for  progress,  and  would 
have  fallen  back  towards  barbarism. 
Let  not  the  friends  of  freedom  bring 
dishonor  on  themselves  or  desert  their 
cause  by  instituting  comparisons  be- 
tween Napoleon  and  legitimate  sover- 
eigns, which  may  be  construed  into 
eulogies  on  the  former.  For  ourselves, 
we  have  no  sympathy  with  tyranny, 
whether  it  bear  the  name  of  usurpa- 
tion or  legitimacy.  We  are  not  plead- 
ing the  cause  of  the  Allied  Sovereigns. 
In  our  judgment,  they  have  contracted 
the  very  guilt  against  which  they  have 
pretended  to  combine.  In  our  appre- 
hension, a conspiracy  against  the  rights 
of  the  human  race  is  as  foul  a crime  as 
rebellion  against  the  rights  of  sover- 
eigns ; nor  is  there  less  of  treason  in 
warring  against  public  freedom  than 
in  assailing  royal  power.  Still  we  are 
bound  in  truth  to  confess  that  the  Allied 
Sovereigns  are  not  to  be  ranked  with 
Bonaparte,  whose  design  against  the 
independence  of  nations  and  the  liber- 
ties of  the  world,  in  this  age  of  civiliza- 
tion, liberal  thinking,  and  Christian 
knowledge,  is  in  our  estimation  the 
most  nefarious  enterprise  recorded  in 
history. 

The  series  of  events  which  it  has  been 
our  province  to  review  offers  subjects  of 
profound  thought  and  solemn  instruction 
to  the  moralist  and  politician.  We  have 
retraced  it  with  many  painful  feelings. 
It  shows  us  a great  people,  who  had 
caught  some  indistinct  glimpses  of  free- 
dom, and  of  a nobler  and  a happier 
political  constitution,  betrayed  by  their 
leaders,  and  brought  back,  by  a military 
despot,  to  heavier  chains  than  they  had 
broken.  We  see  with  indignation  one 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 


545 


man  — a man  like  ourselves  — subject- 
ing whole  nations  to  his  absolute  rule. 
It  is  this  wrong  and  insult  to  our  race 
which  has  chiefly  moved  us.  Had  a 
storm,  of  God’s  ordination,  passed  over 
Europe,  prostrating  its  capitals,  sweep- 
ing off  its  villages,  burying  millions  in 
ruins,  we  should  have  wept,  we  should 
have  trembled.  But  in  this  there  would 
have  been  only  wretchedness.  Now  we 
also  see  debasement.  To  us  there  is 
something  radically  and  increasingly 
shocking  in  the  thought  of  one  man’s 
will  becoming  a law  to  his  race  ; in  the 
thought  of  multitudes,  of  vast  communi- 
ties, surrendering  conscience,  intellect, 
their  affections,  their  rights,  their  inter- 
ests to  the  stern  mandate  of  a fellow- 
creature.  When  we  see  one  word  of  a 
frail  man  on  the  throne  of  France  tear- 
ing a hundred  thousand  sons  from  their 
homes,  breaking  asunder  the  sacred  ties 
of  domestic  life,  sentencing  myriads  of 
the  young  to  make  murder  their  calling 
and  rapacity  their  means  of  support,  and 
extorting  from  nations  their  treasures 
to  extend  this  ruinous  sway,  we  are 
ready  to  ask  ourselves,  Is  not  this  a 
dream  ? And  when  the  sad  reality 
comes  home  to  us,  we  blush  for  a race 
which  can  stoop  to  such  an  abject  lot. 
At  length,  indeed,  we  see  the  tyrant 
humbled,  stripped  of  power ; but  stripped 
by  those  who,  in  the  main,  are  not  un- 
willing to  play  the  despot  on  a narrower 
scale,  and  to  break  down  the  spirit  of 
nations  under  the  same  iron  sway. 

How  is  it  that  tyranny  has  thus  tri- 
umphed ? that  the  hopes  with  which  we 
greeted  the  French  Revolution  have  been 
crushed  ? that  a usurper  plucked  up  the 
last  roots  of  the  tree  of  liberty,  and 
planted  despotism  in  its  place  ? The 
chief  cause  is  not  far  to  seek,  nor  can 
it  be  too  often  urged  on  the  friends  of 
freedom.  France  failed  through  the 
want  of  that  moral  preparation  for  lib- 
erty, without  which  the  blessing  cannot 
be  secured.  She  was  not  ripe  for  the 
good  she  sought.  She  was  too  corrupt 
for  freedom.  France  had  indeed  to 
contend  with  great  political  ignorance  ; 
but  had  not  ignorance  been  reinforced 
by  deep  moral  defect,  she  might  have 
won  her  way  to  free  institutions.  Her 
character  forbade  her  to  be  free  ; and  it 
now  seems  strange  that  we  could  ever 
have  expected  her  to  secure  this  boon. 
How  could  we  believe  that  a liberty  of 


which  that  heartless  scoffer,  Voltaire, 
was  a chief  apostle,  could  have  tri- 
umphed ? Most  of  the  preachers  of 
French  liberty  had  thrown  off  all  the 
convictions  which  ennoble  the  mind. 
Man’s  connection  with  God  they  broke, 
for  they  declared  that  there  was  no  God 
in  whom  to  trust  in  the  great  struggle 
for  liberty.  Human  immortality  — that 
truth  which  is  the  seed  of  all  greatness 
— they  derided.  To  their  philosophy, 
man  was  a creature  of  chance,  a com- 
pound of  matter,  an  ephemeron,  a worm, 
who  was  soon  to  rot  and  perish  for  ever. 
What  insanity  was  it  to  expect  that  such 
men  were  to  work  out  the  emancipation 
of  their  race ! that  in  such  hands  the 
hopes  and  dearest  rights  of  humanity 
were  secure ! Liberty  was  tainted  by 
their  touch,  polluted  by  their  breath, 
and  yet  we  trusted  that  it  was  to  rise  in 
health  and  glory  from  their  embrace. 
We  looked  to  men  who  openly  founded 
morality  on  private  interest  for  the  sac- 
rifices, the  devotion,  the  heroic  virtue 
which  Freedom  always  demands  from 
her  assertors. 

The  great  cause  of  the  discomfiture 
of  the  late  European  struggle  for  liberty 
is  easily  understood  by  an  American, 
who  recurs  to  the  history  of  his  own 
revolution.  This  issued  prosperously, 
because  it  was  begun  and  was  conducted 
under  the  auspices  of  private  and  public 
virtue.  Our  liberty  did  not  come  to  us 
by  accident,  nor  was  it  the  gift  of  a few 
leaders  ; but  its  seeds  were  sown  plen- 
tifully in  the  minds  of  the  whole  people. 
It  was  rooted  in  the  conscience  and 
reason  of  the  nation.  It  was  the  growth 
of  deliberate  convictions  and  generous 
principles  liberally  diffused.  We  had 
no  Paris,  no  metropolis,  which  a few 
leaders  swayed,  and  which  sent  forth 
its  influences,  like  “a  mighty  heart,” 
through  dependent  and  subservient  prov- 
inces. The  country  was  all  heart.  The 
living  principle  pervaded  the  community, 
and  every  village  added  strength  to  the 
solemn  purpose  of  being  free.  We  have 
here  an  explanation  of  a striking  fact  in 
the  history  of  our  revolution,  — we  mean 
the  want  or  absence  of  that  description 
of  great  men  whom  we  meet  in  other 
countries ; men  who,  by  their  distinct 
and  single  agency,  and  by  their  splendid 
deeds,  determine  a nation’s  fate.  There 
was  too  much  greatness  in  the  American 
people  to  admit  this  overshadowing  great- 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


546 

ness  of  leaders.  Accordingly,  the  U nited 
States  had  no  liberator,  no  political 
saviour.  Washington,  indeed,  conferred 
on  us  great  blessings.  But  Washington 
was  not  a hero,  in  the  common  sense  of 
that  word.  We  never  spoke  of  him  as 
the  French  did  of  Bonaparte,  never 
talked  of  his  eagle-eyed,  irresistible 
genius,  as  if  this  were  to  work  out  our 
safety.  We  never  lost  our  self-respect. 
We  felt  that,  under  God,  we  were  to  be 
free  through  our  own  courage,  energy, 
and  wisdom,  under  the  animating  and 
guiding  influences  of  this  great  and  good 
mind.  Washington  served  us  chiefly  by 
his  sublime  moral  qualities.  To  him 
belonged  the  proud  distinction  of  being 
the  leader  in  a revolution,  without  awak- 
ening one  doubt  or  solicitude  as  to  the 
spotless  purity  of  his  purpose.  His  was 
the  glory  of  being  the  brightest  mani- 
festation of  the  spirit  which  reigned  in 
his  country  ; and  in  this  way  he  became 
a source  of  energy,  a bond  of  union,  the 
centre  of  an  enlightened  people's  confi- 
dence. In  such  a revolution  as  that  of 
France,  Washington  would  have  been 
nothing ; for  that  sympathy  which  sub- 
sisted between  him  and  his  fellow-citi- 
zens, and  which  was  the  secret  of  his 
power,  would  have  been  wanting.  By 
an  instinct  which  is  unerring,  we  call 
Washington,  with  grateful  reverence, 
the  Father  of  his  country,  but  not  its 
saviour.  A people  which  wants  a sav- 
iour, which  does  not  possess  an  earnest 
and  pledge  of  freedom  in  its  own  heart, 
is  not  yet  ready  to  be  free. 

A great  question  here  offers  itself,  at 
which  we  can  only  glance.  If  a moral 
preparation  is  required  for  freedom,  how, 
it  is  asked,  can  Europe  ever  be  free  ? 
How,  *under  the  despotisms  which  now 
crush  the  continent,  can  nations  grow 
ripe  for  liberty  ? Is  it  to  be  hoped  that 
men  will  learn,  in  the  school  of  slavery, 
the  spirit  and  virtues  which,  we  are  told, 
can  alone  work  out  their  deliverance  ? 
In  the  absolute  governments  of  Europe, 
the  very  instruments  of  forming  an  en- 
lightened and  generous  love  of  freedom 
are  bent  into  the  service  of  tyranny. 
The  press  is  an  echo  of  the  servile  doc- 
trines of  the  court.  The  schools  and 
seminaries  of  education  are  employed  to 
taint  the  young  mind  with  the  maxims  of 
despotism.  Even  Christianity  is  turned 
into  a preacher  of  legitimacy,  and  its 
temples  are  desecrated  by  the  abject 


teaching  of  unconditional  submission. 
How,  then,  is  the  spirit  of  a wise  and 
moral  freedom  to  be  generated  and  dif- 
fused ? We  have  stated  the  difficulty 
in  its  full  force  ; for  nothing  is  gained 
by  winking  out  of  sight  the  tremendous 
obstacles  with  which  liberal  principles 
and  institutions  must  contend.  We  have 
not  time  at  present  to  answer  the  great 
question  now  proposed.  We  will  only 
say  that  we  do  not  despair ; and  we  will 
briefly  suggest  what  seems  to  us  the 
chief  expedient  by  which  the  cause  of 
freedom,  obstructed  as  it  is,  must  now 
be  advanced.  In  despotic  countries, 
those  men  whom  God  has  inspired  with 
lofty  sentiments  and  a thirst  for  freedom 
(and  such  are  spread  through  all  Europe) 
must,  in  their  individual  capacity,  com- 
municate themselves  to  individual  minds. 
The  cause  of  liberty  on  the  continent 
cannot  now  be  forwarded  by  the  action 
of  men  and  masses.  But  in  every  coun- 
try there  are  those  who  feel  their  deg- 
radation and  their  wrongs,  who  abhor 
tyranny  as  the  chief  obstruction  of  the 
progress  of  nations,  and  who  are  willing 
and  prepared  to  suffer  for  liberty.  Let 
such  men  spread  around  them  their  own 
spirit,  by  every  channel  which  a jealous 
despotism  has  not  closed.  Let  them 
give  utterance  to  sentiments  of  magna- 
nimity in  private  conference,  and  still 
more  by  the  press  ; for  there  are  modes 
of  clothing  and  expressing  kindling  truths 
which,  it  is  presumed,  no  censorship 
would  dare  to  prescribe.  Let  them  es- 
pecially teach  that  great  truth,  which  is 
the  seminal  principle  of  a virtuous  free- 
dom, and  the  very  foundation  of  morals 
and  religion,  — we  mean  the  doctrine, 
that  conscience,  the  voice  of  God  in 
every  heart,  is  to  be  listened  to  above 
all  other  guides  and  lords  ; that  there 
is  a sovereign  within  us,  clothed  with 
more  awful  powers  and  rights  than  any 
outward  king;  and  that  he  alone  is 
worthy  the  name  of  a man  who  gives 
himself  up  solemnly,  deliberately,  to 
obey  this  internal  guide  through  peril 
and  in  death.  This  is  the  spirit  of  free- 
dom ; for  no  man  is  wholly  and  immu- 
tably free  but  he  who  has  broken  every 
outward  yoke,  that  he  may  obey  his  own 
deliberate  conscience.  This  is  the  les- 
son to  be  taught  alike  in  republics  and 
despotisms.  As  yet  it  has  but  dawned 
on  the  world.  Its  full  application  re- 
mains to  be  developed.  They  who  have 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 


547 


been  baptized,  by  a true  experience,  into 
this  vital  and  all-comprehending  truth, 
must  everywhere  be  its  propagators ; 
and  he  who  makes  one  convert  of  it 
near  a despot’s  throne,  has  broken  one 
link  of  that  despot’s  chain.  It  is  chiefly 
in  the  diffusion  of  this  loftiness  of  moral 
sentiment  that  we  place  our  hope  of 
freedom  ; and  we  have  a hope,  because 
we  know  that  there  are  those  who  have 
drunk  into  this  truth,  and  are  ready, 
when  God  calls,  to  be  its  martyrs.  We 
do  not  despair,  for  there  is  a contagion 
— we  would  rather  say,  a divine  power  — 
in  sublime  moral  principle.  This  is  our 
chief  trust.  We  have  less  and  less  hope 
from  force  and  bloodshed,  as  the  instru- 
ments of  working  out  man’s  redemption 
from  slavery.  History  shows  us  not  a 
few  princes  who  have  gained  or  strength- 
ened thrones  by  assassination  or  war. 
But  freedom,  which  is  another  name  for 
justice,  honor,  and  benevolence,  scorns 
to  use  the  private  dagger,  and  wields 
with  trembling  the  public  sword.  The 
true  conspiracy  before  which  tyranny  is 
to  fall,  is  that  of  virtuous,  elevated  minds, 
which  shall  consecrate  themselves  to  the 
work  of  awakening  in  men  a conscious- 
ness of  the  rights,  powers,  purposes,  and 
greatness  of  human  nature  ; which  shall 
oppose  to  force  the  heroism  of  intellect 
and  conscience,  and  the  spirit  of  self- 
sacrifice.  We  believe  that*  at  this  mo- 
ment, there  are  virtue  and  wisdom 
enough  to  shake  despotic  thrones,  were 
they  as  confiding  as  they  should  be  in 
God  and  in  their  own  might,  and  were 
they  to  pour  themselves  through  every 
channel  into  the  public  mind. 

We  close  our  present  labors  with  com- 
mending to  the  protection  of  Almighty 
God  the  cause  of  human  freedom  and 
improvement.  We  adore  the  wisdom 
and  goodness  of  his  providence,  which 
has  ordained  that  liberty  shall  be  wrought 
out  by  the  magnanimity,  courage,  and 
sacrifices  of  men.  We  bless  him  for  the 
glorious  efforts  which  this  cause  has 
alreadv  called  forth  ; for  the  intrepid 
defenders  who  have  gathered  round  it, 
and  whose  fame  is  a most  precious  leg- 
acy of  past  ages  ; for  the  toils  and  suf- 
ferings by  which  it  has  been  upheld  ; 
for  the  awakening  and  thrilling  voice 
which  comes  to  us  from  the  dungeon 
and  scaffold,  where  the  martyrs  of  lib- 
erty have  pined  or  bled.  We  bless  him 
that  even  tyranny  has  been  overruled 


for  good,  by  exciting  a resistance  which 
has  revealed  to  us  the  strength  of  virt- 
uous principle  in  the  human  soul.  We 
beseech  this  Great  and  Good  Parent, 
from  whom  all  pure  influences  proceed, 
to  enkindle,  by  his  quickening  breath, 
an  unquenchable  love  of  virtue  and  free- 
dom in  those  favored  men  whom  he 
hath  enriched  and  signalized  by  eminent 
gifts  and  powers,  that  they  may  fulfil 
the  high  function  of  inspiring  their  fel- 
low-beings with  a consciousness  of  the 
birthright  and  destination  of  human  nat- 
ure. Wearied  with  violence  and  blood, 
we  beseech  him  to  subvert  oppressive 
governments  by  the  gentle,  yet  awful, 
power  of  truth  and  virtue  ; by  the  teach- 
ings of  uncorrupted  Christianity  ; by  the 
sovereignty  of  enlightened  opinion  ; by 
the  triumph  of  sentiments  of  magnanim- 
ity ; by  mild,  rational,  and  purifying  in- 
fluences, which  will  raise  the  spirit  of 
the  enslaved,  and  which  sovereigns  will 
be  unable  to  withstand.  For  this  peace- 
ful revolution  we  earnestly  pray.  If, 
however,  after  long,  forbearing,  and  un- 
availing applications  to  justice  and  hu- 
manity, the  friends  of  freedom  should 
be  summoned,  by  the  voice  of  God 
within,  and  by  his  providence  abroad, 
to  vindicate  their  rights  with  other  arms, 
to  do  a sterner  work,  to  repel  despotic 
force  by  force,  may  they  not  forget, 
even  in  this  hour  of  provocation,  the 
spirit  which  their  high  calling  demands, 
Let  them  take  the  sword  with  awe,  as 
those  on  whom  a holy  function  is  de- 
volved. Let  them  regard  themselves  as 
ministers  and  delegates  of  Him  whose 
dearest  attribute  is  Mercy.  Let  them 
not  stain  their  sacred  cause  by  one  cruel 
deed,  by  the  infliction  of  one  needless 
pang,  by  shedding  without  cause  one 
drop  of  human  blood. 


Part  II. 

In  a former  number  of  our  work  * we 
reviewed  the  life  and  character  of  Napo- 
leon Bonaparte.  We  resume  the  subject, 
not  for  the  purpose  of  speaking  more 
largely  of  the  individual,  but  that  we 
may  consider  more  distinctly  the  princi- 
ple of  action  which  governed  him,  and 
of  which  he  was  a remarkable  manifes- 
tation. 

Power  was  the  idol  to  which  Bona- 

* Christian  Examiner,  Vol.  IV.  No.  V. 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


548 

parte  sacrificed  himself.  To  gain  su- 
premacy and  unlimited  sway,  to  subject 
men  to  his  will,  was  his  chief,  settled, 
unrelenting  purpose.  This  passion  drew 
and  converted  into  itself  the  whole  en- 
ergy of  his  nature.  The  love  of  power, 
that  common  principle,  explains,  in  a 
great  degree,  his  character  and  life.  His 
crimes  did  not  spring  from  any  impulse 
peculiar  to  himself.  With  all  his  con- 
tempt of  the  human  race,  he  still  be- 
longed to  it.  It  is  true  both  of  the 
brightest  virtues  and  the  blackest  vices, 
though  they  seem  to  set  apart  their  pos- 
sessors from  the  rest  of  mankind,  that 
the  seeds  of  them  are  sown  in  every 
human  breast.  The  man  who  attracts 
and  awes  us  by  his  intellectual  and  moral 
grandeur,  is  only  an  example  and  antici- 
pation of  the  improvements  for  which 
every  mind  was  endowed  with  reason 
and  conscience  ; and  the  worst  man  has 
become  such  by  the  perversion  and  ex- 
cess of  desires  and  appetites  which  he 
shares  with  his  whole  race.  Napoleon 
had  no  element  of  character  which  others 
do  not  possess.  It  was  his  misery  and 
uilt  that  he  was  usurped  and  absorbed 
y one  passion  ; that  his  whole  mind 
shot  up  into  one  growth  ; that  his  sin-  # 
gular  strength  of  thought  and  will,  which, 
if  consecrated  to  virtue,  would  have  en- 
rolled him  among  the  benefactors  of 
mankind,  was  enslaved  by  one  lust,  fie 
is  not  to  be  gazed  on  as  a miracle.  He 
was  a manifestation  of  our  own  nature. 
He  teaches  on  a large  scale  what  thou- 
sands teach  on  a narrow  one.  He  shows 
us  the  greatness  of  the  ruin  which  is 
wrought  when  the  order  of  the  mind  is 
subverted,  conscience  dethroned,  and  a 
strong  passion  left  without  restraint  to 
turn  every  inward  and  outward  resource 
to  the  accomplishment  of  a selfish  pur- 
pose. 

The  influence  of  the  love  of  power  on 
human  affairs  is  so  constant,  unbounded, 
and  tremendous,  that  we  think  this  prin- 
ciple of  our  nature  worthy  of  distinct 
consideration,  and  shall  devote  to  it  a 
few  pages,  as  a fit  sequel  to  our  notice 
of  Bonaparte. 

The  passion  for  power  is  one  of  the 
most  universal ; nor  is  it  to  be  regarded 
as  a crime  in  all  its  forms.  Sweeping 
censures  on  a natural  sentiment  cast 
blame  on  the  Creator.  This  principle 
shows  itself  in  the  very  dawn  of  our  ex- 
istence. The  child  never  exults  and 


rejoices  more  than  when  it  becomes  con- 
scious of  power  by  overcoming  difficul- 
ties or  compassing  new  ends.  All  our 
desires  and  appetites  lend  aid  and  energy 
to  this  passion,  for  all  find  increase  of 
gratification  in  proportion  to  the  growth 
of  our  strength  and  influence.  We  ought 
to  add,  that  this  principle  is  fed  from 
nobler  sources.  Power  is  a chief  ele- 
ment of  all  the  commanding  qualities  of 
our  nature.  It  enters  into  all  the  higher 
virtues  ; such  as  magnanimity,  fortitude, 
constancy.  It  enters  into  intellectual 
eminence.  It  is  power  of  thought  and 
utterance  which  immortalizes  the  pro- 
ducts of  genius.  Is  it  strange  that  an 
attribute,  through  which  all  our  passions 
reach  their  objects,  and  which  character- 
izes whatever  is  great  or  admirable  in 
man,  should  awaken  intense  desire,  and 
be  sought  as  one  of  the  chief  goods  of 
life? 

This  principle,  we  have  said,  is  not  in 
all  its  forms  a crime.  There  are,  indeed, 
various  kinds  of  power,  which  it  is  our 
duty  to  covet,  accumulate,  and  hold  fast. 
First,  there  is  inward  power,  the  most 
precious  of  all  possessions  ; power  over 
ourselves  ; power  to  withstand  trial,  to 
bear  suffering,  to  front  danger ; power 
over  pleasure  and  pain  ; power  to  follow 
our  convictions,  however  resisted  by 
menace  or  scorn ; the  power  of  calm  re- 
liance in  seasons  of  darkness  and  storms. 
Again,  there  is  a power  over  outward 
things  ; the  power  by  which  the  mind 
triumphs  over  matter,  presses  into  its 
service  the  subtilest  and  strongest  ele- 
ments, makes  the  winds,  fire,  and  steam 
its  ministers,  rears  the  city,  opens  a path 
through  the  ocean,  and  makes  the  wilder- 
ness blossom  as  the  rose.  These  forms 
of  power,  especially  the  first,  are  glori- 
ous distinctions  of  our  race,  nor  can  we 
prize  them  too  highly. 

There  is  another  power,  which  is  our 
principal  concern  in  the  present  discus- 
sion. We  mean  power  over  our  fellow- 
creatures.  It  is  this  which  ambition 
chiefly  covets,  and  which  has  instigated 
to  more  crime,  and  spread  more  misery, 
than  any  other  cause.  We  are  not,  how- 
ever, to  condemn  even  this  universally. 
There  is  a truly  noble  sway  of  man  over 
man  ; one  which  it  is  our  honor  to  seek 
and  exert;  which  is  earned  by  well- 
doing ; which  is  a chief  recompense  of 
virtue.  We  refer  to  the  quickening  in- 
fluence of  a good  and  great  mind  over 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 


other  minds,  by  which  it  brings  them 
into  sympathy  with  itself.  Far  from 
condemning  this,  we  are  anxious  to  hold 
it  forth  as  the  purest  glory  which  virtu- 
ous ambition  can  propose.  The  power 
of  awakening,  enlightening,  elevating 
our  fellow-creatures  may,  with  peculiar 
fitness,  be  called  divine  ; for  there  is  no 
agency  of  God  so  beneficent  and  sub- 
lime as  that  which  he.  exerts  on  rational 
natures,  and  by  which  he  assimilates 
them  to  himself.  This  sway  over  other 
souls  is  the  surest  test  of  greatness. 
We  admire,  indeed,  the  energy  which 
subdues  the  material  creation,  or  devel- 
ops the  physical  resources  of  a state. 
But  it  is  a nobler  might  which  calls  forth 
the  intellectual  and  moral  resources  of 
a people,  which  communicates  new  im- 
pulses to  society,  throws  into  circulation 
new  and  stirring  thoughts,  gives  the 
mind  a new  consciousness  of  its  faculties, 
and*  rouses  and  fortifies  the  will  to  an 
unconquerable  purpose  of  well-doing. 
This  spiritual  power  is  worth  all  other. 
To  improve  man’s  outward  condition  is 
a secondary  agency,  and  is  chiefly  im- 
portant as  it  gives  the  means  of  inward 
growth.  The  most  glorious  minister  of 
God  on  earth  is  he  who  speaks  with  a 
life-giving  energy  to  other  minds,  breath- 
ing into  them  the  love  of  truth  and 
virtue,  strengthening  them  to  suffer  in 
a good  cause,  and  lifting  them  above  the 
senses  and  the  world. 

We  know  not  a more  exhilarating 
thought  than  that  this  power  is  given  to 
men  ; that  we  can  not  only  change  the 
face  of  the  outward  world,  and  by  virt- 
uous discipline  improve  ourselves,  but 
that  we  may  become  springs  of  life  and 
light  to  our  fellow-beings.  We  are  thus 
admitted  to  a fellowship  with  Jesus 
Christ,  whose  highest  end  was  that  he 
might  act  with  a new  and  celestial  energy 
on  the  human  mind.  We  rejoice  to  think 
that  he  did  not  come  to  monopolize  this 
divine  sway,  to  enjoy  a solitary  gran- 
deur, but  to  receive  others,  even  all  who 
should  obey  his  religion,  into  the  part- 
nership of  this  honor  and  happiness. 
Every  Christian,  in  proportion  to  his 
progress,  acquires  a measure  of  this 
divine  agency.  In  the  humblest  condi- 
tions, a power  goes  forth  from  a devout 
and  disinterested  spirit,  calling  forth 
silently  moral  and  religious  sentiment, 
perhaps  in  a child,  or  some  other  friend, 
and  teaching,  without  the  aid  of  words, 


549 

the  loveliness  and  peace  of  sincere  and 
single-hearted  virtue.  In  the  more  en- 
lightened classes,  individuals  now  and 
then  rise  up,  who,  through  a singular 
force  and  elevation  of  soul,  obtain  a 
sway  over  men’s  minds  to  which  no 
limit  can  be  prescribed.  They  speak 
with  a Toice  which  is  heard  by  distant 
nations,  and  which  goes  down  to  future 
ages.  Their  names  are  repeated  with 
veneration  by  millions  ; and  millions 
read  in  their  lives  and  writings  a quick- 
ening testimony  to  the  greatness  of  the 
mind,  to  its  moral  strength,  to  the  re- 
ality of  disinterested  virtue.  These  are 
the  true  sovereigns  of  the  earth.  They 
share  in  the  royalty  of  Jesus  Christ. 
They  have  a greatness  which  will  be 
more  and  more  felt.  The  time  is  com- 
ing, its  signs  are  visible,  when  this 
long-mistaken  attribute  of  greatness  will 
be  seen  to  belong  eminently,  if  not  ex- 
clusively, to  those  who,  by  their  charac- 
ters, deeds,  sufferings,  writings,  leave 
imperishable  and  ennobling  traces  of 
themselves  on  the  human  mind.  Among 
these  legitimate  sovereigns  of  the  world 
will  be  ranked  the  philosopher,  who 
penetrates  the  secrets  of  the  universe 
and  of  the  soul ; who  opens  new  fields 
to  the  intellect ; who  gives  it  a new  con- 
sciousness of  its  own  powers,  rights, 
and  divine  original;  who  spreads  en- 
larged and  liberal  habits  of  thought ; 
and  who  helps  men  to  understand  that 
an  ever-growing  knowledge  is  the  patri- 
mony destined  for  them  by  the  “ Father 
of  their  spirits.”  Among  them  will  be 
ranked  the  statesman  who,  escaping  a 
vulgar  policy,  rises  to  the  discovery  of 
the  true  interest  of  a state  ; who  seeks 
without  fear  or  favor  the  common  good  ; 
who  understands  that  a nation’s  mind 
is  more  valuable  than  its  soil ; who  in- 
spirits a people’s  enterprise,  without 
making  them  the  slaves  of  wealth  ; who 
is  mainly  anxious  to  originate  or  give 
stability  to  institutions  by  which  society 
may  be  carried  forward  ; who  confides 
with  a sublime  constancy  in  justice  and 
virtue,  as  the  only  foundation  of  a wise 
policy  and  of  public  prosperity ; and, 
above  all,  who  has  so  drunk  into  the 
spirit  of  Christ  and  of  God  as  never  to 
forget  that  his  particular  country  is  a 
member  of  the  great  human  family, 
bound  to  all  nations  by  a common  nat- 
ure, by  a common  interest,  and  by  in- 
dissoluble laws  of  equity  and  charity. 


550 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


Among  these  will  be  ranked,  perhaps,  i 
on  the  highest  throne,  the  moral  and 
religious  reformer,  who  truly  merits 
that  name  ; who  rises  above  his  times  ; 
who  is  moved  by  a holy  impulse  to  as- 
sail vicious  establishments,  sustained  by 
fierce  passions  and  inveterate  prejudices  ; 
who  rescues  great  truths  froirAhe  cor- 
ruptions of  ages  ; who,  joining  calm  and 
deep  thought  to  profound  feeling,  se- 
cures to  religion  at  once  enlightened 
and  earnest  conviction  ; who  unfolds  to 
men  higher  forms  of  virtue  than  they 
have  yet  attained  or  conceived  ; who 
gives  brighter  and  more  thrilling  views 
of  the  perfection  for  which  they  were 
framed,  and  inspires  a victorious  faith 
in  the  perpetual  progress  of  our  nature. 

There  is  one  characteristic  of  this 
power  which  belongs  to  truly  great 
minds,  particularly  deserving  notice. 
Far  from  enslaving,  it  makes  more  and 
more  free  those  on  whom  it  is  exercised  ; 
and  in  this  respect  it  differs  wholly  from 
the  vulgar  sway  which  ambition  thirsts 
for.  It  awakens  a kindred  power  in 
others,  calls  their  faculties  into  new  life, 
and  particularly  strengthens  them  to 
follow  their  own  deliberate  convictions 
of  truth  and  duty.  It  breathes  conscious 
energy,  self-respect,  moral  independence, 
and  a scorn  of  every  foreign  yoke. 

There  is  another  power  over  men 
very  different  from  this,  — a power,  not  • 
to  quicken  and  elevate,  but  to  crush 
and  subdue  ; a power  which  robs  men 
of  the  free  use  of  their  nature,  takes 
them  out  of  their  own  hands,  and  com- 
pels them  to  bend  to  another’s  will. 
This  is  the  sway  which  men  grasp  at 
most  eagerly,  and  which  it  is  our  great 
purpose  to  expose.  To  reign,  to  give 
laws,  to  clothe  their  own  wills  with 
omnipotence,  to  annihilate  all  other 
wills,  to  spoil  the  individual  of  that  self- 
direction  which  is  his  most  precious 
right,  — this  has  ever  been  deemed  by 
multitudes  the  highest  prize  for  com- 
petition and  conflict.  The  most  envied 
men  are  those  who  have  succeeded  in 
prostrating  multitudes,  in  subjecting 
whole  communities,  to  their  single  will. 
It  is  the  love  of  this  power,  in  all  its 
forms,  which  we  are  anxious  to  hold  up 
to  reprobation.  If  any  crime  should  be 
placed  by  society  beyond  pardon,  it  is 
this 

This  power  has  been  exerted  most 
conspicuously  and  perniciously  by  two 


classes  of  men,  — the  priest  or  minister 
of  religion,  and  the  civil  ruler.  Both 
rely  on  the  same  instrument,  — that  is, 
pain  or  terror ; the  first  calling  to  his 
aid  the  fires  and  torments  of  the  future 
world,  and  practising  on  the  natural 
dread  of  invisible  powers ; and  the 
latter  availing  himself  of  chains,  dun- 
geons, and  gibbets  in  the  present  life. 
Through  these  terrible  applications  man 
has,  in  all  ages  and  in  almost  every 
country,  been  made,  in  a greater  or 
less  degree,  a slave  and  machine  ; been 
shackled  in  all  his  faculties,  and  de- 
graded into  a tool  of  others’  wills  and 
passions.  The  influence  of  almost  every 
political  and  religious  institution  has 
been  to  make  man  abject  in  mind, 
fearful,  servile,  a mechanical  repeater 
of  opinions  which  he  dares  not  try,  and 
a contributor  of  his  toil,  sweat,  and 
blood,  to  governments  which  never 
dreamed  of  the  general  weal  as  their 
only  legitimate  end.  On  the  immense 
majority  of  men,  thus  wronged  and 
enslaved,  the  consciousness  of  their  own 
nature  has  not  yet  dawned  ; and  the 
doctrine,  that  each  has  a mind,  worth 
more  than  the  material  world,  and  framed 
to  grow  for  ever  by  a self-forming,  self- 
directing energy,  is  still  a secret,  a mys- 
tery, notwithstanding  the  clear  annun- 
ciation of  it,  ages  ago,  by  Jesus  Christ. 
We  know  not  a stronger  proof  of  the 
intenseness  and  nefariousness  of  the 
love  of  power  than  the  fact  of  its  hav- 
ing virtually  abrogated  Christianity,  and 
even  turned  into  an  engine  of  dominion 
a revelation  which  breathes  throughout 
the  spirit  of  freedom,  proclaims  the 
essential  equality  of  the  human  race, 
and  directs  its  most  solemn  denunci- 
ations against  the  passion  for  rule  and 
empire. 

That  this  power,  which  consists  in 
force  and  compulsion,  in  the  imposition 
on  the  many  of  the  will  and  judgment 
of  one  or  a few,  is  of  a low  order,  when 
compared  with  the  quickening  influence 
over  others  of  which  we  have  before 
spoken,  we  need  not  stop  to  prove. 
But  the  remark  is  less  obvious,  though 
not  less  true,  that  it  is  not  only  inferior 
in  kind,  but  in  amount  or  degree.  This 
may  not  be  so  easily  acknowledged. 
He  whose  will  is  passively  obeyed  by  a 
nation,  or  whose  creed  implicitly  adopted 
by  a spreading  sect,  may  not  easily  be- 
lieve that  his  power  is  exceeded,  not 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 


SSI 


only  in  kind  or  quality,  but  in  extent,  by 
him  who  wields  only  the  *silent,  subtile 
influence  of  moral  and  intellectual  gifts. 
But  the  superiority  of  moral  to  arbitrary 
sway  in  this  particular  is  proved  by  its 
effects.  Moral  power  is  creative  ; arbi- 
trary power  wastes  away  the  spirit  and 
force  of  those  on  whom  it  is  exerted. 
And  is  it  not  a mightier  work  to  create 
than  to  destroy  ? A higher  energy  is 
required  to  quicken  than  to  crush  ; to 
elevate  than  to  depress  ; to  warm  and 
expand  than  to  chill  and  contract.  Any 
hand,  even  the  weakest,  may  take  away 
life  ; another  agency  is  required  to  kindle 
or  restore  it.  A vulgar  incendiary  may 
destroy  in  an  hour  a magnificent  struct- 
ure, the  labor  of  ages.  Has  he  energy 
to  be  compared  with  the  creative  intel- 
lect in  which  this  work  had  its  origin  ? 
A fanatic  of  ordinary  talent  may  send 
terror  through  a crowd ; and  by  the 
craft,  which  is  so  often  joined  with  fanat- 
icism, may  fasten  on  multitudes  a debas- 
ing creed.  Has  he  power  to  be  com- 
pared with  him  who  rescues  from 
darkness  one  only  of  these  enslaved 
minds,  and  quickens  it  to  think  justly 
and  nobly  in  relation  to  God,  duty,  and 
imiflortality  ? The  energies  of  a single 
soul,  awakened,  by  such  an  influence, 
to  the  free  and  full  use  of  its  powers, 
may  surpass,  in  their  progress,  the  intel- 
lectual activity  of  a whole  community, 
enchained  and  debased  by  fanaticism  or 
outward  force.  Arbitrary  power,  whether 
civil  or  religious,  if  tried  by  the  only 
fair  test,  that  is,  by  its  effects,  seems  to 
have  more  affinity  with  weakness  than 
strength.  It  enfeebles  and  narrows 
what  it  acts  upon.  Its  efficiency  resem- 
bles that  of  darkness  and  cold  in  the 
natural  world.  True  power  is  vivifying, 
productive,  builds  up,  and  gives  strength. 
We  have  a noble  type  and  manifestation 
of  it  in  the  sun,  which  calls  forth  and 
diffuses  motion,  life,  energy,  and  beauty. 
He  who  succeeds  in  chaining  men’s 
understandings,  and  breaking  their  wills, 
may  indeed  number  millions  as  his  sub- 
jects. But  a weak,  puny  race  are  the 
products  of  his  sway,  and  they  can  only 
reach  the  stature  and  force  of  men  by 
throwing  off  his  yoke.  He  who,  by  an 
intellectual  and  moral  energy,  awakens 
kindred  energy  in  others,  touches  springs 
of  infinite  might,  gives  impulse  to  facul- 
ties to  which  no  bounds  can  be  pre- 
scribed, begins  an  action  which  will 


never  end.  One  great  and  kindling 
thought  from  a retired  and  obscure  man 
may  live  when  thrones  are  lallen,  and 
the  memory  of  those  who  filled  them 
obliterated,  and,  like  an  undying  fire, 
may  illuminate  and  quicken  all  future 
generations. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  inferiority  and 
worthlessness  of  that  dominion  over 
others  which  has  been  coveted  so  greed- 
ily in  all  ages.  We  should  rejoice  could 
we  convey  some  just  idea  of  its  moral 
turpitude.  Of  all  injuries  and  crimes, 
the  most  flagrant  is  chargeable  on  him 
who  aims  to  establish  dominion  over  his 
brethren.  He  wars  with  what  is  more 
precious  than  life.  He  would  rob  men 
of  their  chief  prerogative  and  glory,  — 
we  mean,  of  self-dominion,  of  that  em- 
pire which  is  given  to  a rational  and 
moral  being  over  his  own  soul  and  his 
own  life.  Such  a being  is  framed  to 
find  honor  and  happiness  in  forming  and 
swaying  himself,  in  adopting  as  his 
supreme  standard  his  convictions  of 
truth  and  duty,  in  unfolding  his  powers 
by  free  exertion,  in  acting  from  a prin- 
ciple within,  from  his  growing  conscience. 
His  proper  and  noblest  attributes  are 
self-government,  self-reverence,  energy 
of  thought,  energy  in  choosing  the. right 
and  the  good,  energy  in  casting  off  all 
other  dominion.  He  was  created  for 
empire  in  his  own  breast,  and  woe,  woe 
to  them  who  would  pluck  from  him  this 
sceptre  ! A mind,  inspired  by  God  with 
reason  and  conscience,  and  capable, 
through  these  endowments,  of  progress 
in  truth  and  duty,  is  a sacred  thing; 
more  sacred  than  temples  made  with 
hands,  or  even  than  this  outward  uni- 
verse. It  is  of  nobler  lineage  than  that 
of  which  human  aristocracy  makes  its 
boast.  It  bears  the  lineaments  of  a 
divine  Parent.  It  has  not  only  a physi- 
cal, but  moral  connection  with  the 
Supreme  Being.  Through  its  self- 
determining  power,  it  is  accountable  for 
its  deeds,  and  for  whatever  it  becomes. 
Responsibility  — that  which  above  all 
things  makes  existence  solemn  — is  laid 
upon  it.  Its  great  end  is  to  conform 
itself,  by  its  own  energy,  and  by  spiritual 
succors  which  its  own  prayers  and  faith- 
fulness secure,  to  that  perfection  of 
wisdom  and  goodness  of  which  God  is 
the  original  and  source,  which  shines 
upon  us  from  the  whole  outward  world, 
but  of  which  the  intelligent  soul  is  a 


552 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


truer  recipient  and  a brighter  image, 
even  than  the  sun  with  all  his  splendors. 
From  these  views  we  learn  that  no  out- 
rage, no  injury,  can  equal  that  which  is 
perpetrated  by  him  who  would  break 
down  and  subjugate  the  human  mind  ; 
who  would  rob  men  of  self-reverence  ; 
who  would  bring  them  to  stand  more  in 
awe  of  outward  authority  than  of  reason 
and  conscience  in  their  own  souls  ; who 
would  make  himself  a standard  and  law 
for  his  race,  and  shape,  by  force  or  ter- 
ror, the  free  spirits  of  others  after  his 
own  judgment  and  will. 

All  excellence,  whether  intellectual  or 
moral,  involves,  as  its  essential  elements, 
freedom,  energy,  and  moral  indepen- 
dence, so  that  the  invader  of  these, 
whether  from  the  throne  or  the  pulpit, 
invades  the  most  sacred  interest  of  the 
human  race.  Intellectual  excellence  im- 
plies and  requires  these.  This  does  not 
consist  in  passive  assent  even  to  the 
highest  truths  ; or  in  the  most  extensive 
stores  of  knowledge  acquired  by  an  im- 
plicit faith,  and  lodged  in  the  inert  mem- 
ory. It  lies  in  force,  freshness,  and 
independence  of  thought;  and  is  most 
conspicuously  manifested  by  him  who, 
loving  truth  supremely,  seeks  it  reso- 
lutely, follows  the  light  without  fear,  and 
modifies  the  views  of  others  by  the 
patient,  strenuous  exercise  of  his  own 
faculties.  To  a man  thus  intellectually 
free,  truth  is  not,  what  it  is  to  passive 
multitudes,  a foreign  substance,  dormant, 
lifeless,  fruitless,  but  penetrating,  pro- 
lific, full  of  vitality,  and  ministering  to 
the  health  and  expansion  of  the  soul. 
And  what  we  have  said  of  intellectual 
excellence  is  still  more  true  of  moral. 
This  has  its  foundation  and  root  in  free- 
dom, and  cannot  exist  a moment  without 
it.  The  very  idea  of  virtue  is,  that  it 
is  a free  act,  the  product  or  result  of  the 
mind’s  self-determining  power.  It  is 
not  good  feeling,  infused  by  nature  or 
caught  by  sympathy  ; nor  is  it  good  con- 
duct into  which  we  have  slidden  through 
imitation,  or  which  has  been  forced 
upon  us  by  another’s  will.  We  ourselves 
are  its  authors  in  a high  and  peculiar 
sense.  We  indeed  depend  on  God  for 
virtue  ; for  our  capacity  of  moral  action 
is  wholly  his  gift  and  inspiration,  and 
without  his  perpetual  aid  this  capacity 
would  avail  nothing.  But  his  aid  is  not 
compulsion.  He  respects,  he  cannot 
violate  that  moral  freedom  which  is  his 


richest  gift.  To  the  individual,  the 
decision  of  his  own  character  is  left. 
He  has  more  than  kingly  power  in  his 
own  soul.  Let  him  never  resign  it.  Let 
none  dare  to  interfere  with  it.  Virtue  is 
self-dominion,  or,  what  is  the  same 
thing,  it  is  self-subjection  to  the  princi- 
ple of  duty,  that  highest  law  in  the  soul. 
If  these  views  of  intellectual  and  moral 
excellence  be  just,  then  to  invade  men’s 
freedom  is  to  aim  the  deadliest  blow  at 
their  honor  and  happiness  ; and  their 
worst  foe  is  he  who  fetters  their  reason, 
who  makes  his  will  their  law,  who  makes 
them  tools,  echoes,  copies  of  himself. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  objected  to  the 
representation  of  virtue  as  consisting 
in  self-dominion,  that  the  Scriptures 
speak  of  it  as  consisting  in  obedience 
to  God.  But  these  are  perfectly  com- 
patible and  harmonious  views  ; for  gen- 
uine obedience  to  God  is  the  free  choice 
and  adoption  of  a law,  the  great  princi- 
ples of  which  our  own  minds  approve, 
and  our  own  consciences  bind  on  us  ; 
which  is  not  an  arbitrary  injunction, 
but  an  emanation  and  expression  of  the 
divine  Mind ; and  which  is  intended 
throughout  to  give  energy,  dignity,  and 
enlargement  to  our  best  powers.  He, 
and  he  only,  obeys  God  virtuously  and 
acceptably,  who  reverences  right,  not 
power  ; who  has  chosen  rectitude  as  his 
supreme  rule  ; who  sees  and  reveres  in 
God  the  fulness  and  brightness  of  moral 
excellence,  and  who  sees  in  obedience 
the  progress  and  perfection  of  his  own 
nature.  That  subjection  to  the  Deity, 
which,  we  fear,  is  too  common,  in  which 
the  mind  surrenders  itself  to  mere  power 
and  will,  is  any  thing  but  virtue.  We 
fear  that  it  is  disloyalty  to  that  moral 
principle  which  is  ever  to  be  reverenced 
as  God’s  vicegerent  in  the  rational  soul. 

Perhaps  some  may  fear  that,  in  our 
zeal  for  the  freedom  and  independence 
of  the  individual  mind,  we  unsettle  gov- 
ernment, and  almost  imply  that  it  is  a 
wrong.  Far  from  it.  We  hold  govern- 
ment to  be  an  essential  means  of  our 
intellectual  and  moral  education,  and 
would  strengthen  it  by  pointing  out  its 
legitimate  functions.  Government,  as 
far  as  it  is  rightful,  is  the  guardian  and 
friend  of  freedom,  so  that  in  exalting 
the  one  we  enforce  the  other.  The 
highest  aim  of  all  authority  is  to  confer 
liberty.  This  is  true  of  domestic  rule. 
The  great,  we  may  say  the  single,  object 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONA  PA  PTE. 


553 


of  parental  government,  of  a wise  and 
virtuous  education,  is  to  give  the  child 
the  fullest  use  of  his  own  powers;  to 
give  him  inward  force ; to  train  him 
up  to  govern  himself.  The  same  is 
true  of  the  authority  of  Jesus  Christ. 
He  came,  indeed,  to  rule  mankind ; 
but  to  rule  them,  not  by  arbitrary 
statutes,  not  by  force  and  menace,  not 
by  mere  will,  but  by  setting  before  them, 
in  precept  and  life,  those  everlasting 
rules  of  rectitude  which  heaven  obeys, 
and  of  which  every  soul  contains  the 
living  germs.  He  came  to  exert  a moral 
power ; to  reign  by  the  manifestation 
of  celestial  virtues ; to  awaken  the  en- 
ergy of  holy  purpose  in  the  free  mind. 
He  came  to  publish  liberty  to  the  cap- 
tives ; to  open  the  prison  door ; to  break 
the  power  of  the  passions  ; to  break  the 
yoke  of  a ceremonial  religion  which  had 
been  imposed  in  the  childhood  of  the 
race  ; to  exalt  us  to  a manly  homage 
and  obedience  of  our  Creator.  Of  civil 
government,  too,  the  great  end  is  to  se- 
cure freedom.  Its  proper  and  highest 
function  is,  to  watch  over  the  liberties 
of  each  and  all,  and  to  open  to  a com- 
munity the  widest  field  for  all  its  powers. 
Its  very  chains  and  prisons  have  the 
general  freedom  for  their  aim.  They 
are  just,  only  when  used  to  curb  oppres- 
sion and  wrong  ; to  disarm  him  who  has 
a tyrant’s  heart,  if  not  a tyrant’s  power, 
who  wars  against,  others’  rights,  who,  by 
invading  property  or  life,  would  substi- 
tute force  for  the  reign  of  equal  laws. 
Freedom,  we  repeat  it,  is  the  end  of 
government.  To  exalt  men  to  self-rule 
is  the  end  of  all  other  rule ; and  he 
who  would  fasten  on  them  his  arbitrary 
will  is  their  worst  foe. 

We  have  aimed  to  show  the  guilt  of 
the  love  of  power  and  dominion,  by 
showing  the  ruin  which  it  brings  on  the 
mind,  by  enlarging  on  the  preciousness 
of  that  inward  freedom  which  it  invades 
and  destroys.  To  us,  this  view  is  the 
most  impressive  ; but  the  guilt  of  this 
passion  may  also  be  discerned,  and  by 
some  more  clearly,  in  its  outward  in- 
fluences, — in  the  desolation,  bloodshed, 
and  woe  of  which  it  is  the  perpetual 
cause.  We  owe  to  it  almost  all  the 
miseries  of  war.  To  spread  the  sway 
of  one  or  a few,  thousands  and  millions 
have  been  turned  into  machines  under 
the  name  of  soldiers,  armed  with  instru- 
ments of  destruction,  and  then  sent  to 


reduce  others  to  their  own  lot  by  fear 
and  pain,  by  fire  and  sword,  by  butchery 
and  pillage.  And  is  it  light  guilt  to 
array  man  against  his  brother ; to  make 
murder  the  trade  of  thousands  ; to  drench 
the  earth  with  human  blood  ; to  turn  it 
into  a desert ; to  scatter  families  like 
chaff ; to  make  mothers  widows,  and 
children  orphans ; and  to  do  all  this 
for  the  purpose  of  spreading  a still 
gloomier  desolation,  for  the  purpose  of 
subjugating  men's  souls,  turning  tl^em 
into  base  parasites,  extorting  from  them 
a degrading  homage,  humbling  them  in 
their  own  eyes,  and  breaking  them  to 
servility  as  the  chief  duty  of  life  ? When 
the  passion  for  power  succeeds,  as  it 
generally  has  done,  in  establishing  des- 
potism, it  seems  to  make  even  civiliza- 
tion a doubtful  good.  Whilst  the  mon- 
arch and  his  court  are  abandoned  to  a 
wasteful  luxury,  the  peasantry,  rooted 
to  the  soil  and  doomed  to  a perpetual 
round  of  labors,  are  raised  but  little 
above  the  brute.  There  are  parts  of 
Europe,  Christian  Europe,  in  which  the 
peasant,  through  whose  sweat  kings  and 
nobles  riot  in  plenty,  seems  to  enjoy 
less,  on  the  whole,  than  the  untamed 
Indian  of  our  forests.  Chained  to  one 
spot,  living  on  the  cheapest  vegetables, 
sometimes  unable  to  buy  salt  to  season 
his  coarse  fare,  seldom  or  never  tasting 
animal  food,  having  for  his  shelter  a 
mud-walled  hut  floored  with  earth  or 
stone,  and  subjected  equally  with  the 
brute  to  the  rule  of  a superior,  he  seems 
to  us  to  partake  less  of  animal,  intellect- 
ual, and  moral  pleasures  than  the  free 
wanderer  of  the  woods,  whose  steps  no 
man  fetters  ; whose  wigwam  no  tyrant 
violates  ; whose  chief  toil  is  hunting, 
that  noblest  of  sports  ; who  feasts  on 
the  deer,  that  most  luxurious  of  viands  ; 
to  whom  streams,  as  well  as  woods,  pay 
tribute ; whose  adventurous  life  gives 
sagacity  ; and  in  whom  peril  nourishes 
courage  and  self-command.  We  are  no 
advocates  for  savage  life.  We  know 
that  its  boasted  freedom  is  a delusion. 
The  single  fact  that  human  nature  in 
this  wild  state  makes  no  progress,  is 
proof  enough  that  it  wants  true  liberty. 
We  mean  only  to  say  that  man,  in  the 
hands  of  despotism,  is  sometimes  de- 
graded below  the  savage  ; that  it  were 
better  for  him  to  be  lawless,  than  to  live 
under  lawless  sway. 

It  is  the  part  of  Christians  to  look  on 


554 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHAE ACTED 


the  passion  for  power  and  dominion 
with  strong  abhorrence  ; for  it  is  singu- 
larly hostile  to  the  genius  of  their  relig- 
ion. Jesus  Christ  always  condemned 
it.  One  of  the  striking  marks  of  his 
moral  greatness,  and  of  the  originality 
of  his  character,  was,  that  he  held  no 
fellowship  and  made  no  compromise 
with  this  universal  spirit  of  his  age,  but 
withstood  it  in  every  form.  He  found 
the  Jews  intoxicating  themselves  with 
dreams  of  empire.  Of  the  prophecies 
relating  to  the  Messiah,  the  most  famil- 
iar and  dear  to  them  were  those  which 
announced  him  as  a conqueror,  and 
which  were  construed  by  their  worldli- 
ness into  a promise  of  triumphs  to  the 
people  from  whom  he  was  to  spring. 
Even  the  chosen  disciples  of  Jesus 
looked  to  him  for  this  good.  “To  sit 
on  his  right  hand  and  on  his  left,”  or,  in 
other  words,  to  hold  the  most  command- 
ing station  in  his  kingdom,  was  not  only 
their  lurking  wish,  but  their  open  and 
importunate  request.  But  there  was  no 
passion  on  which  Jesus  frowned  more 
severely  than  on  this.  He  taught  that, 
to  be  great  in  his  kingdom,  men  must 
serve,  instead  of  ruling,  their  brethren. 
He  placed  among  them  a child  as  an 
emblem  of  the  humility  of  his  religion. 
His  most  terrible  rebukes  fell  on  the 
lordly,  aspiring  Pharisee.  In  his  own 
person,  he  was  mild  and  condescending, 
exacting  no  personal  service,  living  with 
his  disciples  as  a friend,  sharing  their 
wants,  sleeping  in  their  fishing-boat, 
and  even  washing  their  feet ; and  in  all 
this  he  expressly  proposed  himself  to 
them  as  a pattern,  knowing  well  that 
the  last  triumph  of  disinterestedness  is 
to  forget  our  own  superiority  in  our 
sympathy,  solicitude,  tenderness,  re- 
spect, and  self-denying  zeal  for  those 
who  are  below  us.  We  cannot,  indeed, 
wonder  that  the  lust  of  power  should  be 
encountered  by  the  sternest  rebukes  and 
menace  of  Christianity,  because  it  wages 
open  war  with  the  great  end  of  this  relig- 
ion, which  is  the  elevation  of  the  human 
mind.  No  corruption  of  this  religion  is 
more  palpable  and  more  enormous  than 
that  which  turns  it  into  an  instrument 
of  dominion,  and  which  makes  it  teach 
that  man’s  primary  duty  is  to  give  him- 
self a passive  material  into  the  hands  of 
his  minister,  priest,  or  king. 

The  subject  which  we  now  discuss  is 
one  in  which  all  nations  have  an  interest, 


and  especially  our  own  ; and  we  should 
fail  of  our  main  purpose  were  we  not  to 
lead  our  readers  to  apply  it  to  ourselves. 
The  passion  for  ruling,  though  most 
completely  developed  in  despotisms,  is 
confined  to  no  forms  of  government.  It 
is  the  chief  peril  of  free  states,  the  nat- 
ural enemy  of  free  institutions.  It  agi- 
tates our  own  country,  and  still  ‘throws 
an  uncertainty  over  the  great  experiment 
we  are  making  here  in  behalf  of  liberty. 
We  will  try,  then,  in  a few  words,  to 
expose  its  influences  and  dangers,  and 
to  abate  that  zeal  with  which  a partici- 
pation in  office  and  power  is  sought 
among  ourselves. 

It  is  the  distinction  of  republican  in- 
stitutions, that  whilst  they  compel  the 
passion  for  power  to  moderate  its  pre- 
tensions, and  to  satisfy  itself  with  more 
limited  gratifications,  they  tend  to  spread 
it  more  widely  through  the  community, 
and  to  make  it  a universal  principle. 
The  doors  of  office  being  open  to  all, 
crowds  burn  to  rush  in.  A thousand 
hands  are  stretched  out  to  grasp  the 
reins  which  are  denied  to  none.  Per- 
haps, in  this  boasted  and  boasting  land 
of  liberty,  not  a few,  if  called  to  state 
the  chief  good  of  a republic,  would  place 
it  in  this,  that  every  man  is  eligible  to 
every  office,  and  that  the  highest  places 
of  power  and  trust  are  prizes  for  univer- 
sal compe.tition.  The  superiority  attrib- 
uted by  many  to  our  institutions  is,  not 
that  they  secure  the  greatest  freedom, 
but  give  every  man  a chance  of  ruling ; 
not  that  they  reduce  the  power  of  gov- 
ernment within  the  narrowest  limits 
which  the  safety  of  the  state  admits,  but 
throw  it  into  as  many  hands  as  possible. 
The  despot’s  great  crime  is  thought  to 
be  that  he  keeps  the  delight  of  dominion 
to  himself,  that  he  makes  a monopoly  of 
it,  whilst  our  more  generous  institutions, 
by  breaking  it  into  parcels,  and  inviting 
the  multitude  to  scramble  for  it,  spread 
this  joy  more  widely.  The  result  is, 
that  political  ambition  infects  our  coun- 
try, and  generates  a feverish  restlessness 
and  discontent,  which,  to  the  monarch- 
ist, may  seem  more  than  a balance  for 
our  forms  of  liberty.  The  spirit  of  in- 
trigue, which  in  absolute  governments 
is  confined  to  courts,  walks  abroad 
through  the  land  ; and,  as  individuals 
can  accomplish  no  political  purposes 
single-handed,  they  band  themselves 
into  parties,  ostensibly  framed  for  pub- 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 


555 


lie  ends,  but  aiming  only  at  the  acquisi- 
tion of  power.  The  nominal  sovereign, 
that  is,  the  people,  like  all  other  sover- 
eigns, is  courted  and  flattered,  and  told 
that  it  can  do  no  wrong.  Its  pride  is 
pampered,  its  passions  inflamed,  its  prej- 
udices made  inveterate.  Such  are  the 
processes  by  which  other  republics  have 
been  subverted,  and  he  must  be  blind 
who  cannot  trace  them  among  ourselves. 
We  mean  not  to  exaggerate  our  dangers. 
We  rejoice  to  know  that  the  improve- 
ments of  society  oppose  many  checks 
to  the  love  of  power.  But  every  wise 
man  who  sees  its  workings  must  dread 
it  as  our  chief  foe. 

This  passion  derives  strength  and 
vehemence  in  our  country  from  the 
common  idea  that  political  power  is  the 
highest  prize  which  society  has  to  offer. 
We  know  not  a more  general  delusion, 
nor  is  it  the  least  dangerous.  Instilled  as 
it  is  in  our  youth,  it  gives  infinite  excite- 
ment to  political  ambition.  It  turns  the 
active  talent  of  the  country  to  public  sta- 
tion as  the  supreme  good,  and  makes  it 
restless,  intriguing,  and  unprincipled.  It 
calls  out  hosts  of  selfish  competitors  for 
comparatively  few  places,  and  encourages 
a bold,  unblushing  pursuit  of  personal 
elevation,  which  a just  moral  sense  and 
self-respect  in  the  community  would 
frown  upon  and  cover  with  shame.  This 
prejudice  has  come  down  from  past  ages, 
and  is  one  of  their  worst  bequests.  To 
govern  others  has  always  been  thought 
the  highest  function  on  earth.  We  have 
a remarkable  proof  of  the  strength  and 
pernicious  influence  of  this  persuasion 
in  the  manner  in  which  history  has  been 
written.  Who  fill  the  page  of  history  ? 
Political  and  military  leaders,  who  have 
lived  for  one  end,  — to  subdue  and  gov- 
ern their  fellow-beings.  These  occupy 
the  foreground,  and  the  people,  the  hu- 
man race,  dwindle  into  insignificance, 
and  are  almost  lost  behind  their  masters. 
The  proper  and  noblest  object  of  history 
is  to  record  the  vicissitudes  of  society, 
its  spirit  in  different  ages,  the  causes 
which  have  determined  its  progress  and 
decline,  and  especially  the  manifestations 
and  growth  of  its  highest  attributes  and 
interests  of  intelligence,  of  the  religious 
principle,  of  moral  sentiment,  of  the 
elegant  and  useful  arts,  of  the  triumphs 
of  man  over  nature  and  himself.  Instead 
of  this,  we  have  records  of  men  in  power, 
often  weak,  oftener  wicked,  who  did 


little  or  nothing  for  the  advancement  of 
their  age,  who  were  in  no  sense  its  rep- 
resentatives, whom  the  accident  of  birth 
perhaps  raised  to  influence.  We  have 
the  quarrels  of  courtiers,  the  intrigues  of 
cabinets,  sieges  and  battles,  royal  births 
and  deaths,  and  the  secrets  of  a palace, 
that  sink  of  lewdness  and  corruption. 
These  are  the  staples  of  history.  The 
inventions  of  printing,  of  gunpowder, 
and  the  mariner’s  compass,  were  too 
mean  affairs  for  history  to  trace.  She 
was  bowing  before  kings  and  warriors. 
She  had  volumes  for  the  plots  and  quar- 
rels of  Leicester  and  Essex  in  the  reign 
of  Elizabeth,  but  not  a page  for  Shak- 
speare  ; and  if  Bacon  had  not  filled  an 
office,  she  would  hardly  have  recorded 
his  name,  in  her  anxiety  to  preserve  the 
deeds  and  sayings  of  that  Solomon  of 
his  age,  James  the  First. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  supreme  im- 
portance which  is  attached  to  rulers  and 
government,  as  a prejudice ; and  we 
think  that  something  may  be  done 
towards  abating  the  passion  for  power 
by  placing  this  thought  in  a clearer 
light.  It  seems  to  us  not  very  difficult 
to  show,  that  to  govern  men  is  not  as 
high  a sphere  of  action  as  has  been 
commonly  supposed,  and  that  those  who 
have  obtained  this  dignity  have  usurped 
a place  beyond  their  due  in  history  and 
men’s  minds.  We  apprehend,  indeed, 
that  we  are  not  alone  in  this  opinion  ; 
that  a change  of  sentiment  on  this  sub- 
ject has  commenced  and  must  go  on  ; 
that  men  are  learning  that  there  are 
higher  sources  of  happiness  and  more 
important  agents  in  human  affairs  than 
political  rule.  It  is  one  mark  of  the 
progress  of  society  that  it  brings  down 
the  public  man  and  raises  the  private 
one.  It  throws  power  into  the  hands 
of  untitled  individuals,  and  spreads  it 
through  all  orders  of  the  community. 
It  multiplies  and  distributes  freely  means 
of  extensive  influence,  and  opens  new 
channels  by  which  the  gifted  mind,  in 
whatever  rank  or  condition,  may  com- 
municate itself  far  and  wide.  Through 
the  diffusion  of  education  and  printing, 
a private  man  may  now  speak  to  multi- 
tudes, incomparably  more  numerous  than 
ancient  or  modern  eloquence  evet  elec- 
trified in  the  popular  assembly  or  the 
hall  of  legislation.  By  these  instru- 
ments, truth  is  asserting  her  sover- 
eignty over  nations,  without  the  help  of 


ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


556 

rank,  office,  or  sword  ; and  her  faithful 
ministers  will  become  more  and  more 
the  lawgivers  of  the  world. 

We  mean  not  to  deny,  we  steadily 
affirm,  that  government  is  a great  good, 
and  essential  to  human  happiness  ; but 
it  does  its  good  chiefly  by  a negative 
influence,  by  repressing  injustice  and 
crime,  by  securing  property  from  inva- 
sion, and  thus  removing  obstructions 
to  the  free  exercise  of  human  powers. 
It  confers  little  positive  benefit.  Its 
office  is  not  to  confer  happiness,  but  to 
give  men  opportunity  to  work  out  hap- 
piness for  themselves.  Government  re- 
sembles the  wall  which  surrounds  our 
lands,  — a needful  protection,  but  rear- 
ing no  harvests,  ripening  no  fruits.  It 
is  the  individual  who  must  choose 
whether  the  enclosure  shall  be  a para- 
dise or  a waste.  How  little  positive 
good  can  government  confer  ! It  does 
not  till  our  fields,  build  our  houses, 
weave  the  ties  which  bind  us  to  our 
families,  give  disinterestedness  to  the 
heart,  or  energy  to  the  intellect  and 
will.  All  our  great  interests  are  left  to 
ourselves  ; and  governments,  when  they 
have  interfered  with  them,  have  ob- 
structed much  more  than  advanced 
them.  For  example,  they  have  taken 
religion  into  their  keeping  only  to  dis- 
figure it.  So  education,  in  their  hands, 
has  generally  become  a propagator  of 
servile  maxims,  and  an  upholder  of  an- 
tiquated errors.  In  like  manner  they 
have  paralyzed  trade  by  their  nursing 
care,  and  multiplied  poverty  by  expe- 
dients for  its  relief.  Government  has 
almost  always  been  a barrier  against 
which  intellect  has  had  to  struggle  ; and 
society  has  made  its  chief  progress  by 
the  minds  of  private  individuals  who 
have  outstripped  their  rulers,  and  grad- 
ually shamed  them  into  truth  and  wis- 
dom. 

Virtue  and  intelligence  are  the  great 
interests  of  a community,  including  all 
others,  and  worth  all  others  ; and  the 
noblest  agency  is  that  by  which  they 
are  advanced.  Now,  we  apprehend  that 
political  power  is  not  the  most  effectual 
instrument  for  their  promotion,  and  ac- 
cordingly we  doubt  whether  government 
is  the  only  or  highest  sphere  for  supe- 
rior minds.  Virtue,  from  its  very  nature, 
cannot  be  a product  of  what  may  be 
called  the  direct  operation  of  govern- 
ment ; that  is,  of  legislation.  Laws 


may  repress  crime.  Their  office  is  to 
erect  prisons  for  violence  and  fraud. 
But  moral  and  religious  worth,  dignity 
of  character,  loftiness  of  sentiment,  all 
that  makes  man  a blessing  to  himself 
and  society,  lies  beyond  their  province. 
Virtue  is  of  the  soul,  where  laws  can- 
not penetrate.  Excellence  is  some- 
thing too  refined,  spiritual,  celestial,  to 
be  produced  by  the  coarse  machinery 
of  government.  Human  legislation  ad- 
dresses itself  to  self-love,  and  works  by 
outward  force.  Its  chief  instrument  is 
punishment.  It  cannot  touch  the  springs 
of  virtuous  feelings,  of  great  and  good 
deeds.  Accordingly,  rulers,  with  all 
their  imagined  omnipotence,  do  not 
dream  of  enjoining  by  statute,  philan- 
thropy, gratitude,  devout  sentiment, 
magnanimity,  and  purity  of  thought. 
Virtue  is  too  high  a concern  for  gov- 
ernment. It  is  an  inspiration  of  God, 
not  a creature  of  law  ; and  the  agents 
whom  God  chiefly  honors  in  its  promo- 
tion are  those  who,  through  experience 
as  well  as  meditation,  have  risen  to  gen- 
erous conceptions  of  it,  and  who  show 
it  forth,  not  in  empty  eulogies,  but  in 
the  language  of  deep  conviction  and  in 
lives  of  purity. 

Government,  then,  does  little  to  ad- 
vance the  chief  interest  of  human  nat- 
ure by  its  direct  agency  ; and  what  shall 
we  say  of  its  indirect  ? Here  we  wish 
not  to  offend ; but  we  must  be  allowed 
to  use  that  plainness  of  speech  which 
becomes  Christians  and  freemen.  We 
do  fear,  then,  that  the  indirect  influence 
of  government  is  on  the  whole  adverse 
to  virtue  ; and,  in  saying  this,  we  do 
not  speak  of  other  countries,  or  of  dif- 
ferent political  institutions  from  our 
own.  We  do  not  mean  to  say,  what  all 
around  us  would  echo,  that  monarchy 
corrupts  a state,  that  the  air  of  a court 
reeks  with  infection,  and  taints  the 
higher  classes  with  a licentiousness 
which  descends  to  their  inferiors.  We 
speak  of  government  at  home  ; and  we 
ask  wise  men  to  say  whether  it  ministers 
most  to  vice  or  virtue.  We  fear  that 
here,  as  elsewhere,  political  power  is  of 
corrupting  tendency  ; and  that,  gener- 
ally speaking,  public  men  are  not  the 
most  effectual  teachers  of  truth,  disin- 
terestedness, and  incorruptible  integrity 
to  the  people.  An  error  prevails  in 
relation  to  political  concerns,  which 
necessarily  makes  civil  institutions  de- 


OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE . 


557 


moralizing.  It  is  deeply  rooted,  — the 
growth  of  ages.  We  refer  to  the  belief 
that  public  men  are  absolved  in  a meas- 
ure from  the  everlasting  and  immutable 
obligations  of  morality ; that  political 
power  is  a prize  which  justifies  arts  and 
compliances  that  would  be  scorned  in 
private  life  ; that  management,  intrigue, 
hollow  pretensions,  and  appeals  to  base 
passions  deserve  slight  rebuke  when 
employed  to  compass  political  ends, 
Accordingly,  the  laws  of  truth,  justice, 
and  philanthropy  have  seldom  been 
applied  to  public  as  to  private  concerns. 
Even  those  individuals  who  have  come 
to  frown  indignantly  on  the  machina- 
tions, the  office-seeking,  and  the  sacri- 
fices to  popularity,  which  disgrace  our 
internal  condition,  are  disposed  to  ac- 
quiesce in  a crooked  or  ungenerous 
policy  towards  foreign  nations,  by  which 
great  advantages  may  accrue  to  their 
own  country.  Now  the  great  truth,  on 
which  the  cause  of  virtue  rests,  is,  that 
rectitude  is  an  eternal,  unalterable,  and 
universal  law,  binding  at  once  heaven 
and  earth,  the  perfection  of  God’s  char- 
acter, and  the  harmony  and  happiness 
of  the  rational  creation  ; and  in  propor- 
tion as  political  institutions  unsettle  this 
great  conviction,  — in  proportion  as  they 
teach  that  truth,  justice,  and  philan- 
thropy are  local,  partial  obligations, 
claiming  homage  from  the  weak,  but 
shrinking  before  the  powerful,  — in  pro- 
portion as  they  thus  insult  the  awful 
and  inviolable  majesty  of  the  eternal 
law,  — in  the  same  proportion  they 
undermine  the  very  foundation  of  a 
people’s  virtue. 

In  regard  to  the  other  great  interest 
of  the  community,  its  intelligence,  gov- 
ernment may  do  much  good  by  a direct 
influence  ; that  is,  by  instituting  schools 
or  appropriating  revenue  for  the  instruc- 
tion of  the  poorer  classes.  Whether  it 
would  do  wisely  in  assuming  to  itself, 
or  in  taking  from  individuals  the  provi- 
sion and  care  of  higher  literary  institu- 
tions, is  a question  not  easily  determined. 
But  no  one  will  doubt  that  it  is  a noble 
function  to  assist  and  develop  the  intel- 
lect in  those  classes  of  the  community 
whose  hard  condition  exposes  them  to 
a merely  animal  existence.  Still,  the 
agency  of  government  in  regard  to 
knowledge  is  necessarily  superficial  and 
narrow.  The  great  sources  of  intel- 
lectual power  and  progress  to  a people 


are  its  strong  and  original  thinkers,  be 
they  found  where  they  may.  Govern- 
ment cannot,  and  does  not,  extend  the 
bounds  of  knowledge  ; cannot  make  ex- 
periments in  the  laboratory,  explore  the 
laws  of  animal  or  vegetable  nature,  or 
establish  the  principles  of  criticism, 
morals,  and  religion.  The  energy  which 
is  to  carry  forward  the  intellect  of  a 
people  belongs  chiefly  to  private  indi- 
viduals, who  devote  themselves  to  lonely 
thought,  who  worship  truth,  who  origi- 
nate the  views  demanded  by  their  age, 
who  help  us  to  throw  off  the  yoke  of 
established  prejudices,  who  improve  old 
modes  of  education  or  invent  better.  It 
is  true  that  great  men  at  the  head  of 
affairs  may,  and  often  do,  contribute 
much  to  the  growth  of  a nation’s  mind. 
But  it  too  often  happens  that  their  station 
obstructs  rather  than  aids  their  useful- 
ness. Their  connection  with  a party, 
and  the  habit  of  viewing  subjects  in 
reference  to  personal  aggrandizement, 
too  often  obscure  the  noblest  intellects, 
and  convert  into  patrons  of  narrow  views 
and  temporary  interests  those  who,  in 
other  conditions,  would  have  been  the 
lights  of  their  age,  and  the  propagators 
of  everlasting  truth.  From  these  views 
of  the  limited  influence  of  government 
on  the  most  precious  interests  of  society, 
we  learn  that  political  power  is  not  the 
noblest  power,  and  that,  in  the  progress 
of  intelligence,  it  will  cease  to  be  coveted 
as  the  chief  and  most  honorable  dis- 
tinction on  earth. 

If  we  pass  now  to  the  consideration 
of  that  interest  over  which  government 
is  expected  chiefly  to  watch,  and  on 
which  it  is  most  competent  to  act  with 
power,  we  shall  not  arrive  at  a result 
very  different  from  what  we  have  just 
expressed.  We  refer  to  property,  or 
wealth.  That  the  influence  of  political 
institutions  on  this  great  concern  is  im- 
portant, inestimable,  we  mean  not  to 
deny.  But,  as  we  have  already  sug- 
gested, it  is  chiefly  negative.  Govern- 
ment enriches  a people  by  removing 
obstructions  to  their  powers,  by  defend- 
ing them  from  wrong,  and  thus  giving 
them  opportunity  to  enrich  themselves. 
Government  is  not  the  spring  of  the 
wealth  of  nations,  but  their  own  sagac- 
ity, industry,  enterprise,  and  force  of 
character.  To  leave  a people  to  them- 
selves is  generally  the  best  service 
their  rulers  can  render.  Time  was 


558  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER  OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 


when  sovereigns  fixed  prices  and  wages, 
regulated  industry  and  expense,  and  im- 
agined that  a nation  would  starve  and 
perish  if  it  were  not  guided  and  guarded 
like  an  infant.  But  we  have  learned 
that  men  are  their  own  best  guardians, 
that  property  is  safest  under  its  owner’s 
care,  and  that,  generally  speaking,  even 
great  enterprises  can  better  be  accom- 
plished by  the  voluntary  association  of 
individuals  than  by  the  state.  Indeed, 
we  are  met  at  every  stage  of  this  dis- 
cussion by  the  truth,  that  political  power 
is  a weak  engine  compared  with  indi- 
vidual intelligence,  virtue  and  effort; 
and  we  are  the  more  anxious  to  enforce 
this  truth,  because,  through  an  extrav- 
agant estimate  of  government,  men  are 
apt  to  expect  from  it  what  they  must  do 
for  themselves,  and  to  throw  upon  it  the 
blame  which  belongs  to  their  own  feeble- 
ness and  improvidence.  The  great  hope 
of  society  is  individual  character.  Civi- 
lization and  political  institutions  are 
themselves  sources  of  not  a few  evils, 
which  nothing  but  the  intellectual  and 
moral  energy  of  the  private  citizen  can 
avert  or  relieve.  Such,  for  example, 
are  the  monstrous  inequalities  of  prop- 
erty, the  sad  contrasts  of  condition, 
which  disfigure  a large  city  ; which  laws 
create  and  cannot  remove  ; which  can 
only  be  mitigated  and  diminished  by  a 
principle  of  moral  restraint  in  the  poorer 
classes,  and  by  a wise  beneficence  in 
the  rich.  The  great  lesson  for  men  to 
learn  is,  that  their  happiness  is  in  their 
own  hands  ; that  it  is  to  be  wrought  out 
by  their  own  faithfulness  to  God  and 
conscience  ; that  no  outward  institutions 
can  supply  the  place  of  inwrard  principle, 
of  moral  energy,  whilst  this  can  go  far 
to  supply  the  place  of  almost  every  out- 
ward aid. 

Our  remarks  will  show  that  our  esti- 
mate of  political  institutions  is  more 
moderate  than  the  prevalent  one,  and 
that  we  regard  the  power,  for  which 
ambition  has  woven  so  many  plots  and 
shed  so  much  blood,  as  destined  to 
occupy  a more  and  more  narrow  space 
among  the  means  of  usefulness  and  dis- 
tinction. There  is,  however,  one  branch 
of  government  which  we  hold  in  high 
veneration,  which  we  account  an  un- 
speakable blessing,  and  which,  for  the 
world,  we  would  not  say  a word  to  dis- 
parage ; and  we  are  the  more  disposed 
to  speak  of  it  because  its  relative  im- 


portance seems  to  us  little  understood. 
We  refer  to  the  judiciary,  — a depart- 
ment worth  all  others  in  the  state. 
Whilst  politicians  expend  their  zeal  on 
transient  interests,  which  perhaps  derive 
their  chief  importance  from  their  con- 
nection with  a party,  it  is  the  province 
of  the  judge  to  apply  those  solemn  and 
universal  laws  of  rectitude  on  which  the 
security,  industry,  and  prosperity  of  the 
individual  and  the  state  essentially  de- 
pend. From  his  tribunal,  as  from  a 
sacred  oracle,  go  forth  the  responses  of 
justice.  To  us  there  is  nothing  in  the 
whole  fabric  of  civil  institutions  so  in- 
teresting and  imposing  as  this  impartial 
and  authoritative  exposition  of  tne  prin- 
ciples of  moral  legislation.  The  admin- 
istration of  justice  in  this  country,  where 
the  judge,  without  a guard,  without  a 
soldier,  without  pomp,  decides  upon  the 
dearest  interests  of  the  citizen,  trusting 
chiefly  to  the  moral  sentiment  of  the 
community  for  the  execution  of  his  de- 
crees, is  the  most  beautiful  and  encour- 
aging aspect  under  which  our  government 
can  be  viewed.  We  repeat  it,  there  is 
nothing  in  public  affairs  so  venerable  as 
the  voice  of  Justice,  speaking  through 
her  delegated  ministers,  reaching  and 
subduing  the  high  as  well  as  the  low, 
setting  a defence  around  the  splendid 
mansion  of  w'ealth  and  the  lowly  hut  of 
poverty,  repressing  wrong,  vindicating 
innocence,  humbling  the  oppressor,  and 
publishing  the  rights  of  human  nature 
to  every  human  being.  We  confess  that 
we  often  turn  with  pain  and  humiliation 
from  the  hall  of  Congress,  where  we  see 
the  legislator  forgetting  the  majesty  of 
his  function,  forgetting  his  relation  to  a 
vast  and  growing  community,  and  sacri- 
ficing to  his  party  or  to  himself  the 
public  weal ; and  it  comforts  us  to  turn 
to  the  court  of  justice,  where  the  dis- 
penser of  the  laws,  shutting  his  ear 
against  all  solicitations  of  friendship  or 
interest,  dissolving  for  a time  every  pri- 
vate tie,  forgetting  public  opinion,  and 
withstanding  public  feeling,  asks  only 
what  is  right.  To  our  courts,  the  re- 
sorts and  refuge  of  weakness  and  inno- 
cence, we  look  with  hope  and  joy.  We 
boast,  with  a virtuous  pride,  that  no 
breath  of  corruption  has  as  yet  tainted 
their  pure  air.  To  this  department  of 
government  we  cannot  a%£ribe  too  much 
importance.  Over  this  we  cannot  watch 
too  jealously.  Every  encroachment  on 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND  WRITINGS  OF  FENELON  SS9 


its  independence  we  should  resent,  and 
repel,  as  the  chief  wrong  our  country 
can  sustain.  Woe,  woe  to  the  impious 
hand  which  would  shake  this  most  sacred 
and  precious  column  of  the  social  edi- 
fice ! 

In  the  remarks  which  we  have  now 
submitted  to  our  readers,  we  have  treated 
of  great  topics,  if  not  worthily,  yet,  we 
trust,  with  a pure  purpose.  We  have 
aimed  to  expose  the  passion  for  domin- 
ion, the  desire  of  ruling  mankind.  We 
have  labored  to  show  the  superiority  of 
moral  power  and  influence  to  that  sway 
which  has  for  ages  been  seized  with 
eager  and  bloody  hands.  We  have  la- 
bored to  hold  up  to  unmeasured  repro- 


bation him  who  would  establish  an  em- 
pire of  brute  force  over  rational  beings. 
We  have  labored  to  hold  forth,  as  the 
enemy  of  his  race,  the  man  who,  in  any 
way,  would  fetter  the  human  mind,  and 
subject  other  wills  to  his  own.  In  a 
word,  we  have  desired  to  awaken  others 
and  ourselves  to  a just  self- reverence, 
to  the  free  use  and  expansion  of  our 
highest  powers,  and  especially  to  that 
moral  force,  that  energy  of  holy,  virtu- 
ous purpose,  without  which  we  are  slaves 
amidst  the  freest  institutions.  Better 
gifts  than  these  we  cannot  supplicate 
from  God  ; nor  can  we  consecrate  our 
lives  to  nobler  acquisitions. 


REMARKS  ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND  WRITINGS  OF 

FENELON. 


[“  Selections  from  the  Writings  of  Fenelon  ; with  an 

Appendix,  containing  a Memoir  of  his  Life.”  By  a 

Lady.  Boston  : Hilliard,  Gray,  Little,  and  Wilkins. 

1829.] 

We  perform  a very  gratifying  duty  in 
introducing  and  recommending  to  our 
readers  the  book  which  stands  at  the 
head  of  this  article.  An  attractive  and 
quickening  work  on  practical  religion 
we  regard  as  a valuable  accession  to  our 
literature.  Indeed  any  thing  written 
with  power  on  Christian  morals  and 
theology  is  most  welcome.  It  is  too 
true,  and  a sad  truth,  that  religious 
books  are  pre-eminently  dull.  If  we 
wished  to  impoverish  a man’s  intellect, 
we  could  devise  few  means  more  effect- 
ual than  to  confine  him  to  what  is  called 
a course  of  theological  reading.  The 
very  subject  to  which,  above  all  others, 
the  writer  should  bring  his  whole 
strength  of  thought  and  feeling,  which 
allies  itself  to  our  noblest  faculties,  to 
which  reason,  imagination,  taste,  and 
genius  should  consecrate  their  noblest 
efforts,  is  of  all  subjects  treated  most 
weakly,  tamely,  and  with  least  attraction. 
Of  course  there  are  splendid  exceptions, 
but  we  speak  of  the  immense  majority  of 
theological  books.  It  is  wonderful  how 
men  can  think  and  write  upon  religion 
to  so  little  effect.  That  a theme  so 
vast,  so  sublime  as  Christianity,  embrac- 


ing God  and  man,  earth  and  heaven, 
time  and  eternity,  connected  intimately 
with  all  human  history,  deriving  lights 
from  all  human  experience,  admitting 
application  to  the  whole  of  human  life, 
and  proposing  as  its  great  end  the  ever- 
lasting progress  of  the  soul,  — that  such 
a subject  should  be  treated  so  monoto- 
nously as  to  be  proverbially  dull,  that  its 
professed  explorers  should  be  able  to 
plant  their  footsteps  so  exactly  in  the 
track  of  their  predecessors,  that  the 
boundlessness  of  the  field  should  so 
seldom  tempt  an  adventurous  spirit 
from  the  beaten  way,  is  wonderful,  and 
might  seem  a miracle  to  a man  unac- 
quainted with  the  vassalage  which  has 
broken  down  the  mind  in  the  department 
of  religion.  It  is  true  that  those  who 
write  on  this  topic  are  accustomed  to 
call  it  sublime  ; but  they  make  its  sub- 
limity cold  and  barren,  like  that  of 
mountain-tops  wrapped  in  everlasting 
snows.  We  write  this,  not  in  severity, 
but  in  sorrow  of  heart ; for  we  despair 
of  any  great  progress  of  the  human 
character  or  of  society,  until  the  ener- 
gies of  the  mind  shall  be  bent,  as  they 
seldom  have  been,  on  those  most  impor- 
tant subjects  and  interests  of  the  human 
mind,  morals  and  religion. 

As  a striking  proof  of  the  poverty  of 
religious  literature,  and  of  the  general 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


560 

barrenness  of  the  intellect  when  em- 
ployed in  this  field,  we  may  refer  to  the 
small  amount  of  original  and  productive 
thought  in  the  English  Church  since  the 
days  of  Barrow  and  Taylor.  Could  our 
voice  be  heard  in  England,  we  would  ask 
impartial  and  gifted  men,  more  familiar 
with  their  country’s  history  than  our- 
selves, to  solve  the  problem,  how  a 
Protestant  Establishment,  so  munifi- 
cently endowed  with  the  means  of  im- 
provement, should  have  done  so  little  in 
so  long  a period  for  Christianity,  should 
have  produced  so  few  books  to  interest 
the  higher  order  of  minds.  Let  not  these 
remarks  be  misunderstood,  as  if  we  were 
wanting  in  respect  and  gratitude  to  a 
church  which,  with  all  its  defects,  has 
been  the  bulwark  of  Protestantism, 
which  has  been  illustrated  by  the  piety 
and  virtues  of  such  men  as  Bishops  Wil- 
son, Berkeley,  and  Heber,  and  in  which 
have  sprung  up  so  many  institutions  con- 
secrated to  humanity  and  to  the  diffusion 
of  the  Christian  faith.  We  mean  not  to 
deny  it  the  honor  of  having  fostered 
talent  in  various  forms  and  directions. 
Among  the  English  clergy  we  find  pro- 
found and  elegant  scholars  ; we  find  the 
names  of  those  giants  in  ancient  learn- 
ing, Bentley  and  Parr,  and  a crowd  of 
proficients  in  polite  literature,  of  whom 
Hurd  and  Jortin  are  honorable  repre- 
sentatives. We  speak  only  of  the  de- 
ficiency of  their  contributions  to  moral 
and  religious  science.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  Clarke  and  Butler,  we  could  not 
easily  name  any  of  the  Establishment, 
since  the  time  above  specified,  who  have 
decidedly  carried  forward  the  human  in- 
tellect. The  latter  of  these  is  indeed  a 
great  name,  notwithstanding  the  alleged 
obscurities  of  his  style,  and  worthy  to 
be  enrolled  among  the  master-spirits  of 
the  human  race.  In  regard  to  commen- 
tators, whose  function,  as  commonly  ex- 
ecuted, holds  a second  rank  in  theology, 
the  English  Church,  since  the  time  of 
Hammond,  has  produced  none  of  much 
value,  except  Bishop  Pearce.  We  pre- 
sume that  she  will  not  lay  claim  to  the 
heretical  Locke,  who  carried  into  the  in- 
terpretation of  the  Scriptures  the  same 
force  of  thought  as  into  the  philosophy 
of  the  mind  ; or  to  Whitby,  whose  stren- 
uous Arminianism,  as  Orthodoxy  would 
reproachingly  say,  tapered  off  into  that 
most  suspicious  form  of  Christianity, 
Unitarianism.  We  have  not  yet  named 


two  of  the  most  illustrious  intellectual 
chiefs  of  the  church,  Warburton  and 
Horsley.  Their  great  powers  we  most 
readily  own  ; but  Warburton  is  generally 
acknowledged  to  have  wasted  his  mind, 
and  has  left  no  impression  of  himself 
on  later  times  ; whilst  Horsley,  though 
he  has  given  us  striking,  if  not  judicious, 
sermons,  in  a style  of  unusual  vigor,  can- 
not be  said  to  have  communicated  in  any 
respect  a new  impulse  to  thought,  and 
in  Biblical  criticism,  to  which  he  was 
zealously  devoted,  he  is  one  of  the  last 
authorities  on  which  a sound  mind 
would  lean.  To  Bishops  Lowth  and 
Sherlock  we  cheerfully  acknowledge  our 
obligations  ; and  we  question  whether 
the  latter  has  even  yet  received  his  due 
praise.  We  have  not  forgotten,  though 
we  have  not  named,  Tillotson,  Seeker, 
and  Porteus.  They  are  all  worthy  of 
remembrance,  especially  Seeker,  the 
clear  and  wise  expounder  of  Christian 
ethics  ; but  they  added  little  or  nothing 
to  the  stock  which  they  received.  It 
may  be  thought  that  we  have  not  been 
just  to  the  Establishment  in  passing 
over  Paley.  He  has  our  sincere  admira- 
tion. On  one  great  topic,  which  indeed 
has  been  worthily  treated  by  many 
of  the  clergy,  — we  mean  that  of  Chris- 
tian evidence,  — he  has  shed  new  light. 
By  felicity  of  arrangement  and  illustra- 
tion, he  has  given  an  air  of  novelty  to 
old  arguments,  whilst  he  has  strength- 
ened his  cause  by  important  original 
proofs.  His  “ Horae  Paulinae  ” is  one 
of  the  few  books  destined  to  live. 
Paley  saw  what  he  did  see  through  an 
atmosphere  of  light.  He  seized  on  the 
strong  points  of  his  subject  with  an  in- 
tuitive sagacity,  and  has  given  his  clear, 
bright  thoughts  in  a style  which  has 
made  them  the  property  of  his  readers 
almost  as  perfectly  as  they  were  his 
own.  In  what,  then,  did  he  fail  ? We 
have  said  that  he  was  characterized  by 
the  distinctness  of  his  vision.  He  was 
not,  we  think,  equally  remarkable  for  its 
extent.  He  was  popular,  rather  than 
philosophical.  He  was  deficient  in  that 
intellectual  thirst  which  is  a chief  ele- 
ment of  the  philosophical  spirit.  He 
had  no  irrepressible  desire  to  sound  the 
depths  of  his  own  nature,  or  to  ascend 
to  wide  and  all-reconciling  views  of  the 
works  and  ways  of  God.  Moral  phil- 
osophy he  carried  backward ; nor  had 
he  higher  claims  in  religious  than  in 


WRITINGS  OF  FENELON 


56l 


ethical  science.  His  sermons  are  worthy 
of  all  praise,  not  indeed  for  their  power 
over  the  heart,  but  for  their  plain  and 
strong  expositions  of  duty,  and  their 
awakening  appeals  to  the  conscience. 

We  leave  this  topic  with  observing 
that,  in  the  noblest  branch  of  history, 
we  mean  Christian  or  ecclesiastical  his- 
tory, the  English  Church  has  not  fur- 
nished a single  distinguished  name. 
We  have  one  mournful  and  decisive 
proof  of  this  deficiency.  The  vast 
majority  of  English  readers  learn  what 
they  know  of  the  progress  and  fortunes 
of  their  religion  from  its  foe  and  in- 
suiter, — from  Gibbon,  the  apostle  of 
unbelief.  The  history  of  Christianity, 
the  most  important  and  sublime  theme 
in  this  province  of  literature,  has  as  yet 
found  no  writer  to  do  it  justice,  none 
to  be  compared  with  the  great  names 
in  civil  history.  The  mightiest  revolu- 
tion in  the  records  of  our  race  remains 
to  be  worthily  told.  We  doubt,  indeed, 
whether  the  true  character,  style,  and 
extent  of  the  work  which  is  needed  are 
as  yet  comprehended.  That  the  same 
rigorous  impartiality,  the  same  spirit  of 
philosophical  research  into  causes  and 
effects,  is  to  be  carried  into  religious 
as  into  civil  history,  is  imperfectly  un- 
derstood. The  records  of  particular 
sects  and  churches,  instead  of  exhaust- 
ing this  great  subject,  are  perhaps  sub- 
ordinate parts.  We  want  to  know  the 
great  conflict  between  Christianity  and 
Heathenism,  and  the  action  and  reaction 
of  these  systems  on  one  another.  We 
want  to  know  the  influences  of  Chris- 
tianity on  society,  politics,  manners, 
philosophy,  and  literature,  and  the  mod- 
ifications which  it  has  received  in  return 
from  all  these  mighty  agents.  We  know 
not  where  history  can  find  a nobler  field 
for  its  graphic  powers  than  in  the  chiv- 
alrous ages  of  Christianity  ; nor  can  it 
find,  in  its  whole  range  over  the  past, 
a subject  so  fitted  as  the  spread  and 
fortunes  of  this  religion  to  its  great  end, 
which  is,  to  throw  light  on  the  nature 
and  powers  of  man,  and  to  carry  us 
deep  into  the  human  soul.  When  is 
this  greatest  and  most  lamented  chasm 
in  our  literature  to  be  supplied  ? 

We  have  cited  the  English  Church 
as  a proof  of  the  unproductiveness  of 
the  intellect  in  religion,  and  of  the  bar- 
renness of  theological  literature.  Had 
we  time,  we  might  find  corroborations 


in  other  sects.  In  truth,  a paralyzing 
influence  has  been  working  mightily  for 
ages  in  the  Christian  world,  and  we 
ought  not  to  wonder  at  its  results. 
Free  action  has  been  denied  to  the 
mind,  and  freedom  is  an  essential  con- 
dition of  growth  and  power.  A fettered 
limb  moves  slowly  and  operates  feebly. 
The  spirit  pines  away  in  a prison  ; and 
yet  to  rear  prison-walls  round  the  mind 
has  been  the  chief  toil  of  ages.  The 
mischiefs  of  this  intellectual  bondage 
are  as  yet,  we  conceive,  but  imperfectly 
known,  and  need  to  be  set  forth  with  a 
new  eloquence.  If,  as  we  believe,  prog- 
ress be  the  supreme  law  of  the  soul  and 
the  very  aim  of  its  creation,  then  no 
wrong  can  be  inflicted  on  it  so  grievous 
as  to  bind  it  down  everlastingly  to  a 
fixed,  unvarying  creed,  especially  if  this 
creed  was  framed  in  an  age  of  darkness, 
crime,  and  political  and  religious  strife. 
This  tyranny  is  pre-eminently  treason 
against  human  nature.  If  growth  be 
the  supreme  law  and  purpose  of  the 
mind,  then  the  very  truth,  which  was 
suited  to  one  age,  may,  if  made  the 
limit  of  future  ones,  become  a positive 
evil ; just  as  the  garment,  in  which 
childhood  sports  with  ease  and  joy, 
would  irritate  and  deform  the  enlarging 
frame.  God,  having  framed  the  soul 
for  expansion,  has  placed  it  in  the  midst 
of  an  unlimited  universe  to  receive  fresh 
impulses  and  impressions  without  end ; 
and  man,  “dressed  in  a little  brief  au- 
thority,” would  sever  it  from  this  sub- 
lime connection,  and  would  shape  it 
after  his  own  ignorance  or  narrow  views. 
The  effects  are  as  necessary  as  they 
are  mournful.  The  mind,  in  proportion 
as  it  is  cut  off  from  free  communication 
with  nature,  with  revelation,  with  God, 
with  itself,  loses  its  life,  just  as  the  body 
droops  when  debarred  from  the  fresh 
air  and  the  cheering  light  of  heaven. 
Its  vision  is  contracted,  its  energies 
blighted,  its  movement  constrained.  It 
finds  health  only  in  action.  It  is  perfect 
only  in  as  far  as  it  is  self-formed.  Let 
us  not  be  misapprehended.  We  mean 
not  to  deny  that  the  mind  needs  the  aid 
of  human  instruction  from  the  cradle  to 
the  grave  ; but  this  it  needs  as  a material 
to  act  upon,  and  not  as  a lesson  to  be 
mechanically  learned.  The  great  aim 
of  instruction  should  be  to  give  the 
mind  the  consciousness  and  free  use  of 
its  own  powers.  The  less  of  instruction 
36 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


562 

the  better,  if  it  only  propose  to  engender 
a slavish  dependence  and  an  inert  faith. 
The  soul  often  owes  its  best  acquisitions 
to  itself.  They  come  to  it  from  glimpses 
of  its  own  nature  which  it  cannot  trace 
to  human  teaching,  from  the  whispers 
of  a divine  voice,  from  stirrings  and 
aspirations  of  its  own  unfolding  and 
unbounded  energies,  from  the  indistinct 
dawning  of  new  truths,  or  from  the  sud- 
den brightening  of  old  truths,  which,  if 
left  to  act  freely,  work  a mighty  revo- 
lution within.  Against  these  inspira- 
tions, if  so  they  may  be  called,  which 
belong  to  the  individual,  and  which  are 
perpetually  bursting  the  limits  of  re- 
ceived ideas,  the  spirit  of  religious 
tyranny  wages  its  chief  and  most  un- 
relenting war.  It  dreads  nothing  so 
much  as  a mind  in  which  these  diviner 
motions  manifest  themselves  in  power. 
That  it  should  have  so  succeeded  in 
checking  and  stifling  them,  is  one  of  the 
very  mournful  reflections  forced  on  us 
by  human  history.  We  have  here  one 
great  cause  of  the  sterility  of  theologi- 
cal literature.  Religion,  by  being  im- 
posed as  a yoke,  has  subdued  the 
faculties  which  it  was  meant  to  quicken  ; 
and,  what  is  most  worthy  of  remark, 
like  all  other  yokes,  it  has  often  excited 
a mad  resistance,  which  has  sought 
compensation  for  past  restraints  in  licen- 
tiousness, and  disgraced  the  holy  name 
of  freedom  by  attaching  it  to  impiety 
and  shameless  excess. 

A great  subject  has  led  us  far  from 
our  author.  We  return  to  him  with 
pleasure.  We  welcome,  as  we  have 
said,  a book  from  Fenelon;  and  we  do 
so  because,  if  not  a profound,  he  was 
an  original  thinker,  and  because,  though 
a Catholic,  he  was  essentially  free.  He 
wrote  from  his  own  mind,  and  seldom 
has  a purer  mind  tabernacled  in  flesh. 
He  professed  to  believe  in  an  infallible 
church ; but  he  listened  habitually  to 
the  voice  of  God  within  him,  and  speaks 
of  this  in  language  so  strong  as  to  have 
given  the  Quakers  some  plea  for  rank- 
ing him  among  themselves.  So  little 
did  he  confine  himself  to  established 
notions,  that  he  drew  upon  himself  the 
censures  of  his  church,  and,  like  some 
other  Christians  whom  we  could  name, 
has  even  been  charged  with  a refined 
Deism.  His  works  have  the  great  charm 
of  coming  fresh  from  the  soul.  He  wrote 
from  experience,  and  hence,  though  he 


often  speaks  a language  which  must 
seem  almost  a foreign  one  to  men  of 
the  world,  yet  he  always  speaks  in  a 
tone  of  reality.  That  he  has  excesses 
we  mean  not  to  deny  ; but  they  are  of 
a kind  which  we  regard  with  more  than 
indulgence,  almost  with  admiration. 
Common  fanaticism  we  cannot  away 
with  ; for  it  is  essentially  vulgar,  the 
working  of  animal  passions,  sometimes 
of  sexual  love,  and  oftener  of  earthly 
ambition.  But  when  a pure  mind  errs, 
by  aspiring  after  a disinterestedness  and 
purity  not  granted  to  our  present  infant 
state,  we  almost  reverence  its  errors  ; 
and,  still  more,  we  recognize  in  them 
an  essential  truth.  They  only  antici- 
pate and  claim  too  speedily  the  good 
for  which  man  was  made.  They  are 
the  misapprehensions  of  the  inspired 
prophet,  who  hopes  to  see  in  his  own 
day  what  he  was  appointed  to  promise 
to  remoter  ages. 

Fenelon  saw  far  into  the  human  heart, 
and  especially  into  the  lurkings  of  self- 
love.  He  looked  with  a piercing  eye 
through  the  disguises  of  sin.  But  he 
knew  sin,  not,  as  most  men  do,  by  bitter 
experience  of  its  power,  so  much  as  by 
his  knowledge  and  experience  of  virtue. 
Deformity  was  revealed  to  him  by  his 
refined  perceptions  and  intense  love  of 
moral  beauty.  The  light,  which  he 
carried  with  him  into  the  dark  corners 
of  the  human  heart,  and  by  which  he 
laid  open  its  most  hidden  guilt,  was 
that  of  celestial  goodness.  Hence, 
though  the  severest  of  censors,  he  is 
the  most  pitying.  Not  a tone  of  as- 
perity escapes  him.  He  looks  on  human 
error  with  an  angel's  tenderness,  with 
tears  which  an  angel  might  shed,  and 
thus  reconciles  and  binds  us  to  our  race, 
at  the  very  moment  of  revealing  its 
corruptions. 

That  Fenelon’s  views  of  human  nature 
were  dark,  too  dark,  we  learn  from  al- 
most every  page  of  his  writings  ; and  at 
this  we  cannot  wonder.  He  was  early 
thrown  into  the  very  court  from  which 
Rochefoucauld  drew  his  celebrated  Max- 
ims, perhaps  the  spot  above  all  others 
on  the  face  of  the  earth  distinguished 
and  disgraced  by  selfishness,  hypocrisy, 
and  intrigue.  When  we  think  of  Fdne- 
lon  in  the  palace  of  Louis  the  Four- 
teenth. it  reminds  us  of  a seraph  sent 
on  a divine  commission  into  the  abodes 
of  the  lost ; and  when  we  recollect  that 


WRITINGS  OF  FENELON . 


in  that  atmosphere  he  composed  his 
“ Telemachus,”  we  doubt  whether  the 
records  of  the  world  furnish  stronger 
evidence  of  the  power  of  a divine  virtue 
to  turn  temptation  into  glory  and  strength, 
and  to  make  even  crowned  and  prosper- 
ous vice  a means  of  triumph  and  exal- 
tation. Another  cause  of  Fenelon’s 
unjust  views  of  human  life  may  be  found, 
we  think,  in  his  profession.  All  profes- 
sions tend  to  narrow  and  obscure  the 
intellect,  and  none  more  than  that  of  a 
priest.  We  know  not,  indeed,  a nobler 
or  more  useful  function  than  that  of  the 
Christian  minister ; but  superstitious 
notions  and  an  imagined  sanctity  have 
severed  him  more  or  less  from  his  race, 
especially  in  a church  which  dooms  him 
to  celibacy,  and  from  this  unnatural, 
insulated  position  it  is  impossible  for 
him  to  judge  justly  of  his  kind.  We 
think,  too,  that  Fenelon  was  led  astray 
by  a very  common  error  of  exalted 
minds.  He  applied  too  rigorous  and 
unvarying  a standard  to  the  multitude. 
He  leaned  to  the  error  of  expecting  the 
strength  of  manhood  in  the  child,  the 
harvest  in  seed-time.  On  this  subject, 
above  all  others,  we  feel  that  we  should 
speak  cautiously.  We  know  that  there 
is  a lenity  towards  human  deficiencies 
full  of  danger  ; but  there  is,  too,  a sever- 
ity far  more  common,  and  perhaps  more 
ruinous.  Human  nature,  as  ordinarily 
exhibited,  merits  rebuke  ; but  whoever 
considers  the  sore  trials,  the  thick  dark- 
ness, the  impetuous  will,  the  strong  pas- 
sions, under  which  man  commences  his 
moral  probation,  will  temper  rebuke  with 
pity  and  hope.  There  is  a wisdom,  per- 
haps the  rarest  and  sublimest  attainment 
of  the  intellect,  which  is  at  once  liberal 
and  severe,  indulgent  and  unbending; 
which  makes  merciful  and  equitable 
allowance  for  the  innocent  infirmities, 
the  necessary  errors,  the  obstructions 
and  temptations  of  human  beings,  and 
at  the  same  time  asserts  the  majesty  of 
virtue,  strengthens  the  sense  of  account- 
ableness, binds  on  us  self-denial,  and 
points  upward,  with  a never-ceasing 
importunity,  to  moral  perfection,  as  the 
great  aim  and  only  happiness  of  the 
human  soul.  We  will  not  say  that  Fdne- 
lon  was  a stranger  to  this  broad,  com- 
prehensive wisdom,  but  we  cannot  name 
it  as  his  chief  distinction. 

We  have  said  that  we  welcome  the 
book  under  consideration  because  it 


563 

came  from  so  pure  and  gifted  a mind. 
We  add,  that  we  do  not  welcome  it  the 
less  for  coming  from  a Catholic.  Per- 
haps we  prize  it  the  more  ; for  we  wish 
that  Protestantism  may  grow  wiser  and 
more  tolerant,  and  we  know  not  a better 
teacher  of  these  lessons  than  the  char- 
acter of  Fenelon.  Such  a man  is 
enough  to  place  within  the  pale  of  our 
charity  the  whole  body  to  which  he 
belonged.  His  virtue  is  broad  enough 
to  shield  his  whole  church  from  that  un- 
measured, undistinguishing  reprobation 
with  which  Protestant  zeal  has  too  often 
assailed  it.  Whoever  remembers  that 
the  Catholic  communion  numbers  in  its 
ranks  more  than  one  hundred  millions  of 
souls,  probably  more  than  all  other 
Christian  churches  together,  must  shud- 
der at  the  sentence  of  proscription 
which  has  sometimes  been  passed  on 
this  immense  portion  of  human  beings. 
It  is  time  that  greater  justice  were  done 
to  this  ancient  and  wide-spread  commu- 
nity. The  Catholic  Church  has  produced 
some  of  the  greatest  and  best  men  that 
ever  lived,  and  this  is  proof  enough  of 
its  possessing  all  the  means  of  salvation. 
Who  that  hears  the  tone  of  contempt  in 
which  it  is  sometimes  named,  would  sus- 
pect that  Charlemagne,  Alfred,  Raphael, 
Michael  Angelo,  Tasso,  Bossuet,  Pascal, 
Des  Cartes,  were  Catholics  ? Some  of 
the  greatest  names  in  arts  and  arms,  on 
the  throne  and  in  the  pulpit,  were  worn 
by  Catholics.  To  come  down  to  our 
own  times,  has  not  the  metropolis  of 
New  England  witnessed  a sublime  exam- 
ple of  Christian  virtue  in  a Catholic 
bishop  ? Who  among  our  religious 
teachers  would  solicit  a comparison 
between  himself  and  the  devoted  Chev- 
erus  ? This  good  man,  whose  virtues 
and  talents  have  now  raised  him  to  high 
dignities  in  church  and  state,  who  now 
wears  in  his  own  country  the  joint  honors 
of  an  archbishop  and  a peer  lived  in  the 
midst  of  us,  devoting  his  days  and  nights, 
and  his  whole  heart,  to  the  service  of  a 
poor  and  uneducated  congregation.  We 
saw  him  declining  in  a great  degree  the 
society  of  the  cultivated  and  refined, 
that  he  might  be  the  friend  of  the  igno- 
rant and  friendless  ; leaving  the  circles 
of  polished  life,  which  he  would  have 
graced,  for  the  meanest  hovels  ; bearing, 
with  a father’s  sympathy,  the  burdens 
and  sorrows  of  his  large  spiritual  family  ; 
charging  himself  alike  with  their  tern- 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


564 

poral  and  spiritual  concerns  ; and  never 
discovering,  by  the  faintest  indication, 
that  he  felt  his  fine  mind  degraded  by 
his  seemingly  humble  office.  This  good 
man,  bent  on  his  errands  of  mercy,  was 
seen  in  our  streets  under  the  most  burn- 
ing sun  of  summer,  and  the  fiercest 
storms  of  winter,  as  if  armed  against  the 
elements  by  the  power  of  charity.  He 
has  left  us,  but  not  to  be  forgotten.  He 
enjoys  among  us  what  to  such  a man 
must  be  dearer  than  fame.  His  name  is 
cherished  where  the  great  of  this  world 
are  unknown.  It  is  pronounced  with 
blessings,  with  grateful  tears,  with  sighs 
for  his  return,  in  many  an  abode  of  sor- 
row and  want ; and  how  can  we  shut  our 
hearts  against  this  proof  of  the  power  of 
the  Catholic  religion  to  form  good  and 
great  men  ? 

These  remarks,  we  trust,  will  not  be 
perverted.  None  will  suspect  us  of 
Catholic  partialities.  Of  all  Protestants, 
we  have  fewest  sympathies  with  the 
Romish  Church.  We  go  farther  than 
our  brethren  in  rejecting  her  mysteries, 
those  monuments  of  human  weakness  ; 
and  as  to  her  claims  to  infallibility,  we 
repel  them  with  an  indignation  not  to  be 
understood  by  sects  which,  calling  them- 
selves Protestant,  renounce  in  words, 
but  assert  in  practice,  a Popish  immu- 
nity from  error,  a Popish  control  over 
the  faith  of  their  brethren.  To  us,  the 
spiritual  tyranny  of  Popery  is  as  detest- 
able as  oriental  despotism.  When  we 
look  back  on  the  history  of  Papal  Rome, 
we  see  her,  in  the  days  of  her  power, 
stained  with  the  blood  of  martyrs,  gorged 
with  rapine,  drunk  with  luxury  and 
crime.  But  what  then  ? Is  it  righteous 
to  involve  a whole  church  in  guilt  which, 
after  all,  belongs  to  a powerful  few  ? Is 
it  righteous  to  forget  that  Protestantism, 
too,  has  blood  on  her  robes  ? Is  it 
righteous  to  forget  that  time,  the  great- 
est of  reformers,  has  exerted  his  silent, 
purifying  power  on  the  Catholic  as  well 
as  on  ourselves  ? Shall  we  refuse  to 
see,  and  to  own  with  joy,  that  Chris- 
tianity, even  under  Papal  corruptions, 
puts  forth  a divine  power  ? that  men 
cannot  wholly  spoil  it  of  its  celestial 
efficacy  ? that,  even  under  its  most  dis- 
astrous eclipse,  it  still  sheds  beams  to 
guide  the  soul  to  heaven  ? that  there 
exists  in  human  nature,  when  loyal  to 
conscience,  a power  to  neutralize  error, 
and  to  select  and  incorporate  with  itself 


what  is  pure  and  ennobling  in  the  most 
incongruous  system  ? Shall  we  shut 
our  eyes  on  the  fact  that  among  the 
clergy  of  the  Romish  Church  have  risen 
up  illustrious  imitators  of  that  magnani- 
mous Apostle  before  whom  Felix  trem- 
bled ; men  who,  in  the  presence  of  nobles 
and  kings,  have  bowed  to  God  alone, 
have  challenged  for  his’  law  uncompro- 
mising homage,  and  rebuked,  in  virtue's 
own  undaunted  tone,  triumphant  guilt  ? 
Shall  we  shut  our  eyes  on  the  fact  that 
from  the  bosom  of  this  corrupt  church 
have  gone  forth  missionaries  to  the  east 
and  the  west,  whose  toils  and  martyrdom 
will  not  be  dimmed  by  comparison  with 
what  is  most  splendid  in  Protestant  self- 
sacrifice  ? We  repeat  it,  not  boastingly, 
but  from  deep  conviction,  that  we  are 
exceeded  by  no  sect  in  earnestness  of 
desire  for  the  subversion  of  the  usurped 
power  of  the  Catholic  Church,  of  its  false 
doctrines,  and  of  its  childish  ceremonies 
so  often  substituted  for  inward  virtue. 
We  believe  that  these  have  wrought,  and 
still  work,  great  evil.  Still  we  see,  and 
delight  to  see,  among  those  who  adhere 
to  them,  the  best  attributes  of  men  and 
Christians.  Still  we  are  accustomed  to 
refresh  our  piety  by  books  which  Catho- 
lics have  written.  Still  we  find  one  of 
our  highest  gratifications  in  those  works 
of  art  in  which  Catholic  genius  has  em- 
bodied its  sublime  and  touching  concep- 
tions of  the  form  and  countenance  of 
Jesus,  has  made  us  awed  witnesses  of  his 
miracles  and  cross,  companions  of  his 
apostles,  and  admirers,  with  a tender 
reverence,  of  the  meek,  celestial  beauty 
of  his  sainted  mother.  With  these  im- 
pressions, and  this  experience,  we  cannot 
but  lift  up  our  voices  against  Protestant 
as  well  as  Papal  intolerance.  We  would 
purify  Protestantism  from  the  worst 
stain  and  crime  of  Rome,  — her  cruel 
bigotry,  her  nefarious  spirit  of  exclusion. 

It  would  give  us  pleasure  to  enlarge 
on  the  character  of  Fenelon,  had  we  not 
proposed  to  ourselves  another  and  still 
more  important  object  in  this  review. 
But,  in  truth,  this  grateful  duty  has  been 
so  faithfully  performed  in  the  Memoir 
added  to  the  Selections,  that  our  readers 
will  have  no  cause  to  complain  of  our 
declining  it.  This  sketch  of  Fenelon 
overflows  with  fervent  yet  discriminating 
admiration,  and  gives  utterance  to  affec- 
tionate reverence  with  a calmness  which 
wins  our  confidence.  It  is  not  easy  to 


WRITINGS  OF  FENELON 


make  extracts  where  the  whole  is  so 
interesting.  But  as  some  of  our  readers 
may  know  Fenelon  only  by  name,  and  as 
we  wish  all  to  know  and  love  him,  we 
insert  a few  passages  : — 

“Fenelon,  by  mixing  with  all  ranks  and 
conditions,  by  associating  with  the  unfortu- 
nate and  the  sorrowful,  by  assisting  the 
weak,  and  by  that  union  of  mildness,  of 
energy,  and  of  benevolence,  which  adapts 
itself  to  every  character,  and  to  every  situ- 
ation, acquired  the  knowledge  of  the  moral 
and  physical  ills  which  afflict  human  nat- 
ure. It  was  by  this  habitual  and  immediate 
communication  with  all  classes  of  society 
that  he  obtained  the  melancholy  conviction 
of  the  miseries  which  distress  the  greater 
part  of  mankind  ; and  to  the  profound  im- 
pression of  this  truth,  through  his  whole 
life,  we  must  ascribe  that  tender  commiser- 
ation for  the  unfortunate  which  he  mani- 
fests in  all  his  writings,  and  which  he  dis- 
played still  more  powerfully  in  all  his 
actions.” — pp.  263,  264. 

“ In  the  course  of  his  walks,  he  wrould 
often  join  the  peasants,  sit  down  with  them 
on  the  grass,  talk  with  them,  and  console 
them.  He  visited  them  in  their  cottages, 
seated  himself  at  table  with  them,  and  par- 
took of  their  humble  meals.  By  such  kind- 
ness and  familiarity,  he  won  their  affections, 
and  gained  access  to  their  minds.  As  they 
loved  him  as  a father  and  friend,  they  de- 
lighted to  listen  to  his  instructions,  and  to 
submit  to  his  guidance.  Long  after  his 
death  the  old  people  who  had  the  happi- 
ness of  seeing  him  on  these  occasions, 
spoke  of  him  with  the  most  tender  rever- 
ence. ‘There,’  they  would  say,  ‘is  the 
chair  on  which  our  good  archbishop  used 
to  sit  in  the  midst  of  us ; we  shall  see  him 
no  more,’  and  then  their  tears  would  flow. 

“The  diocese  of  Cambrai  was  often  the 
theatre  of  war,  and  experienced  the  cruel 
ravages  of  retreating  and  conquering  armies. 
But  an  extraordinary  respect  was  paid  to 
Fenelon  by  the  invaders  of  France.  The 
English,  the  Germans,  and  the  Dutch  ri- 
valled the  inhabitants  of  Cambrai  in  their 
veneration  for  the  archbishop.  All  dis- 
tinctions of  religion  and  sect,  all  feelings 
of  hatred  and  jealousy  that  divided  the 
nations,  seemed  to  disappear  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Fenelon.  Military  escorts  were 
offered  him  for  his  personal  security,  but 
these  he  declined,  and  traversed  the  coun- 
tries desolated  by  war  to  visit  his  flock, 
trusting  in  the  protection  of  God.  In  these 
visits,  his  way  was  marked  by  alms  and 
benefactions.  While  he  was  among  them, 
the  people  seemed  to  enjoy  peace  in  the 
midst  of  war. 

“ He  brought  together  into  his  palace 
the  wretched  inhabitants  of  the  country, 


565 

whom  the  war  had  driven  from  their  homes, 
and  took  care  of  them,  and  fed  them  at  his 
own  table.  Seeing  one  day  that  one  of 
these  peasants  ate  nothing,  he  asked  him 
the  reason  of  his  abstinence.  ‘ Alas  ! my 
lord,’  said  the  poor  man,  ‘in  making  my 
escape  from  my  cottage,  I had  not  time  to 
bring  off  my  cow,  which  was  the  support 
of  my  family.  The  enemy  will  drive  her 
away,  and  I shall  never  find  another  so 
good.’  Fenelon,  availing  himself  of  his 
privilege  of  safe  conduct,  immediately  set 
out,  accompanied  by  a single  servant,  and 
drove  the  cow  back  himself  to  the  peas- 
ant. 

“ ‘This,’  said  Cardinal  Maury,  ‘is  per- 
haps the  finest  act  of  Fenelon’s  life.’  He 
adds,  ‘Alas!  for  the  man  who  reads  it 
without  being  affected.’  Another  anec- 
dote, showing  his  tenderness  to  the  poor, 
is  thus  related  of  him.  A literary  man, 
whose  library  was  destroyed  by  fire,  has 
been  deservedly  admired  for  saying,  ‘ I 
should  have  profited  but  little  by  my  books, 
if  they  had  not  taught  me  how  to  bear  the 
loss  of  them.’  The  remark  of  Fenelon, 
who  lost  his  in  a similar  way,  is  still  more 
simple  and  touching.  ‘ I would  much  rather 
they  were  burned  than  the  cottage  of  a poor 
peasant.’ 

“ The  virtues  of  Fenelon  give  his  history 
the  air  of  romance  ; but  his  name  will  never 
die.  Transports  of  joy  were  heard  at  Cam- 
brai when  his  ashes  were  discovered,  which 
it  was  thought  had  been  scattered  by  the 
tempest  of  the  Revolution ; and  to  this 
moment  the  Flemings  call  him  ‘The  Good 
Archbishop.’” — pp.  274,  275. 

The  Memoir  closes  in  this  touching 
strain  : — 

“ When  we  speak  of  the  death  of  Fenelon, 
we  realize  the  truth  of  what  we  all  acknowl- 
edge, though  few  feel,  that  the  good  man 
never  dies  ; that,  to  use  the  words  of  one 
of  our  eloquent  divines,  ‘death  was  but  a 
circumstance  in  his  being.’  We  may  say, 
as  we  read  his  writings,  that  we  are  con- 
scious of  his  immortality  ; he  is  with  us  ; 
his  spirit  is  around  us  ; it  enters  into  and 
takes  possession  of  our  souls.  He  is  at 
this  time,  as  he  was  when  living  in  his 
diocese,  the  familiar  friend  of  the  poor  and 
the  sorrowful,  the  bold  reprover  of  vice, 
and  the  gentle  guide  of  the  wanderer  ; he 
still  says  to  all,  in  the  words  of  his  divine 
Master,  ‘Come  to  me,  all  ye  that  are  heavy 
laden,  and  I will  give  you  rest.’ 

“ In  the  houses  of  the  unlearned,  where 
the  names  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth  and 
Bossuet  have  never  entered,  except  as  con- 
nected with  Fenelon’s,  where  not  a word  of 
his  native  tongue  would  be  understood,  his 
spirit  has  entered  as  a minister  of  love  and 
wisdom,  and  a well-worn  translation  of  his 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


566 

‘ Reflections,’  with  a short  memoir  of  his 
life,  is  laid  upon  the  precious  word  of  God. 
What  has  thus  immortalized  Fenelon  ? For 
what  is  he  thus  cherished  in  our  hearts  ? 
Is  it  his  learning  ? his  celebrity  ? his  elo- 
quence ? No.  It  is  the  spirit  of  Christian 
love,  the  spirit  of  the  Saviour  of  mankind, 
that  is  poured  forth  from  all  his  writings  ; 
of  that  love  that  conquers  self,  that  binds 
us  to  our  neighbor,  that  raises  us  to  God. 
This  is  Fenelon’s  power,  it  is  this  that 
touches  our  souls.  We  feel  that  he  has 
entered  into  the  full  meaning  of  that  sub- 
lime passage  in  St.  John,  and  made  it  the 
motto  of  his  life  : ‘ Beloved,  let  us  love  one 
another  ; for  love  is  of  God  ; and  every  one 
that  loveth,  is  born  of  God,  and  knoweth 
God.  He  that  loveth  not,  knoweth  not 
God  ; for  God  is  love.” — //.  282,  283. 

The  translator  has  received  and  will 
receive  the  thanks  of  many  readers  for 
giving  them  an  opportunity  of  holding 
communion  with  the  mind  of  Fenelon. 
Her  selections  are  judicious,  and  she 
has  caught  much  of  that  simplicity 
which  is  the  charm  of  Fdnelon’s  style. 
A want  of  coherence  in  the  thoughts 
may  sometimes  be  observed  ; and  this, 
we  suppose,  is  to  be  ascribed  in  part  to 
the  author,  whose  writings  seem  to  be 
natural  breathings  of  the  soul,  rather 
than  elaborate  works  of  art ; but  still 
more  to  the  translator,  whose  delicate 
task  of  selecting  only  what  would  suit 
and  edify  the  Protestant  mind,  must 
have  compelled  her  to  make  omissions 
and  sudden  transitions,  not  very  favor- 
able to  order  and  connection. 

We  now  come  to  our  principal  object. 
We  propose  to  examine  the  most  dis- 
tinguishing views,  or  system  of  Fene- 
lon. We  say,  his  “ system  ; ” for,  though 
he  seems  to  write  from  immediate  im- 
pulse, his  works  possess  that  unity 
which  belongs  to  the  productions  of  all 
superior  minds.  However  he  may  ap- 
pear to  give  his  thoughts  without  elabo- 
ration or  method,  yet  one  spirit  pervades 
them.  We  hear  everywhere  the  same 
mild  and  penetrating  voice,  and  feel  our- 
selves always  in  the  presence  of  the  same 
strongly  marked  mind.  What,  then,  were 
F^nelon’s  most  characteristic  views  ? 
It  may  be  well  to  observe  that  our  prin- 
cipal aim  in  this  inquiry  is  to  secure  our 
readers  against  what  we  deem  excep- 
tionable in  his  system.  We  believe,  as 
we  have  said,  that  he  is  not  free  from 
excess.  He  is  sometimes  unguarded, 
sometimes  extravagant.  He  needs  to 


be  read  with  caution,  as  do  all  who 
write  from  their  own  deeply  excited 
minds.  He  needs  to  be  received  with 
deductions  and  explanations  ; and  to 
furnish  these  is  our  present  aim.  We 
fear  that  the  very  excellences  of  Fene- 
lon may  shield  his  errors.  Admiration 
prepares  the  mind  for  belief  ; and  the 
moral  and  religious  sensibility  of  the 
reader  may  lay  him  open  to  impressions 
which,  whilst  they  leave  his  purity  un- 
stained, may  engender  causeless  solici- 
tudes, and  repress  a just  and  cheerful 
interest  in  the  ordinary  pleasures  and 
labors  of  life. 

What,  then,  are  Fenelon’s  character- 
istic views  ? We  begin  with  his  views 
of  God,  which  very  much  determine  and 
color  a religious  system  ; and  these  are 
simple  and  affecting.  He  seems  to 
regard  God  but  in  one  light,  to  think 
of  him  but  in  one  character.  God  al- 
ways comes  to  him  as  the  Father,  as  the 
pitying  and  purifying  friend  of  the  soul. 
This  spiritual  relation  of  the  Supreme 
Being  is,  in  the  book  before  us,  his  all- 
comprehending,  all-absorbing  attribute. 
Our  author  constantly  sets  before  us 
God  as  dwelling  in  the  human  mind, 
and  dwelling  there  to  reprove  its  guilt, 
to  speak  to  it  with  a still  voice,  to  kindle 
a celestial  ray  in  its  darkness,  to  distil 
upon  it  his  grace,  to  call  forth  its  love 
towards  himself,  and  to  bow  it,  by  a 
gentle,  rational  sway,  to  chosen,  cheer- 
ful, entire  subjection  to  his  pure  and 
righteous  will.  Fenelon  had  fully  re- 
ceived the  Christian  doctrine  of  God. 
He  believed  in  him  as  the  Universal 
Father,  as  loving  every  soul,  loving  the 
guiltiest  soul,  and  striving  with  it  to 
reclaim  it  to  himself.  This  interest  of 
the  Creator  in  the  lost  and  darkened 
mind  is  the  thought  which  predominates 
in  the  writings  of  this  excellent  man. 
God’s  care  of  the  outward  world,  of 
men’s  outward  interests,  of  the  concerns 
of  nations,  seems  scarcely  to  enter  his 
mind.  It  is  of  God,  present  to  the  soul, 
as  a reprover,  enlightener,  purifier,  and 
guide  to  perfection,  that  he  loves  to 
speak,  and  he  speaks  with  a depth  of 
conviction  and  tenderness  to  which 
one  would  think  every  reader  must  re- 
spond. ' 

We  have  seen  the  predominant  view 
of  the  Supreme  Being  in  the  writings 
which  we  are  examining.  He  is  a 
spiritual  Father,  seeking  the  perfection 


WRITINGS  OF  FENELON. 


of  every  soul  which  he  has  made. 
Another  great  question,  carrying  us 
still  more  deeply  into  Fenelon’s  mind, 
now  presents  itself.  In  what  did  he 
suppose  this  perfection  of  the  human 
soul  to  consist  ? His  views  on  this 
subject  may  be  expressed  in  two  words, 
— self-crucifixion  and  love  to  God. 
Through  these  human  perfection  is  to 
be  sought.  In  these,  and  especially  in 
the  last,  it  consists.  According  to  Fene- 
lon,  we  are  placed  between  two  mighty 
attractions,  self  and  God  ; and  the  only 
important  question  for  every  human 
being  is,  to  which  of  these  hostile 
powers  he  will  determine  or  surrender 
his  mind  ? His  phraseology  on  this 
subject  is  various,  and  indeed  his  writ- 
ings are,  in  a great  measure,  expansions 
of  this  single  view.  He  lays  open  the 
perpetual  collisions  between  the  prin- 
ciple of  selfishness  and  the  principle  of 
religious  love,  and  calls  us  with  his 
whole  strength  of  persuasion  to  sacri- 
fice the  first,  to  cherish  and  enthrone 
the  last.  This  is  his  great  aim.  This 
he  urges  in  a diversity  of  forms,  some 
of  which  may  be  repeated,  as  helps  to 
a better  apprehension  of  his  doctrine. 
Thus  he  calls  us  “ to  die  to  ourselves 
and  to  live  to  God  ; ” “ to  renounce  our 
own  wills  and  to  choose  the  will  of  God 
as  our  only  rule  ; ” “ to  renounce  our 
own  glory  and  to  seek  the  glory  of 
God  ; ” “to  distrust  ourselves  and  to 
put  our  whole  trust  in  God  ; ” “ to  forget 
ourselves  and  to  give  our  thoughts  to 
God  ; ” “to  renounce  ease  and  to  labor 
for  God  ; ” “to  sacrifice  pleasure  and  to 
suffer  for  God  ; ” “to  silence  our  own 
passions  and  to  listen  to  the  voice  of 
God ; ” “to  crucify  self-love  and  to  sub- 
stitute for  it  the  love  of  God  ; ” “ to  sur- 
render our  plans  and  to  leave  all  things 
to  God.”  These  passages  give  us  Fene- 
lon’s  theory  of  perfection.  Self,  as  he 
teaches,  is  the  great  barrier  between  the 
soul  and  its  Maker,  and  self  is  to  vanish 
more  and  more  from  our  thoughts,  de- 
sires, hopes,  trust,  and  complacency, 
and  God  to  become  all  in  all.  Our  own 
interests,  pleasures,  plans,  advancement, 
all  are  to  be  swallowed  up  in  an  entire  and 
unreserved  devotion  to  the  will  of  God. 

Such  is  the  doctrine  of  Fdnelon,  and 
it  is  essentially  just.  Self-crucifixion  or 
self-sacrifice,  and  love  to  God,  including 
love  to  his  creatures,  are  the  chief  ele- 
ments of  moral  perfection.  The  pure 


567 

and  noble  mind  of  Fdnelon  recognized 
as  by  instinct,  and  separated  from  all 
inferior  adjuncts,  these  essential  con- 
stituents or  attributes  of  Christian 
virtue  ; and  there  are  passages  in  which 
he  sets  before  us  their  deep  and  silent 
workings  in  the  heart,  and  their  beauti- 
ful manifestations  in  the  life,  with  & 
delicacy,  power,  and  truth  which  can 
hardly  be  surpassed. 

Still  we  think  that  Fenelon’s  exposi- 
tion of  his  views  is  open  to  objection. 
We  think  that  his  phraseology,  notwith- 
standing its  apparent  simplicity,  is  often 
obscure  ; that  he  has  not  set  the  due 
bounds  to  his  doctrines  ; and  especially 
that  refined  minds,  thirsting  for  perfec- 
tion, may  be  led  astray  by  his  peculiar 
mode  of  exhibiting  it.  Our  objections 
we  will  now  state  more  fully. 

We  have  said  that  self-crucifixion 
and  love  to  God  are,  in  Fdnelon’s  sys- 
tem, the  two  chief  constituents  or  ele- 
ments of  virtue  and  perfection.  To 
these  we  will  give  separate  attention, 
although,  in  truth,  they  often  coalesce, 
and  always  imply  one  another.  We 
begin  with  self-crucifixion,  or  what  is 
often  called  self-sacrifice,  and  on  this 
we  chiefly  differ  from  the  expositions  of 
our  author.  Perhaps  the  word  self  oc- 
curs more  frequently  than  any  other  in 
Fenelon’s  writings,  and  he  is  particularly 
inclined  to  place  it  in  contrast  with  and 
in  opposition  to  God.  According  to  his 
common  teaching,  God  and  self  are  hos- 
tile influences,  having  nothing  in  com- 
mon, — the  one,  the  concentration  of  all 
evil,  the  other  of  all  good.  Self  is  the  prin- 
ciple and  the  seat  of  all  guilt  and  misery. 
He  is  never  weary  of  pouring  reproach 
on  self,  and,  generally  speaking,  sets  no 
limits  to  the  duty  of  putting  it  to  a pain- 
ful death.  Now,  language  like  this  has 
led  men  to  very  injurious  modes  of  re- 
garding themselves  and  their  own  nature, 
and  made  them  forgetful  of  what  they 
owe  to  themselves.  It  has  thrown  a 
cloud  over  man’s  condition  and  pros- 
pects. It  has  led  to  self-contempt,  a 
vice  as  pernicious  as  pride.  * A man, 
when  told  perpetually  to  crucify  himself 
is  apt  to  include  under  this  word  his 
whole  nature,  and  we  fear  that,  under 
this  teaching,  our  nature  is  repressed, 
its  growth  stinted,  its  free  movements 
chained,  and  of  course  its  beauty,  grace, 
and  power  impaired.  We  mean  not  to 
charge  on  Fdnelon  the  error  of  which 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


568 

we  have  spoken,  or  to  hold  him  respon- 
sible for  its  effects.  But  we  do  think 
that  it  finds  shelter  under  his  phrase- 
ology, and  we  deem  it  so  great,  so  per- 
nicious, as  to  need  a faithful  exposition. 
Men  err  in  nothing  more  than  in  dispar- 
aging  and  wronging  their  own  nature. 
None  are  just  to  themselves.  The  truth 
on  this  great  subject  is  indeed  so  ob- 
scured, that  it  may  startle  as  a paradox. 
A human  being,  justly  viewed,  instead  of 
being  bound  to  general  self-crucifixion, 
cannot  reverence  and  cherish  himself 
too  much.  This  position,  we  know,  is 
strong.  But  strong  language  is  needed 
to  encounter  strong  delusion.  We  would 
teach  that  great  limitations  must  be  set 
to  the  duty  of  renouncing  or  denying 
ourselves,  and  that  no  self-crucifixion  is 
virtuous  but  that  which  concurs  with,  and 
promotes,  self-respect.  We  will  unfold 
our  meaning,  beginning  with  positions 
which  we  presume  will  be  controverted 
by  none. 

If  we  first  regard  man’s  highest  nat- 
ure, we  shall  see  at  once  that  to  crucify 
or  renounce  this,  so  far  from  being  a 
duty,  would  be  a crime.  The  mind, 
which  is  our  chief  distinction,  can  never 
be  spoken  or  thought  of  too  reverently. 
It  is  God’s  highest  work,  his  mirror  and 
representative.  Its  superiority  to  the* 
outward  universe  is  mournfully  over- 
looked, and  is  yet  most  true.  This  pre- 
eminence we  ascribe  to  the  mind,  not 
merely  because  it  can  comprehend  the 
universe  which  cannot  comprehend  it- 
self, but  for  still  higher  reasons.  We 
believe  that  the  human  mind  is  akin  to 
that  intellectual  energy  which  gave  birth 
to  nature,  and  consequently  that  it  con- 
tains within  itself  the  seminal  and  pro- 
lific principles  from  which  nature  sprung. 
We  believe,  too,  that  the  highest  purpose 
of  the  universe  is  to  furnish  materials, 
scope,  and  excitements  to  the  mind,  in 
the  work  of  assimilating  itself  to  the 
Infinite  Spirit ; that  is,  to  minister  to  a 
progress  within  us  which  nothing  with- 
out us  can  rival.  So  transcendent  is  the 
mind.  No  praise  can  equal  God’s  good- 
ness in  creating  us  after  his  own  spiritual 
likeness.  No  imagination  can  conceive 
of  the  greatness  of  the  gift  of  a rational 
and  moral  existence.  Far  from  cruci- 
fying this,  to  unfold  it  must  ever  be  the 
chief  duty  and  end  of  our  being,  and 
the  noblest  tribute  we  can  render  to  its 
Author. 


We  have  spoken  of  the  mind,  that 
highest  part  of  ourselves,  and  of  the 
guilt  we  should  incur  by  crucifying  or 
renouncing  it.  But  the  duty  of  self- 
crucifixion requires  still  greater  limita- 
tions. Taking  human  nature  as  con- 
sisting of  a body  as  well  as  mind,  as 
including  animal  desire,  as  framed  to 
receive  pleasure  through  the  eye  and 
ear  and  all  the  organs  of  sense,  in  this 
larger  view,  we  cannot  give  it  up  to  the 
immolation  which  is  sometimes  urged. 
We  see  in  the  mixed  constitution  of  man 
a beautiful  whole.  We  see  in  the  lowest 
as  well  as  highest  capacity  an  important 
use ; and  in  every  sense  an  inlet  of 
pleasure  not  to  be  disdained.  Still 
more,  we  believe  that  he  in  whom  the 
physical  nature  is  unfolded  most  entirely 
and  harmoniously,  who  unites  to  great- 
est strength  of  limbs  the  greatest  acute- 
ness of  the  senses,  may,  if  he  will,  derive 
important  aids  to  the  intellect  and  moral 
powers  from  these  felicities  of  his  out- 
ward frame.  We  believe,  too,  that,  by 
a beautiful  reaction,  the  mind,  in  pro- 
portion to  its  culture  and  moral  eleva- 
tion, gives  vigor  and  grace  to  the  body, 
and  enlarges  its  sphere  of  action  and  en- 
joyment. Thus,  human  nature,  viewed 
as  a whole,  as  a union  of  the  worlds  of 
matter  and  mind,  is  a work  worthy  of  a 
divine  author,  and  its  universal  develop- 
ment, not  its  general  crucifixion,  is  the 
lesson  of  wisdom  and  virtue. 

We  go  still  farther.  The  desire  of 
our  own  individual  interest,  pleasure, 
good,  the  principle  which  is  ordinarily 
denominated  self-love  or  self-regard,  is 
not  to  be  warred  against  and  destroyed. 
The  tendency  of  this  to  excess  is  indeed 
our  chief  moral  danger.  Self-partiality, 
in  some  form  or  other,  enters  into  and 
constitutes  chiefly,  if  not  wholly,  every 
sin.  But  excess  is  not  essential  to  self- 
regard,  and  this  principle  of  our  nature 
is  the  last  which  could  be  spared.  Noth- 
ing is  plainer  than  that  to  every  being 
his  own  welfare  is  more  specially  com- 
mitted than  that  of  any  other,  and  that 
a special  sensibility  to  it  is  imperiously 
demanded  by  his  present  state.  He 
alone  knows  his  own  wants  and  perils, 
and  the  hourly,  perpetual  claims  of  his 
particular  lot ; and  were  he  to  discard 
the  care  of  himself  for  a day,  he  would 
inevitably  perish.  It  is  a remark  of 
great  importance,  that  the  moral  danger 
to  which  we  are  exposed  by  self-love, 


WRITINGS  OF  FENELON 


arises  from  the  very  indispensableness 
of  this  principle,  from  the  necessity  of 
its  perpetual  exercise ; for,  according 
to  a known  law  of  the  mind,  every  pas- 
sion, unless  carefully  restrained,  gains 
strength  by  frequency  of  excitement  and 
action.  The  tendency  of  self-love  to 
excess  results  from  its  very  importance, 
or  from  the  need  in  which  we  stand  of 
its  unceasing  agency,  and  is  therefore 
no  reason  for  its  extermination,  and  no 
reproach  on  human  nature.  This  ten- 
dency, however,  does  exist.  It  is  strong. 
It  is  fearful.  It  is  our  chief  peril.  It 
is  the  precipice,  on  the  edge  of  which 
we  always  tread.  It  is  the  great  ap- 
pointed trial  of  our  moral  nature.  To 
this  tendency,  unresisted,  tamely  obeyed, 
we  owe  the  chief  guilt  and  misery  of  the 
present  state,  the  extinction  of  charity, 
a moral  death  more  terrible  than  all  the 
calamities  of  life.  This  truth  Fenelon 
felt  and  taught  as  few  have  done,  and  in 
his  powerful  warnings  against  this  peril 
the  chief  value  of  his  writings  lies.  He 
treats  with  admirable  acuteness  the 
windings  of  self-partiality,  shows  how 
it  mixes  with  the  best  motives,  and  how 
it  feeds  upon,  and  so  consumes,  our  very 
virtues.  All  this  is  true.  Still,  self- 
love  is  an  essential  part  of  our  nature, 
and  must  not  and  cannot  be  renounced. 

The  strong  tendency  of  this  principle 
to  excess,  of  which  we  have  now  spoken, 
explains  the  strong  language  in  which 
Fenelon  and  others  have  pointed  out 
our  danger  from  this  part  of  our  con- 
stitution. But  it  has  also  given  rise  to 
exaggerated  views  and  modes  of  expres- 
sion, which  have  contributed,  perhaps, 
as  much  as  any  cause,  to  the  universal 
want  of  a just  self-respect.  Self-love, 
from  its  proneness  to  excess  and  its 
constant  movements,  has  naturally  been 
the  object  of  greater  attention  than  any 
other  principle  of  action  ; and  men,  re- 
garding it  not  so  much  in  its  ordinary 
operations  as  in  its  encroachments  and 
its  triumphs  over  other  sentiments,  have 
come  to  consider  it  as  the  chief  con- 
stituent of  human  nature.  Philosophers, 
“ falsely  so  called,”  have  labored  to  re- 
solve into  it  all  our  affections,  to  make 
it  the  sole  spring  of  life,  so  that  the 
whole  mind,  according  to  their  doctrine, 
may  be  considered  as  one  energy  of 
self-love.  If  to  these  remarks  we  add 
that  this  principle,  as  its  name  imports, 
has  self  or  the  individual  for  its  object, 


569 

we  have  the  explanation  of  a very  im- 
portant fact  in  the  present  discussion. 
We  learn  how  it  is  that  self-love  has 
come  to  be  called  by  the  name  of  self 
as  if  it  constituted  the  whole  individual, 
and  to  be  considered  as  entering  into 
and  forming  human  nature  as  no  other 
principle  does.  A man’s  self-love,  espe- 
cially when  unrestrained,  is  thus  thought 
to  be  and  is  spoken  of  as  himself ; and 
hence  the  duty  of  crucifying  or  renounc- 
ing himself  has  naturally  been  urged  by 
Fenelon,  and  a host  of  writers,  in  the 
broadest  and  most  unqualified  terms. 

Now,  it  is  not  true  that  self-love  is 
our  only  principle,  or  that  it  constitutes 
ourselves  any  more  than  other  princi- 
ples, and  the  wrong  done  to  our  nature 
by  such  modes  of  speech  needs  to  be 
resisted.  Our  nature  has  other  ele- 
ments or  constituents,  and  vastly  higher 
ones,  to  which  self-love  was  meant  to 
minister,  and  which  are  at  war  with  its 
excesses.  For  example,  we  have  rea- 
son, or  intellectual  energy,  given  us  for 
the  pursuit  and  acquisition  of  truth ; 
and  this  is  essentially  a disinterested 
principle  ; for  truth,  which  is  its  object, 
is  of  a universal,  impartial  nature.  The 
great  province  of  the  intellectual  faculty 
is  to  acquaint  the  individual  with  the 
laws  and  order  of  the  divine  system,  — 
a system  which  spreads  infinitely  beyond 
himself,  of  which  he  forms  a very  small 
part,  which  embraces  innumerable  be- 
ings equally  favored  by  God,  and  which 
proposes,  as  its  sublime  and  beneficent 
end,  the  ever-growing  good  of  the  whole. 
Again,  human  nature  has  a variety  of 
affections,  corresponding  to  our  domes- 
tic and  most  common  relations  ; affec- 
tions which  in  multitudes  overpower 
self-love,  which  make  others  the  chief 
objects  of  our  care,  which  nerve  the  arm 
for  ever-recurring  toil  by  day,  and 
strengthen  the  wearied  frame  to  forego 
the  slumbers  of  night.  Then  there 
belongs  to  every  man  the  general  senti- 
ment of  humanity,  which  responds  to 
all  human  sufferings,  to  a stranger’s 
tears  and  groans,  and  often  prompts  to 
great  sacrifices  for  his  relief.  Above 
all,  there  is  the  moral  principle,  that 
which  should  especially  be  called  a 
man’s  self,  for  it  is  clothed  with  a kingly 
authority  over  his  whole  nature,  and 
was  plainly  given  to  bear  sway  over 
every  desire.  This  is  eminently  a dis- 
interested principle.  Its  very  essence 


570 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


is  impartiality.  It  has  no  respect  of 
persons.  It  is  the  principle  of  justice, 
taking  the  rights  of  all  under  its  protec- 
tion, and  frowning  on  the  least  wrong, 
however  largely  it  may  serve  ourselves. 
This  moral  nature  especially  delights 
in,  and  enjoins,  a universal  charity,  and 
makes  the  heart  thrill  with  exulting  joy 
at  the  sight  or  hearing  of  magnanimous 
deeds,  of  perils  fronted,  and  death  en- 
dured, in  the  cause  of  humanity.  Now, 
these  various  principles,  and  especially 
the  last,  are  as  truly  ourselves  as  self- 
love.  When  a man  thinks  of  himself, 
these  ought  to  occur  to  him  as  his  chief 
attributes.  He  can  hardly  injure  him- 
self more  than  by  excluding  these  from 
his  conception  of  himself,  and  by  mak- 
ing self-love  the  great  constituent  of 
his  nature. 

We  have  urged  these  remarks  on  the 
narrow  sense  often  given  to  the  word 
self \ because  we  are  persuaded  that  it 
leads  to  degrading  ideas  of  human  nat- 
ure, and  to  the  pernicious  notion  that 
we  practise  a virtuous  self-sacrifice  in 
holding  it  in  contempt.  We  would  have 
it  understood  that  high  faculties  form 
this  despised  self  as  truly  as  low  de- 
sires ; and  we  would  add  that,  when 
these  are  faithfully  unfolded,  this  self 
takes  rank  among  the  noblest  beings  in 
the  universe.  To  illustrate  this  thought, 
we  ask  the  reader’s  attention  to  an 
important  but  much-neglected  view  of 
virtue  and  religion.  These  are  commonly 
spoken  of  in  an  abstract  manner,  as  if 
they  were  distinct  from  ourselves,  as  if 
they  were  foreign  existences,  which  en- 
ter the  human  mind,  and  dwell  there  in 
a kind  of  separation  from  itself.  Now, 
religion  and  virtue,  wherever  they  exist, 
are  the  mind  itself,  and  nothing  else. 
They  are  human  nature,  and  nothing 
else.  A good  man’s  piety  and  virtue 
are  not  distinct  possessions  ; they  are 
himself,  and  all  the  glory  which  belongs 
to  them  belongs  to  himself.  What  is 
religion  ? Not  a foreign  inhabitant,  not 
something  alien  to  our  nature,  which 
comes  and  takes  up  its  abode  in  the 
soul.  It  is  the  soul  itself,  lifting  itself 
up  to  its  Maker.  What  is  virtue  ? It 
is  the  soul  listening  to,  and  revering, 
and  obeying  a law  which  belongs  to  its 
very  essence,  — the  law  of  duty.  We 
sometimes  smile  when  we  hear  men 
decrying  human  nature,  and  in  thejsame 
breathing  exalting  religion  to  the  skies  ; 


as  if  religion  were  any  thing  more  than 
human  nature  acting  in  obedience  to  its 
chief  law.  Religion  and  virtue,  as  far 
as  we  possess  them,  are  ourselves  ; and 
the  homage  which  is  paid  to  these  attri- 
butes is  in  truth  a tribute  to  the  soul  of 
man.  Self-crucifixion,  then,  should  it 
exclude  self-reverence,  would  be  any 
thing  but  virtue. 

We  would  briefly  suggest  another 
train  of  thought  leading  to  the  same 
result.  Self-crucifixion,  or  self-renun- 
ciation, is  a work,  and  a work  requires 
an  agent.  By  whom,  then,  is  it  accom- 
plished ? We  answer,  by  the  man  him- 
self who  is  the  subject  of  it.  It  is  he 
who  is  summoned  to  the  effort.  He  is 
called  by  a voice  within,  and  by  the  law 
of  God,  to  put  forth  power  over  himself, 
to  rule  his  own  spirit,  to  subdue  every 
passion.  Now,  this  inward  power,  which 
self-crucifixion  supposes  and  demands, 
is  the  most  signal  proof  of  a high  nature 
which  can  be  given.  It  is  the  most 
illustrious  power  which  God  confers. 
It  is  a sovereignty  worth  more  than 
that  over  outward  nature.  It  is  the 
chief  constituent  of  the  noblest  order 
of  virtues  ; and  its  greatness,  of  course, 
demonstrates  the  greatness  of  the  human 
mind,  which  is  perpetually  bound  and 
summoned  to  put  it  forth.  But  this  is 
not  all.  Self-crucifixion  has  an  object, 
an  end  ; and  what  is  it  ? Its  great  end 
is  to  give  liberty  and  energy  to  our  nat- 
ure. Its  aim  is,  not  to  break  down  the 
soul,  but  to  curb  those  lusts  and  pas- 
sions “ which  war  against  the  soul,” 
that  the  moral  and  intellectual  faculties 
may  rise  into  new  life,  and  may  mani- 
fest their  divine  original.  Self- cruci- 
fixion, justly  viewed,  is  the  suppression 
of  -the  passions,  that  the  power  and 
progress  of  thought,  and  conscience, 
and  pure  love  may  be  unrestrained.  It 
is  the  destruction  of  the  brute,  that  the 
angel  may  unfold  itself  within.  It  is 
founded  on  our  godlike  capacities,  and 
the  expansion  and  glory  of  these  is  its 
end.  Thus  the  very  duty,  which  by 
some  is  identified  with  self-contempt, 
implies  and  imposes  self-reverence.  It 
is  the  belief  and  the  choice  of  perfection 
as  our  inheritance  and  our  end. 

We  have  thus  shown  under  what 
great  limitations  self-crucifixion,  or  self- 
renunciation,  is  to  be  understood,  and 
how  remote  it  is  from  self-contempt. 
Our  purpose  was,  after  closing  this  dis- 


WRITINGS  OF  FENELON. 


571 


cussion,  to  give  a rational  interpretation 
of  the  phrases  in  which  Fenelon  has  en- 
joined this  duty.  But  our  limits  allow 
us  just  to  glance  at  one  or  two  of  these. 
Perhaps  he  calls  upon  us  to  do  nothing 
so  often  as  “to  renounce  our  own  wills.” 
This  is  a favorite  phrase  ; and  what  does 
it  imply  ? that  we  are  to  cease  to  will  ? 
Nothing  less.  The  truth  is,  that  the 
human  will  is  never  so  strenuous  as  in 
this  act  which  is  called  the  renunciation 
of  itself,  and  by  nothing  does  it  more 
build  up  its  own  energy.  The  phrase 
means  that  we  should  sacrifice  inclina- 
tion at  the  least  suggestion  of  duty. 
But  who  does  not  know  that  the  mind 
never  puts  forth  such  strength  of  pur- 
pose or  will  as  in  overcoming  desire  ? 
And  what  is  the  highest  end  and  benefit 
of  this  warfare  with  desire  ? It  is  that 
the  mind  may  accumulate  force  of  moral 
purpose,  that  the  will  may  more  sternly, 
unconquerably  resolve  on  the  hardest 
duties  and  sublimest  virtues  to  which 
God  may  call  us. 

Once  more  ; we  are  again  and  again 
exhorted  by  Fenelon  to  “forget  our- 
selves.” And  what  means  this  ? Self- 
oblivion,  literally  understood,  is  an 
impossibility.  We  may  as  easily  an- 
nihilate our  being  as  our  self-conscious- 
ness. Self-remembrance  is  in  truth  a 
duty,  needful  to  the  safety  of  every 
hour,  and  especially  necessary  to  the 
great  work  of  life,  which  is  the  con- 
forming of  ourselves  — of  our  whole 
nature  — to  the  will  of  God.  There 
is  no  danger  of  our  thinking  of  our- 
selves too  much  if  we  will  think  justly ; 
that  is,  if  we  will  view  ourselves  as  what 
we  are,  as  moral  beings,  accountable  to 
a Divine  Lawgiver,  framed  to  delight 
in  and  to  seek  virtue,  framed  for  an 
ever-spreading  philanthropy,  called  to 
sympathize  with  and  to  suffer  for  others, 
and,  through  this  path,  to  ascend  to  our 
Original.  There  are,  however,  senses 
in  which  we  cannot  too  much  forget 
ourselves.  Our  improvements,  of  what- 
ever kind,  our  good  deeds,  our  virtues, 
whenever  they  are  seized  upon  and 
magnified  by  self-love,  or  so  recalled 
as  to  lift  us  above  others,  and  to  stifle 
that  sense  of  deficiency  and  thirst  for 
progress  by  which  alone  we  can  be 
carried  forward,  these  we  cannot  too 
earnestly  drive  from  our  thoughts.  Our 
distinctions,  whether  of  mind,  body,  or 
condition,  when  they  minister  to  vanity 


or  pride,  when  they  weaken  the  con- 
sciousness of  a common  nature  with 
the  human  race,  narrow  our  sympathies, 
or  deprave  our  judgments,  these  we  can- 
not be  too  solicitous  to  forget.  Our 
pleasures,  when  they  are  so  exaggerated 
by  the  imagination  as  to  distract  and 
overwhelm  the  sense  of  duty,  should 
be  forced  to  quit  their  grasp  on  our 
minds.  Such  parts  or  constituents  of 
ourselves  we  are  to  forget.  Our  moral, 
intellectual,- immortal  nature  we  cannot 
remember  too  much.  Under  the  con- 
sciousness of  it  we  are  always  to  live. 

According  to  the  views  now  given, 
self-crucifixion  is  the  subjection  or  sac- 
rifice of  the  inferior  to  the  higher  prin- 
ciples of  our  nature.  It  is  the  practical 
recognition  of  the  supremacy  and  dig- 
nity of  our  rational  and  moral  powers. 
No  duty  involves  a more  reverential 
view  and  care  of  ourselves.  We  have 
been  the  more  solicitous  to  give  this 
view  of  self-renunciation,  because  its 
true  spirit  is  often  mistaken,  because 
it  is  often  so  set  forth  as  to  degrade 
instead  of  exalting  the  mind.  In  truth, 
we  feel  more  and  more  the  importance 
of  bringing  men  to  juster  conceptions 
of  the  inward  gifts  with  which  God  has 
enriched  them.  We  desire  nothing  so 
much  as  to  open  their  eyes  to  their  own 
spiritual  possessions.  We  feel,  indeed, 
the  difficulties  of  the  subject.  We  know 
that  we  have  to  combat  with  a secret 
incredulity  in  many  minds.  We  know 
that  the  clearest  expositions  will  be  im- 
perfectly understood  by  those  who  have 
nothing  in  their  experience  to  interpret 
what  we  utter.  The  mind,  we  are  aware, 
can  be  clearly  revealed  to  itself  only  by 
its  own  progress.  Its  capacities  of 
thought,  of  action,  of  endurance,  of 
triumphing  over  pleasure  and  pain, 
of  identifying  itself  with  other  beings, 
of  seeking  truth  without  prejudice  and 
without  fear,  of  uniting  itself  with  God, 
of  sacrificing  life  to  duty,  — these  im- 
mortal energies  can  only  be  felt  to  be 
real,  and  duly  honored,  by  those  in 
whom  they  are  gradually  and  steadily 
unfolded.  Still  we  do  not  despair  of 
meeting  some  response,  though  faint, 
in  multitudes.  Such  a spirit  as  God 
has  breathed  into  men  cannot  easily 
exist  without  giving  some  signs  of  its 
divine  original.  In  most  men,  there 
are  some  revelations  of  their  own  nat- 
ure, some  beams  of  a light  which  be- 


572 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


longs  not  to  the  earth,  some  sympathies 
with  what  is  good  and  great  in  char- 
acter, some  perceptions  of  beauty,  some 
gushings  from  the  deep  fountain  of  love 
in  the  soul,  some  thirstings  for  a purer 
happiness,  some  experience  of  the  pe- 
culiar joy  of  a disinterested  deed,  some 
dim  conceptions  at  least  of  their  intimate 
relations  to  God.  Most  men  understand 
through  experience  these  testimonies  to 
the  secret  wealth  and  immortal  destina- 
tion of  the  soul ; whilst  in  not  a few 
such  a measure  of  intellectual  and  moral 
power  has  been  called  forth  that  noth- 
ing is  needed  but  a wise  direction  of 
their  thoughts  upon  themselves  to  open 
to  them  the  magnificent  prospect  of 
their  own  spiritual  energy  and  of  the 
unbounded  good  into  which  it  may  be 
unfolded.  For  such  we  have  written. 
We  regard  nothing  so  important  to  a 
human  being  as  the  knowledge  of  his 
own  mind,  and  of  its  intimate  connec- 
tion with  the  infinite  Mind.  Faith  in 
what  man  contains  as  a germ  in  his 
own  breast,  faith  in  what  he  may  be- 
come, in  what  he  was  framed  to  be,  in 
that  state  of  power,  light,  purity,  joy,  to 
which  Jesus  Christ  came  to  exalt  him, 
this  faith  seems  to  us  the  quickening, 
saving,  renovating  principle  which  God 
sent  his  Son  to  revive  in  the  soul,  and 
happy  are  they  who  can  spread  its  em- 
pire in  the  world. 

We  have  finished  our  remarks  on  the 
first  element  of  perfection,  according  to 
Fenelon,  — self-crucifixion.  We  pro- 
ceed to  the  second,  love  to  God.  On 
this  topic  we  intended  to  enlarge,  but 
have  left  ourselves  little  room.  We 
are  happy  to  say  that  we  have  less  to 
object  to  Fenelon’s  expositions  under 
this  head  than  under  the  former.  Of 
the  grandeur  and  the  happiness  of  this 
principle  he  speaks  truly,  worthily,  in 
the  penetrating  language  of  calm  and 
deep  conviction.  In  one  particular  we 
think  him  defective.  He  has  not  stated, 
and  in  truth  very  few  do  state,  with 
sufficient  strength  and  precision,  the 
moral  foundation  and  the  moral  nature 
of  religion.  He  has  not  taught  with 
sufficient  clearness  the  great  truth  that 
love  to  God  is,  from  beginning  to  end, 
the  love  of  virtue.  He  did  not  suffi- 
ciently feel  that  religion  is  the  expan- 
sion and  most  perfect  form  of  the  moral 
faculty  of  man.  He  sometimes  teaches 
that,  to  do  God’s  will,  we  must  renounce 


ourselves  and  silence  reason ; as  if  the 
divine  will  were  not  in  accordance  with 
our  faculties  ; as  if  it  were  something 
dark  and  mysterious  ; as  if,  to  follow 
it,  we  must  quench  the  light  of  our  own 
minds.  Now,  the  truth  is,  that  the  divine 
will  is  in  harmony  with  our  nature.  It 
is  God’s  approbation  and  injunction  of 
that  moral  rectitude,  of  which  the  great 
lines  are  written  on  the  human  soul, 
and  to  which  reason  and  conscience, 
even  when  they  fail  to  secure  obedience, 
do  yet  secretly  and  in  no  small  degree 
respond.  The  human  mind  and  the 
divine  law  are  not  distinct  and  discon- 
nected things.  If  man  were  not  a law 
to  himself,  he  could  not  receive  the 
revelation  of  a law  from  heaven.  Were 
not  the  principle  of  duty  an  essential 
part  of  his  mind,  he  could  be  bound  to 
no  obedience.  Religion  has  its  foun- 
dation in  our  moral  nature,  and  is  in- 
deed its  most  enlarged  and  glorious 
form,  and  we  lament  that  this  great 
truth  does  not  shine  more  brightly  in 
the  pages  of  Fenelon.  We  intended 
to  give  to  it  a particular  discussion  ; but 
as  we  cannot  do  it  justice  in  the  present 
article,  we  prefer  to  dismiss  it,  and  to 
offer  a few  miscellaneous  remarks  on 
that  sentiment  of  love  towards  God  on 
which  our  author  so  perpetually  insists. 

We  are  aw^re  that  to  some  men 
Fenelon  may  seem  an  enthusiast.  Some 
may  doubt  or  deny  the  possibility  of 
that  strong,  deep,  supreme  affection 
towards  the  Supreme  Being  with  which 
Fenelon’s  book  overflows.  We  wonder 
at  this  scepticism.  We  know  no  prop- 
erty of  human  nature  more  undoubted 
than  its  capacity  and  fulness  of  affec- 
tion. We  see  its  love  overflowing  in  its 
domestic  connections,  infriendships,  and 
especially  in  its  interest  in  beings  sepa- 
rated by  oceans  and  the  lapse  of  ages. 
Let  it  not  be  said  that  the  affectioas  to 
which  we  here  refer  have  fellow-beings 
for  their  objects,  and  do  not  therefore 
prove  our  capacity  of  religious  attach- 
ment. The  truth  is,  that  one  spirit  runs 
through  all  our  affections,  as  far  as  they 
are  pure  ; and  love  to  mankind,  directed 
aright,  is  the  germ  and  element  of  love 
to  the  Divinity.  Whatever  is  excellent 
and  venerable  in  human  beings  is  of 
God,  and  in  attaching  ourselves  to  it  we 
are  preparing  our  hearts  for  its  Author. 
Whoever  sees  and  recognizes  the  moral 
dignity  of  impartial  justice  and  disinter- 


WRITINGS  OF  FENELON 


573 


ested  goodness  in  his  fellow-creatures, 
has  begun  to  pay  homage  to  the  attri- 
butes of  God.  The  first  emotion  awak- 
ened in  the  soul  — we  mean  filial  attach- 
ment— is  the  dawning  of  love  to  our 
Father  in  heaven.  Our  deep  interest  in 
the  history  of  good  and  great  men,  our 
veneration  towards  enlightened  legisla- 
tors, our  sympathy  with  philanthropists, 
our  delight  in  mighty  efforts  of  intellect 
consecrated  to  a good  cause,  — all  these 
sentiments  prove  our  capacity  of  an  af- 
fectionate reverence  to  God  ; for  He  is 
at  once  the  inspirer  and  the  model  of 
this  intellectual  and  moral  grandeur  in 
his  creatures.  We  even  think  that  our 
love  of  nature  has  an  affinity  with  the 
love  of  God,  and  was  meant  as  a prepara- 
tion for  it ; for  the  harmonies  of  nature 
are  only  his  wisdom  made  visible  ; the 
heavens,  so  sublime,  are  a revelation  of 
his  immensity  ; and  the  beauty  of  crea- 
tion images  to  us  his  overflowing  love 
and  blessedness.  To  us,  hardly  any 
thing  seems  plainer  than  that  the  soul 
was  made  for  God.  Not  only  its  human 
affections  guide  it  to  him  ; not  only  its 
deeps  wants,  its  dangers,  and  helpless- 
ness, guide  it  to  him  ; there  are  still 
higher  indications  of  the  end  for  which 
it  was  made.  It  has  a capacity  of  more 
than  human  love,  a principle  or  power 
of  adoration,  which  cannot  bound  itself 
to  finite  natures,  which  carries  up  the 
thoughts  above  the  visible  universe,  and 
which,  in  approaching  God,  rises  into  a 
solemn  transport,  a mingled  awe  and  joy, 
prophetic  of  a higher  life  ; and  a brighter 
signature  of  our  end  and  happiness  can- 
not be  conceived. 

We  are  aware  that  it  may  be  objected 
that  many  and  great  obstructions  to  a 
supreme  love  of  God  belong  to  our  very 
constitution  and  condition,  and  that  these 
go  far  to  disprove  the  doctrine  of  our 
being  framed  for  religion  as  our  chief 
good.  But  this  argument  does  not  move 
us.  We  learn  from  every  survey  of 
man’s  nature  and  history  that  he  is 
ordained  to  approach  the  end  of  his 
creation  through  many  and  great  ob- 
structions ; that  effort  is  the  immutable 
law  of  his  being  ; that  a good,  in  propor- 
tion to  its  grandeur,  is  encompassed 
with  hardship.  The  obstructions  to  re- 
ligion are  not  greater  than  those  to 
knowledge ; and  accordingly  history 
gives  as  dark  views  of  human  ignorance 
as  of  human  guilt.  Yet  who,  on  this 


ground,  denies  that  man  was  formed  for 
knowledge,  that  progress  in  truth  is  the 
path  of  nature,  and  that  he  has  impulses 
which  are  to  carry  forward  his  intel- 
lectual powers  without  end  ? It  is  God’s 
pleasure,  in  his  provisions  for  the  mind 
as  well  as  for  the  body,  to  give  us  in  a 
rude  state  the  materials  of  good,  and  to 
leave  us  to  frame  from  them,  amidst 
much  conflict,  a character  of  moral  and 
religious  excellence  ; and  in  this  ordina- 
tion we  see  his  wise  benevolence  ; for 
by  this  we  may  rise  to  the  unutterable 
happiness  of  a free  and  moral  union  with 
our  Creator.  We  ought  to  add,  that  the 
obstructions  to  the  love  of  God  do  not 
lie  wholly  in  ourselves.  Perhaps  the 
greatest  is  a false  theology.  This  inter- 
poses thick  clouds  between  the  soul  and 
its  Maker.  It  darkens  and  dishonors 
God  and  his  works,  and  leaves  nothing 
to  sustain  our  trust  and  love. 

The  motives  which  are  most  commonly 
urged  for  cherishing  supreme  affection 
towards  God  are  drawn  from  our  frailty 
and  weakness,  and  from  our  need  of 
more  than  human  succor  in  the  trials 
of  life  and  in  tlie  pains  of  death.  But 
religion  has  a still  higher  claim.  It 
answers  to  the  deepest  want  of  human 
nature.  We  refer  to  our  want  of  some 
being  or  beings  to  whom  we  may  give 
our  hearts,  whom  we  may  love  more  than 
ourselves,  for  whom  we  may  live  and  be 
ready  to  die,  and  whose  character  re- 
sponds to  that  idea  of  perfection  which, 
however  dim  and  undefined,  is  an  essen- 
tial element  of  every  human  soul.  We 
cannot  be  happy  beyond  our  love.  At 
the  same  time,  love  may  prove  our  chief 
woe,  if  bestowed  unwisely,  dispropor- 
tionately, and  on  unworthy  objects  ; if 
confined  to  beings  of  imperfect  virtue, 
with  whose  feelings  we  cannot  always 
innocently  sympathize,  whose  interests 
we  cannot  always  righteously  promote, 
who  narrow  us  to  themselves  instead 
of  breathing  universal  charity,  who  are 
frail,  mutable,  exposed  to  suffering,  pain, 
and  death.  To  secure  a growing  happi- 
ness and  a spotless  virtue,  we  need  for 
the  heart  a being  worthy  of  its  whole 
treasure  of  love,  to  whom  we  may  con- 
secrate our  whole  existence,  in  approach- 
ing whom  we  enter  an  atmosphere  of 
purity  and  brightness,  in  sympathizing 
with  whom  we  cherish  only  noble  senti- 
ments, in  devoting  ourselves  to  whom 
we  espouse  great  and  enduring  interests, 


574 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


in  whose  character  we  find  the  spring 
of  an  ever-enlarging  philanthropy,  and 
by  attachment  to  whom  all  our  other 
attachments  are  hallowed,  protected, 
and  supplied  with  tender  and  sublime 
consolations  under  bereavement  and 
blighted  hope.  Such  a being  is  God. 

The  word  which  Fenelon  has  most 
frequently  used  to  express  the  happi- 
ness to  which  the  mind  ascends  by  a 
supreme  love  of  God,  is  “ peace,”  per- 
haps the  most  expressive  which  lan- 
guage affords.  We  fear,  however,  that  its 
full  import  is  not  always  received.  There 
is  a twofold  peace.  The  first  is  negative. 
It  is  relief  from  disquiet  and  corroding 
care.  It  is  repose  after  conflict  and 
storms.  But  there  is  another  and  a 
higher  peace,  to  which  this  is  but  the 
prelude,  “ a peace  of  God  which  passeth 
all  understanding,”  and  properly  called 
“ the  kingdom  of  heaven  within  us.” 
This  state  is  any  thing  but  negative.  It 
is  the  highest  and  most  strenuous  action 
of  the  soul,  but  an  entirely  harmonious 
action,  in  which  all  our  powers  and  affec- 
tions are  blended  in  a beautiful  propor- 
tion, and  sustain  and  perfect  one  another. 
It  is  more  than  silence  after  storms.  It 
is  as  the  concord  of  all  melodious  sounds. 
Has  the  reader  never  known  a season 
when,  in  the  fullest  flow  of  thought  and 
feeling,  in  the  universal  action  of  the 
soul,  an  inward  calm,  profound  as  mid- 
night silence,  yet  bright  as  the  still  sum- 
mer noon,  full  of  joy,  but  unbroken  by 
one  throb  of  tumultuous  passion,  has 
been  breathed  through  his  spirit,  and 
given  him  a glimpse  and  presage  of  the 
serenity  of  a happier  world  ? Of  this 
character  is  the  peace  of  religion.  It  is 
a conscious  harmony  with  God  and  the 
creation,  an  alliance  of  love  with  all 
beings,  a sympathy  with  all  that  is  pure 
and  happy,  a surrender  of  every  separate 
will  and  interest,  a participation  of  the 
spirit  and  life  of  the  universe,  an  entire 
concord  of  purpose  with  its  infinite 
Original.  This  is  peace,  and  the  true 
happiness  of  man  ; and  we  think  that 
human  nature  has  never  entirely  lost 
sight  of  this  its  great  end.  It  has 
always  sighed  for  a repose,  in  which 
energy  of  thought>and  will  might  be 
tempered  with  an  all-pervading  tranquil- 
lity. We  seem  to  discover  aspirations 
after  this  good,  a dim  consciousness  of 
it,  in  all  ages  of  the  world.  We  think 
we  see  it  in  those  systems  of  Oriental 


and  Grecian  philosophy  which  proposed, 
as  the  consummation  of  present  virtue, 
a release  from  all  disquiet,  and  an  inti- 
mate union  and  harmony  with  the  divine 
Mind.  We  even  think  that  we  trace 
this  consciousness,  this  aspiration,  in 
the  works  of  ancient  art  which  time  has 
spared  to  us,  in  which  the  sculptor, 
aiming  to  embody  his  deepest  thoughts 
of  human  perfection,  has  joined,  with 
the  fulness  of  life  and  strength,  a re- 
pose, which  breathes  into  the  spectator 
an  admiration  as  calm  as  it  is  exalted. 
Man,  we  believe,  never  wholly  loses  the 
sentiment  of  his  true  good.  There  are 
yearnings,  sighings,  which  he  does  not 
himself  comprehend,  which  break  forth 
alike  in  his  prosperous  and  adverse  sea- 
sons, which  betray  a deep,  indestructible 
faith  in  a good  that  he  has  not  found, 
and  which,  in  proportion  as  they  grow 
distinct,  rise  to  God,  and  concentrate 
the  soul  in  him,  as  at  once  its  life  and 
rest,  the  fountain  at  once  of  energy  and 
of  peace. 

In  the  remarks  which  have  now  been 
suggested  by  the  writings  of  Fenelon, 
we  have  aimed  to  free  religion  from  ex- 
aggerations which,  we  fear,  weaken  its 
influence  over  reasonable  men,  and  at 
the  same  time  to  illustrate  its  dignity 
and  happiness.  We  want  time,  or  we 
should  enlarge  on  the  importance  of  this 
great  subject  to  every  human  being. 
We  cannot,  however,  leave  it  without 
earnestly  recommending  it  to  the  atten- 
tion of  men  of  superior  minds.  The 
neglect  which  it  generally  receives  from 
these  is  one  of  the  most  discouraging 
signs  of  our  times.  The  claims  of  re- 
ligion on  intelligent  men  are  not  yet 
understood,  and  the  low  place  which  it 
holds  among  the  objects  of  liberal  in- 
quiry will  one  day  be  recollected  as  the 
shame  of  our  age.  Some  remarks  on 
this  topic  may  form  a not  unsuitable 
conclusion  to  the  present  article. 

It  is,  we  fear,  an  unquestionable  fact, 
that  religion,  considered  as  an  intellect- 
ual subject,  is  in  a great  measure  left  to 
a particular  body  of  men  as  a profes- 
sional concern  ; and  the  fact  is  as  much 
to  be  wondered  at  as  deplored.  It  is 
wonderful  that  any  mind,  and  especially 
a superior  one,  should  not  see  in  relig- 
ion the  highest  object  of  thought.  It 
is  wonderful  that  the  infinite  God,  the 
noblest  theme  of  the  universe,  should 
be  considered  as  a monopoly  of  pro- 


WRITINGS  OF  FENELON. 


575 


fessed  theologians  ; that  a subject  so 
vast,  awful,  and  exalting  as  our  relation 
to  the  Divinity,  should  be  left  to  techni- 
cal men,  to  be  handled  so  much  for  sec- 
tarian purposes.  Religion  is  the  property 
and  dearest  interest  of  the  human  race. 
Every  man  has  an  equal  concern  in  it. 
It  should  be  approached  with  an  inde- 
pendence on  human  authority.  It  should 
be  rescued  from  all  the  factions  which 
have  seized  upon  it  as  their  particular 
possession.  Men  of  the  highest  intel- 
lect should  feel  that,  if  there  be  a God, 
then  his  character  and  our  relation  to 
him  throw  all  other  subjects  into  obscu- 
rity, and  that  the  intellect,  if  not  con- 
secrated to  him,  can  never  attain  its 
true  use,  its  full  dimensions,  and  its 
proper  happiness.  Religion,  if  it  be 
true,  is  central  truth,  and  all  knowl- 
edge, which  is  not  gathered  round  it, 
and  quickened  and  illuminated  by  it,  is 
hardly  worth  the  name.  To  this  great 
theme  we  would  summon  all  orders  of 
mind,  — the  scholar,  the  statesman,  the 
student  of  nature,  and  the  observer  of 
life.  It  is  a subject  to  which  every 
faculty  and  every  acquisition  may  pay 
tribute,  which  may  receive  aids  and 
lights  from  the  accuracy  of  the  logician, 
from  the  penetrating  spirit  of  philosophy, 
from  the  intuitions  of  genius,  from  the 
researches  of  history,  from  the  science 
of  the  mind,  from  physical  science,  from 
every  branch  of  criticism,  and,  though 
last  not  least,  from  the  spontaneous  sug- 
gestions and  the  moral  aspirations  of 
pure  but  unlettered  men. 

It  is  a fact  which  shocks  us,  and  which 
shows  the  degraded  state  of  religion, 
that  not  a few  superior  minds  look 
down  upon  it  as  a subject  beneath  their 
investigation.  Though  allied  with  all 
knowledge,  and  especially  with  that  of 
human  nature  and  human  duty,  it  is  re- 
garded as  a separate  and  inferior  study, 
particularly  fitted  to  the  gloom  of  a con- 
vent and  the  seclusion  of  a minister. 
Religion  is  still  confounded,  in  many 
and  in  gifted  minds,  with  the  jargon  of 
monks  and  the  subtilties  and  strifes  of 
theologians.  It  is  thought  a mystery 
which,  far  from  coalescing,  wars  with 
our  other  knowledge.  It  is  never  ranked 
with  the  sciences  which  expand  and 
adorn  the  mind.  It  is  regarded  as  a 
method  of  escaping  future  ruin,  not  as 
a vivifying  truth  through  which  the 
intellect  and  heart  are  alike  to  be  in- 


vigorated and  enlarged.  Its  bearing  on 
the  great  objects  of  thought  and  the 
great  interests  of  life  is  hardly  sus- 
pected. This  degradation  of  religion 
into  a technical  study,  this  disjunction 
of  it  from  morals,  from  philosophy,  from 
the  various  objects  of  liberal  research, 
has  done  it  infinite  injury,  has  checked 
its  progress,  has  perpetuated  errors 
which  gathered  round  it  in  times  of 
barbarism  and  ignorance,  has  made  it 
a mark  for  the  sophistry  and  ridicule  of 
the  licentious,  and  has  infused  a lurking 
scepticism  into  many  powerful  under- 
standings. Nor  has  religion  suffered 
alone.  The  whole  mind  is  darkened  by 
the  obscuration  of  this  its  central  light. 
Its  reasonings  and  judgments  become 
unstable  through  want  of  this  foundation 
to  rest  upon.  Religion  is  to  the  whole 
sphere  of  truth  what  God  is  to  the  uni- 
verse, and  in  dethroning  it,  or  confining 
it  to  a narrow  range,  we  commit  very 
much  such  an  injury  on  the  soul  as  the 
universe  would  suffer  were  the  infinite 
Being  to  abandon  it,  or  to  contract  his 
energy  to  a small  province  of  his  crea- 
tion. 

The  injury  done  to  literature  by  di- 
vorcing it  from  religion  is  a topic  worthy 
of  separate  discussion.  Literature  has 
thus  lost  power  and  permanent  interest. 
It  has  become,  in  a great  measure,  su- 
perficial, an  image  of  transient  modes  of 
thought  and  of  arbitrary  forms  of  life, 
not  the  organ  and  expression  of  immuta- 
ble truth,  and  of  deep  workings  of  the 
soul.  We  beg  not  to  be  misunderstood. 
We  have  no  desire  that  literature  should 
confine  itself  wholly  or  chiefly  to  relig- 
ious topics,  and  we  hardly  know  a greater 
calamity  which  it  could  incur  than  by 
degenerating  into  religious  cant.  Next 
to  profaneness,  we  dread  the  affectation 
of  piety  and  the  mechanical  repetition 
of  sacred  phraseology.  We  only  lament 
that  literature  has  so  generally  been  the 
product  and  utterance  of  minds  which 
have  not  lived,  thought,  and  written, 
under  the  light  of  a rational  and  sublime 
faith.  Severed  from  this,  it  wants  the 
principle  of  immortality.  We  do  not 
speak  lightly  when  we  say  that  all  works 
of  the  intellect  which  have  not  in  some 
measure  been  quickened  by  the  spirit 
of  religion,  are  doomed  to  perish  or  to 
lose  their  power ; and  that  genius  is 
preparing  for  itself  a sepulchre  when  it 
disjoins  itself  from  the  Universal  Mind. 


ON  THE  CHARACTER  AND 


576 

Religion  is  not  always  to  remain  in  its 
present  dark,  depressed  condition.  Al- 
ready there  are  signs  of  a brighter  day. 
It  begins  to  be  viewed  more  generously. 
It  is  gradually  attracting  to  itself  supe- 
rior understandings.  It  is  rising  from 
the  low  rank  of  a professional,  technical 
study,  and  asserting  its  supremacy  among 
the  objects  of  the  mind.  A new  era,  we 
trust,  is  opening  upon  the  world,  and  all 
literature  will  feel  its  power.  In  pro- 
portion as  the  true  and  sublime  concep- 
tion of  God  shall  unfold  itself  in  the 
soul,  and  shall  become  there  a central 
sun,  shedding  its  beams  on  all  objects 
of  thought,  there  will  be  a want  of  sym- 
pathy with  all  works  which  have  not 
been  quickened  by  this  heavenly  influ- 
ence. It  will  be  felt  that  the  poet  has 
known  little  of  nature,  that  he  has  seen 
it  only  under  clouds,  if  he  have  not  seen 
it  under  this  celestial  light.  It  will  be 
felt  that  man,  the  great  subject  of  litera- 
ture, when  viewed  in  separation  from 
his  Maker  and  his  end,  can  be  as  little 
understood  and  portrayed  as  a plant 
torn  from  the  soil  in  which  it  grew,  and 
cut  off  from  communication  with  the 
clouds  and  sun. 

We  are  aware  that  objections  will 
spring  up  to  the  doctrine,  that  all  litera- 
ture should  be  produced  under  the  in- 
fluence of  religion.  We  shall  be  told 
that  in  this  way  literature  will  lose  all 
variety  and  spirit,  that  a monotonous 
and  solemn  hue  will  spread  itself  over 
writing,  and  that  a library  will  have  the 
air  of  a tomb.  We  do  not  wonder  at 
this  fear.  Religion  has  certainly  been 
accustomed  to  speak  in  sepulchral  tones, 
and  to  wear  any  aspect  but  a bright  and 
glowing  one.  It  has  lost  its  free  and 
various  movement.  But  let  us  not  as- 
cribe to  its  nature  what  has  befallen  it 
from  adverse  circumstances.  The  truth 
is,  that  religion,  justly  viewed,  surpasses 
all  other  principles  in  giving  a free  and 
manifold  action  to  the  mind.  It  recog- 
nizes in  every  faculty  and  sentiment  the 
workmanship  of  God,  and  assigns  a 
sphere  of  agency  to  each.  It  takes  our 
whole  nature  under  its  guardianship, 
and  with  a parental  love  ministers  to  its 
inferior  as  well  as  higher  gratifications. 
False  religion  mutilates  the  soul,  sees 
evil  in  our  innocent  sensibilities,  and 
rules  with  a tyrant’s  frown  and  rod. 
True  religion  is  a mild  and  lawful  sov- 
ereign, governing  to  protect,  to  give 


strength,  to  unfold  all  our  inward  re- 
sources. We  believe  that  under  its  in- 
fluence literature  is  to  pass  its  present 
limits,  and  to  put  itself  forth  in  original 
forms  of  composition.  Religion  is  of  all 
principles  most  fruitful,  multiform,  and 
unconfined.  It  is  sympathy  with  that 
Being  who  seems  to  delight  in  diversi- 
fying the  modes  of  his  agency,  and  the 
products  of  his  wisdom  and  power.  It 
does  not  chain  us  to  a few  essential 
duties,  or  express  itself  in  a few  un- 
changing modes  of  writing.  It  has  the 
liberality  and  munificence  of  nature, 
which  not  only  produces  the  necessary 
root  and  grain,  but  pours  forth  fruits 
and  flowers.  It  has  the  variety  and  bold 
contrasts  of  nature,  which,  at  the  foot 
of  the  awful  mountain,  scoops  out  the 
freshest,  sweetest  valleys,  and  embosoms, 
in  the  wild,  troubled  ocean,  islands,  whose 
vernal  airs,  and  loveliness,  and  teeming 
fruitfulness,  almost  breathe  the  joys  of 
Paradise.  Religion  will  accomplish  for 
literature  what  it  most  needs  ; that  is, 
will  give  it  depth,  at  the  same  time  that 
it  heightens  its  grace  and  beauty.  The 
union  of  these  attributes  is  most  to  be 
desired.  Our  literature  is  lamentably 
superficial,  and  to  some  the  beautiful 
and  the  superficial  even  seem  to  be 
naturally  conjoined.  Let  not  beauty  be 
so  wronged.  It  resides  chiefly  in  pro- 
found thoughts  and  feelings.  It  over- 
flows chiefly  in  the  writings  of  poets, 
gifted  with  a sublime  and  piercing  vision. 
A beautiful  literature  springs  from  the 
depth  and  fulness  of  intellectual  and 
moral  life,  from  an  energy  of  thought 
and  feeling,  to  which  nothing,  as  we 
believe,  ministers  so  largely  as  enlight- 
ened religion. 

So  far  from  a monotonous  solemnity 
overspreading  literature  in  consequence 
of  the  all-pervading  influence  of  religion, 
we  believe  that  the  sportive  and  comic 
forms  of  composition,  instead  of  being 
abandoned,  will  only  be  refined  and  im- 
proved. We  know  that  these  are  sup- 
posed to  be  frowned  upon  by  piety  ; but 
they  have  t-heir  root  in  the  constitution 
which  God  has  given  us,  and  ought  not 
therefore  to  be  indiscriminately  con- 
demned. The  propensity  to  wit  and 
laughter  does  indeed,  through  excessive 
indulgence,  often  issue  in  a character  of 
heartless  levity,  low  mimicry,  or  unfeel- 
ing ridicule.  It  often  seeks  gratification 
in  regions  of  impurity,  throws  a gayety 


WRITINGS  OF  FENELON. 


577 


round  vice,  and  sometimes  even  pours 
contempt  on  virtue.  But,  though  often 
and  mournfully  perverted,  it  is  still  a 
gift  of  God,  and  may  and  ought  to  min- 
ister not  only  to  innocent  pleasure,  but 
to  the  intellect  and  the  heart.  Man  was 
made  for  relaxation  as  truly  as  for  labor ; 
and  by  a law  of  his  nature,  which  has 
not  received  the  attention  it  deserves, 
he  finds  perhaps  no  relaxation  so  re- 
storative as  that  in  which  he  reverts  to 
his  childhood,  seems  to  forget  his  wis- 
dom, leaves  t^e  imagination  to  exhilarate 
itself  by  sportive  inventions,  talks  of 
amusing  incongruities  in  conduct  and 
events,  smiles  at  the  innocent  eccentrici- 
ties and  odd  mistakes  of  those  whom 
he  most  esteems,  allows  himself  in  arch 
allusions  or  kind-hearted  satire,  and 
transports  himself  into  a world  of  ludi- 
crous combinations.  We  have  said  that 
on  these  occasions  the  mind  seems  to 
put  off  its  wisdom;  but  the  truth  is, 
that,  in  a pure  mind,  wisdom  retreats,  if 
we  may  so  say,  to  its  centre,  and  there, 
unseen,  keeps  guard  over  this  transient 
folly,  draws  delicate  lines  which  are 
never  to  be  passed  in  the  freest  mo- 
ments, and,  like  a judicious  parent 
watching  the  sports  of  childhood,  pre- 
serves a stainless  innocence  of  soul  in 
the  very  exuberance  of  gayety.  This 
combination  of  moral  power  with  wit 
and  humor,  with  comic  conceptions  and 
irrepressible  laughter,  this  union  of 
mirth  and  virtue,  belongs  to  an  advanced 
stage  of  the  character  ; and  we  believe 
that,  in  proportion  to  the  diffusion  of  an 
enlightened  religion,  this  action  of  the 
mind  will  increase,  and  will  overflow  in 
compositions  which,  joining  innocence 
to  sportiveness,  will  communicate  un- 
mixed delight.  Religion  is  not  at  vari- 
ance with  occasional  mirth.  In  the 
same  character,  the  solemn  thought  and 
the  sublime  emotions  of  the  improved 
Christian  may  be  joined  with  the  un- 
anxious  freedom,  buoyancy,  and  gayety 
of  early  years. 

We  will  add  but  one  more  illustration 
of  our  views.  We  believe  that  the  union 
of  religion  with  genius  will  favor  that 
species  of  composition  to  which  it  may 
seem  at  first  to  be  least  propitious. 
We  refer  to  that  department  of  litera- 
ture which  has  for  its  object  the  delin- 
eation of  the  stronger  and  more  terrible 
and  guilty  passions.  Strange  as  it  may 
appear,  these  gloomy  and  appalling  feat- 


ures of  our  nature  may  be  best  com- 
prehended and  portrayed  by  the  purest 
and  noblest  minds.  The  common  idea 
is,  that  overwhelming  emotions,  the 
more  they  are  experienced,  can  the 
more  effectually  be  described.  We 
have  one  strong  presumption  against 
this  doctrine.  Tradition  leads  us  to 
believe  that  Shakspeare,  though  he 
painted  so  faithfully  and  fearfully  the 
storms  of  passion,  was  a calm  and 
cheerful  man.  The  passions  are  too 
engrossed  by  their  objects  to  meditate 
on  themselves  ; and  none  are  more  igno- 
rant of  their  growth  and  subtile  work- 
ings than  their  own  victims.  Nothing 
reveals  to  us  the  secrets  of  our  own 
souls  like  religion ; and  in  disclosing 
to  us,  in  ourselves,  the  tendency  of  pas- 
sion to  absorb  every  energy,  and  to 
spread  its  hues  over  every  thought,  it 
gives  us  a key  to  all  souls  ; for,  in  all, 
human  nature  is  essentially  one,  having 
the  same  spiritual  elements  and  the 
same  grand  features.  No  man,  it  is 
believed,  understands  the  wild  and  irreg- 
ular motions  of  the  mind  like  him  in 
whom  a principle  of  divine  order  has 
begun  to  establish  peace.  No  man 
knows  the  horror  of  thick  darkness 
which  gathers  over  the  slaves  of  vehe- 
ment passion  like  him  who  is  rising 
into  the  light  and  liberty  of  virtue. 
There  is,  indeed,  a selfish  shrewdness 
which  is  thought  to  give  a peculiar  and 
deep  insight  into  human  nature.  But 
the  knowledge  of  which  it  boasts  is 
partial,  distorted,  and  vulgar,  and  wholly 
unfit  for  the  purposes  of  literature.  We 
value  it  little.  We  believe  that  no 
qualification  avails  so  much  to  a knowl- 
edge of  human  nature  in  all  its  forms, 
in  its  good  and  evil  manifestations,  as 
that  enlightened,  celestial  charity  which 
religion  alone  inspires ; for  this  estab- 
lishes sympathies  between  us  and  all 
men,  and  thus  makes  them  intelligible 
to  us.  A man  imbued  with  this  spirit, 
alone  contemplates  vice  as  it  really  ex- 
ists, and  as  it  ought  always  to  be  de- 
scribed. In  the  most  depraved  fellow- 
beings  he  sees  partakers  of  his  own 
nature.  Amidst  the  terrible  ravages 
of  the  passions,  he  sees  conscience, 
though  prostrate,  not  destroyed,  nor 
wholly  powerless.  He  sees  the  proofs 
of  an  unextinguished  moral  life  in  in- 
ward struggles,  in  occasional  relentings, 
in  sighings  for  lost  innocence,  in  reviv- 


DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


578 

in g throbs  of  early  affections,  in  the 
sophistry  by  which  the  guilty  mind 
would  become  reconciled  to  itself,  in 
remorse,  in  anxious  forebodings,  in  de- 
spair, perhaps  in  studied  recklessness 
and  cherished  self-forgetfulness.  These 
conflicts  between  the  passions  and  the 
moral  nature  are  the  most  interesting 
subjects  in  the  branch  of  literature  to 
which  we  refer ; and  we  believe  that 
to  portray  them  with  truth  and  power, 
the  man  of  genius  can  find  in  nothing 
such  effectual  aid  as  in  the  development 
of  the  moral  and  religious  principles  in 
his  own  breast. 

We  have  given  but  a superficial  view 
of  a great  subject.  The  connection  of 


religion  with  intellect  and  literature  is 
yet  to  be  pointed  out.  We  conclude 
with  expressing  our  strong  conviction 
that  the  human  mind  will  become  more 
various,  piercing,  and  all-comprehending, 
more  capable  of  understanding  and  ex- 
pressing the  solemn  and  the  sportive, 
the  terrible  and  the  beautiful,  the  pro- 
found and  the  tender,  in  proportion  as 
it  shall  be  illumined  and  penetrated  by 
the  true  knowledge  of  God.  Genius, 
intellect,  imagination,  taste,  and  sensi- 
bility, must  all  be  baptizec^into  religion, 
or  they  will  never  know,  and  never 
make  known,  their  real  glory  and  im- 
mortal power. 


A DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER  OF 
THE  REV.  JOSEPH  TUCKERMAN,  D.D. 

Delivered  at  the  Warren  Street  Chapel , on  Sunday  Evening , 
January  31,  1841. 


Five  years  ago  this  Chapel  was  dedi- 
cated to  the  moral  and  religious  instruc- 
tion of  the  poor  of  this  city.  This  event 
makes  no  noise  in  history,  and  may  seem 
to  some  to  merit  no  particular  notice. 
It  is  remembered,  however,  by  not  a few 
individuals  and  families  as  the  begin- 
ning of  many  good  influences.  Still  more, 
it  is  not  an  event  which  stands  alone. 
This  Chapel  is  the  sign  of  an  important 
movement,  which  is  not  soon  to  pass 
away.  It  sprung  from  the  labors  of  that 
faithful  servant  of  God  to  whom  we  owe 
the  establishment  of  the  Ministry  at 
Large  in  this  place.  It  is  intimately 
connected  with,  and  reveals  to  us,  his 
life  and  labors  ; and,  accordingly,  the 
anniversary  of  its  dedication  to  religious 
services  is  a fit  occasion  for  offering  a 
tribute  to  his  memory.  I have  wished, 
ever  since  his  removal,  to  express  my 
reverence  for  his  character,  and  my 
sense  of  the  greatness  of  his  work.  To 
these  topics  I invite  your  attention.  But 
before  entering  on  them  I propose  to 
consider  a more  general  subject,  which 
was  often  on  the  lips  of  our  departed 
friend,  to  which  he  constantly  recurred 


in  his  writings,  and  on  the  comprehen- 
sion of  which  the  permanence  of  the 
Ministry  at  Large  chiefly  depends.  This 
subject  is,  the  obligation  of  a city  to 
care  fcr  and  watch  over  the  moral  health 
of  its  members,  and  especially  to  watch 
over  the  moral  safety  and  elevation  of 
its  poorer  and  more  exposed  classes. 
The  life  of  our  departed  friend  embodied 
and  expressed  this  truth  with  singular 
power,  and  the  consideration  of  it  is  a 
natural  and  fit  introduction  to  a memo- 
rial of  his  virtues  and  labors,  as  well 
as  particularly  adapted  to  the  occasion 
which  has  brought  us  together. 

Why  is  it,  my  friends,  that  we  are 
brought  so  near  to  one  another  in  cities  ? 
It  is,  that  nearness  should  awaken  sym- 
pathy ; that  multiplying  wants  should 
knit  us  more  closely  together ; that  we 
should  understand  one  another’s  perils 
and  sufferings  ; that  we  should  act  per- 
petually on  one  another  for  good..  Why 
were  we  not  brought  into  being  in  soli- 
tudes, endowed  each  with  the  power  of 
satisfying  to  the  full  his  particular  wants  ? 
God  has  room  enough  for  a universe  of 
separate,  lonely,  silent  beings,  of  selfish, 


OF  THE  REV.  DR.  TUCKERMAN. 


579 


unshared  enjoyment.  But  through  the 
whole  range  of  nature  we  find  nothing 
insulated,  nothing  standing  alone.  Union 
is  the  law  of  his  creation.  Even  matter 
is  an  emblem  of  universal  sympathy,  for 
all  its  particles  tend  towards  one  another, 
and  its  great  masses  are  bound  into  one 
system  by  mutual  attraction.  How  much 
more  was  the  human  race  made  for 
sympathy  and  mutual  aid  ! How  plain 
is  the  social  destination  of  man  ! born, 
as  he  is,  into  the  arms  of  love,  sus- 
tained from  the  beginning  by  human 
kindness,  endowed  with  speech,  and 
plunged  among  fellow-beings  to  whose 
feelings  he  cannot  but  respond,  into 
whose  hearts  he  yearns  to  pour  his  own, 
and  whose  rights,  feelings,  and  interests 
are  commended  to  his  regard  by  a law 
of  love  and  justice  written  within  him 
by  a divine  hand.  Can  we  ask  why  such 
beings  are  gathered  into  cities  ? Is  it 
not  that  they  should  propose  a common 
weal  ? Is  it  not  that  they  should  desire 
and  seek  each  other’s  highest  good  ? 
What  is  the  happiest  community  ? What 
the  city  which  should  be  chosen  above 
all  others  as  our  home  ? It  is  that  the 
members  of  which  form  one  body,  in 
which  no  class  seeks  a monopoly  of 
honor  or  good,  in  which  no  class  is  a 
prey  to  others,  in  which  there  is  a gen- 
eral desire  that  every  human  being  may 
have  opportunity  to  develop  his  powers. 
What  is  the  happiest  community  ? It  is 
not  that  in  which  the  goods  of  life  are 
accumulated  in  a few  hands,  in  which 
property  sinks  a great  gulf  between 
different  ranks,  in  which  one  portion  of 
society  swells  with  pride  and  the  other 
is  broken  in  spirit ; but  a community  in 
which  labor  is  respected,  and  the  means 
of  comfort  and  improvement  are  liber- 
ally diffused.  I,t  is  not  a community  in 
which  intelligence  is  developed  in  a few, 
whilst  the  many  are  given  up  to  igno- 
rance, superstition,  and  a gross  animal 
existence  ; but  one  in  which  the  mind  is 
so  reverenced  in  every  condition  that  the 
opportunities  of  its  culture  are  afforded 
to  all.  It  is  a community  in  which  re- 
ligion is  not  used  to  break  the  many 
into  subjection,  but  is  dispensed  even  to 
the  poorest,  to  rescue  them  from  the  de- 
grading influence  of  poverty,  to  give 
them  generous  sentiments  and  hopes,  to 
exalt  them  from  animals  into  men,  into 
Christians,  into  children  of  God.  This 
is  a happy  community,  where  human  nat- 


ure is  held  in  honor ; where,  to  rescue 
it  from  ignorance  and  crime,  to  give  it 
an  impulse  towards  knowledge,  virtue, 
and  happiness,  is  thought  the  chief  end 
of  the  social  union. 

It  is  the  unhappiness  of  most  large 
cities  that,  instead  of  this  union  and 
sympathy,  they  consist  of  different  ranks 
so  widely  separated  as,  indeed,  to  form 
different  communities.  In  most  large 
cities  there  may  be  said  to  be  two  na~ 
tions,  understanding  as  little  of  one  an- 
other, having  as  little  intercourse,  as  if 
they  lived  in  different  lands.  In  such  a 
city  as  London  the  distance  of  a few 
streets  only  will  carry  you  from  one  stage 
of  civilization  to  another,  from  the  ex- 
cess of  refinement  to  barbarism,  from 
the  abodes  of  cultivated  intellect  to 
brutal  ignorance,  from  what  is  called 
fashion  to  the  grossest  manners  ; and 
these  distinct  communities  know  com- 
paratively nothing  of  each  other.  There 
are  travellers  from  that  great  city  who 
come  to  visit  our  Indians,  but  who  leave 
at  home  a community  as  essentially  bar- 
barous as  that  which  they  seek,  who, 
perhaps,  have  spent  all  their  lives  in  the 
midst  of  it,  giving  it  no  thought.  To 
these  travellers  a hovel  in  one  of  the 
suburbs  which  they  have  left  would  be 
as  strange  a place  as  the  wigwam  of  our 
own  forests.  They  know  as  little  what 
thousands  of  their  own  city  suffer,  to 
what  extremities  thousands  are  reduced, 
by  what  arts  thousands  live,* as  they 
know  of  the  modes  of  life  in  savage 
tribes.  How  much  more  useful  lessons 
would  they  learn,  and  how  much  holier 
feelings  would  be  awakened  in  them, 
were  they  to  penetrate  the  dens  of  want, 
and  woe,  and  crime,  a few  steps  from 
their  own  door,  than  they  gain  from  ex- 
ploring this  new  world  ! And  what  I say 
of  London  is  true  also  of  this  city  in  a 
measure.  Not  a few  grow  up  and  die 
here  without  understanding  how  multi- 
tudes live  and  die  around  them,  without 
having  descended  into  the  damp  cellar 
where  childhood  and  old  age  spend  day 
and  night,  winter  and  summer,  or  with- 
out scaling  the  upper  room  which  con- 
tains within  its  narrow  and  naked  walls 
not  one,  but  two  and  even  three  families. 
They  see  the  poor  in  the  street,  but 
never  follow  them  in  thought  to  their 
cheerless  homes,  or  ask  how  the  long 
day  is  filled  up.  They  travel,  in  books 
at  least,  to  distant  regions,  among  na- 


580  discourse  on  the  life  and  character 


tions  of  different  languages  and  com- 
plexions, but  are  strangers  to  the  con- 
dition and  character  of  masses  who  speak 
their  native  tongue,  live  under  their  eye, 
and  are  joined  with  them  for  weal  or  woe 
in  the  same  social  state.  This  estrange- 
ment of  men  from  men,  of  class  from 
class,  is  one  of  the  saddest  features  of 
a great  city.  It  shows  that  the  true  bond 
of  communities  is  as  yet  imperfectly 
known. 

The  happy  community  is  that  in  which 
its  members  care  for  one  another,  and 
in  which  there  is,  especially,  an  interest 
in  the  intellectual  and  moral  improve- 
ment of  all.  That  sympathy  which  pro- 
vides for  the  outward  wants  of  all,  which 
sends  supplies  to  the  poor  man’s  house, 
is  a blessed  fruit  of  Christianity  ; and  it 
is  happy  when  this  prevails  in  and  binds 
together  a city.  But  we  have  now  learned 
that  the  poor  are  not  to  be  essentially, 
permanently  aided  by  the  mere  relief  of 
bodily  wants.  We  are  learning  that  the 
greatest  efforts  of  a community  should 
be  directed,  not  to  relieve  indigence,  but 
to  dry  up  its  sources,  to  supply  moral 
wants,  to  spread  purer  principles  and 
habits,  to  remove  the  temptations  to  in- 
temperance and  sloth,  to  snatch  the  child 
from  moral  perdition,  and  to  make  the 
man  equal  to  his  own  support  by  awak- 
ening in  him  the  spirit  and  the  powers 
of  a man.  The  glory  and  happiness  of 
a community  consists  in  vigorous  efforts, 
springing  from  love,  sustained  by  faith, 
for  the  diffusion,  through  all  classes,  of 
intelligence,  of  self-respect,  of  self-con- 
trol, of  thirst  for  knowledge,  and  for 
moral  and  religious  growth.  Here  is  the 
first  end,  the  supreme  interest,  which 
a community  should  propose,  and  in 
achieving  it  all  other  interests  are  ac- 
complished. 

It  is  a plain  truth,  and  yet  how  little 
understood  ! that  the  greatest  thing  in  a 
city  is  man  himself.  He  is  it£  end.  We 
admire  its  palaces  ; but  the  mechanic 
who  builds  them  is  greater  than  palaces. 
Human  nature,  in  its  lowest  form,  in  the 
most  abject  child  of  want,  is  of  more 
worth  than  all  outward  improvements. 
You  talk  of  the  prosperity  of  your  city. 
I know  but  one  true  prosperity.  Does 
the  human  soul  grow  and  prosper  here  ? 
Do  not  point  me  to  your  thronged  streets. 
I ask,  Who  throng  them  ? Is  it  a low- 
minded,  self-seeking,  gold- worshipping, 
man-despising  crowd,  which  I see  rush- 


ing through  them  ? Do  I meet  in  them, 
under  the  female  form,  the  gayly-decked 
prostitute,  or  the  idle,  wasteful,  aimless, 
profitless  woman  of  fashion  ? Do  I meet 
the  young  man  showing  off  his  pretty 
person  as  the  perfection  of  nature’s 
works,  wasting  his  golden  hours  in  dis- 
sipation and  sloth,  and  bearing  in  his 
countenance  and  gaze  the  marks  of  a 
profligate  ? Do  I meet  a grasping  mul- 
titude, seeking  to  thrive  by  conceal- 
ments and  frauds  ? an  anxious  multitude, 
driven  by  fear  of  want  to  doubtful  means 
of  gain  ? an  unfeeling  multitude,  caring 
nothing  for  others,  if  they  may  them- 
selves prosper  or  enjoy?  In  the  neigh- 
borhood of  your  comfortable  or  splendid 
dwellings  are  there  abodes  of  squalid 
misery,  of  reckless  crime,  of  bestial 
intemperance,  of  half-famished  child- 
hood, of  profaneness,  of  dissoluteness,  of 
temptation  for  thoughtless  youth  ? And 
are  these  multiplying  with  your  pros- 
perity, and  outstripping  and  neutralizing 
the  influences  of  truth  and  virtue  ? Then 
your  prosperity  is  a vain  show.  Its  true 
use  is,  to  make  a better  people.  The 
glory  and  happiness  of  a city  consist  not 
in  the  number,  but  the  character,  of  its 
population.  Of  all  the  fine  arts  in  a city, 
the  grandest  is  the  art  of  forming  noble 
specimens  of  humanity.  The  costliest 
productions  of  our  manufactures  are 
cheap  compared  with  a wise  and  good 
human  being.  A city  which  should  prac- 
tically adopt  the  principle,  that  man  is 
worth  more  than  wealth  or  show,  would 
gain  an  impulse  that  would  place  it  at 
the  head  of  cities.  A city  in  which  men 
should  be  trained  worthy  of  the  name 
would  become  the  metropolis  of  the 
earth. 

God  has  prospered  us,  and,  as  we  be- 
lieve, is  again  to  prosper  us,  in  our 
business ; and  let  us  show  our  gratitude 
by  inquiring  for  what  end  prosperity  is 
given,  and  how  it  may  best  accomplish 
the  end  of  the  Giver.  Let  us  use  it  to 
give  a higher  character  to  our  city, 
to  send  refining,  purifying  influences 
through  every  department  of  life.  Let 
us  especially  use  it  to  multiply  good 
influences  in  those  classes  which  are 
most  exposed  to  temptation.  Let  us 
use  it  to  prevent  the  propagation  of 
crime  from  parent  to  child.  Let  us  use 
it  in  behalf  of  those  in  whom  our  nature 
is  most  depressed,  and  who,  if  neglected, 
will  probably  bring  on  themselves  the 


OF  THE  REV.  DR.  TUCKERMAN. 


581 


arm  of  penal  law.  Nothing  is  so  just  a 
cause  of  self-respect  in  a city  as  the 
healthy,  moral  condition  of  those  who 
are  most  exposed  to  crime.  This  is  the 
best  proof  that  the  prosperous  classes 
are  wise,  intelligent,  and  worthy  of 
their  prosperity.  Crime  is  to  the  state 
what  dangerous  disease  is  to  the  human 
frame,  and  to  expel  it  should  be  to  the 
community  an  object  of  the  deepest 
concern.  This  topic  is  so  important 
that  I cannot  leave  it  without  urging  it 
on  your  serious  thoughts. 

Society  has  hitherto  employed  its 
energy  chiefly  to  punish  crime.  It  is 
infinitely  more  important  to  prevent  it ; 
and  this  I say  not  for  the  sake  of  those 
alone  on  whom  the  criminal  preys.  I 
do  not  think  only  or  chiefly  of  those 
who  suffer  from  crime.  I plead  also, 
and  plead  more,  for  those  who  perpe- 
trate it.  In  moments  of  clear,  calm 
thought  I feel  more  for  the  wrong-doer 
than  for  him  who  is  wronged.  In  a case 
of  theft,  incomparably  the  most  wretched 
man  is  he  who  steals,  not  he  who  is 
robbed.  The  innocent  are  not  tmdone 
by  acts  of  violence  or  fraud  from  which 
they  suffer.  They  are  innocent,  though 
injured.  They  do  not  bear  the  brand 
of  infamous  crime ; and  no  language 
can  express  the  import  of  this  distinc- 
tion. When  I visit  the  cell  of  a convict, 
and  see  a human  being  who  has  sunk 
beneath  his  race,  who  is  cast  out  by  his 
race,  whose  name  cannot  be  pronounced 
in  his  home,  or  can  be  pronounced  only 
to  start  a tear,  who  has  forfeited  the 
confidence  of  every  friend,  who  has  iost 
that  spring  of  virtue  and  effort,  the  hope 
of  esteem,  whose  conscience  is  burdened 
with  irreparable  guilt,  who  has  hardened 
himself  against  the  appeals  of  religion 
and  love,  — here,  here  I see  a ruin.  The 
man  whom  he  has  robbed  or  murdered, 
how  much  happier  than  he  ! What  I 
want  is,  not  merely  that  society  should 
protect  itself  against  crime,  but  that  it 
shall  do  all  that  it  can  to  preserve  its 
exposed  members  from  crime,  and  so  do 
for  the  sake  of  these  as  truly  as  for  its 
own.  It  should  not  suffer  human  nature 
to  fall  so  deeply,  so  terribly,  if  the  ruin 
can  be  avoided.  Society  ought  not  to 
breed  monsters  in  its  bosom.  If  it  will 
not  use  its  prosperity  to  save  the  igno- 
rant and  poor  from  the  blackest  vice,  if 
it  will  even  quicken  vice  by  its  selfish- 
ness and  luxury,  its  worship  of  wealth, 


its  scorn  of  human  nature,  then  it  must 
suffer,  and  deserves  to  suffer,  from 
crime. 

I would  that,  as  a city,  we  might 
understand  and  feel  how  far  we  are 
chargeable  with  much  of  the  crime  and 
misery  around  us  of  which  we  complain. 
Is  it  not  an  acknowledged  moral  truth, 
that  we  are  answerable  for  all  evil  which 
we  are  able,  but  haVe  failed,  to  prevent  ? 
Were  Providence  to  put  us  in  possession 
of  a remedy  for  a man  dying  at  our  feet, 
and  should  we  withhold  it,  would  not 
the  guilt  of  his  death  lie  at  our  door  ? 
Are  we  not  accessory  to  the  destruction 
of  the  blind  man  who  in  our  sight  ap- 
proaches a precipice  and  whom  we  do 
not  warn  of  his  danger  ? On  the  same 
ground  much  of  the  guilt  and  misery 
around  us  must  be  imputed  to  ourselves. 
Why  is  it  that  so  many  children  in  a 
large  city  grow  up  in  ignorance  and 
vice  ? Because  that  city  abandons  them 
to  ruinous  influences,  from  which  it 
might  and  ought  to  rescue  them.  Why 
is  beggary  so  often  transmitted  from 
parent  to  child  ? Because  the  public, 
and  because  individuals,  do  little  or 
nothing  to  break  the  fatal  inheritance. 
Whence  come  many  of  the  darkest 
crimes?  From  despondency,  reckless- 
ness, and  a pressure  of  suffering  which 
sympathy  would  have  lightened.  Human 
sympathy,  Christian  sympathy,  were  it 
to  penetrate  the  dwellings  of  the  igno- 
rant, poor,  and  suffering,  were  its  voice 
lifted  up  to  encourage,  guide,  and  con- 
sole, and  its  arm  stretched  out  to  sus- 
tain, what  a new  world  would  it  call  into 
being  ! What  a new  city  should  we  live 
in  ! How  many  victims  of  stern  justice 
would  become  the  living,  joyful  witnesses 
of  the  regenerating  power  of  a wise 
Christian  love ! 

In  these  remarks  I have  expressed 
sympathy  with  the  criminal ; but  do  not 
imagine  that  I have  any  desire  to  screen 
him  from  that  wise  punishment  which 
aims  at  once  to  reform  offenders  and 
protect  society.  The  mercy  which 
would  turn  aside  the  righteous  penal- 
ties of  law  is,  however  unconsciously,  a 
form  of  cruelty.  As  friends  of  the 
tempted  part  of  the  community,  we 
should  make  the  escape  of  the  criminal 
next  to  hopeless.  But  let  not  society 
stop  here.  Let  it  use  every  means  in 
its  power  of  rescuing  its  members  from 
the  degradation  and  misery  of  crime  and 


582  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


public  punishment.  Let  it  especially 
protect  the  exposed  child.  Here  is  a 
paramount  duty  which  no  community 
has  yet  fulfilled.  If  the  child  be  left  to 
grow  up  in  utter  ignorance  of  duty,  of 
its  Maker,  of  its  relation  to  society,  to 
grow  up  in  an  atmosphere  of  profaneness 
and  intemperance,  and  in  the  practice 
of  falsehood  and  fraud,  let  not  the  com- 
munity complain  of  'his  crime.  It  has 
quietly  looked  on  and  seen  him,  year 
after  year,  arming  himself  against  its 
order  and  peace  ; and  who  is  most  to 
blame  when  at  last  he  deals  the  guilty 
blow  ? A moral  care  over  the  tempted 
and  ignorant  portion  of  the  state  is  a 
primary  duty  of  society. 

I know  that  objection  will  be  made  to 
this  representation  of  duty.  It  will  be 
said  by  not  a few,- “ We  have  not  time 
to  take  care  of  others.  We  do  our  part 
in  taking  care  of  ourselves  and  our 
families.  Let  every  man  watch  over  his 
own  household,  and  society  will  be  at 
peace.” 

I reply,  first,  this  defence  is  not 
founded  in  truth.  Very  few  can  hon- 
estly say  that  they  have  no  time  or 
strength  to  spend  beyond  their  families. 
How  much  time,  thought,  wealth, 
strength,  is  wasted,  absolutely  wasted, 
by  a large  proportion  of  every  people ! 
Were  the  will  equal  to  the  power,  were 
there  a fraternal  concern  for  the  falling 
and  fallen  members  of  the  community, 
what  an  amount  of  energy  would  be 
spent  in  redeeming  society  from  its 
terrible  evils,  without  the  slightest 
diminution  of  exertion  at  home  ! 

But,  still  more,  we  defeat  ourselves, 
when  we  neglect  the  moral  state  of  the 
city  where  we  live,  under  pretence  of 
caring  for  our  families.  How  little  may 
it  profit  you,  my  friends,  that  you  labor 
at  home,  if  in  the  next  street,  amidst 
haunts  of  vice,  the  incendiary,  the  thief, 
the  ruffian,  is  learning  his  lesson  or  pre- 
paring his  instruments  of  destruction ! 
How  little  may  it  profit  you  that  you 
are  striving  to  educate  your  children,  if 
around  you  the  children  of  others  are 
neglected,  are  contaminated  with  evil 
principles  or  impure  passions  ! Where 
is  it  that  our  sons  often  receive  the  most 
powerful  impulses  ? In  the  street,  at 
school,  from  associates.  Their  ruin 
may  be  sealed  by  a young  female 
brought  up  in  the  haunts  of  vice.  Their 
first  oaths  may  be  echoes  of  profane- 


ness which  they  hear  from  the  sons  of 
the  abandoned.  What  is  the  great 
obstruction  to  our  efforts  for  educating 
our  children  ? It  is  the  corruption 
around  us.  That  corruption  steals  into 
our  homes,  and  neutralizes  the  influence 
of  home.  We  hope  to  keep  our  little 
circle  pure  amidst  general  impurity. 
This  is  like  striving  to  keep  oar  partic- 
ular houses  healthy,  when  infection  is 
raging  around  us.  If  an  accumulation 
of  filth  in  our  neighborhood  were  send- 
ing forth  foul  stench  and  pestilential 
vapors  on  every  side,  we  should  not 
plead,  as  a reason  for  letting  it  remain, 
that  we  were  striving  to  prevent  a like 
accumulation  within  our  own  doors. 
Disease  would  not  less  certainly  invade 
us  because  the  Source  of  it  was  not  pre- 
pared by  ourselves.  The  infection  of 
moral  evil  is  as  perilous  as  that  of  the 
plague.  We  have  a personal  interest  in 
the  prevalence  of  order  and  good  prin- 
ciples on  every  side.  If  any  member  of 
the  social  body  suffer,  all  must  suffer 
with  it.  This  is  God’s  ordination,  and 
his  merciful  ordination.  It  is  thus  that 
he  summons  us  to  watch  over  our 
brother  for  his  good.  In  this  city, 
where  the  children  are  taught,  chiefly  in 
public  schools,  all  parents  have  peculiar 
reason  for  seeking  that  all  classes  of 
society  be  improved. 

Let  me  add  one  more  reply  to  the 
excuse  for  neglecting  others  drawn  from 
the  necessity  of  attending  to  our  own 
families.  True,  we  must  attend  to  our 
families  ; but  what  is  the  great  end 
which  we  should  propose  in  regard  to 
our  children  ? Is  it  to  train  them  up 
for  themselves  only  ? to  shut  them  up 
in  their  own  pleasures  ? to  give  them  a 
knowledge  by  which  they  may  serve 
their  private  interests  ? Should  it  not 
be  our  first  care  to  breathe  into  them 
the  spirit  of  Christians  ? to  give  them  a 
generous  interest  in  our  race  ? to  fit 
them  to  live  and  to  die  for  their  fellow- 
beings  ? Is  not  this  the  true  education  ? 
And  can  we,  then,  educate  them  better 
than  by  giving  them,  in  our  own  per- 
sons, examples  of  a true  concern  for 
our  less  prosperous  fellow-creatures  ? 
Should  not  our  common  tones  awaken 
in  them  sympathy  with  the  poor,  and 
ignorant,  and  depraved  ? Should  not 
the  influences  of  home  fit  them  to  go 
forth  as  the  benefactors  of  their  race  ? 
This  is  a Christian  education.  This  is 


OF  THE  REV.  DR.  TUCKERMAN. 


583 


worth  all  accomplishments.  Give  to 
society  a generous,  disinterested  son  or 
daughter,  and  you  will  pay  with  interest 
the  debt  you  owe  it.  Blessed  is  that 
home  where  such  members  are  formed 
to  be  heads  of  future  families  and  foun- 
tains of  pure  influence  to  the  communi- 
ties of  which  they  form  a part.  In  this 
respect  our  education  is  most  deficient. 
Whilst  we  pay  profusely  for  superficial 
accomplishments,  very  little  is  done  to 
breathe  a noble,  heroic,  self-sacrificing 
spirit  into  the  young. 

In  reply  to  these  remarks,  ill-boding 
scepticism  will  cry  out,  “Why  all  this 
labor  ? Society  cannot  be  improved. 
Its  evils  cannot  be  done  away.”  But 
this  croaking  has  little  significance  to 
one  who  believes  in  Christ,  the  divinely 
ordained  Regenerator  of  the  world,  and 
who  compares,  in  the  light  of  history, 
the  present  with  past  times.  On  these 
authorities,  I maintain  that  society  can 
be  improved.  I am  confident  that  this 
city  would  become  a new  place,  a new 
creation,  were  the  intelligent  and  good 
to  seek  in  earnest  to  spread  their  intel- 
ligence and  goodness.  We  have  pow- 
ers enough  here  for  a mighty  change, 
were  they  faithfully  used.  I would  add, 
that  God  permits  evils  for  this  very  end, 
that  they  should  be  resisted  and  sub- 
dued. He  intends  that  this  world  shall 
grow  better  and  happier,  not  through 
his  own  immediate  agency,  but  through 
the  labors  and  sufferings  of  benevolence. 
This  world  is  left,  in  a measure,  to  the 
power  of  evil,  that  it  should  become  a 
monument,  a trophy,  to  the  power  of 
goodness.  The  greatness  of  its  crimes 
and  woes  is  not  a ground  for  despair,  but 
a call  to  greater  effort.  On  our  earth 
the  divine  Philanthropist  has  begun  a 
war  with  evil.  His  cross  is  erected  to 
gather  together  soldiers  for  the  con- 
flict, and  victory  is  written  in  his  blood. 
The  spirit  which  Jesus  Christ  breathes 
has  already  proved  itself  equal  to  this 
warfare.  How  much  has  it  already  done 
to  repress  ferocity  in  Christian  nations, 
to  purify  domestic  life,  to  abolish  or 
mitigate  slavery,  to  provide  asylums  for 
disease  and  want ! These  are  but  its 
first  fruits.  In  the  progress  already 
made  by  communities  under  its  influ- 
ences we  are  taught  that  society  is  not 
destined  to  repeat  itself  perpetually,  to 
stand  still  for  ever.  We  learn  that  great 
cities  need  not  continue  to  be  sinks  of 


pollution.  No  man  has  seized  the  grand 
peculiarity  of  the  present  age  who  does 
not  see  in  it  the  means  and  material  of 
a vast  and  beneficent  social  change. 
The  revolution  which  we  are  called  to 
advance  has,  in  truth,  begun.  The  great 
distinction  of  our  times  is  a diffusion  of 
intelligence,  and  refinement,  and  of  the 
spirit  of  progress,  through  a vastly  wider 
sphere  than  formerly.  The  middle  and 
laboring  classes  have  means  of  improve- 
ment not  dreamed  of  in  earlier  times. 
And  why  stop  here  ? Why  not  increase 
these  means  where  now  enjoyed  ? Why 
not  extend  them  where  they  are  not 
possessed  ? Why  shall  any  portion  of 
the  community  be  deprived  of,  light,  of 
sympathy,  of  the  aids  by  which  they  may 
rise  to  comfort  and  virtue  ? 

At  the  present  moment  it  is  singu- 
larly unreasonable  to  doubt  and  despair 
of  the  improvement  of  society.  Provi- 
dence is  placing  before  our  eyes,  in 
broad  light,  the  success  of  efforts  for 
the  melioration  of  human  affairs.  I 
might  refer  to  the  change  produced 
among  ourselves,  within  a few  years,  by 
the  exertions  of  good  men  for  the  sup- 
pression of  intemperance,  the  very  vice 
which  seemed  the  most  inveterate,  and 
which  more  than  all  others  spreads  pov- 
erty and  crime.  But  this  moral  revolu- 
tion in  our  own  country  sinks  into 
nothing  when  compared  with  the  amaz- 
ing and  almost  incredible  work  now  in 
progress  on  the  other  side  of  the  ocean. 
A few  years  ago,  had  we  been  called  to 
name  the  country  of  all  others  most 
degraded,  beggared,  and  hopelessly 
crushed  by  intemperance,  we  should 
have  selected  Ireland.  There  men  and 
women,  old  and  young,  were  alike  swept 
away  by  what  seemed  the  irresistible 
torrent.  Childhood  was  baptized  into 
drunkenness.  And  now,  in  the  short 
space  of  two  or  three  years,  this  vice  of 
ages  has  almost  been  rooted  out.  In  a 
moral  point  of  view,  the  Ireland  of  the 
past  is  vanished.  A new  Ireland  has 
started  into  life.  Three  millions  of  her 
population  have  taken  the  pledge  of 
total  abstinence,  and  instances  of  vio- 
lating the  pledge  are  very,  very  rare. 
The  great  national  anniversaries,  on 
which  the  whole  laboring  population 
used  to  be  dissolved  in  excess,  are  now 
given  to  innocent  pleasures.  The  ex- 
cise on  ardent  spirits  has  now  been 
diminished  nearly  half  a million  ster- 


584  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


ling.  History  records  no  revolution 
like  this.  It  is  the  grand  event  of  the 
present  day.  Father  Matthew,  the 
leader  in  this  moral  revolution,  ranks 
far  above  the  heroes  and  statesmen  of 
the  times.  As  Protestants,  we  smile  at 
the  old  legends  of  the  Catholic  church  ; 
but  here  is  something  greater,  and  it  is 
true.  However  we  may  question  the 
claims  of  her  departed  saints,  she  has  a 
living  minister,  if  he  may  be  judged 
from  one  work,  who  deserves  to  be  can- 
onized, and  whose  name  should  be 
placed  in  the  calendar  not  far  below 
apostles.  And  is  this  an  age  in  which 
to  be  sceptical  as  to  radical  changes  in 
society,  as  to  the  recovery  of  the  mass 
of  men  from  brutal  ignorance  and  still 
more  brutal  vice  ? 

The  remarks  which  have  now  been 
made  are  needed  at  the  present  moment. 
Our  city  is  growing,  and  we  are  impa- 
tient for  its  more  rapid  growth,  as  if 
size  and  numbers  were  happiness.  We 
are  anxious  to  swell  our  population.  Is 
it  not  worth  our  while  to  inquire,  what 
kind  of  a population  we  are  to  gather 
here  ? Are  we  so  blind  as  to  be  willing 
and  anxious  to  repeat  the  experience  of 
other  cities  ? Are  we  willing  to  increase 
only  our  physical  comforts,  our  material 
wealth  ? Do  we  not  know  that  great 
cities  have  hitherto  drawn  together  the 
abandoned  ? have  bred  a horde  of  ig- 
norant, profligate,  criminal  poor  ? have 
been-deformed  by  the  horrible  contrasts 
of  luxury  and  famine,  of  splendor  and  ab- 
ject woe  ? Do  we  not  know  that  among 
the  indigent  and  laborious  classes  of 
great  cities  the  mortality  is  fearfully 
great  in  comparison  with  that  of  the 
country  ? a result  to  be  traced  to  the 
pestilential  atmosphere  which  these  peo- 
ple breathe,  to  the  filth,  darkness,  and 
dampness  of  their  dwellings,  to  the  suf- 
fering, comfortless  condition  of  their 
children,  and  to  the  gross  vices  which 
spring  up  from  ignorance  and  destitu- 
tion. Do  we  want  no  better  destiny  for 
this  our  dear  and  honored  metropolis  ? 
You  will  not  suspect  me  of  being  a foe 
to  what  are  called  improvements.  Let 
our  city  grow.  Let  railroads  connect  it 
with  the  distant  West.  Let  commerce 
link  it  with  the  remotest  East.  But, 
whilst  its  wealth  and  numbers  grow,  let 
its  means  of  intelligence,  religion,  virtue, 
domestic  purity,  and  fraternal  union 
grow  faster.  Let  us  be  more  anxious 


for  moral  than  physical  growth.  May 
God  withhold  prosperity,  unless  it  is  to 
be  inspired,  hallowed,  ennobled  by  pub- 
lic spirit,  by  institutions  for  higher  edu- 
cation, and  by  increasing  concern  of  the 
enlightened  and  opulent  for  the  ignorant 
and  poor  ! If  prosperity  is  to  narrow 
and  harden  us,  to  divide  us  into  castes 
of  high  and  low,  to  corrupt  the  rich  by 
extravagance  and  pride,  and  to  create  a 
more  reckless  class  of  poor,  then  God 
avert  it  from  us  ! But  prosperity  need 
not  be  so  abused.  It  admits  of  noble 
uses.  It  may  multiply  the  means  of 
good.  It  may  multiply  teachers  of  truth 
and  virtue.  It  may  make  the  desert 
places  of  society  blossom  as  the  rose. 
To  this  end  may  our  prosperity  be  con- 
secrated. Thus  may  we  requite  the 
Author  of  all  good. 

How  we  may  accomplish  the  good 
work  now  set  before  us  I have  not  time 
to  say.  I would  only  ask  your  attention 
to  one  means  of  improving  our  city,  to 
which  our  attention  is  particularly  called 
by  the  occasion  which  has  brought  us 
together.  I refer  to  the  Ministry  at 
Large.  The  reasons  for  this  institution 
are  too  obvious  to  require  labored  expo- 
sition. That  those  classes  of  society 
which  enjoy  fewest  advantages  of  edu- 
cation peculiarly  need  instruction  and 
the  voice  of  the  living  teacher;  that 
those  whose  habits,  conditions,  and 
wants  exclude  them  in  effect  from  our 
churches,  should  be  visited  in  their 
homes  by  the  ministers  of  Christianity, 
who  does  not  see  and  acknowledge  ? 
If  we.  with  every  means  of  culture,  need 
the  Christian  ministry,  the  poor  need  it 
more.  Is  it  not  a duty,  and  should  we 
not  rejoice,  to  send  forth  faithful,  en- 
lightened men  whose  office  shall  be  to 
strengthen  those  whom  corrupt  influ- 
ences are  sweeping  from  duty  with 
peculiar  power,  to  guide  those  who  have 
no  other  counsellor,  to  admonish  and 
cheer  those  who  are  pressed  with  heav- 
iest temptations,  to  awaken  the  minds 
of  those  who  are  almost  unconscious  of 
their  intellectual  powers,  to  breathe  for- 
titude into  those  who  suffer  most,  to 
open  a better  world  to  those  to  whom 
this  world  is  darkened,  and,  above  all, 
to  snatch  their  children  from  ruin,  to 
protect  the  young  who  seem  born  to  a 
heritage  of  want  or  crime  ? The  minis- 
try devoted  to  these  offices  is,  undenia- 
bly, a wise,  Christian,  noble  institution. 


OF  THE  REV.  DR.  TUCKERMAN. 


This  evening  you  are  called  to  contrib- 
ute to  its  support.  Do  so  cheerfully. 
You  are  not  called  to  uphold  a plan  of 
doubtful  charity,  or  to  send  teachers  to 
remote  regions,  where  years  of  anxious 
labor  must  be  spent  on  an  unbroken, 
unthankful  soil  before  the  fruit  can  ap- 
pear. You  are  invited  to  sustain  an 
institution  seated  in  the  hearf  of  our 
city,  and  which,  as  you  know,  is  sending 
the  waters  of  life  through  our  own  pop- 
ulation. Its  chapels,  Sunday-schools, 
libraries,  are  in  the  midst  of  you.  The 
doors  to  which  its  ministers  carry  coun- 
sel and  consolation  are  near  your  own. 
You  see  its  influences  this  moment  in 
these  children.  Its  aim  is  to  remove  the 
saddest  features  of  our  civilization,  the 
deep  corruption  of  great  cities  ; and  in 
the  energy  which  it  now  puts  forth  we 
have  a pledge  of  a happier  era,  in  which 
society  will  prosper  without  the  terrible 
sacrifice  of  so  many  of  its  members. 
May  this  good  work  go  on  and  spread, 
and  may  future  generations  bless  us  for 
saving  them  from  some  of  the  worst 
evils  which  darken  our  own  age  ! 

I have  now  closed  my  remarks  on  the 
general  topic  suggested  by  this  occasion. 
But  the  work  of  the  Ministry  for  the 
Poor  has  brought  to  my  mind  solemn 
and  tender  thoughts,  which  I know  you 
will  not  think  foreign  to  our  present 
meeting,  and  which  it  will  be  a relief  to 
my  own  spirit  to  express.  The  Ministry 
at  Large  in  this  city  was  chiefly  origi- 
nated and  established  by  one  of  my  earli- 
est, dearest  friends,  who  closed  his  eyes 
not  many  months  since  on  a foreign 
shore.  Allow  me  to  pay  a tribute  to  his 
memory ; and  in  doing  this  allow  me  to 
speak  with  the  freedom  of  friendship. 

I have  not  labored  to  collect  materials 
for  a regular  history  of  this  distinguished 
man,  for  I believe  that  I shall  be  more 
just  to  his  memory  in  giving  reminis- 
cences of  our  long  intercourse  than  in 
reporting  a series  of  events.  I will  utter 
with  all  simplicity  ^what  rises  to  my 
memory,  and  I hope  that  the  clear  image 
which  I bear  of  my  departed  friend  may 
be  transferred  to  the  hearts  of  my 
hearers. 

My  acquaintance  with  Joseph  Tuck- 
erman  began  about  forty-seven  years 
ago,  and  during  most  of  the  time  which 
has  since  elapsed  we  lived  together  as 
brothers,  communicating  thoughts,  feel- 
ings,- reproofs,  encouragements,  with  a 


585 

faithfulness  not  often  surpassed.  I think 
of  him  with  peculiar  pleasure,  as  he  was, 
perhaps,  the  most  signal  example  within 
my  remembrance  of  improvement ; of  a 
man  overcoming  obstacles,  and  making 
progress  under  disadvantages.  When  I 
first  met  him  in  college  he  had  the  inno- 
cence of  childhood  ; he  was  sympathiz- 
ing, generous,  without  a stain  of  the 
vices  to  which  youth  is  prone  ; but  he 
did  not  seem  to  have  any  serious  views 
of  life.  Three  years  he  passed  almost  as 
a holiday,  unconscious  of  his  privileges, 
uninterested  in  his  severer  studies,  sur- 
rendering himself  to  sportive  impulses, 
which,  however  harmless  in  themselves, 
consumed  the  hours  which  should  have 
been  given  to  toil.  How  often  has 
he  spoken  to  me  with  grief  and  com- 
punction of  his  early  wasted  life  ! In 
his  last  college  year  a change  began, 
and  the  remote  cause  of  it  he  often 
spoke  of  with  lively  sensibility.  His 
mother,  he  was  accustomed  to  say,  was 
one  of  the  best  of  women.  She  had  in- 
stilled into  him  the  truths  of  religion 
with  a mother’s  love,  tempered  with  no 
common  wisdom.  The  seed  was  sown 
in  a kindly  nature.  The  religious  prin- 
ciple, which  at  first  had  only  been  a 
restraint  from  evil,  began  to  incite 
good ; and  to  this  the  progress  and 
greatness  of  his  life  were  mainly  due. 
On  leaving  college  he  gave  himself  to 
the  Christian  ministry  ; but,  with  the  un- 
chastened inconsideration  of  his  youth, 
he  plunged  into  his  duties  with  little 
preparation.  The  consequence  was  a 
succession  of  mortifications,  most  pain- 
ful at  the  time,  but  of  which  he  after- 
wards spoke  as  a merciful  discipline. 
So  unpromising  was  the  opening  of  a 
career  of  singular  energy  and  useful- 
ness. 

By  the  kind  ordination  of  Providence 
he  was  settled  in  a small,  obscure  parish, 
which  offered  nothing  to  gratify  ambition 
or  to  dissipate  the  mind.  Years  passed 
in  a life  which  we  should  call  monoto- 
nous, but  which  was  singularly  fitted  to 
give  him  the  calmness  and  steadiness 
which  he  needed.  Here  he  became  a stu- 
dent,— a faithful,  laborious  student, — 
and  accumulated  much  knowledge,  and 
devoted  no  little  time  to  the  thorny 
topics  of  theology.  Thus  the  defects 
of  his  early  intellectual  training  were 
repaired,  and  his  faculties  sharpened 
and  invigorated. 


586  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


He  was  not,  howler,  made  to  wear 
out  life  in  such  pursuits.  His  strength 
did  not  lie  in  abstract  speculation.  Had 
he  given  himself  to  this,  he  would  never 
have  forced  his  way  to  new  or  great 
views.  His  heart  was  his  great  power. 
To  his  moral,  religious,  benevolent  sen- 
timents he  owed  chiefly  the  expansion 
of  his  intellectual  nature.  Having  laid 
a good  foundation  by  study,  an  unerring 
instinct  taught  him  that  study  was  not 
his  vocation.  His  heart  yearned  for 
active  life.  He  became  more  and  more 
penetrated  with  the  miseries  and  crimes 
of  the  world.  As  he  sat  in  his  lonely 
study,  the  thought  of  what  men  endured 
on  the  land  and  the  sea  withdrew  him 
from  his  books.  He  was  irresistibly 
attracted  towards  his  fellow-creatures, 
by  their  sufferings,  and,  still  more,  by  a 
consciousness  that  there  was  something 
great  beneath  their  sufferings,  by  a sym- 
pathy with  their  spiritual  wants.  His 
study  window  looked  on  the  sea ; and 
the  white  sail,  as  it  skirted  the  horizon, 
reminded  him  of  the  ignorance  and  moral 
perils  of  the  sailor  ; and,  accordingly,  he 
was  the  first  man  in  the  country  to  make 
an  effort  for  the  improvement  and  in- 
struction of  this  class  of  men.  The 
society  which  he  instituted  for  this  end 
did  not  answer  its  purpose  ; for  he  knew 
little  or  nothing  of  the  people  he  wished 
to  serve,  nor  was  the  community  then 
awake,  as  it  now  is,  to  the  work  of  re- 
form. But  the  spirit  which  was  moving 
in  him  was  not  depressed  by  failure. 
He  soon  gave  himself  with  zeal  to  the 
missionary  cause  ; thought,  talked,  and 
wrote  about  it  with  characteristic  en- 
ergy ; and,  had  not  family  ties  pre- 
vented, would  have  devoted  himself,  I 
believe,  to  the  service  of  the  heathen. 

Whilst  the  passion  for  conflict  with 
evil  was  struggling  within  him,  his  health 
failed,  and  for  a time  he  had  reason  to 
fear  that  he  was  to  be  cut  off  from  use- 
fulness. But  the  same  gracious  Provi- 
dence which  had  ordained  with  signal 
kindness  the  events  of  his  past  exist- 
ence was  guiding  him  through  this  dark 
passage  to  the  great  sphere  and  purpose 
of  his  life.  His  disease  incapacitated 
him  from  answering  the  demand  made 
upon  his  voice  by  the  pulpit.  He  felt 
that  he  must  cease  from  regular  preach- 
ing ; and  what,  then,  was  he  to  do  ? In 
a favored  hour  the  thought  of  devoting 
himself  to  the  service  of  the  poor  of  this 


city  entered  his  mind,  and  met  a re- 
sponse within  which  gave  it  the  char- 
acter of  a divine  monition.  He  consulted 
me  ; and,  in  obedience  to  a long-rooted 
conviction  that  society  needs  new  min- 
istries and  agencies  for  its  redemption, 
and  that  men  inspired  with  self-sacrific- 
ing zeal  for  its  redemption  are  God’s 
best  gifts  to  the  world,  I encouraged  his 
faith  and  hope. 

At  first  he  entered  almost  tremblingly 
the  houses  of  the  poor  where  he  was 
a stranger,  to  offer  his  sympathy  and 
friendship.  But  “ the  sheep  knew  the 
voice  of  the  shepherd.”  The  poor  re- 
cognized by  instinct  their  friend,  and 
from  the  first  moment  a relation  of  sin- 
gular tenderness  and  confidence  was 
established  between  them.  That  part 
of  his  life  I well  remember,  for  he 
came  often  to  pour  into  my  ear  and 
heart  his  experience  and  success.  I well 
remember  the  effect  which  contact  with 
the  poor  produced  on  his  mind.  He 
had  loved  them  when  he  knew  little  of 
them ; when  their  distresses  came  to 
him  through  the  imagination.  But  he 
was  a proof  that  no  speculation  or 
imagination  can  do  the  work  of  actual 
knowledge.  So  deep  was  the  sympathy, 
so  intense  the  interest,  which  the  poor 
excited  in  him.  that  it  seemed  as  if  a new 
fountain  of  love  had  been  opened  within 
him.  No  favorite  of  fortune  could  have 
repaired  to  a palace,  where  the  rays  of 
royal  favor  were  to  be  centered  on  him, 
with  a more  eager  spirit  and  quicker 
step  than  our  friend  hastened  to  the 
abodes  of  want  in  the  darkest  alleys  of 
our  city.  How  often  have  I stood  hum- 
bled before  the  deep  spiritual  love  which 
burst  from  him  in  those  free  communi- 
cations which  few  enjoyed  beside  myself ! 
I cannot  forget  one  evening,  when,  in 
conversing  with  the  late  Dr.  Follen  and 
myself  on  the  claims  of  the  poor,  and 
on  the  cold-heartedness  of  society,  he 
not  only  deeply  moved  us,  but  filled  us 
with  amazement,  b^  his  depth  of  feeling 
and  energy  of  utterance  ; nor  can  I for- 
get how,  when  he  left  us,  Dr.  Follen,  a 
man  fitted  by  his  own  spirit  to  judge  of 
greatness,  said  to  me,  “ He  is  a great 
man.” 

This  strong  love  for  his  fellow-creat- 
ures was  not  a wild  enthusiasm.  It  was 
founded  on  clear,  deliberate  perception 
of  the  spiritual  nature,  the  immortal  des- 
tination, of  every  human  being.  Who- 


OF  THE  REV  DR . TUCKERMAN. 


ever  discerns  truly  and  feels  deeply  this 
greatness  of  humanity,  this  relation  of 
the  soul  to  God,  must,  indeed,  pass  for 
an  enthusiast  in  the  present  day ; for 
our  state  of  society  is,  in  a great  degree, 
a denial  of  the  higher  rights,  claims,  and 
destinies  of  a human  being. 

It  was  this  love  for  the  poor  which 
gave  to  our  friend’s  labors  their  efficacy, 
which  made  his  ministry  a living  thing, 
and  which  gave  it  perpetuity.  This 
house  and  our  other  chapels  had  their 
foundation  in  this  love.  He  could  not 
be  kept  from  the  poor.  Cold,  storms, 
sickness,  severe  pain,  could  not  shut 
him  up  at  home.  Nothing  but  his  do- 
mestic ties  prevented  him  from  taking 
up  his  abode  among  the  indigent.  He 
would  sometimes  say,  that  could  he,  on 
leaving  the  world,  choose  his  sphere,  it 
would  be  thqt  of  a ministering  spirit  to 
the  poor ; and  if  the  spirits  of  departed 
good  men  return  to  our  world,  his,  I 
doubt  not,  might  be  found  in  the  haunts 
of  want  and  woe.  In  this,  as  I have 
already  said,  there  was  no  blinding  en- 
thusiasm. He  saw  distinctly  the  vices 
/which  are  often  found  among  the  poor, 
— their  craft,  and  sloth,  and- ingratitude. 
His  ministry  was  carried  on  in  the  midst 
of  their  frequent  filth  and  recklessness. 
The  coarsest  realities  pressed  him  on 
every  side.  These  were  not  the  scenes 
to  make  an  enthusiast.  But  amidst  these 
he  saw,  now  the  fainter  signs,  now  the 
triumphs,  of  a divine  virtue.  It  was  his 
delight  to  relate  examples  of  patience, 
disinterestedness,  piety,  amidst  severest 
sufferings.  These  taught  him,  that,  in 
the  poorest  hovels,  he  was  walking 
among  immortals,  and  his  faith  in  the 
divinity  within  the  soul  turned  his  min- 
istry into  joy. 

Dr.  Tuckerman  has  sometimes  been 
called  the  founder  of  the  Ministry  at 
Large.  If  by  this  language  be  meant 
that  he  first  planned  and  established  a 
distinct  ministry  for  the  poor,  the  lan- 
guage is  incorrect.  Before  his  time 
there  had  been  men  who  had  devoted 
themselves  exclusively  and  faithfully  to 
the  religious  instruction  of  those  who 
cannot  be  gathered  into  the  ordinary 
places  of  worship.  His  merit  lay  in 
giving  a new  life  to  the  work,  in  showing 
what  it  could  do,  in  raising  if  from  neg- 
lect to  a high  place  among  the  means 
of  regenerating  the  world,  and  in  awak- 
ening new  hopes  of  the  improvement  of 


587 

what  had  been  looked  on  as  the  hope- 
less portion  of  society.  The  greatest 
benefactors  of  men  are  not  so  much 
those  who  discover  or  contrive  wholly 
original  and  untried  modes  of  action,  as 
those  who  seize  on  familiar  means  or 
agencies  and  exalt  them  into  new  powers. 
Our  friend  had  hardly  entered  into  his 
ministry  when  he  discovered  its  capaci- 
ties. He  saw  that  it  opened  a sphere 
of  usefulness  which  had  hardly  been 
dreamed  of.  With  prophetic  faith,  he 
threw  into  it  his  whole  soul ; and  his 
example  and  success  raised  up  others  to 
confide  in  and  to  wield  the  same  power. 
He  may  thus  be  said,  in  an  important 
sense,  to  have  established  this  ministry. 
Through  him  it  has  taken  root  in  men’s 
faith.  It  has  passed,  with  all  the  energy 
which  he  imparted  to  it,  into  other  hands, 
and  is  seen  and  felt  to  deserve  a place 
among  our  permanent  institutions.  Much 
of  this  success  was,  undoubtedly,  due  to 
his  singleness  of  heart ; but  much,  also, 
to  his  clear  insight  into  the  principles  of 
human  nature  which  rendered  the  poor 
open  to  good  influences,  and  into  the 
means  by  which  human  beings  in  their 
condition  may  be  most  effectually  ap- 
proached. 

In  carrying  on  this  great  work,  Dr. 
Tuckerman  did  not  stand  alone.  He 
received  important  aids  from  sympathiz- 
ing friends.  He  began  his  labors  under 
the  patronage  of  the  American  Unitarian 
Association.  At  length,  to  insure  the 
continuance  of  the  Ministry  at  Large 
and  to  extend  its  operation,  a union,  or, 
as  it  is  called,  a Fraternity,  of  several 
churches  in  the  city  was  formed,  to  take 
this  important  work  under  its  guidance 
and  care.  There  were  some  among  us 
who  had  come  to  feel  that  a Christian 
church  was  established  not  only  for  the 
edification  of  its  own  members,  but  for 
the  general  .cause  of  Christianity ; and 
that  it  was  especially  bound  to  extend 
the  means  of  moral  and  religious  instruc- 
tion to  such  families  or  individuals  in 
its  neighborhood  as,  from  poverty,  or 
any  other  causes,  were  deprived  of  the 
benefit  of  the  public  ordinances  of  re- 
hgion.  In  conformity  to  this  idea  the 
Fraternity  was  formed,  on  a simple  but 
efficient  plan.  In  each  of  the  churches 
disposed  to  co-operate  for  the  support 
of  the  Ministry  at  Large  a branch  asso- 
ciation is  established,  the  members  of 
which  contribute  to  this  work  according 


588  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


to  their  means  or  sense  of  duty,  and 
which  is  represented  in  a central  board, 
to  whose  discretion  the  management  of- 
the  whole  concern  is  intrusted.  By  this 
arrangement  various  good  ends  are  ac- 
complished. The  Ministry  for  the  Poor 
has  become  linked  with  our  most  im- 
portant religious  institution,  and  may 
be  hoped  to  partake  of  the  durableness 
of  the  regular  ministry.  The  churches 
are  knit  together  by  a new  bond,  not 
one  of  creeds,  or  tribunals,  or  organiza- 
tions to  accumulate  power,  but  the  holy 
bond  of  charity ; and,  still  more,  they 
are  brought  to  recognize  distinctly  and 
practically  their  obligation  to  look  be- 
yond themselves,  and  to  labor  for  the 
extension  of  Christian  truth  and  virtue. 

This  association  gave  but  a small 
salary  to  Dr.  Tuckerman,  but  he  desired 
nothing  beyond  what  was  necessary  to 
save  him  from  debt ; and  this  he  did 
desire.  On  this  point  he  was  peculiarly 
sensitive,  so  much  so  that  a notice  of 
him  would  be  imperfect  in  which  this 
trait  should  be  omitted.  He  shrunk 
from  the  slightest  pecuniary  embarrass- 
ment as  an  intolerable  evil.  “ Owe  no 
man  any  thing,”  was  a precept  which 
he  kept  in  sight  in  all  his  domestic 
arrangements ; and,  by  his  strict  econ- 
omy and  wise  providence,  he  was  able 
to  spend  a long  life  and  bring  up  a large 
family  without  once  anticipating  his  in- 
come and  without  contracting  a debt. 
Some  of  his  friends,  of  looser  habits, 
received  lessons  of  wisdom  and  reproof 
in  this  respect  from  his  counsel  and 
example. 

As  to  the  great  ideas  which  ruled 
over  and  guided  his  ministry,  and  as  to 
the  details  of  his  operations,  they  may 
be  gathered  best  from  the  Reports  which 
he  was  accustomed  to  make  to  the 
societies  under  whose  patronage  he 
acted.  He  published,  indeed,  a volume 
on  this  subject ; but  it  is  hardly  worthy 
of  his  abilities  or  his  cause.  It  was 
prepared  under  the  pressure  of  disease, 
when  his  constitution  was  so  exhausted 
by  excessive  labor  that  he  was  compelled 
to  forego  all  out-door  duties.  He  wrote 
it  with  a morbid  impatience,  as  if  hg 
might  be  taken  away  before  giving  it  to 
the  world.  It  ought,  in  truth,  to  be 
regarded  as  an  extemporaneous  effusion. 
It  was  hurried  through  the  press  whilst 
the  friends  whom  he  had  consulted  were 
hoping  that  it  was  undergoing  a patient 


revision.  Thus  hastily  composed,  it 
was  necessarily  diffuse,  — a fault  which 
marks  his  most  careful  writings.  It 
might,  indeed,  have  been  compressed 
to  half  the  size  ; and,  as  might  be  ex- 
pected, it  fell  almost  dead  from  the 
press.  This  sore  trial  he  bore  with 
great  equanimity  ; but  he  felt  it  deeply. 
The  saddest  words  I heard  from  him 
in  his  sickness  were  those  in  which  he 
expressed  his  regrets  at  having  precipi- 
tated this  publication. 

It  is  in  his  Reports,  chiefly,  that  the 
history  of  his  ministry  is  to  be  studied. 
These  are  a treasure  for  the  man  who 
would  act  wisely  on  the  poor.  They 
are  records  of  an  uncommonly  various 
experience.  They  show  his  insight  into 
the  temptations,  perils,  hearts,  of  the 
depressed  and  indigent ; and,  whilst 
exposing  their  errors  and  sins,  breathe 
a never-failing  sympathy.  It  is  easy 
to  see  in  these  that  the  great  principle 
which  animated  his  ministry  was  an 
immovable  faith  in  God's  merciful  pur- 
poses towards  the  poor.  Their  con- 
dition never,  for  a moment,  seemed  to 
him  to  separate  them  from  their  Creator^ 
On  the  contrary,  he  felt  God’s  presence 
in  the  narrow,  comfortless  dwelling  of 
the  poor  as  he  felt  it  nowhere  else. 

His  perpetual  recognition  of  the  spirit- 
ual, immortal  nature  of  the  poor  gave  to 
all  his  intercourse  a character  of  tender- 
ness and  respect.  He  spoke  to  them 
plainly,  boldly,  but  still  as  to  the  chil- 
dren of  the  same  infinite  Father.  He 
trusted  in  man’s  moral  nature,  however 
bruised  and  crushed ; he  was  sure  that 
no  heart  could  resist  him,  if  he  could 
but  convince  it  of  his  sincere  brotherly 
concern.  One  rule  he  observed  almost 
too  instinctively  to  make  it  a rule.  He 
always  spoke  encouragingly.  He  felt 
that  the  weight  under  which  the  poor 
man’s  spirit  was  already  sinking  needed 
no  addition  from  the  harshness  of  his 
spiritual  guide.  He  went  forth  in  the 
power  of  brotherly  #love,  and  found  it 
a divine  armor.  On  this  point  too  much 
cannot  be  said.  The  city  of  Boston 
has  the  honor,  above  all  cities,  of  prov- 
ing how  much  can  be  accomplished  by 
a generous,  affectionate  mode  of  speech 
and  action  among  those  classes  of  soci- 
ety which  it  has  been  thought  can  only 
be  reached  by  menace,  sternness,  and 
terror.  Dr.  Tuckerman  and  his  suc- 
cessors, in  their  intercourse  with  the 


OF  THE  REV  DR.  TUCKERMAN. 


poor,  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Taylor,  in  his 
labors  among  seamen,  have  taught  us 
that  men,  in  the  most  unpromising 
conditions,  are  to  be  treated  as  men  ; 
that  under  coarse  jackets,  and  even 
rags,  may  be  found  tender  and  noble 
hearts  : and  that  the  heart,  even  when 
hardened,  still  responds  to  the  voice 
of  a true  friend  and  brother.  The  hor- 
rible thought,  that  certain  portions  of 
society  are  to  be  kept  down  by  appeals 
to  their  superstition  and  fear,  has  here 
received  a refutation  very  cheering  to 
the  friends  of  humanity.  Dr.  Tucker- 
man  carried  among  the  poor  his  own 
highest  views  of  religion,  and  often 
spoke  to  me  of  the  eagerness  with  which 
they  were  received.  He  was,  indeed, 
too  wise  a man  to  give  them  in  an  ab- 
stract form,  or  in  technical  language. 
They  were  steeped  in  his  heart  before 
they  found  their  way  to  his  lips  ; and, 
flowing  warm  and  fresh  from  this  foun- 
tain, they  were  drunk  in  as  living  waters 
by  the  thirsty  souls  of  the  poor. 

A great  secret  of  Dr.  Tuckerman’s 
success  lay  in  his  strong  interest  in 
individuals.  It  was  not  in  his  nature 
to  act  on  masses  by  general  methods  ; 
he  threw  his  soul  into  particular  cases. 
Every  sufferer  whom  he  visited  seemed 
to  awaken  in  him  a special  affection  and 
concern.  I remember  well  the  language 
which  he  once  used  in  regard  to  a man 
who  had  gone  far  astray.  He  said  to 
me  with  deep  emotion,  “ I want  that 
man’s  soul ; I musf  save  him.”  He 
made  the  worst  feel  that  they  had  a 
friend,  and  by  his  personal  interest 
linked  them  anew  with  their  race. 

Let  me  add  another  explication  of  his 
success.  He  sought  for  something  to 
love  in  all.  He  seized  on  any  thing 
good  which  might  remain  in  the  fallen 
spirit ; on  any  domestic  affection,  any 
generous  feeling,  which  might  have  es- 
caped the  wreck  of  the  character.  If 
he  could  but  touch  one  chord  of  love, 
one  tender  recollection  of  home,  one 
feeling  of  shame  or ‘sorrow  for  the  past, 
no  matter  how  faintly,  he  rejoiced  and 
took  courage,  like  the  good  physician 
who,  in  watching  over  the  drowned, 
detects  a flutter  of  the  pulse,  or  the 
feeblest  sign  of  life.  His  hope  in  such 
cases  tended  to  fulfil  itself.  His  tones 
awakened  a like  hope  in  the  fallen. 
“ He  did  not  break  the  bruised  reed, 
or  quench  the  smoking  flax.” 


589 

He  began  his  ministry  expecting  to 
accomplish  his  work  by  visiting  and 
conversation,  and  this  he  always  relied 
on  as  the  most  important  means  of  use- 
fulness. But  he  soon  found  that  social 
worship  could  not  be  dispensed  with, 
that  this  was  a want  of  human  nature  ; 
that  the  poor,  by  the  mere  circumstance 
of  leaving  their  homes  and  coming  to- 
gether in  decent  apparel  for  the  worship 
of  God,  received  a salutary  impulse,  and 
that  in  this  way  they  could  be  brought 
most  effectually  to  act  on  one  another 
for  good.  He  therefore  resumed  preach- 
ing, though  unequal  to  the  effort.  The 
effect  of  this  new  situation  in  awaken- 
ing his  powers  as  a preacher  was  strik- 
ing. In  his  sermons  written  for  common 
congregations  he  had  never  been  very 
attractive ; but  his  free,  extemporane- 
ous, fervent  address  drew  round  him 
a crowd  of  poor  who  hung  on  his  lips  ; 
and  those  who  were  not  poor  were  moved 
by  his  fervent  utterance.  His  idea  of 
preaching  underwent  a great  change. 
Whilst  abstaining  from  public  com- 
plaint, he  would  in  private  mourn  over 
the  lifeless  discussions  of  the  pulpit, 
which  too  often  make  the  church  cold 
as  the  grave. 

His  influence  over  the  poor  was  a 
good  deal  increased  by  the  variety  of 
forms  in  which  he  exerted  it.  He  was 
not  merely  a spiritual  guide.  He  had 
much  skill  in  the  details  of  common 
life,  was  a good  economist,  understood 
much  about  the  trades  and  labors  in 
which  the  poor  are  most  occupied, 
could  suggest  expedients  for  diminish- 
ing expense  and  multiplying  comforts, 
and  by  these  homely  gifts  won  the  con- 
fidence of  the  poor.  He  could  sym- 
pathize with  them  in  their  minutest 
wants  and  sufferings,  and  opened  a way 
for  his  high  truths  by  being  a wise 
counsellor  as  to  their  worldly  interests. 
At  the  very  moment  when  he  passed 
with  some  for  an  enthusiast,  he  was 
teaching  household  management  to  a 
poor  woman,  or  contriving  employment 
for  her  husband,  or  finding  a place  for 
her  child. 

This  reminds  me  of  one  branch  of 
his  labors  in  which  he  took  special 
interest  He  felt  deeply  for  the  chil- 
dren of  the  poor.  They  were  in  his 
mind  habitually,  as  he  walked  the 
streets,  and  when  he  entered  the  in- 
digent dwelling.  He  used  to  stop  to 


590 


DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


inquire  into  the  residence  and  history 
of  the  begging  child.  He  visited  the 
market  and  the  wharf  to  discover  the 
young  who  were  wasting  the  day  in 
sloth,  taking  their  first  lessons  in  the 
art  of  theft.  He  was  unwearied  in  his 
efforts  to  place  these  children  in  schools  ; 
and  multitudes  owe  to  him  their  moral 
safety  and  the  education  which  prepared 
them  for  respectable  lives.  Through 
his  means,  not  a few  who  had  escaped 
all  domestic  control  and  entered  on  the 
downward  path  of  crime,  were  sent  to 
the  House  of  Reformation  ; and  he  de- 
lighted to  meet,  or  speak  of,  those  who, 
under  this  influence,  had  been  restored 
to  innocence.  To  the  interest  which 
he  awakened  in  the  unprotected  chil- 
dren of  the  poor  we  owe  chiefly  the 
establishment  of  the  Farm  School.  If 
any  subject  peculiarly  occupied  his 
thoughts  and  heart,  it  was  the  duty  of 
the  city  to  that  portion  of  the  young 
who,  if  not  adopted  by  society,  must 
grow  up  to  guilt  and  shame  and  public 
punishment.  If  his  benevolence  ever 
broke  out  in  bitter  reproach,  it  was 
in  speaking  of  the  general  insensi- 
bility to  the  neglected  child,  trained  up 
by  its  parents  to  beggary  and  fraud, 
accustomed  to  breathe  the  fumes  of 
intemperance,  and  left  to  look  on  vice 
as  its  natural  state.  Such  was  his  in- 
fluence that  street-beggary  sensibly  de- 
clined among  us,  an  effect  indicating 
an  extent  of  good  influence  not  easily 
apprehended. 

To  show  his  generous  modes  of  view- 
ing the  poor,  I would  state  that,  for  a 
time,  he  assembled  the  children  one 
afternoon  in  the  week  to  give  them  in- 
struction in  natural  history.  He  took 
great  delight  in  this  branch  of  knowl- 
edge, and  had  stored  up  in  his  mind  a 
large  number  of  facts  illustrative  of  the 
wisdom  and  goodness  of  God  in  the 
creation.  These  he  used  to  unfold,  and 
was  able  to  awaken  the  curiosity  and 
fix  the  attention  of  his  young  hearers  ; 
of  which,  indeed,  they  furnished  proof, 
by  giving  him  a portion  of  time  usually 
spent  in  play.  His  want  of  strength, 
which  compelled  him  to  relinquish  the 
pulpit,  obliged  him  to  give  up  this  mode 
of  teaching  after  a short  trial. 

I mention  these  various  exertions  as 
illustrative  of  the  enlarged  spirit  which 
he  carried  into  his  work.  His  great 
object  was  to  promote  religion ; but 


religion  did  not  stand  alone  in  his  mind. 
He  felt  its  connection  with  intellectual 
cultivation,  with  wise  household  man- 
agement, with  neatness  and  propriety 
of  manners,  and  especially  with  the  dis- 
charge of  parental  duty  ; and  his  labors 
may  be  said  to  have  covered  almost  all 
the  departments  of  social  life.  The 
truth  is,  that  his  heart  was  in  his  work. 
He  did  not  think  of  it  as  the  work 
of  a day,  or  of  a few  years,  but  of 
life.  He  wanted  to  grow  old  and  die 
in  it.  The  world  opened  nothing  to 
him,  in  all  its  various  callings,  more 
honorable,  more  godlike.  His  ambition, 
of  which  he  had  his  share,  and  his  dis- 
interested and  religious  principles,  all 
flowed  into  this  channel  ; so  that  he 
acted  with  undivided  energy,  with  a 
whole  soul.  Hence  he  became  fruitful 
in  expedients,  detected  new  modes  of 
influence,  wound  his  way  to  his  end 
gently  and  indirectly,  and  contrived  to 
turn  almost  every  thing  to  account. 
Some,  indeed,  complained  that  he 
dragged  his  poor  into  all  companies  and 
conversation.  But  we  must  learn  to 
bear  the  infirmities  of  a fervent  spirit, 
and  to  forgive  a love  which  is  stronger 
than  our  own,  though  it  may  happen  to 
want  the  social  tact  in  which  the  indif- 
ferent and  trifling  are  apt  to  make  the 
most  proficiency. 

On  one  subject  Dr.  Tuckerman  agreed 
in  opinion  and  feeling  with  all  who  visit 
and  labor  for  the  poor.  He  felt  that  the 
poverty  of  our  city  was  due  chiefly  to 
intemperance,  and  "that  this  enhances 
infinitely  the  woes  of  a destitute  condi- 
tion. A poor  family  into  which  this 
vice  had  not  found  its  way  was  a privi- 
leged place  in  his  sight.  Poverty  with- 
out drunkenness  hardly  seemed  to  rank, 
as  an  evil,  by  the  side  of  that  which 
drunkenness  had  generated.  If  there 
was  one  of  our  citizens  whom  he  hon- 
ored as  eminently  the  friend  of  the  poor, 
it  was  that  unwearied  philanthropist 
who,  whilst  his  heart  and  hands  are 
open  to  all  the  claims  of  misery,  has 
selected,  as  his  peculiar  care,  the  cause 
of  temperance.*  Dr.  Tuckerman’s 
spirit  groaned  under  the  evils  of  intem- 
perance as  the  ancient  prophets  under 
the  burden  of  the  woes  which  they  were 
sent  to  denounce.  The  fumes  of  a 
distillery  were,  to  his  keen  feelings, 

* Moses  Grant. 


OF  THE  REF  DR.  TUCKERMAN. 


591 


more  noisome  and  deadly  than  the 
vapors  of  putrefaction  and  pestilence. 
He  looked  on  a shop  for  vending  ardent 
spirits  as  he  would  have  looked  on  a 
pitfall  opening  into  hell.  At  the  sight 
of  men  who,  under  all  our  present 
lights,  are  growing  rich  by  spreading 
these  poisons  through  the  land,  he  felt, 
I doubt  not,  how  the  curses  of  the  lost 
and  the  groans  of  ruined  wives  and 
children  were  rising  up  against  them. 
I know,  for  I have  heard,  the  vehemence 
of  entreaty  with  which  Dr.  Tuckerman 
sometimes  approached  the  intemperate, 
and  he  has  often  related  to  me  his  per- 
severing efforts  for  their  recovery.  Could 
he  have  bequeathed  to  the  sober  and 
Christian  part  of  this  city  and  Common- 
wealth his  intense  convictions  in  regard 
to  this  vice,  it  would  soon  be  repressed  ; 
the  sanction  of  public  authority  would  no 
longer  be  given  to  its  detestable  haunts ; 
one  chief  source  of  the  miseries  of  our 
civilization  would  be  dried  up. 

The  influence  of  Dr.  Tuckerman’s 
labors  was  not  confined  to  this  city  or 
country.  His  Reports  found  their  way 
to  Europe,  and  awakened  similar  exer- 
tions. When  his  declining  health 
obliged  him  to  cross  the  ocean  not  many 
years  since,  he  met  in  England  a cordial 
welcome  from  kindred  spirits.  His  soci- 
ety was  coveted  by  the  good  and  emi- 
nent, and  his  experience  listened  to 
with  profound  respect.  It  was  his  hap- 
piness to  meet  there  Rammohun  Roy. 
I was  informed  by  a friend,  who  was 
present  at  their  interviews,  that  this  wise 
and  great  Hindoo,  whose  oriental  cour- 
tesy overflowed  towards  all,  still  distin- 
guished our  countryman  by  the  affec- 
tionate veneration  with  which  he 
embraced  him.  In  France  he  was  re- 
ceived with  much  kindness  by  the  Baron 
Degerando,  the  distinguished  philoso- 
pher and  philanthropist,  whose  extensive 
and  profound  researches  into  poverty, 
and  into  the  means  of  its  prevention  or 
cure,  have  left  him  no  rival,  whether  in 
the  present  or  past  times.  This  virtu- 
ous man,  whose  single  name  is  enough 
to  redeem  France  from  the  reproach, 
sometimes  thrown  on  her,  of  indifference 
to  the  cause  of  humanity,  has  testified, 
in  private  letters  and  in  his  writings, 
his  high  consideration  for  the  character 
and  labors  of  our  departed  friend.  In 
truth,  Dr.  Tuckerman’s  influence  is  now 
felt  on  both  sides  the  ocean ; and  his 


name,  linked  as  it  is  with  the  Ministry 
for  the  Poor,  is  one  of  the  few  among 
us  which  will  be  transmitted  to  remote 
posterity.  There  is  hardly  a more  en- 
during monument  on  which  a man  can 
inscribe  his  name  than  a beneficent 
institution  founded  on  the  principles  of 
human  nature,  and  which  is  to  act  on 
large  portions  of  society.  Schemes  of 
policy,  accumulations  of  power,  and 
almost  all  the  writings  of  an  age,  pass 
away.  The  men  who  make  most  noise 
are  lost  and  forgotten  like  the  blasts  of 
a trumpet.  But  institutions  wrought 
into  a people’s  habits,  and,  especially, 
incorporated  with  Christianity,  — that 
immortal  truth,  that  everlasting  king- 
dom, — endure  for  ages.  Our  friend 
has  left  a name  ter  live; — not  that  a 
name  is  worth  an  anxious  thought ; — 
but  the  ambitious,  who  mistake  for  it 
the  shout  of  a brief  day,  may  be  usefully 
reminded  that  it  is  the  meed  of  those 
who  are  toiling  in  obscure  paths,  and  on 
whom  they  hardly  deign  to  bestow  a 
passing  thought.  Dr.  Tuckerman  was 
not  wholly  raised  above  this  motive  ; 
and  who  of  us  is  ? But  his  work  was 
incomparably  dearer  to  him  than  renown ; 
he  toiled  for  years  without  dreaming  of 
the  reputation  it  was  to  bestow  ; and  in 
that  season  of  small  things  he  used  to 
say,  that,  if  the  rich  and  great  who 
helped  to  sustain  him  could  understand 
the  dignity  and  happiness  of  his  calling, 
they  would  covet  it  themselves,  and 
choose  to  partake  the  toil  which  they 
deputed  to  another. 

There  was  one  testimony  to  his  use- 
fulness which  gave  him  pleasure,  and 
that  was  the  sympathy  of  Christians 
who  differed  from  him  in  opinion.  He 
went  among  the  poor  to  serve  the  pur- 
poses of  no  sect,  but  to  breathe  ii}to 
them  the  spirit  and  hopes  of  Jesus 
Christ ; and  in  all  sects  he  found  hearty 
well-wishers,  and  perhaps  he  left  on 
none  of  us  a deeper  impression  of  his 
piety  than  on  those  with  whose  peculiar- 
ities he  had  least  communion. 

Among  the  propitious  circumstances 
of  the  life  of  Dr.  Tuckerman  I ought  not 
to  pass  over  his  domestic  ties.  He  was 
twice  married,  and  each  of  these  con- 
nections gave  him  an  invaluable  friend. 
I was  particularly  acquainted  with  his 
last  wife,  with  whom  a large  part  of  his 
life  was  spent,  and  I am  happy  to  pay 
this  tribute  to  her  singular  worth.  Her 


592 


DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


reserve  and  shrinking  delicacy  threw  a 
veil  over  her  beautiful  character.  She 
was  little  known  beyond  her  home  ; but 
there  she  silently  spread  around  her 
that  soft,  pure  light,  the  preciousness  of 
which  is  never  fully  understood  till  it  is 
quenched.  The  good  Providence  which 
adapts  blessings  to  our  wants  was  par- 
ticularly manifested  in  giving  to  our 
friend  such  a companion.  Her  calm, 
gentle  wisdom,  her  sweet  humility,  her 
sympathy,  which,  though  tender,  was  too 
serene  to  disturb  her  clear  perceptions, 
fitted  her  to  act  instinctively,  and  with- 
out the  consciousness  of  either  party,  on 
his  more  sanguine,  ardent  mind.  She 
was  truly  a spirit  of  good,  diffusing  a 
tranquillizing  influence  too  mildly  to  be 
thought  of,  and  therefore  more  sure. 
The  blow  which  took  her  from  him  left 
a wound  which  time  could  not  heal. 
Had  his  strength  been  continued,  so 
that  he  could  have  gone  from  the  house 
of  mourning  to  the  haunts  of  poverty, 
he  would  have  escaped,  for  a good  part 
of  the  day,  the  sense  of  his  bereavement. 
But  a few  minutes’  walk  in  the  street 
now  sent  him  wearied  home.  There 
the  loving  eye  which  had  so  long  bright- 
ened at  his  entrance  was  to  shed  its 
mild  beam  on  him  no  more.  There  the 
voice  that  had  daily  inquired  into  his 
labors,  and  like  another  conscience  had 
whispered  a sweet  approval,  was  still. 
There  the  sympathy  which  had  pressed 
with  tender  hand  his  aching  head,  and 
by  its  nursing  care  had  postponed  the 
hour  of  exhaustion  and  disease,  was 
gone.  He  was  not,  indeed,  left  alone  ; 
for  filial  love  and  reverence  spared  no 
soothing  offices  ; but  these,  though  felt 
and  spoken  of  as  most  precious,  could 
not  take  the  place  of  what  had  been* re- 
moved. This  great  loss  produced  no 
burst  of  grief.  It  was  a still,  deep  sor- 
row, the  feeling  of  a mighty  void,  the 
last  burden  which  the  spirit  can  cast  off. 
His  attachment  to  life  from  this  moment 
sensibly  declined.  In  seasons  of  pecul- 
iar sensibility  he  wished  to  be  gone. 
He  kept  near  him  the  likeness  of  his 
departed  friend,  and  spoke  to  me  more 
than  once  of  the  solace  which  he  had 
found  in  it,  as  what  I in  my  more  fa- 
vored lot  could  not  comprehend.  He 
heard  her  voice  from  another  world,  and 
his  anticipations  of  that  world,  always 
strong,  became  now  more  vivid  and 
touching. 


Enough  has  been  said  to  illustrate  the 
singular  social  virtues  of  Dr.  Tucker- 
man.  It  is,  however,  true,  that,  in  his 
casual  intercourse  with  strangers,  he 
did  not  make  as  favorable  an  impression 
as  might  have  been  expected  from  such 
a man.  He  seemed,  to  those  who  saw 
him  seldom,  too  self-conscious.  His 
excitable  temperament  sometimes  hur- 
ried him  into  extravagance  of  speech. 
His  feelings  sometimes  prevailed  over 
his  judgment.  He  wanted  skill  to  de- 
tect the  point  beyond  which  the  sympa- 
thy of  the  hearer  could  not  follow  him, 
so  that  he  sometimes  seemed  to  exact 
undue  attention.  The  truth  is,  that  hu- 
man nature,  even  in  very  good  men,  is 
disproportioned,  imperfect.  We  some- 
times express  our  wonder  at  the  meet- 
ing of  elements  so  incongruous  in  the 
same  character.  But  is  there  one  of  us 
so  advanced  as  not  to  know  from  inward 
experience  the  contradictions  of  the  hu- 
man soul  ? It  is  cheering  to  think  how 
little  our  trust  in  superior  goodness  is 
impaired  by  these  partial  obscurations. 
No  man,  perhaps,  saw  more  distinctly 
than  myself  the  imperfections  of  the 
good  man  of  whom  I speak.  But  my 
confidence  in  his  great  virtues  was  as 
firm  as  if  he  had  been  faultless.  There 
was  a genuineness  in  his  love,  his  dis- 
interestedness, of  which  I hadNno  more 
doubt  than  of  his  existence.  If  ever 
man  gave  himself  sincerely  to  the  ser- 
vice of  his  race,  it  was  he.  I have  made 
these  remarks  because  I have  long 
questioned  the  morality  and  wisdom  of 
the  prevalent  style  of  indiscriminate 
praise  of  the  dead.  I fear  we  give  a 
suspiciousness  to  our  delineations  of 
our  friends  by  throwing  over  them  the 
hue's  of  unreal  perfection.  I hold  no 
man  to  be  worthy  of  eulogy  who  cannot 
afford  to  be  spoken  of  as  he  was,  who, 
after  the  worst  is  known,  cannot  inspire 
reverence  and  love. 

I have  spoken  of  Dr.  Tuckerman  in 
relation  to  his  fellow-creatures  ; I should 
wrong  him  greatly  if  I did  not  speak  of 
him  in  his  highest  relations.  In  these 
the  beauty  of  his  character  was  most 
apparent  to  those  who  saw  farthest  into 
his  heart.  Others  admired  his  philan- 
throphy ; to  me  his  piety  was  more 
impressive.  It  partook  of  the  warmth 
of  his  nature,  but  was  calmer,  wiser, 
purer,  than  his  other  emotions.  It  was 
simple,  free,  omnipresent,  coming  out 


OF  THE  REV,  DR.  TUCKERMAN. 


593 


in  unaffected  utterance,  coloring  his 
common  thoughts  and  feelings,  and  giv- 
ing strength  and  elevation  to  all  his 
virtues.  It  was  such  a piety  as  might 
be  expected  from  its  early  history,  — a 
piety  breathed  from  the  lips  and  caught 
from  the  beaming  countenance  of  an 
excellent  mother. 

His  religion  was  of  the  most  enlarged, 
liberal  character.  He  did  not  shut  him- 
self up  even  in  Christianity.  He  took  a 
lively  interest  in  the  testimony  borne  to 
God  by  nature,  and  in  the  strivings  of 
ancient  philosophy  after  divine  truth. 
But  Christianity  was  his  rock,  his  de- 
fence, his  nutriment,  his  life.  He  un- 
derstood the  character  of  Jesus  by 
sympathy,  as  well  as  felt  the  need  of 
his  “glad  tidings.”  He  had  been  a 
faithful  student  of  the  Old  Testament, 
and  had  once  thought  of  preparing  a 
work  on  Jewish  antiquities.  But  his 
growing  reverence  for  the  New  Testa- 
ment led  him  to  place  a vast  distance 
between  it  and  the  ancient  Scriptures. 
At  one  period  of  his  ministry,  when  the 
pressing  demands  of  the  poor  compelled 
him  to  forego  study  entirely,  I recollect 
his  holding  up  to  me  a Greek  Harmony 
of  the  Four  Gospels,  and  his  saying,  that 
here  was  his  library,  that  Christ’s  his- 
tory was  his  theology,  and  that  in  the 
morning  he  snatched  a moment  for  this, 
when  he  could  find  time  for  nothing  else. 

Religion  in  different  individuals  man- 
ifests itself  in  different  forms.  In  him 
it  shone  forth  peculiarly  in  faith  or  filial 
trust,  and  in  gratitude.  His  faith  in 
God  was  unbounded.  It  never  wavered, 
never  seemed  to  undergo  a momentary 
eclipse.  I have  seen  him  under  an 
affliction  which  in  a few  days  wrought 
in  his  appearance  the  change  of  years  ; 
and  his  trust  was  like  a rock,  his  sub- 
mission entire.  Much  as  he  saw  of  the 
crimes  and  miseries  of  life,  no  doubt  of 
the  merciful  purposes  of  God  crossed 
his  mind.  Some  ray  of  divine  goodness 
streamed  forth  from  the  darkest  trials 
and  events.  Undoubtedly  his  own  love 
for  the  poor  helped  him  to  comprehend, 
as  few  do,  how  God  loved  them.  The 
whole  creation  spoke  to  him  of  the 
paternal  character  and  infinite  glory  of 
its  Author.  His  filial  piety  called  forth 
in  him  powers  which  would  otherwise 
have  slumbered.  He  was  naturally 
wanting  in  the  poetical  element.  He 
had  little  relish  for  music  or  the  fine 


arts,  and  took  no  great  pleasure  in  the 
higher  works  of  imagination.  But  his 
piety  opened  his  eye,  ear,  heart,  to  the 
manifestations  of  God  in  his  works, 
revealed  the  beauty  which  surrounded 
him,  and  in  this  way  became  a source  of 
sublime  joy.  On  such  a mind  religious 
controversies  could  take  but  a slight 
hold.  He  outgrew  them,  and  hardly 
seemed  to  know  that  they  existed.  That 
which  pervades,  tranquillizes,  and  exalts 
the  souls  of  all  Christians  he  under- 
stood ; and  in  his  busy  life,  which  car- 
ried him  from  his  study,  he  was  willing 
to  understand  nothing  more. 

Congenial  with  this  cheerful  faith  was 
the  spirit  of  gratitude.  In  this  he  was 
probably  the  more  eminent  because  it 
was  favored  by  his  temperament.  He 
was  naturally  happy.  There  were  next 
to  no  seeds  of  gloom,  depression,  in  his 
nature.  Life,  as  he  first  knew  it,  was 
bright,  joyous,  unclouded  ; and  to  this 
cause  mainly  the  volatility  of  his  early 
years  was  to  be  ascribed.  As  the  mag- 
net searches  out  and  gathers  round  itself 
the  scattered  ore  with  which  it  has  affin- 
ity, so  his  spirit  selected  and  attached 
instinctively  to  itself  the  more  cheerful 
views  of  Providence.  In  such  a nature 
piety  naturally  took  the  form  of  grati- 
tude. Thanks  were  the  common  breath- 
ings of  his  spirit.  His  lot  seemed  to  him 
among  the  most  favored  on  earth.  His 
blessings  did  not  wait  to  be  recalled  to 
his  thoughts  by  a set,  labored  search. 
They  started  up  of  themselves,  and  stood 
before  him  robed  in  celestial  light  by  as- 
sociation with  the  Goodness  which  be- 
stowed them. 

From  these  elements  of  his  piety 
naturally  grew  up  a hope  of  future 
glory,  progress,  happiness,  more  un- 
mixed than  I have  known  in  others. 
The  other  world  is  commonly  said  to 
throw  a brightness  over  the  present.  In 
his  case  the  present  also  threw  a bright- 
ness over  the  future.  His  constant  ex- 
perience of  God’s  goodness  . awakened 
anticipations  of  a larger  goodness  here- 
after. He  would  talk  with  a swelling 
heart,  and  in  the  most  genuine  language, 
of  immortality,  of  heaven,  of  new  access 
to  God.  In  truth,  his  language  was  such 
as  many  good  men  could  not  always 
join  in.  The  conscious  unworthiness 
of  many  good  men  throws  occasional 
clouds  over  the  future.  But  no  cloud 
seemed  ever  to  dim  his  prospect ; not 


594 


DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


that  he  was  unconscious  of  unworthi- 
ness ; not  that  he  thought  of  approach- 
ing Infinite  Purity  with  a claim  of  merit : 
such  a feeling  never  crossed  his  mind. 
But  it  was  so  natural  to  him  to  enjoy, 
his  sensp  of  God’s  constant  goodness 
was  so  vivid,  and  Christ’s  promises  so 
accordant  with  his  experience,  that 
heaven  came  to  him  as  a reality  with- 
out the  ordinary  effort  which  the  faith 
and  hope  of  most  men  require. 

In  his  last  sickness  his  character  came 
out  in  all  its  beauty.  He  had  not  wholly 
lost  the  natural  love  of  life.  At  times, 
when  unpromising  symptoms  seemed  to 
be  giving  way,  he  would  use  the  means 
of  recovery  with  hope.  But  generally 
he  felt  himself  a dying  man,  whose  chief 
work  was  finished,  who  had  little  to  do 
with  the  world  but  to  leave  it.  I have 
regretted  that  I did  not  take  notes  of 
some  of  his  conversations.  It  was  un 
safe  for  him  to  talk,  as  the  least  excite- 
ment increased  his  burning  fever  ; but 
when  I would  start  an  interesting  topic, 
a flood  of  thoughts  would  rush  into  his 
mind  and  compel  him  to  give  them  utter- 
ance. The  future  state  was,  of  course, 
often  present  to  him  ; and  his  concep- 
tions of  the  soul's  life  and  progress,  in 
its  new  and  nearer  relations  to  God,  to 
Christ,  to  the  just  made  perfect,  seemed 
to  transport  him,  for  a time,  beyond  the 
darkness  and  pains  of  his  present  lot. 
To  show  that  there  was  no  morbidness 
in  these  views,  I ought  to  observe  that 
they  were  mingled  with  the  natural 
tastes  and  feelings  which  had  grown 
from  his  past  life.  In  his  short  sea- 
sons of  respite  from  exhaustion  and 
suffering  he  would  talk  with  interest 
of  the  more  important  events  of  the 
day,  and  would  seek  recreation  in  books 
which  had  formerly  entertained  him. 
He  was  the  same  man  as  in  health, 
with  nothing  forced  or  unnatural  in  his 
elevation  of  mind.  He  had  always  taken 
great  pleasure  in  the  writings  of  the 
moralists  of  antiquity,  and  perhaps  the 
last  book  I put  into  his  hands  was  Cice- 
ro’s “ Tusculan  Questions,”  which  he 
read  with  avidity  and  delight.  So  com- 
prehensive was  his  spirit,  that,  whilst 
Christ  was  his  hope,  and  Christian  per- 
fection his  aspiration,  he  still  rejoiced  to 
discern  in  the  great  Roman,  on  whom 
Christian  truth  had  not  yet  dawned,  such 
deep  reverence  for  the  majesty  of  virtue. 
As  might  be  expected,  “ his  ruling  pas- 


sion was  strong  in  death.”  To  the  last 
moment  of  my  intercourse  with  him  the 
poor  were  in  his  heart.  As  he  had  given 
them  his  life,  so  death  could  not  divide 
him  from  them. 

One  affecting  view  remains  to  be 
given.  Dr.  Tuckerman  was  a martyr 
to  his  cause.  That  his  life  was  short- 
ened by  excessive  toil  cannot  be  doubted. 
His  friends  forewarned  him  of  this  result. 
He  saw  the  danger  himself,  and  once  and 
again  resolved  to  diminish  his  labors  ; 
but  when  he  retreated  from  the  poor 
they  followed  him  to  his  house,  and  he 
could  not  resist  their  supplicating  looks 
and  tones.  To  my  earnest  and  frequent 
remonstrance  on  this  point  he  at  times 
replied  that  his  ministry  might  need  a 
victim,  that  labors  beyond  his  strength 
might  be  required  to  show  what  it  was 
capable  of  effecting,  and  that  he  was 
willing  to  suffer  and  to  die  for  the  cause. 
Living  thus,  he  grew  prematurely  old. 
His  walks  became  more  and  more  nar- 
row. Then  he  was  imprisoned  at  home. 
The  prostration  of  strength  was  followed 
by  a racking  cough  and  burning  fever. 
As  we  have  seen,  his  last  sickness  was 
a bright  testimony  to  his  piety.  But  its 
end  was  sorrowful.  By  a mysterious 
ordination  of  Providence,  the  capacity 
of  suffering  often  survives  unimpaired, 
whilst  the  reason  and  affections  seem  to 
decay.  So  was  it  here.  In  the  last 
hours  of  our  friend  the  body  seemed  to 
prevail  over  the  power  of  thought.  He 
died  in  fearful  pain.  He  was  borne 
amidst  agonies  into  the  higher  world. 
At  length  his  martyrdom  ceased  ; and 
who  of  us  can  utter  or  conceive  the 
blessedness  of  the  spirit  rising  from 
this  thick  darkness  into  the  light  of 
heaven ! 

Such  was  the  founder  of  the  Ministry 
at  Large  in  this  city,  — a man  whom  I 
thoroughly  knew  ; a man  whose  imper- 
fections I could  not  but  know,  for  they 
stood  out  on  the  surface  of  his  charac- 
ter ; but  who  had  a great  heart,  who 
was  willingly  a victim  to  the  cause 
which  in  the  love  and  fear  of  God  he 
had  espoused,  and  who  has  left  behind 
him  as  a memorial,  not  this  fleeting 
tribute  of  friendship,  but  an  institution 
which  is  to  live  for  ages,  and  which  en- 
titles him  to  be  ranked  among  the  bene- 
factors of  this  city  and  the  world.  When 
he  began  his  work  he  had  no  anticipa- 
tion of  such  an  influence  and  such  an 


OF  THE  REV.  DR.  TUCKERMAN. 


595 


honor.  He  thought  that  he  was  devot- 
ing himself  to  an  obscure  life.  He  did 
not  expect  that  his  name  would  be  heard 
beyond  the  dwellings  of  the  poor.  He 
was  contented  with  believing  that  here 
and  there  an  individual  or  a family  would 
receive  strength,  light,  and  consolation 
from  his  ministry.  But  gradually  the 
idea  that  he  was  beginning  a movement 
that  might  survive  him,  and  might  more 
and  more  repress  the  worst  social  evils, 
opened  on  his  mind.  He  saw  more  and 
more  clearly  that  the  Ministry  at  Large, 
with  other  agencies,  was  to  change  the 
aspect  of  a large  portion  of  society.  It 
became  his  deliberate  conviction,  and 
one  which  he  often  repeated,  that  great 
cities  need  not  be  haunts  of  vice  and 
poverty  ; that  in  this  city  there  were 
now  intelligence,  virtue,  and  piety 
enough,  could  they  be  brought  into 
united  action,  to  give  a -new  intellect- 
ual and  moral  life  to  the  more  neg- 
lected classes  of  society.  In  this  faith 
he  acted,  toiled,  suffered,  and  died.  His 
gratitude  to  God  for  sending  him  into 
this  field  of  labor  never  failed  him.  For 
weeks  before  he  left  the  country,  never 
to  return,  I was  almost  the  only  visitor 
whom  he  had  strength  to  see  ; and  it 
was  a joy  to  look  on  his  pale,  emaciated 
face  lighted  up  with  thankfulness  for  the 
work  which  had  been  given  him  to  do, 
and  with  the  hope  that  it  would  endure 
and  grow  when  he  should  sleep  in  the 
dust.  From  such  a life  and  such  a death 
let  us  learn  to  love  our  poor  and  suffering 
brethren  ; and  as  we  have  ability  let  us 
send  to  them  faithful  and  living  men, 
whose  sympathy,  counsels,  prayers,  will 
assuage  sorrow,  awaken  the  conscience, 
touch  the  heart,  guide  the  young,  com- 
fort the  old,  and  shed  over  the  dark 
paths  of  this  life  the  brightness  of  the 
life  to  come. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  PRECEDING 
DISCOURSE. 

In  the  preceding  discourse  I have 
not  spoken  very  distinctly  of  one  part  of 
Dr.  fuckerman’s  character,  the  strength 
of  his  attachment  to  individuals.  He 
was  not  absorbed  in  one  great  object. 
The  private  and  public  affections  lived 
together  in  him  harmoniously  and  with 
equal  fervor.  His  experience  of  life 
had  not  the  common  effect  of  chilling 
his  early  enthusiasm  or  his  suscepti- 


| bility  of  ardent  attachment.  He  was 
true  to  old  friends  and  prepared  for  new 
ones.  His  strong  interest  and  delight 
in  Dr.  Follen  and  Dr.  Spurzheim  showed 
how  naturally  his  heart  opened  itself  to 
noble-minded  strangers.  From  the  lat- 
ter his  mind  received  a leaning  towards 
phrenology.  When  he  went  to  England 
his  sympathies  created  a home  for  him 
wherever  he  stayed.  Where  other  men 
would  have  made  acquaintance  he  formed 
friendships.  One  of  these  was  so  pre- 
cious to  him,  and  contributed  so  much 
to  the  happiness  of  both  parties,  that  it 
deserves  notice  in  a memoir  of  him.  I 
refer  to  his  friendship  with  Lady  Byron. 
Of  his  college  classmates  there  were 
others  as  well  as  myself  who  enjoyed 
much  of  his  affection  to  the  last.  One 
of  these  was  Jonathan  Phillips,  Esq., 
whom  he  accompanied  to  Europe,  and 
who  had  a true  reverence  for  his  good- 
ness. The  other  was  Judge  Story,  so 
eminent  as  a jurist  at  home  and  abroad. 
While  the  preceding  discourse  was  pass- 
ing through  the  press,  I wrote  to  the 
latter,  requesting  him  to  communicate 
to  me  his  reminiscences  of  our  friend ; 
and  with  characteristic  kindness  and 
warmth  of  heart  he  sent  me  the  fol- 
lowing letter,  written,  as  he  says,  in 
haste,  but  which  will  give  much  pleasure 
to  all  who  have  an  interest  in  the  de- 
ceased. I publish  it  the  more  gladly 
because  his  views  of  our  friend’s  life  at 
college  are  more  favorable  than  those, 
which  I have  given  : — 

“ To  the  Rev.  W.  E.  Channing,  D.  D. 

“My  dear  Sir, — I comply  very  cheer- 
fully with  your  request,  although  there  are 
very  few  reminiscences  of  our  late  lamented 
classmate  and  friend,  the  Rev..  Dr.  Tucker- 
man,  which  I could  supply,  which  are  not 
already  familiar  to  your  mind.  During  our 
collegiate  life  my  acquaintance  with  him 
was  but  slight  until  my  junior  year,  when 
he  became  my  chum  ; and  so  pleasant  and 
confidential  was  our  intercourse  during  that 
year  that  we  should  undoubtedly  have  con- 
tinued chums  during  the  remainder  of  our 
college  studies,  if  some  family  arrange- 
ments had  not  made  it  convenient  for  him 
to  adopt  a different  course.  The  change, 
however,  did  not  prove  the  slightest  inter- 
ruption to  our  intercourse  and  friendship  ; 
and  I feel  great  gratification  in  saying,  that, 
from  that  period  until  the  close  of  his  life, 

I am  not  conscious  that  there  was  on  either 
side  any  abatement  of  mutual  affection  and 
respect ; and  whenever  and  wherever  we 


59^  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


met  it  was  with  the  warm  welcome  of  early 
and  unsuspected  friendship. 

“ Many  of  the  characteristics  so  fully 
developed  in  his  later  life  were  clearly 
manifested  when  our  acquaintance  first 
commenced.  During  his  college  life  he 
did  not  seem  to  have  any  high  relish  for 
most  of  the  course  of  studies  then  pursued. 
He  had  an  utter  indifference,  if  not  dis- 
like, to  mathematics,  and  logic,  and  meta- 
physics ; and  but  a slight  inclination  for 
natural  philosophy.  He  read  the  prescribed 
classical  writers  with  moderate  diligence, 
not  so  much  as  a matter  of  taste  or  am- 
bition as  of  duty  and  as  a task  belonging 
to  the  recitation-room,  the  Latin  being  uni- 
formly preferred  to  the  Greek.  And  yet  I 
should  not  say  that  he  was  idle  or  indolent, 
or  without  a strong  desire  of  improvement. 
His  principal  pleasure  lay  in  a devotion  to 
the  more  open  and  facile  branches  of  lit- 
erature, and  especially  of  English  litera- 
ture. History,  moral  philosophy,  poetry, 
the  drama,  and  the  class  of  studies  gener- 
ally known  by  the  name  of  belles-lettres, 
principally  attracted  his  attention  ; and  in 
these  his  reading  was  at  once  select  and 
various.  The  writings  of  Addison,  John- 
son, and  Goldsmith  were  quite  familiar  to 
him.  The  historical  works  of  Robertson, 
and  Gillies,  and  Ferguson,  and  other  au- 
thors distinguished  in  that  day,  as  well  as 
the  best  biographical  works,  were  within 
the  range  of  his  studies.  In  poetry  he  was 
more  attached  to  those  who  addressed  the 
feelings  and  imagination  than  to  those  who 
addressed  the  understanding,  and  moralized 
their  song  in  the  severe  language  of  the 
condensed  expression  of  truth,  or  the  pun- 
gent pointedness  of  satire,  or  the  sharp 
sallies  of  wit.  Gray’s  ‘Bard’  and  Col- 
lins’s ‘ Ode  to  the  Passions  ’ were  his  fa- 
vorites ; and,  above  all,  Shakspeare,  in 
whose  writings  he  was  thoroughly  well 
read ; and  he  often  declaimed  many  of  the 
most  stirring  passages  with  the  spirit  and 
interest  of  the  dramatic  action  of  the  stage. 
Young’s  ‘Night  Thoughts’  seemed  to  be 
almost  the  only  work  which,  from  its  deep 
and  touching  appeals,  and  elevated  devo- 
tion, and  darkened  descriptions  of'  life,  and 
sudden  bursts  of  eloquence  and  enthusiasm, 
made  him  feel  at  that  time  the  potency 
of  genius  employed  in  unfolding  religious 
truths.  He  possessed,  also,  a singular  read- 
iness and  facility  in  composition,  — perhaps 
what  would  by  some  persons  be  deemed  a 
dangerous  facility.  What  he  wrote  he  threw 
off  at  once  in  the  appropriate  language, 
rarely  correcting  his  first  sketch,  and  not 
ambitious  of  condensing  or  refining  the 
materials  by  successive  efforts. 

“ I have  thus  far  spoken  of  his  tastes 
and  intellectual  pursuits  and  attachments 
in  our  college  life.  But  what  I most  de- 


light to  dwell  on  are  his  warm-hearted  be- 
nevolence, his  buoyant  and  cheerful  temper, 
his  active,  sympathetic  charity,  his  gentle 
and  frank  manners,  and,  above  all,  that 
sunniness  of  soul  which  cast  a bright  light 
over  all  hours,  and  made  our  fireside  one 
of  the  most  pleasant  of  all  social  scenes. 
So  uniform,  indeed,  was  his  kindness  and 
desire  to  oblige,  that  I do  not  remember  a 
single  instance  in  which  he  ever  betrayed 
either  a hastiness  of  temper  or  a flash  of 
resentment.  He  was  accustomed  to  dis- 
tribute a portion  of  his  weekly  allowance 
among  the  poor,  and  the  friendless,  and 
the  suffering.  His  love  of  morals  and 
virtue  was  as  ardent  as  it  was  elevated. 
His  conduct  was  blameless  and  pure.  I 
do  not  believe  that  he  ever  wrote  a word 
which,  dying,  he  could  have  wished  to  blot 
on  account  of  impurity  of  thought  or  allu- 
sion ; and  his  conversation  was  at  all  times 
that  which  might  have  been  heard  by  the 
most  delicate  and  modest  ears.  Occasion- 
ally his  buoyancy  of  spirits  might  lead  him 
to  indulge  in  giddy  dreaminess,  or  roman- 
tic fervors,  such  as  belong  to  the  untried 
hopes  and  inexperience  of  youth.  But  it 
might  with  truth  be  said,  that,  even  if  he 
had  any  failings  in  this  respect,  they  leaned 
to  virtue’s  side. 

“ I confess,  however,  that  the  opening  of 
his  literary  career  did  not  then  impress  me 
with  the  notion  that  he  would  afterwards 
attain  in  his  profession  and  character  the 
eminence  to  which  every  one  will  now  deem 
him  justly  entitled.  He  seemed  to  want 
that  steadiness  of  purpose  which  looks  dif- 
ficulties in  the  face  and  overcomes  obsta- 
cles because  a high  object  lies  behind  them. 
His  mind  touched  and  examined  many  sub- 
jects, but  was  desultory  and  varying  in  its 
efforts.  I was  in  this  view  mistaken  ; and 
I overlooked  the  probable  effects,  upon  a 
mind  like  his,  of  deep  religious  sensibility, 
and,  if  I may  so  say,  of  an  enthusiasm  for 
goodness,  when  combined  with  a spirit  of 
glowing  benevolence. 

“ When  we  quitted  college  our  opportu- 
nities of  familiar  intercourse,  from  the 
wide  diversity  of  our  pursuits,  as  well  as 
from  our  local  distance,  were  necessarily 
diminished.  I saw  him  only  at  distant  in- 
tervals while  he  was  engaged  in  his  pre- 
paratory studies  for  the  ministry;  and 
when,  on  entering  his  study  one  day,  I 
found  him  reading  Griesbach’s  edition  of 
the  New  Testament  with  intense  attention, 
and  in  his  comments  on  it,  in  our  conversa- 
tion, discoursing  with  a force  and  discrim- 
ination which  showed  the  earnestness  with 
which  he  was  endeavoring  to  master  his 
profession,  a new  light  struck  upon  me, 
and  I began  to  perceive  that  he  was  re- 
deeming his  time,  and  disciplining  his 
thoughts  to  the  highest  purposes.  During 


OF  THE  REV,  DR.  TUCKERMAN. 


59  7 


his  residence,  after  his  settlement,  at  Chel- 
sea, I saw  him  frequently,  either  at  Salem, 
where  I then  resided,  or  at  Chelsea,  where 
I took  occasion,  on  my  visits  to  Boston, 
to  pass  some  time  at  his  house.  His  im- 
provement was  constantly  visible  ; his  stud- 
ies more  expanded ; his  knowledge  more 
exact,  as  well  as  various ; and  his  piety, 
that  beautiful  ornament  so  deeply  set  in 
his  character,  shining  forth,  with  its  deep, 
and  mild,  and  benignant  light,  with  a pe- 
culiar attractiveness.  I remember  that  for 
a long  time  Tucker’s  ‘Light  of  Nature’  was 
one  of  his  favorite  studies ; and  he  made  it 
the  theme  both  of  his  praise  and  his  criti- 
cism at  many  of  dur  meetings.  It  was 
while  he  was  at  Chelsea,  the  minister  of  a 
comparatively  small  and  isolated  parish, 
that  he  nourished  and  matured  the  great 
scheme  of  his  life  and  ambition,  the  Min- 
istry at  Large  for  the  Poor.  I need  not 
dwell  upon  its  beneficial  effects,  or  its  ex- 
traordinary success.  I deem  it  one  of  the 
most  glorious  triumphs  of  Christian  char- 
ity over  the  cold  and  reluctant  doubts  of 
popular  opinion.  The  task  was  full  of 
difficulties,  to  elevate  the  poor  into  a self- 
consciousness  of  their  duty  and  destiny, 
and  to  bring  the  rich  into  sympathy  with 
them  ; to  relieve  want  and  suffering  with- 
out encouraging  indolence  or  sloth  ; to  give 
religious  instruction  where  it  was  most 
needed,  freely  and  without  stint,  and  thus 
to  widen  the  sphere  of  virtue,  as  well  as 
the  motives  to  its  practice,  among  the  deso- 
late and  the  desponding.  It  was,  in  fact, 
doing  what  Burke  has  so  beautifully  ex- 
pressed,— it  was  to  remember  the  forgot- 
• ten. 

“ But  I am  wandering  from  my  purpose, 
and  speaking  to  one  who  fully  understands 
and  has  eagerly  supported  this  excellent 
institution ; and  yet  I think  you  will  agree 
with  me  in  saying,  that  its  establishment 
and  practical  success  were  mainly  owing  to 
the  uncompromising  zeal  and  untiring  be- 
nevolence of  Dr.  Tuckerman.  It  was  the 
crowning  labor  of  his  life,  and  entitles  him 
to  a prominent  rank  among  the  benefactors 
of  mankind. 

“ I do  not  know  any  one  who  exemplified 
in  his  life  and  conduct  a more  fervent  or 
unaffected  piety  than  Dr.  Tuckerman  did. 
It  was  cheerful,  confiding,  fixed,  and  uni- 
form. It  was  less  an  intellectual  exercise 
than  a homage  of  the  heart.  It  sprung 
from  a profound  feeling  of  the  mercy  and 
goodness  of  God.  It  was  reverential ; but 
at  the  same  time  filial.  His  death  was  in 
perfect  keeping  with  his  life  ; it  was  a good 
man’s  end,  with  a good  man’s  Christian 
resignation,  hope,  and  confidence. 

“It  was  in  the  summer  which  preceded 
his  death,  that,  on  his  recovery  from  a se- 
vere illness,  he  rode  out  to  Cambridge.  He 


came  to  my  house,  and  in  his  warm,  yet 
anxious  manner,  said  to  me,  ‘ I could  not 
pass  your  house,  my  friend,  without  desir- 
ing to  see  you  once  more  before  I died.  I 
have  been  very  ill,  and,  as  I thought,  very 
near  to  death.  But  I was  tranquil  and  re- 
signed, and  ready  to  depart,  if  it  was  God’s 
good  pleasure.  And  I felt  no  fears.’  He 
stayed  with  me  some  time,  as  long  as  I 
would  allow  him  in  his  then  feeble  state  of 
health.  He  talked  over  our  long  friend- 
ship, our  youthful  doings,  and  our  advanc- 
ing years.  And  when  we  parted  he  bade 
me  a most  affectionate  farewell.  It  was 
our  final  farewell.  I saw  his  face  no  more. 

“ I send  you,  my  dear  sir,  these  hasty 
sketches,  such  as  they  are,  with  a flying 
pen.  I cannot  suppose  that  there  is  any 
thing  in  them  which  would  not  have  oc- 
curred more  forcibly  to  others  who  knew 
Dr.  Tuckerman.  But  I was  unwilling  to 
withhold  my  tribute  to  the  great  excellences 
of  his  character,  his  zeal  in  all  good  works, 
and  his  diffusive  benevolence. 

“ ‘ His  saltern  accumulem  donis,  et  fungar  inani 
Munere.’ 

“ Believe  me,  truly  and  affectionately, 
your  classmate  and  friend, 

“ Joseph  Story. 

“Cambridge,  April  io,  1841.” 


A friend  has  kindly  translated  the  fol- 
lowing from  the  Introduction  to  Baron 
Degerando’s  late  work  on  Public  Char- 
ity : — 

“ In  a work  recently  published  in  Boston, 
by  the  respectable  Dr.  Tuckerman,  we  have 
a very  remarkable  exemplification  of  this 
assiduous,  enlightened  charity,  quickened 
by  religious  sentiment.  Dr.  Tuckerman 
holds  the  offices  of  minister  at  large  and 
distributer  of  charity  to  the  indigent  peo- 
ple of  the  city  of  Boston,  and  renders  to 
a society  of  which  he  is  the  delegate  a 
yearly  account  of  his  ministrations  and 
observations.  A work  that  he  has  just 
published  contains  the  substance  of  a se- 
ries of  periodical  reports,  which  throw 
invaluable  light  upon  the  condition  and 
wants  of  the  indigent,  and  the  influence 
which  an  enlightened  charity  can  exert. 
As  we  read,  we  follow  the  steps  of  the 
minister  of  the  gospel,  carrying  assistance 
and  consolation  into  the  bosom  of  families 
overwhelmed  with  misfortune,  and  raising 
the  debased,  reforming  the  depraved.  In 
such  a school  we  learn  the  secrets  of  the 
art  of  benevolence.  The  author  finds  oc- 
casion, in  treating  this  subject,  to  rise  to 
the  highest  views  of  the  theory  and  rules 
of  this  art.  He  makes  his  readers  feel  all 
the  power  of  Christianity  for  the  moral 


598  LIFE  and  character  of  rev.  dr.  tuckerman. 


improvement  of  the  lower  classes  ; he  com- 
pares the  legislation  in  his  own  country  in 
respect  to  the  poor  with  that  of  England 
and  Scotland  ; discusses  the  rights  of  the 
indigent ; and  compares  the  relative  situa- 
tions of  the  rich  and  the  poor,  in  order  to 
the  discovery  of  their  mutual  duties.  He 
particularly  discriminates  between  poverty 
and  pauperism,  and  points  out  the  griev- 
ous effects  of  the  error  which  confounds 
them.” 


The  following  Biographical  Sketch  of 
Dr.  Tuckerman  is  taken  from  an  article 
upon  his  life  and  character,  by  Rev.  E.  S. 
Gannett,  in  the  “ Monthly  Miscellany  of 
Religion  and  Letters,”  July,  1840  : — 

“Joseph  Tuckerman  was  born  in  Boston, 
January,  18,  1778.  Of  the  early  instruc- 
tions of  his  mother,  a truly  pious  woman, 
he  always  spoke  with  peculiar  gratitude. 
His  youth  was  passed  in  preparation  for 
college  partly  at  Phillips’s  Academy  in  An- 
dover, and  partly  in  the  family  of  Rev.  Mr. 
Thacher,  of  Dedham.  In  1794  he  entered 
Harvard  College,  where  he  was  graduated 
in  1798,  as  one  of  the  class  to  which  Judge 
Story  and  Rev.  Dr.  Channing  also  belonged. 
His  preparatory  studies  for  the  ministry 
were  pursued  under  the  direction  of  Rev. 
Mr.  Thacher,  of  Dedham.  Soon  after  he 
began  to  preach  he  received  an  invitation 
to  become  the  successor  of  Rev.  Dr.  Pay- 
son,  at  Chelsea,  where  he  was  ordained 
November  4,  1801.  In  June,  1803,  he  was 
married  to  a daughter  of  the  late  Samuel 
Parkman,  Esq.,  of  this  city,  who  died  in 
the  summer  of  1807.  In  November,  1808, 
he  was  again  married  to  Miss  Sarah  Cary, 
of  Chelsea,  who,  after  thirty-one  years  of 
the  most  happy  connection,  was  taken  to  a 
higher  life,  leaving  a remembrance  dear  to 
the  hearts  of  a large  circle  of  friends.  In 
1816  Mr.  Tuckerman  visited  England,  in 
the  hope  of  deriving  benefit  to  his  health, 
but  was  absent  only  a short  time  ; after  his 
return  he  suffered  much  from  dyspepsy, 
and  never  recovered  the  full  tone  of  health. 
He  continued  in  the  active  discharge  of  the 
duties  of  his  ministry  till  the  spring  of 
1826,  when  he  felt  the  necessity  of  relin- 
quishing in  some  measure  the  labors  of  the 
pulpit,  and  his  mind,  which  had  become 
much  interested  in  the  condition  of  the 
neglected  poor  of  our  cities,  sought  an 
opportunity  of  conducting  a ministry  pe- 
culiarly suited  to  their  wants.  On  the  4th 
of  November,  1826,  just  twenty-five  years 
from  the  day  of  his  ordination,  he  preached 
his  farewell  sermon  at  Chelsea,  and  im- 
mediately commenced  his  service  in  Boston, 
to  which  place  he  soon  removed  with  his 
family.  He  was  at  first  assisted  in  this 


work  by  a private  association  of  gentlemen, 
who  had  for  some  time  held  stated  meet- 
ings for  their  own  religious  improvement, 
and  for  conference  upon  the  means  of  be- 
nevolent action ; but  he  was  very  soon 
appointed  a minister  at  large  in  this  city 
by  the  Executive  Committee  of  the  Ameri- 
can Unitarian  Association,  who  became  re- 
sponsible for  the  small  salary  which  he 
received,  and  which  for  several  years  was 
raised  by  the  contributions  of  ladies  in 
our  different  congregations.  In  1828  the 
Friend-Street  Chapel  was  erected  for  his 
use,  as  a place  of  worship  for  those  whom 
he  had  brought  to  a sense  of  the  value  of 
religious  institutions,  but  who  were  unable 
to  pay  for  the  privileges  of  the  sanctuary. 
His  untiring  zeal  in  this  ministry,  the  suc- 
cess of  his  labors  among  the  poor,  and  the 
extent  of  his  influence  over  the  rich, 
evinced  particularly  in  the  confidence  which 
they  reposed  in  him  as  the  almoner  of  their 
charities,  were  subjects  of  too  familiar  re- 
mark to  need  any  illustration.  The  ardor 
with  which  he  prosecuted  his  labors  was 
too  much  for  his  bodily  strength,  and  in 
1833  he  again  visited  Europe,  in  company 
with  his  friend,  Mr.  Phillips,  and  passed  a 
year  abroad,  principally  in  England,  where 
he  formed  many  valuable  friendships,  and 
was  instrumental  in  awakening  much  inter- 
est in  his  favorite  subject,  the  moral  eleva- 
tion of  the  neglected  and  vicious  poor. 
On  his  return  he  found  the  Ministry  at 
Large  placed  on  a more  stable  foundation 
than  he  had  left  it,  the  Benevolent  Fra- 
ternity of  Churches  having  been  organ- 
ized with  a special  view  to  its  support.  A 
more  commodious  chapel  was  erectgd,  and  • 
younger  laborers  were  associated  with  him. 
His  own  ability  to  render  active  service 
was,  however,  irretrievably  impaired.  The 
winter  of  1836-7  he  was  obliged  to  spend 
in  the  milder  climate  of  St.  Croix,  from 
which  he  returned,  as  it  was  thought,  much 
benefited.  But  the  vital  force  was  too 
nearly  exhausted.  Repeatedly  prostrated 
by  disease,  he  rose  only  to  show  the  stead- 
fastness of  those  principles  and  purposes 
which  filled  his  soul,  and  sunk  again  as  if 
to  prove  the  constancy  of  the  faith  which 
seemed  to  gain  new  power  from  suffering 
and  bereavement.  From  a severe  illness  in 
the  autumn  of  1839  he  so  far  revived,  that, 
after  much  hesitation,  a voyage  to  Cuba 
was  recommended  as  the  only  means  of 
prolonging  his  life.  He  sailed  for  Havana, 
and  soon  sought  the  interior  of  the  island  ; 
but  a short  trial  proved  the  hopelessness 
of  the  attempt  to  recruit  an  exhausted 
frame,  and  he  returned,  with  the  daughter 
who  was  his  devoted  companion,  to  Ha- 
vana, where,  after  some  days  of  extreme 
debility,  attended  with  great  suffering,  he 
died,  April  20,  1840,  in  his  sixty-third  year. 


THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 


599 


“Dr.  Tuckerman  received  the  honorary 
degree  of  Doctor  in  Divinity  from  Harvard 
University  in  1826.  It  was  a tribute  to  his 
ministerial  fidelity.  His  published  writ- 
ings are  few,  excepting  those  which  arose 
from  his  connection  with  the  Ministry  at 
Large.  One  of  the  last  services  he  ren- 
dered to  this  institution  was  the  preparation 
of  a volume,  which  we  fear  has  not  obtained 
a wide  circulation,  upon  ‘ The  Principles 
and  Results  of  the  Ministry  at  Large.’  ” 

At  a meeting  of  the  Central  Board  of 
the  Benevolent  Fraternity  of  Churches, 
May  10,  1840,  the  following  resolution 
was  unanimously  passed  : — 

“ Resolved,  That  the  death  of  Rev.  Joseph 
Tuckerman,  D.D.,  demands  on  the  parr  of 
this  Board  an  expression  of  their  deep 
sense  of  the  value  of  his  services  to  this 
community,  and  that,  recognizing  in  him  the 
first  incumbent,  if  not  the  founder,*  of  the 

* In  strictness  of  speech  it  might  be  doubted  if  Dr. 
Tuckerman  should  be  styled  the  founder  of  the  Min- 
istry at  Large,  as  gratuitous  instruction  to  the  poor  had 
been  given  both  by  laymen  and  clergymen  before  his  re- 
moval to  Boston.  In  1822  the  association  to  which  we 
have  adverted  had  established  evening  religious  lect- 
ures for  those  who  attended  no  place  of  worship  during 
the  day;  and  Rev.  Dr.  Jenks  was  employed  by  an- 
other society  in  visiting  and  preaching  to  the  poor. 
When  Dr.  Tuckerman  came  to  Boston  his  own  mind 
had  not  clearly  defined  its  plans  of  operation,  and  the 
idea  which  was  subsequently  expanded  into  the  insti- 
tution of  the  Ministry  at  Large  had  not,  perhaps,  pro- 
ceeded beyond  a general  purpose  of  devoting  himself 
to  the  spiritual  benefit  of  those  who  had  no  religious 
teacher  or  friend.  The  Committee  of  the  American 
Unitarian  Association  must  also  share  in  the  honor  of 
establishing  this  ministry.  But  as  it  was  his  persever- 
ance and  success  that  gave  both  form  and  efficiency  to 
the  institution,  it  is  but  a small  deviation  from  accuracy 
to  call  him  its  founder. 


present  institution  of  the  Ministry  at  Large, 
they  cannot  but  acknowledge  the  useful- 
ness of  a life  the  last  years  of  which  were 
devoted  to  this  institution,  in  whose  ser- 
vice his  strength  was  exhausted  ; and  while 
they  submit  to  the  Divine  Will  that  has  de- 
prived them  of  the  counsels  and  labors  of 
this  Christian  philanthropist,  they  would 
cherish  his  spirit,  and  hold  up  his  example 
before  themselves  and  others  as  a motive 
and  a guide  to  future  exertions  in  behalf  of 
the  neglected  and  the  sinful.” 

A resolution  similar  in  character  was 
passed  at  the  annual  meeting  of  the 
American  Unitarian  Association,  May 
26,  1840,  namely  : — 

“ Resolved , That  the  death  of  Rev.  Dr. 
Tuckerman,  senior  Minister  at  Large  in 
this  city,  an  institution  once  under  the  care 
of  this  Association,  demands  the  expression 
of  our  sincere  respect  for  his  memory,  our 
deep  gratitude  for  his  services  ; and  while 
we  regret  that  his  life  of  eminent  usefulness 
and  distinguished  Christian  philanthropy  is 
closed,  we  would  bow  with  submission  to 
the  Divine  Will,  and  gather  from  his  ex- 
ample lessons  to  quicken  and  guide  our 
own  efforts  in  the  cause  o£  human  happi- 
ness and  virtue.” 

Dr.Tuckerman’s  remains  were  brought 
to  this  country,  and  the  funeral  service 
was  attended  in  King’s  Chapel,  where 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  worship 
during  the  last  years  of  his  life,  in  the 
afternoon  of  May  26.  They  were  after- 
wards deposited  at  Mount  Auburn. 


THE  PHILANTHROPIST: 

A Tribute  to  the  Memory  of  the  Rev.  Noah  Worcester ; D.D., 
Boston,  Nov.  12,  1837. 


John  xiii.  34:  “A  new  commandment  I give  unto 
you,  That  ye  love  one  another ; as  I have  loved  you, 
that  ye  also  love  one  another.’* 

It  was  the  great  purpose  of  Christ  to 
create  the  world  anew,  to  make  a deep, 
broad,  enduring  change  in  human  be- 
ings. He  came  to  breathe  his  own  soul 
into  men,  to  bring  them  through  faith 
into  a connection  and  sympathy  with 
himself,  by  which  they  would  receive 


his  divine  virtue,  as  the  branches  re- 
ceive quickening  influences  from  the 
vine  in  which  they  abide,  and  the  limbs 
from  the  head  to  which  they  are  vitally 
bound. 

It  was  especially  the  purpose  of  Jesus 
Christ  to  redeem  men  from  the  slavery 
of  selfishness,  to  raise  them  to  a divine, 
disinterested  love.  By  this  he  intended 
that  his  followers  should  be  known,  that 


6oo 


THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 


his  religion  should  be  broadly  divided 
from  all  former  institutions.  He  meant 
that  this  should  be  worn  as  a frontlet 
on  the  brow,  should  beam  as  a light 
from  the  countenance,  should  shed  a 
grace  over  the  manners,  should  give 
tones  of  sympathy  to  the  voice,  and 
especially  should  give  energy  to  the  will, 
energy  to  do  and  suffer  for  others’  good. 
Here  is  one  of  the  grand  distinctions  of 
Christianity,  incomparably  grander  than 
all  the  mysteries  which  have  borne  its 
name.  Our  knowledge  of  Christianity 
is  to  be  measured,  not  by  the  laborious- 
ness with  which  we  have  dived  into  the 
depths  of  theological  systems,  but  by 
our  comprehension  of  the  nature,  extent, 
energy,  and  glory  of  that  disinterested 
principle  which  Christ  enjoined  as  our 
likeness  to  God,  and  as  the  perfection 
of  human  nature. 

This  disinterestedness  of  Christianity 
is  to  be  learned  from  Christ  himself, 
and  from  no  other.  It  had  dawned  on 
the  world  before  in  illustrious  men,  in 
prophets,  sages,  and  legislators.  But 
its  full  orb  rose  at  Bethlehem.  All  the 
preceding  history  of  the  world  gives  but 
broken  hints  of  the  love  which  shone 
forth  from  Christ.  Nor  can  this  be 
learned  from  his  precepts  alone.  We 
must  go  to  his  life,  especially  to  his 
cross.  His  cross  was  the  throne  of  his 
love.  There  it  reigned,  there  it  tri- 
umphed. On  the  countenance  of  the 
crucified  Saviour  there  was  one  expres- 
sion stronger  than  of  dying  agony,  — 
the  expression  of  calm,  meek,  uncon- 
quered, boundless  love.  I repeat  it,  the 
cross  alone  can  teach  us  the  energy  and 
grandeur  of  the  love  which  Christ  came 
to  impart.  There  we  see  its  illimita- 
bleness ; for  he  died  for  the  whole 
world.  There  we  learn  its  inexhausti- 
ble placability  ; for  he  died  for  the  very 
enemies  whose  hands  were  reeking  with 
his  blood.  There  we  learn  its  self- 
immolating  strength ; for  he  resigned 
every  good  of  life,  and  endured  intens- 
est  pains  in  the  cause  of  our  race. 
There  we  learn  its  spiritual  elevation  ; 
for  he  died  not  to  enrich  men  with  out- 
ward and  worldly  goods,  but  to  breathe 
new  life,  health,  purity,  into  the  soul. 
There  we  learn  its  far-reaching  aim  ; for 
he  died  to  give  immortality  of  happiness. 
There  we  learn  its  tenderness  and  sym- 
pathy ; for  amidst  his  cares  for  the 
world,  his  heart  overflowed  with  grati- 


tude and  love  for  his  honored  mother. 
There,  in  a word,  we  learn  its  divinity ; 
for  he  suffered  through  his  participation 
of  the  spirit  and  his  devotion  to  the  pur- 
poses of  God,  through  unity  of  heart  and 
will  with  his  heavenly  Father. 

It  is  one  of  our  chief  privileges  as 
Christians,  that  we  have  in  Jesus  Christ 
a revelation  of  perfect  love.  This  great 
idea  comes  forth  to  us  from  his  life  and 
teaching,  as  a distinct  and  bright  reality. 
To  understand  this  is  to  understand 
Christianity.  To  call  forth  in  us  a cor- 
responding energy  of  disinterested  affec- 
tion is  the  mission  which  Christianity 
has  to  accomplish  on  the  earth. 

There  is  one  characteristic  of  the  love 
of  Christ,  to  which  the  Christian  world 
are  now  waking  up  as  from  long  sleep, 
and  which  is  to  do  more  than  all  things 
for  the  renovation  of  the  world.  He 
loved  individual  man.  Before  his  time 
the  most  admired  form  of  goodness  was 
patriotism.  Men  loved  their  country, 
but  cared  nothing  for  their  fellow-creat- 
ures beyond  the  limits  of  country,  and 
cared  little  for  the  individual  within 
those  limits,  devoting  themselves  to 
public  interests,  and  especially  to  what 
was  called  the  glory  of  the  state.  The 
legislator,  seeking  by  his  institutions  to 
exalt  his  country  above  its  rivals,  and 
the  warrior,  fastening  its  yoke  on  its 
foes  and  crowning  it  with  bloody  laurels, 
were  the  great  names  of  earlier  times. 
Christ  loved  man,  not  masses  of  men  ; 
loved  each  and  all,  and  not  a particular 
country  and  class.  The  human  being 
was  dear  to  him  for  his  own  sake,  not 
for  the  spot  of  earth  on  which  he  lived, 
not  for  the  language  he  spoke,  not  for 
his  rank  in  life,  but  for  his  humanity,  for 
his  spiritual  nature,  for  the  image  of 
God  in  which  he  was  made.  Nothing 
outward  in  human  condition  engrossed 
the  notice  or  narrowed  the  sympathies 
of  Jesus.  He  looked  to  the  human  soul. 
That  he  loved.  That  divine  spark  he 
desired  to  cherish,  no  matter  where  it 
dwelt,  no  matter  how  it  was  dimmed. 
He  loved  man  for  his  own  sake,  and  all 
men  without  exclusion  or  exception. 
His  ministry  was  not  confined  to  a 
church,  a chosen  congregation.  On  the 
Mount  he  opened  his  mouth  and  spake 
to  the  promiscuous  multitude.  From 
the  bosom  of  the  lake  he  delivered  his 
parables  to  the  throng  which  lined  its 
shores.  His  church  was  nature,  the 


THE  PHILANTHROPIST 


601 


unconfined  air  and  earth  ; and  his 
truths,  like  the  blessed  influences  of 
nature’s  sunshine  and  rain,  fell  on  each 
and  all.  He  lived  in  the  highway,  the 
street,  the  places  of  concourse,  and 
welcomed  the  eager  crowds  which  gath- 
ered round  him  from  every  sphere  and 
rank  of  life.  Nor  was  it  to  crowds  that 
his  sympathy  was  confined.  He  did  not 
need  a multitude  to  excite  him.  The 
humblest  individual  drew  his  regards. 
He  took  the  little  child  into  his  arms 
and  blessed  it ; he  heard  the  beggar 
crying  to  him  by  the  wayside  where  he 
sat  for  alms ; and  in  the  anguish  of 
death  he  administered  consolation  to  a 
malefactor  expiring  at  his  side.  In  this 
shone  forth  the  divine  wisdom  as  well  as 
love  of  Jesus,  that  he  understood  the 
worth  of  a human  being.  So  truly  did 
he  comprehend  it,  that,  as  I think,  he 
would  have  counted  himself  repaid  for 
all  his  teachings  and  mighty  works,  for 
all  his  toils,  and  sufferings,  and  bitter 
death,  by  the  redemption  of  a single 
soul.  His  love  to  every  human  being 
surpassed  that  of  a parent  to  an  only 
child.  Jesus  was  great  in  all  things, 
but  in  nothing  greater  than  in  his  com- 
prehension of  the  worth  of  a human 
spirit.  Before  his  time  no  one  dreamed 
of  it.  The  many  had  been  sacrificed  to 
the  few.  The  mass  of  men  had  been 
trodden  under  foot.  History  had  been 
but  a record  of  struggles  and  institu- 
tions which  breathed  nothing  so  strongly 
as  contempt  of  the  human  race. 

Jesus  was  the  first  philanthropist.  He 
brought  with  him  a new  era,  the  era  of 
philanthropy ; and  from  his  time  a new 
spirit  has  moved  over  the  troubled 
waters  of  society,  and  will  move  until 
it  has  brought  order  and  beauty  out  of 
darkness  and  confusion.  The  men  whom 
he  trained,  and  into  whom  he  had  poured 
most  largely  his  own  spirit,  were  signs, 
proofs,  that  a new  kingdom  had  come. 
They  consecrated  themselves  to  a work 
at  that  time  without  precedent,  wholly 
original,  such  as  had  not  entered  human 
thought.  They  left  home,  possessions, 
country ; went  abroad  into  strange  lands  ; 
and  not  only  put  life  in  peril,  but  laid  it 
down,  to  spread  the  truth  which  they 
had  received  from  their  Lord,  to  make 
the  true  God,  even  the  Father,  known 
to  his  blinded  children,  to  make  the 
Saviour  known  to  the  sinner,  to  make 
life  and  immortality  known  to  the  dying, 


to  give  a new  impulse  to  the  human 
soul.  We  read  of  the  mission  of  the 
Apostles  as  if  it  were  a thing  of  course. 
The  thought  perhaps  never  comes  to  us 
that  they  entered  on  a sphere  of  action 
until  that  time  wholly  unexplored  ; that 
not  a track  had  previously  marked  their 
path  ; that  the  great  conception  which 
inspired  them,  of  converting  a world, 
had  never  dawned  on  the  sublimest  in- 
tellect ; that  the  spiritual  love  for  every 
human  being,  which  carried  them  over 
oceans  and  through  deserts,  amid  scourg- 
ings  and  fastings,  and  imprisonments 
and  death,  was  a new  light  from  heaven 
breaking  out  on  earth,  a new  revelation 
of  the  divinity  in  human  nature.  Then 
it  was,  that  man  began  to  yearn  for  man 
with  a godlike  love  Then  a new  voice 
was  heard  on  earth,  the  voice  of  prayer 
for  the  recovery,  pardon,  happiness  of  a 
world.  It  was  most  strange,  it  was  a 
miracle  more  worthy  of  admiration  than 
the  raising  of  the  dead,  that  from  Judea, 
the  most  exclusive,  narrow  country  un- 
der heaven,  which  hated  and  scorned 
all  other  nations,  and  shrunk  from  their 
touch  as  pollution,  should  go  forth  men 
to  proclaim  the  doctrine  of  human 
brotherhood,  to  give  to  every  human 
being,  however  fallen  or  despised,  as- 
surances of  God’s  infinite  love,  to  break 
down  the  barriers  of  nation  and  rank, 
to  pour  out  their  blood  like  water  in  the 
work  of  diffusing  the  spirit  of  universal 
love.  Thus  mightily  did  the  character 
of  Jesus  act  on  the  spirits  of  the  men 
with  whom  he  had  lived.  Since  that 
time  the  civilized  world  has  been  over- 
whelmed by  floods  of  barbarians,  and 
ages  of  darkness  have  passed.  But 
some  rays  of  this  divine  light  break  on 
us  through  the  thickest  darkness.  The 
new  impulse  given  by  Christianity  was 
never  wholly  spent.  The  rude  sculpture 
of  the  dark  ages  represented  Jesus  hang- 
ing from  his  cross  ; and  however  this 
image  was  abused  to  purposes  of  super- 
stition, it  still  spoke  to  men  of  a philan- 
thropy stronger  than  death,  which  felt 
and  suffered  for  every  human  being ; 
and  a softening,  humanizing  virtue  went 
from  it,  which  even  the  barbarian  could 
not  wholly  resist.  In  our  own  times, 
the  character  of  Jesus  is  exerting  more 
conspicuously  its  true  and  glorious  pow- 
er. We  have,  indeed,  little  cause  for 
boasting.  The  great  features  of  society 
are  still  hard  and  selfish.  The  worth 


602 


THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 


of  a human  being  is  a mystery  still  hid 
from  an  immense  majority,  and  the  most 
enlightened  among  us  have  not  looked 
beneath  the  surface  of  this  great  truth. 
Still  there  is  at  this  moment  an  interest 
in  human  nature,  a sympathy  with  hu- 
man suffering,  a sensibility  to  the  abuses 
and  evils  which  deform  society,  a faith 
in  man’s  capacity  of  progress,  a desire 
of  human  progress,  a desire  to  carry  to 
every  human  being  the  means  of  rising 
to  a better  condition  and  a higher  virtue, 
such  as  has  never  been  witnessed  before. 
Amidst  the  mercenariness  which  would 
degrade  men  into  tools,  and  the  ambi- 
tion which  would  tread  them  down  in 
its  march  toward  power,  there  is  still  a 
respect  for  man  as  man,  a recognition 
of  his  rights,  a thirst  for  his  elevation, 
which  is  the  surest  proof  of  a higher 
comprehension  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  the 
surest  augury  of  a happier  state  of  human 
affairs.  Humanity  and  justice  are  crying 
out  in  more  and  more  piercing  tones  for 
the  suffering,  the  enslaved,  the  ignorant, 
the  poor,  the  prisoner,  the  orphan,  the 
long-neglected  seaman,  the  benighted 
heathen.  I do  not  refer  merely  to  new 
institutions  for  humanity,  for  these  are 
not  the  most  unambiguous  proofs  of 
progress.  We  see  in  the  common  con- 
sciousness of  society,  in  the  general 
feelings  of  individuals,  traces  of  a more 
generous  recognition  of  what  man  owes 
to  man.  The  glare  of  outward  distinc- 
tion is  somewhat  dimmed.  The  preju- 
dices of  caste  and  rank  are  abated.  A 
man  is  seen  to  be  worth  more  than  his 
wardrobe  or  his  title.  It  begins  to  be 
understood  that  a Christian  is  to  be  a 
philanthropist,  and  that,  in  truth,  the 
essence  of  Christianity  is  a spirit  of 
martyrdom  in  the  cause  of  mankind. 

This  subject  has  been  brought  to  my 
mind  at  the  present  moment  by  an  event 
in  this  vicinity  which  has  drawn  little 
attention,  but  which  I could  not,  without 
self-reproach,  suffer  to  pass  unnoticed. 
Within  a few  days,  a great  and  good 
man,  a singular  example  of  the  philan- 
thropy which  Jesus  Christ  came  to 
breathe  into  the  world,  has  been  taken 
away ; and  as  it  was  my  happiness  to 
know  him  more  intimately  than  most 
among  us,  I feel  as  if  I were  called  to 
bear  a testimony  to  his  rare  goodness, 
and  to  hold  up  his  example  as  a mani- 
festation of  what  Christianity  can  accom- 
plish in  the  human  mind.  1 refer  to  the 


Rev.  Noah  Worcester,  who  has  been 
justly  called  the  Apostle  of  Peace,  who 
finished  his  course  at  Brighton  during 
the  last  week.  His  great  age, — for  he 
was  almost  eighty,  — and  the  long  and 
entire  seclusion  to  which  debility  had 
compelled  him,  have  probably  made 
his  name  a strange  one  to  some  who 
hear  me.  In  truth,  it  is  common  in  the 
present  age  for  eminent  men  to  be  for- 
gotten during  their  lives,  if  their  lives 
are  much  prolonged.  Society  is  now 
a quick-shifting  pageant.  New  actors 
hurry  the  old  ones  from  the  stage.  The 
former  stability  of  things  is  strikingly  im- 
paired. The  authority  which  gathered 
round  the  aged  has  declined.  The  young 
seize  impatiently  the  prizes  of  life.  The 
hurried,  bustling,  tumultuous,  feverish 
present  swallows  up  men’s  thoughts,  so 
that  he  who  retires  from  active  pursuits 
is  as  little  known  to  the  rising  generation 
as  if  he  were  dead.  It  is  not  wonderful, 
then,  that  Dr.  Worcester  was  so  far 
forgotten  by  his  contemporaries.  But 
the  future  will  redress  the  wrongs  of  the 
present ; and  in  the  progress  of  civiliza- 
tion, history  will  guard  more  and  more 
sacredly  the  memories  of  men  who  have 
advanced  before  their  age,  and  devoted 
themselves  to  great  but  neglected  inter- 
ests of  humanity. 

Dr.  Worcester’s  efforts  in  relation  to 
war,  or  in  the  cause  of  peace,  made  him 
eminently  a public  man,  and  constitute 
his  chief  claim  to  public  consideration  ; 
and  these  were  not  founded  on  acci- 
dental circumstances  or  foreign  influ- 
ences, but  wholly  on  the  strong  and 
peculiar  tendencies  of  his  mind.  He 
was  distinguished  above  all  whom  I 
have  known,  by  his  comprehension  and 
deep  feeling  of  the  spirit  of  Christianity; 
by  the  sympathy  with  which  he  seized 
on  the  character  of  Jesus  Christ  as  a 
manifestation  of  perfect  love  ; by  the 
honor  in  which  he  held  the  mild,  humble, 
forgiving,  disinterested  virtues  of  our 
religion.  This  distinguishing  trait  of 
his  mind  was  embodied  and  brought  out 
in  his  whole  life  and  conduct.  He  espe- 
cially expressed  it  in  his  labors  for  the 
promotion  of  universal  peace  on  the 
earth.  He  was  struck,  as  no  other  man 
within  my  acquaintance  has  been,  with 
the  monstrous  incongruity  between  the 
spirit  of  Christianity  and  the  spirit  of 
Christian  communities  ; between  Christ’s 
teaching  of  peace,  mercy,  forgiveness, 


THE  PHILANTHROPIST 


and  the  wars  which  divide  and  desolate 
the  church  and  the  world.  Every  man 
has  particular  impressions  which  rule 
over  and  give  a hue  to  his  mind.  Every 
man  is  struck  by  some  evils  rather  than 
others.  The  excellent  individual  of 
whom  I speak  was  shocked,  heart- 
smitten,  by  nothing  so  much  as  by  see- 
ing that  man  hates  man,  that  man  de- 
stroys his  brother,  that  man  has  drenched 
the  earth  with  his  brother’s  blood,  that 
man,  in  his  insanity,  has  crowned  the 
murderer  of  his  race  with  the  highest 
honors  ; and,  still  worse,  that  Christian 
hates  Christian,  that  church  wars  against 
church,  that  differences  of  forms  and 
opinions  array  against  each  other  those 
whom  Christ  died  to  join  together  in 
closest  brotherhood,  and  that  Christian 
zeal  is  spent  in  building  up  sects,  rather 
than  in  spreading  the  spirit  of  Christ, 
and  enlarging  and  binding  together  the 
universal  church.  The  great  evil  on 
which  his  mind  and  heart  fixed,  was 
war,  discord,  intolerance,  the  substitu- 
tion of  force  for  reason  and  love.  To 
spread  peace  on  earth  became  the  object 
of  his  life.  Under  this  impulse  he  gave 
birth  and  impulse  to  peace  societies. 
This  new  movement  is  to  be  traced  to 
him  above  all  other  men ; and  his  name, 
I doubt  not,  will  be  handed  down  to 
future  time  with  increasing  veneration 
as  the  “ Friend  of  Peace,”  as  having 
given  new  force  to  the  principles  which 
are  gradually  to  abate  the  horrors,  and 
ultimately  extinguish  the  spirit,  of  war. 

The  history  of  the  good  man,  as  far 
as  I have  learned  it,  is  singularly  in- 
structive and  encouraging.  He  was 
self-taught,  self-formed.  He  was  born 
in  narrow  circumstances,  and,  to  the 
age  of  twenty-one,  was  a laborious 
farmer,  not  only  deprived  of  a collegiate 
education,  but  of  the  advantages  which 
may  be  enjoyed  in  a more  prosperous 
family.  An  early  marriage  brought  on 
him  the  cares  of  a growing  family. 
Still  he  found,  or  rather  made,  time  for 
sufficient  improvements  to  introduce 
him  into  the  ministry  before  his  thirtieth 
year.  He  was  first  settled  in  a parish 
too  poor  to  give  him  even  a scanty  sup- 
port ; and  he  was  compelled  to  take  a 
farm,  on  which  he  toiled  by  day.  whilst 
in  the  evening  he  was  often  obliged  to 
use  a mechanical  art  for  the  benefit  of 
his  family.  He  made  their  shoes,  — an 
occupation  of  which  Coleridge  has 


603 

somewhere  remarked,  that  it  has  been 
followed  by  a greater  number  of  emi- 
nent men  than  any  other  trade.  By 
the  side  of  his  work-bench  he  kept  ink 
and  paper,  that  he  might  write  down 
the  interesting  thoughts  which  he  traced 
out,  or  which  rushed  on  him  amidst  his 
humble  labors.  I take  pleasure  in  stat- 
ing this  part  of  his  history.  The  preju- 
dice against  manual  labor,  as  inconsist- 
ent with  personal  dignity,  is  one  of  the 
most  irrational  and  pernicious,  especially 
in  a free  country.  It  shows  how  little 
we  comprehend  the  spirit  of  our  institu- 
tions, and  how  deeply  we  are  tainted 
with  the  narrow  maxims  of  the  old  aris- 
tocracies of  Europe.  Here  was  a man 
uniting  great  intellectual  improvement 
with  refinement  of  manners,  who  had 
been  trained  under  unusual  severity  of 
toil.  This  country  has  lost  much  physi- 
cal and  moral  strength,  and  its  pros- 
perity is  at  this  moment  depressed,  by 
the  common  propensity  to  forsake  the 
plough  for  less  manly  pursuits,  which 
are  thought,  however,  to  promise  greater 
dignity  as  well  as  ease. 

His  first  book  was  a series  of  letters 
to  a Baptist  minister,  and  in  this  he 
gave  promise  of  the  direction  which  the 
efforts  of  his  life  were  to  assume.  The 
great  object  of  these  letters  was,  not  to 
settle  the  controversies  about  baptism, 
about  the  mode  of  administering  it, 
whether  by  immersion  or  sprinkling,  or 
about  the  proper  subjects  of  it,  whether 
children  or  adults  alone.  His  aim  was 
to  show  that  these  were  inferior  ques- 
tions, that  differences  about  these  ought 
not  to  divide  Christians,  that  the  “ close 
communion,”  as  it  is  called,  of  the  Bap- 
tists, was  inconsistent  with  the  liberal 
spirit  of  Christianity,  and  that  this  ob- 
struction to  Christian  unity  ought  to  be 
removed. 

His  next  publication  was  what  brought 
him  into  notice,  and  gave  him  an  impor- 
tant place  in  our  theological  history.  It 
was  a publication  on  the  Trinity  ; and 
what  is  worthy  of  remark,  it  preceded 
the  animated  controversy  on  that  point 
which  a few  years  after  agitated  this 
city  and  Commonwealth.  The  mind  of 
Dr.  Worcester  was  turned  to  this  topic 
not  by  foreign  impulses,  but  by  its  own 
workings.  He  had  been  brought  up  in 
the  strictest  sect,  that  is,  as  a Calvinist. 
His  first  doubts  as  to  the  Trinity  arose 
from  the  confusion,  the  perplexity,  into 


THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 


604 

which  his  mind  was  thrown  by  this  doc- 
trine in  his  acts  of  devotion.  To  worship 
three  persons  as  one  and  the  same  God, 
as  one  and  the  same  being,  seemed  to 
him  difficult,  if  not  impossible.  He  ac- 
cordingly resolved  to  read  and  examine 
the  Scriptures  from  beginning  to  end, 
for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  the  true 
doctrine  respecting  God,  and  the  true 
rank  of  Jesus  Christ.  The  views  at 
which  he  arrived  were  so  different  from 
what  prevailed  around  him,  and  some  of 
them  so  peculiar,  that  he  communicated 
them  to  the  public  under  the  rather 
quaint  title  of  “ Bible  News  relating 
to  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Spirit.” 
His  great  aim  was  to  prove  that  the 
Supreme  God  was  one  person,  even  the 
Father,  and  that  Jesus  Christ  was  not 
the  Supreme  God,  but  his  Son  in  a strict 
and  peculiar  sense.  This  idea  of  “ the 
peculiar  and  natural  sonship  ” of  Christ, 
by  which  he  meant  that  Jesus  was  de- 
rived from  the  very  substance  of  the 
Father,  had  taken  a strong  hold  on  his 
mind,  and  he  insisted  on  it  with  as  much 
confidence  as  was  consistent  with  his 
deep  sense  of  fallibility.  But,  as  might 
be  expected  in  so  wise  and  spiritual  a 
man,  it  faded  more  and  more  from  his 
mind,  in  proportion  as  he  became  ac- 
quainted with  and  assimilated  to  the  true 
glory  of  his  Master.  In  one  of  his  un- 
published manuscripts,  he  gives  an  ac- 
count of  his  change  of  views  in  this 
particular,  and,  without  disclaiming  ex- 
pressly the  doctrine  which  had  formerly 
seemed  so  precious,  he  informs  us  that 
it  had  lost  its  importance  in  his  sight. 
The  moral,  spiritual  dignity  of  Christ 
had  risen  on  his  mind  in  such  splendor 
as  to  dim  his  old  idea  of  “ natural  son- 
ship.”  In  one  place  he  affirms,  “ I do 
not  recollect  an  instance  [in  the  Script- 
ures] in  which  Christ  is  spoken  of  as 
loved,  honored,  or  praised,  on  any  other 
ground  than  his  moral  dignity.”  This 
moral  greatness  he  declares  to  be  the 
highest  with  which  Jesus  was  clothed, 
and  expresses  his  conviction,  “ that  the 
controversies  of  Christians  about  his 
natural  dignity  had  tended  very  little  to 
the  honor  of  their  Master,  or  to  their 
own  advantage.”  The  manuscript  to 
which  I refer  was  written  after  his 
seventieth  year,  and  is  very  illustrative 
of  his  character.  It  shows  that  his  love 
of  truth  was  stronger  than  the  tenacity 
with  which  age  commonly  clings  to  old 


ideas.  It  shows  him  superior  to  the 
theory,  which  more  than  any  other  he 
had  considered  his  own,  and  which  had 
been  the  fruit  of  very  laborious  study. 
It  shows  how  strongly  he  felt  that  prog- 
ress was  the  law  and  end  of  his  being, 
and  how  he  continued  to  make  progress 
to  the  last  hour.  The  work  called  “ Bible 
News  ” drew  much  attention,  and  con- 
verted not  a few  to  the  doctrine  of  the 
proper  unity  of  God.  Its  calm,  benig- 
nant spirit  had  no  small  influence  in 
disarming  prejudice  and  unkindness. 
He  found,  however,  that  his  defection 
from  his  original  faith  had  exposed  him 
to  much  suspicion  and  reproach  ; and  he 
became  at  length  so  painfully  impressed 
with  the  intolerance  which  his  work  had 
excited,  that  he  published  another  shorter 
work,  called  “ Letters  to  Trinitarians,”  a 
work  breathing  the  very  spirit  of  Jesus, 
and  intended  to  teach  that  diversities  of 
opinion  on  subjects  the  most  mysterious 
and  perplexing  ought  not  to  sever  friends, 
to  dissolve  the  Christian  tie,  to  divide 
the  church,  to  fasten  on  the  dissenter 
from  the  common  faith  the  charge  of 
heresy,  to  array  the  disciples-  of  the 
Prince  of  Peace  in  hostile  bands. 
These  works  obtained  such  favor,  that 
he  was  solicited  to  leave  the  obscure 
town  in  which  he  ministered,  and  to 
take  charge,  in  this  place,  of  a periodical 
called  at  first  the  “ Christian  Disciple,” 
and  now  better  known  as  the  “ Christian 
Examiner.”  At  that  time  (about  twenty- 
five  years  ago)  I first  saw  him.  Long 
and  severe  toil,  and  a most  painful  dis- 
ease, had  left  their  traces  on  his  once 
athletic  frame  ; but  his  countenance 
beamed  with  a benignity  which  at 
once  attracted  confidence  and  affection. 
For  several  years  he  consulted  me  habit- 
ually in  the  conduct  of  the  work  which 
he  edited.  I recollect  with  admiration 
the  gentleness,  humility,  and  sweetness 
of  temper  with  which  he  endured  free- 
doms, corrections,  retrenchments,  some 
of  which  I feel  now  to  have  been  unwar- 
ranted, and  which  no  other  man  would 
so  kindly  have  borne.  This  work  was 
commenced  very  much  for  doctrinal  dis- 
cussions, but  his  spirit  could  not  brook 
such  limitations,  and  he  used  its  pages 
more  and  more  for  the  dissemination 
of  his  principles  of  philanthropy  and 
peace.  At  length  he  gave  these  prin- 
ciples to  the  world  in  a form  which  did 
much  to  decide  his  future  career.  He 


THE  PHILANTHROPIST 


published  a pamphlet,  called  “ A Solemn 
Review  of  the  Custom  of  War.”  It  bore 
no  name,  and  appeared  without  recom- 
mendation, but  it  immediately  seized  on 
attention.  It  was  read  by  multitudes  in 
this  country,  then  published  in  England, 
and  translated,  as  I have  heard,  into 
several  languages  of  Europe.  Such 
was  the  impression  made  by  this  work, 
that  a new  association,  called  the  Peace 
Society  of  Massachusetts,  was  insti- 
tuted in  this  place.  I well  recollect  the 
day  of  its  formation  in  yonder  house, 
then  the  parsonage  of  this  parish  ; and 
if  there  was  a happy  man  that  day  on 
earth,  it  was  the  founder  of  this  institu- 
tion. This  society  gave  birth  to  all  the 
kindred  ones  in  this  country,  and  its  in- 
fluence was  felt  abroad.  Dr.  Worcester 
assumed  the  charge  of  its  periodical,  and 
devoted  himself  for  years  to  this  cause, 
with  unabating  faith  and  zeal ; and  it 
may  be  doubted  whether  any  man  who 
ever  lived  contributed  more  than  he  to 
spread  just  sentiments  on  the  subject  of 
war,  and  to  hasten  the  era  of  universal 
peace.  He  began  his  efforts  in  the 
darkest  day,  when  the  whole  civilized 
world  was  shaken  by  conflict,  and 
threatened  with  military  despotism.  He 
lived  to  see  more  than  twenty  years  of 
general  peace,  and  to  see  through  these 
years  a multiplication  of  national  ties, 
an  extension  of  commercial  communica- 
tions, an  establishment  of  new  connec- 
tions between  Christians  and  learned 
men  through  the  world,  and  a growing 
reciprocity  of  friendly  and  beneficent 
influence  among  different  states,  all  giv- 
ing aid  to  the  principles  of  peace,  and 
encouraging  hopes  which  a century  ago 
would  have  been  deemed  insane. 

The  abolition  of  war,  to  which  this 
good  man  devoted  himself,  is  no  longer 
to  be  set  down  as  a creation  of  fancy, 
a dream  of  enthusiastic  philanthropy. 
War  rests  on  opinion  ; and  opinion  is 
more  and  more  withdrawing  its  support. 
War  rests  on  contempt  of  human  nat- 
ure ; on  the  long,  mournful  habit  of 
regarding  the  mass  of  human  beings 
as  machines,  or  as  animals  having  no 
higher  use  than  to  be  shot  at  and 
murdered  for  the  glory  of  a chief,  for 
the  seating  of  this  or  that  family  on  a 
throne,  for  the  petty  interests  or  selfish 
rivalries  which  have  inflamed  states  to 
conflict.  Let  the  worth  of  a human 
being  be  felt ; let  the  mass  of  a people 


605 

be  elevated  ; let  it  be  understood  that 
a man  was  made  to  enjoy  inalienable 
rights,  to  improve  lofty  powers,  to  secure 
a vast  happiness ; and  a main  pillar  of 
war  will  fall.  And  is  it  not  plain  that 
these  views  are  taking  place  of  the 
contempt  in  which  man  has  so  long 
been  held  ? War  finds  another  support 
in  the  prejudices  and  partialities  of  a 
narrow  patriotism.  Let  the  great  Chris- 
tian principle  of  human  brotherhood  be 
comprehended,  let  the  Christian  spirit 
of  universal  love  gain  ground,  and  just 
so  fast  the  custom  of  war,  so  long  the 
pride  of  men,  will  become  their  ab- 
horrence and  execration.  It  is  en- 
couraging to  see  how  outward  events 
are  concurring  with  the  influences  of 
Christianity  in  promoting  peace  ; how 
an  exclusive  nationality  is  yielding  to 
growing  intercourse  ; how  different  na- 
tions, by  mutual  visits,  by  the  inter- 
change of  thoughts  and  products,  by 
studying  one  another’s  language  and 
literature,  by  union  of  efforts  in  the 
cause  of  religion  and  humanity,  are 
growing  up  to  the  consciousness  of 
belonging  to  one  great  family.  Every 
railroad,  connecting  distant  regions,  may 
be  regarded  as  accomplishing  a ministry 
of  peace.  Every  year  which  passes  with- 
out war,  by  interweaving  more  various 
ties  of  interest  and  friendship,  is  a pledge 
of  coming  years  of  peace.  The  pro- 
phetic faith  with  which  Dr.  Worcester, 
in  the  midst  of  universal  war,  looked 
forward  to  a happier  era,  and  which 
was  smiled  at  as  enthusiasm,  or  cre- 
dulity, has  already  received  a sanction 
beyond  his  fondest  hopes,  by  the  won- 
derful progress  of  human  affairs. 

On  the  subject  of  war,  Dr.  Worcester 
adopted  opinions  which  are  thought  by 
some  to  be  extreme.  He  interpreted 
literally  the  precept,  “ Resist  not  evil ; ” 
and  he  believed  that  nations,  as  well 
as  individuals,  would  find  safety,  as 
well  as  “ fulfil  righteousness,”  in  yield- 
ing it  literal  obedience.  One  of  the 
most  striking  traits  of  his  character  was 
his  confidence  in  the  power  of  love,  I 
might  say,  in  its  omnipotence.  He 
believed  that  the  surest  way  to  subdue 
a foe  was  to  become  his  friend  ; that  a 
true  benevolence  was  a surer  defence 
than  swords,  or  artillery,  or  walls  of 
adamant.  He  believed  that  no  mightier 
man  ever  trod  the  soil  of  America  than 
William  Penn,  when  entering  the  wil- 


6o  6 


THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 


derness  unarmed,  and  stretching  out  to 
the  savage  a hand  which  refused  all 
earthly  weapons,  in  token  of  brother- 
hood and  peace.  There  was  something 
grand  in  the  calm  confidence  with  which 
he  expressed  his  conviction  of  the  su- 
periority of  moral  to  physical  force. 
Armies,  fiery  passions,  quick  resent- 
ments, and  the  spirit  of  vengeance, 
miscalled  honor,  seemed  to  him  weak, 
low  instruments,  inviting,  and  often 
hastening,  the  ruin  which  they  are 
used  to  avert.  Many  will  think  him 
in  error ; but  if  so,  it  was  a grand 
thought  which  led  him  astray. 

At  the  age  of  seventy,  he  felt  as  if  he 
had  discharged  his  mission  as  a preacher 
of  peace,  and  resigned  his  office  as  Sec- 
retary to  the  Society,  to  which  he  had 
given  the  strength  of  many  years.  He 
did  not,  however,  retire  to  unfruitful^ 
repose.  Bodily  infirmity  had  increased, 
so  that  he  was  very  much  confined  to 
his  house  ; but  he  returned  with  zeal 
to  the  studies  of  his  early  life,  and  pro- 
duced two  theological  works,  one  on 
the  Atonement,  the  other  on  Human 
Depravity,  or  the  moral  state  of  man 
by  nature,  which  I regard  as  among  the 
most  useful  books  on  these  long-agitated 
subjects.  These  writings,  particularly 
the  last,  have  failed  of  the  popularity 
which  they  merit,  in  consequence  of  a 
defect  of  style,  which  may  be  traced  to 
his  defective  education,  and  which  nat- 
urally increased  with  years.  I refer  to 
his  diffuseness,  — to  his  inability  to 
condense  his  thoughts.  His  writings, 
however,  are  not  wanting  in  merits  of 
style.  They  are  simple  and  clear.  They 
abound  to  a remarkable  degree  in  in- 
genious illustration,  and  they  have  often 
the  charm  which  original  thinking  always 
gives  to  composition.  He  was  truly  an 
original  writer,  not  in  the  sense  of  mak- 
ing great  discoveries,  but  in  the  sense 
of  writing  from  his  own  mind,  and  not 
from  books  or  tradition.  What  he  wrote 
had  perhaps  been  written  before  ; but 
in  consequence  of  his  limited  reading, 
it  was  new  to  himself,  and  came  to  him 
with  the  freshness  of  discovery.  Some- 
times great  thoughts  flashed  on  his  mind 
as  if  they  had  been  inspirations ; and 
in  writing  his  last  book,  he  seems  to 
have  felt  as  if  some  extraordinary  light 
had  been  imparted  from  above.  After 
his  seventy-fifth  year  he  ceased  to  write 
books,  but  his  mind  lost  nothing  of  its 


activity.  He  was  so  enfeebled  by  a 
distressing  disease,  that  he  could  con- 
verse but  for  a few  moments  at  a time  ; 
yet  he  entered  into  all  the  great  move- 
ments of  the  age  with  an  interest  dis- 
tinguished from  the  fervor  of  youth 
only  by  its  mildness  and  its  serene  trust. 
The  attempts  made  in  some  of  our  cities 
to  propagate  atheistical  principles  gave 
him  much  concern  ; and  he  applied  him- 
self to  fresh  inquiries  into  the  proofs 
of  the  existence  and  perfections  of  God, 
hoping  to  turn  his  labors  to  the  account 
of  his  erring  fellow-creatures.  With 
this  view,  he  entered  on  the  study  of 
nature  as  a glorious  testimony  to  its 
almighty  Author.  I shall  never  forget 
the  delight  which  illumined  his  coun- 
tenance a short  time  ago,  as  he  told  me 
that  he  had  just  been  reading  the  history 
of  the  coral,  the  insect  which  raises 
islands  in  the  sea.  “ How  wonder- 
fully,” he  exclaimed,  “is  God’s  prov- 
idence revealed  in  these  little  creat- 
ures ! ” The  last  subject  to  which  he 
devoted  his  thoughts  was  slavery.  His 
mild  spirit  could  never  reconcile  itself 
to  the  methods  in  which  this  evil  is 
often  assailed ; but  the  greatness  of 
the  evil  he  deeply  felt,  and  he  left  sev- 
eral essays  on  this  as  on  the  preceding 
subject,  which,  if  they  should  be  found 
unfit  for  publication,  will  still  bear  wit- 
ness to  the  intense,  unfaltering  interest 
with  which  he  bound  himself  to  the 
cause  of  mankind. 

I have  thus  given  a sketch  of  the  his- 
tory of  a good  man,  who  lived  and  died 
the  lover  of  his  kind,  and  the  admira- 
tion of  his  friends.  Two  views  of  him 
particularly  impressed  me.  The  first 
was  the  unity,  the  harmony  of  his  char- 
acter. He  had  no  jarring  elements. 
His  whole  nature  had  been  blended  and 
melted  into  one  strong,  serene  love. 
His  mission  was  to  preach  peace,  and 
he  preached  it  not  on  set  occasions,  or 
by  separate  efforts,  but  in  his  whole  life. 
It  breathed  in  his  tones.  It  beamed 
from  his  venerable  countenance.  He 
carried  it,  where  it  is  least  apt  to  be 
found,  into  the  religious  controversies 
which  raged  around  him  with  great 
vehemence,  but  which  never  excited 
him  to  a word  of  anger  or  intolerance. 
All  my  impressions  of  him  are  harmo- 
nious. I recollect  no  discord  in  his 
beautiful  life.  And  this  serenity  was 
not  the  result  of  torpidness  or  tameness  ; 


THE  DEATH  OF  DR.  FOLLEN. 


for  his  whole  life  was  a conflict  with 
what  he  thought  error.  He  made  no 
compromise  with  the  world,  and  yet  he 
loved  it  as  deeply  and  constantly  as  if 
it  had  responded  in  shouts  to  all  his 
views  and  feelings. 

The  next  great  impression  which  I 
received  from  him  was  that  of  the  suffi- 
ciency of  the  mind  to  its  own  happi- 
ness, or  of  its  independence  on  outward 
things.  He  was  for  years  debilitated, 
and  often  a great  sufferer  ; and  his  cir- 
cumstances were  very  narrow,  compel- 
ling him  to  so  strict  an  economy  that 
he  was  sometimes  represented,  though 
falsely,  as  wanting  the  common  comforts 
of  life.  In  this  tried  and  narrow  con- 
dition, he  was  among  the  most  con- 
tented of  men.  He  spoke  of  his  old  age 
as  among  the  happiest  portions,  if  not 
the  very  happiest,  in  his  life.  In  con- 
versation his  religion  manifested  itself 
in  gratitude  more  frequently  than  in 
any  other  form.  When  I have  visited 
him  in  his  last  years,  and  looked  on 
his  serene  countenance,  and  heard  his 
cheerful  voice,  and  seen  the  youthful 
earnestness  with  which  he  was  reading 
a variety  of  books,  and  studying  the 
great  interests  of  humanity,  I have  felt 
how  little  of  this  outward  world  is  needed 
to  our  happiness.  I have  felt  the  great- 
ness of  the  human  spirit  which  could 
create  to  itself  such  joy  from  its  own 
resources.  I have  felt  the  folly,  the 
insanity  of  that  prevailing  worldliness 
which,  in  accumulating  outward  good, 


607 

neglects  the  imperishable  soul.  On 
leaving  his  house  and  turning  my  face 
toward  this  city,  I have  said  to  myself, 
how  much  richer  is  this  poor  man  than 
the  richest  who  dwell  yonder  ! I have 
been  ashamed  of  my  own  dependence 
on  outward  good.  I am  always  happy 
to  express  my  obligations  to  the  bene- 
factors of  my  mind  ; and  I owe  it  to  Dr. 
Worcester  to  say,  that  my  acquaintance 
with  him  gave  me  clearer  comprehen- 
sion of  the  spirit  of  Christ,  and  of  the 
dignity  of  a man. 

And  he  has  gone  to  his  reward.  He 
has  gone  to  that  world  of  which  he  car- 
ried in  his  own  breast  so  rich  an  earnest 
and  pledge,  to  a world  of  peace.  He 
has  gone  to  Jesus  Christ,  whose  spirit 
he  so  deeply  comprehended  and  so 
freely  imbibed  ; and  to  God,  whose  uni- 
versal, all-suffering,  all-embracing  love 
he  adored,  and  in  a humble  measure 
made  manifest  in  his  own  life.  But  he 
is  not  wholly  gone  ; not  gone  in  heart, 
for  I am  sure  that  a better  world  has 
heightened,  not  extinguished,  his  affec- 
tion for  his  race  ; and  not  gone  in  influ- 
ence, for  his  thoughts  remain  in  his 
works,  and  his  memory  is  laid  up  as  a 
sacred  treasure  in  many  minds.  A 
spirit  so  beautiful  ought  to  multiply 
itself  in  those  to  whom  it  is  made  known. 
May  we  all  be  incited  by  it  to  a more 
grateful,  cheerful  love  of  God,  and  a 
serener,  gentler,  nobler  love  of  our  fel- 
low-creatures ! 


A DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY  THE  DEATH  OF 
THE  REV.  DR.  FOLLEN. 

[On  the  13th  of  January,  1840,  the  steamboat  “ Lexington  ” was  burned  on  Long  Island  Sound,  about 
fifty  miles  from  New  York.  Of  the  crew  and  passengers  only  four  escaped.  Among  the  lost  was  the 
Rev.  Charles  Follen,  LL.D.  These  circumstances  gave  occasion  to  the  following  discourse,  which 
was  deferred  until  all  hope  of  the  escape  of  Dr.  Follen  was  taken  away.] 

1 Peter  iv.  19:  “Wherefore,  let  them  that  suffer 
according  to  the  will  of  God  commit  the  keeping  of 
their  souls  to  him  in  well-doing,  as  unto  a faithful 
Creator.” 

These  words  suggest  a great  variety 
of  thoughts,  and  might  furnish  topics 
for  many  discourses.  I ask  now  your 
attention  to  the  clause  in  which  we  read 
of  “ them  that  suffer  according  to  the 


will  of  God,”  or  by  divine  ordination. 
I wish  to  speak  of  the  sufferings  of  life 
in  general,  of  their  greatness,  of  their 
being  ordained  or  intended  by  God,  and 
of  their  consistency  with  his  goodness  ; 
and  I shall  close  with  reflections  sug- 
gested by  the  particular  suffering  which 
we  have  recently  been  called  to  de- 


6o8 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


Suffering  fills  a large  place  in  the 
present  system.  It  is  not  an  accident, 
an  exception  to  the  course  of  nature,  a 
“ strange  work”  exciting  wonder  as  a 
prodigy,  but  it  enters  into  every  life, 
and,  may  I not  say,  enters  largely  into 
every  life  ? Undoubtedly,  a great  amount 
of  suffering  may  be  traced  to  human 
ignorance  and  guilt ; arid  this  will  grad- 
ually disappear,  in  proportion  to  the 
progress  of  truth  and  virtue.  Still, 
under  the  imperfections  which  seem  in- 
separable from  this  first  stage  of  our 
being,  a great  amount  will  remain. 
Youth  is  slow  to  see  this.  Youth,  una- 
ble to  sympathize  with  and  appreciate 
sorrows  which  it  has  not  felt,  and  throw- 
ing the  light  of  its  own  native  joyous- 
ness over  the  future,  dreams  sometimes 
of  a paradise  on  earth.  But  how  soon 
does  it  find  that  blighting  changes,  sol- 
emn events,  break  in  sternly,  irresistibly 
on  its  path  ! And  even  when  the  out- 
ward life  is  smooth  and  prosperous,  how 
soon  does  it  find  in  its  vehement  affec- 
tions, its  unrequited  friendships,  its 
wounded  pride,  its  unappeased  thirst 
for  happiness,  fountains  of  bitterer  grief 
than  comes  from  abroad ! Sometimes 
the  religious  man,  with  good  intentions, 
but  wanting  wisdom  and  strength,  tries 
to  palliate  the  evils  of  life,  to  cover  its 
dark  features,  to  exaggerate  its  transient 
pleasures,  for  the  purpose  of  sheltering 
God’s  goodness  from  reproach.  But 
this  will  not  avail.  The  truth  cannot  be 
hidden.  Life  is  laid  open  to  every  eye, 
as  well  as  known  by  each  man’s  expe- 
rience ; and  we  do  and  must  see  that 
suffering,  deep  suffering,  is  one  of  the 
chief  elements  in  our  lot.  It  is  not  a 
slender,  dark  thread,  winding  now  and 
then  through  a warp  of  dazzling  bright- 
ness ; but  is  interwoven  with  the  whole 
texture.  Not  that  suffering  exceeds 
enjoyment ; not  that  life,  if  viewed 
simply  in  reference  to  pleasure,  is  not  a 
great  good.  But  to  every  man  it  is  a 
struggle.  It  has  heavy  burdens,  deep 
wounds  for  each  ; and  this  I state,  that 
we  may  all  of  us  understand  that  suffer- 
ing is  not  accidental,  but  designed  for 
us,  that  it  enters  into  God’s  purpose, 
that  it  has  a great  work  to  do,  and  that 
we  know  nothing  of  life  till  we  compre- 
hend its  uses,  and  have  learned  how  to 
accomplish  them. 

God  intends  that  we  shall  suffer.  It 
is  sometimes  said  that  he  has  created 


nothing  for  the  purpose  of  giving  pain, 
but  that  every  contrivance  in  the  system 
has  good  for  its  object.  The  teeth  are 
made  to  prepare  food  for  digestion,  not 
to  ache  ; the  lungs,  to  inhale  the  refresh- 
ing air,  not  to  ripen  the  seeds  of  con- 
sumption. All  this  is  true,  and  a beau- 
tiful illustration  of  kind  purpose  in  the 
Creator.  But  it  is  also  true  that  every 
organ  of  the  body,  in  consequence  of 
the  delicacy  of  its  structure,  and  its 
susceptibility  of  influences  from  abroad, 
becomes  an  inlet  of  acute  pain.  It  is  a 
remarkable  fact  that  we  know  the  in- 
ward organs  chiefly  by  the  pain  they 
have  given.  The  science  of  anatomy 
has  grown  almost  wholly  out  of  the  ex- 
posure of  the  frame  to  suffering  ; and 
what  an  amount  of  suffering  springs 
from  this  source  ! A single  nerve  may 
thrill  us  with  agony.  Sleep,  food, 
friends,  books,  all  may  be  robbed  of 
their  power  to  interest,  by  the  irritation 
of  a little  bunch  of  fibres,  which  the 
naked  eye  can  hardly  trace.  After  the 
study  of  ages,  the  science  of  medicine 
has  not  completed  the  catalogue  of  dis- 
eases ; and  how  little  can  its  ministra- 
tions avert  their  progress,  or  mitigate 
their  pains  ! Undoubtedly  this  class  of 
pains  may  be  much  diminished  by  a 
wise  self-restraint ; but  the  body,  inher- 
iting disease  from  a long  line  of  ances- 
tors, and  brought  into  conflicts  with  the 
mighty  elements  around  it,  must  still  be 
the  seat  of  much  suffering.  These  ele- 
ments, how  grand,  how  expressive  of 
God’s  majesty  and  goodness  ; yet  how 
fearful ! What  avails  the  strength  of 
the  body  against  thunders,  whirlwinds, 
fierce  waves,  and  fiercer  flames,  against 
“ the  pestilence  which  walketh  in  dark- 
ness,” or  the  silent  exhalation  which 
wasteth  at  noon-day ! Thus,  pain  comes 
from  God’s  provisions  for  the  animal 
frame  : and  how  much  comes  from  the  * 
spirit,  and  from  the  very  powers  and 
affections  which  make  the  glory  of  our 
nature  ! Our  reason,  how  is  it  darkened 
by  prejudice  instilled  in  early  years  ; 
how  often  is  it  called  to  decide  amidst 
conflicting  and  nearly  balanced  argu- 
ments ; how  often  does  its  light  fail,  in 
the  most  critical  moments  of  life  ! How 
do  we  suffer  from  wrong  judgments 
which  we  had  not  means  to  correct ! 
How  often  does  this  high  power  sym- 
pathize with  the  suffering  body,  and, 
under  nervous  disease,  sometimes  un- 


THE  DEATH  OF  DR.  FOLLEN. 


609 


dergo  total  eclipse  ! Then  our  love, 
the  principle  which  thirsts,  burns  for 
companionship,  sympathy,  confidence, 
how  often  is  it  repelled  by  coldness,  or 
wounded  by  neglect,  or  tortured  by 
inconstancy  ! Sometimes  its  faith  in 
virtue  is  shaken  by  the  turpitude  of 
those  to  whom  it  has  given  its  trust. 
And  when  true  love  finds  true  requital, 
the  uncertainty  of  life  mixes  trembling 
with  its  joy,  and  bereavement  turns  it 
into  anguish.  There  are  still  deeper 
pains,  those  of  the  conscience,  especially 
when  it  wakes  from  long  sleep,  when  it 
is  startled  bynew  revelations  of  slighted 
duties,  of  irreparable  wrongs  to  man, 
of  base  unfaithfulness  to  God.  The 
conscience  ! what  misgivings,  apprehen- 
sions, and  piercing  self-rebuke  accom- 
pany its  ministry,  when  it  first  enters 
on  earnest  warfare  with  temptation  and 
plssion  ! Thus,  suffering  comes  to  us 
through  and  from  our  whole  nature.  It 
cannot  be  winked  out  of  sight.  It  can- 
not be  thrust  into  a subordinate  place 
in  the  picture  of  human  life.  It  is  the 
chief  burden  of  history.  It  is  the  sol- 
emn theme  of  one  of  the  highest  depart- 
ments of  literature,  the  tragic  drama. 
It  gives  to  fictions  their  deep  interest. 
It  wails  through  much  of  our  poetry.  A 
large  part  of  human  vocations  are  in- 
tended to  shut  up  some  of  its  avenues. 
It  has  left  traces  on  every  human  coun- 
tenance, over  which  years  have  passed. 
It  is,  to  not  a few,  the  most  vivid  recol- 
lection of  life. 

I have  thus  taken  a rapid  survey  of 
life,  to  show  you  that  suffering  is  not 
an  accident,  not  something  which  now 
and  then  slides  into  the  order  of  events, 
because  too  unimportant  to  require  pro- 
vision against  its  recurrence,  but  that  it 
is  one  of  the  grand  features  of  life,  one 
of  the  chief  ministers  of  Providence. 
But  all  these  details  of  suffering  might 
be  spared.  There  is  one  simple  thought, 
sufficient  of  itself  to  show  that  suffering 
is  the  intention  of  the  Creator.  It  is 
this.  We  are  created  with  a suscepti- 
bility of  pain,  and  severe  pain.  This  is 
a part  of  our  nature,  as  truly  as  our 
susceptibility  of  enjoyment.  God  has 
implanted  it,  and  has  thus  opened  in  the 
very  centre  of  our  being  a fountain  of 
suffering.  We  carry  it  within  us,  and 
can  no  more  escape  it  than  we  can  our 
power  of  thought.  We  are  apt  to  throw 
our  pains  on  outward  things  as  their 


causes.  It  is  the  fire,  the  sea,  the 
sword,  or  human  enmity  which  gives  us 
pain.  But  there  is  no  pain  in  the  fire 
or  the  sword  which  passes  thence  into 
our  souls.  The  pain  begins  and  ends 
in  the  soul  itself.  Outward  things  are 
only  the  occasions.  Even  the  body  has 
no  pain  in  it,  which  it  infuses  into  the 
mind.  Of  itself,  it  is  incapable  of  suffer- 
ing. This  hand  may  be  cracked,  crushed 
in  the  rack  of  the  inquisitor,  and  that 
burned  in  a slow  fire  ; but  in  these  cases 
it  is  not  the  fibres,  the  blood-vessels,  the 
bones  of  the  hands  which  endure  pain. 
These  are  merely  connected  by  the  will 
of  the  Creator  with  the  springs  of  pain 
in  the  soul.  Plere,  here  is  the  only 
origin  and  seat  of  suffering.  If  God  so 
willed,  the  gashing  of  the  flesh  with  a 
knife,  the  piercing  of  the  heart  with  a 
dagger,  might  be  the  occasion  of  ex- 
quisite delight.  We  know  that,  in  the 
heat  of  battle,  a wound  is  not  felt,  and 
that  men,  dying  for  their  faith  by  instru- 
ments of  torture,  have  expired  with 
triumph  on  their  lips.  In  these  cases, 
the  spring  of  suffering  in  the  mind  is 
not  touched  by  the  lacerations  of  the 
body,  in  consequence  of  the  absorbing 
action  of  other  principles  of  the  soul. 
All  suffering  is  to  be  traced  to  the  sus- 
ceptibility, the  capacity  of  pain,  which 
belongs  to  our  nature,  and  which  the 
Creator  has  implanted  ineradicably  with- 
in us.  It  is  not  enough  to  say  that  the 
elements,  or  any  outward  or  bodily  in- 
fluences, are  the  sources  of  suffering. 
This  is  to  stop  at  the  surface.  The 
outward  agent  only  springs  a mine,  a 
fountain  within  us.  Oh,  the  great  deep 
of  suffering  in  every  human  breast ! 
Probably  most  of  us  have  experienced 
pains  more  intense  than  any  pleasures 
we  have  ever  enjoyed.  In  the  present 
stage  of  our  being,  the  capacity  of  agony 
gets  the  start  of  or  is  more  largely  de- 
veloped than  the  capacity  of  rapturous 
joy.  Our  most  vehement  emotions  are 
those  of  sorrow : nor  Is  there  any  way 
of  escaping  suffering.  Among  the  most 
prosperous,  the  heart  often  aches,  it 
knows  not  why.  Sighs  are  heaved  from 
the  breast  apparently  without  cause. 
Every  soul  has  its  night  as  well  as  its 
day  ; and  a darkness  sometimes  gathers 
over  nature  and  life  which  must  come 
from  within,  for  nothing  abroad  has 
occurred  to  depress  us. 

To  diminish  this  weight  of  suffering 


39 


6 io 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


is  one  great  end  of  human  toils  and 
cares.  A thousand  arts  are  plied  to 
remove  outward  causes  of  pain ; and 
how  many  contrivances  are  there  of 
amusement  and  dissipation,  to  quiet  the 
restlessness,  to  soothe  the  irritations,  to 
fill  the  aching  void,  which  belong  to  the 
spirit ! But  I apprehend  little  has  been 
yet  achieved  by  all  the  labor  ; nor  can 
much  be  done  but  by  a deep  working, 
which  statesmen  and  the  busy  crowd 
seldom  or  never  dream  of.  It  is  thought, 
indeed,  that  modern  civilization  has 
diminished  very  much  the  evils  of  life. 
But  when  we  take  into  the  account  the 
immense  amount  of  toil  by  which  our 
accommodations  are  accumulated,  and 
the  tendencies  of  comforts  and  luxuries 
to  soften  the  spirit,  to  weaken  its  self- 
command,  and  increase  its  sensibility  to 
hardships  and  exposure,  I suspect  that 
our  debt  is  not  very  great  to  civilization, 
considered  as  the  antagonist  of  physical 
pain ; and  as  to  the  sufferings  which 
spring  from  mental  causes,  from  the 
conscience,  the  passions,  the  affections, 
we  cannot  doubt  that  as  yet  they  have 
been  vastly  heightened  by  our  civiliza- 
tion. Not  that  I deny  that  arts  and 
civilization  are  great  goods  ; but  they 
prove  such  only  when  they  make  prog- 
ress in  union  with  the  higher  principles 
of  our  nature,  only  when  they  forward 
and  are  subordinated  to  a spiritual  re- 
generation, of  which  society  as  yet  gives 
few  signs. 

It  may  be  said  that  I have  given  a 
dark  picture  of  the  government  of  God  ; 
and  I may  be  asked  how  his  goodness 
is  to  be  vindicated.  I reply  that  I am 
less  and  less  anxious  to  make  formal 
vindications  of  the  goodness  of  God. 
It  needs  no  advocate.  It  will  take  care 
of  itself.  In  spite  of  clouds,  men,  who 
have  eyes,  believe  in  the  sun,  and  none 
but  the  blind  can  seriously  question  the 
Creator’s  goodness.  We  hear,  indeed, 
of  men  led  into  doubts  on  this  point  by 
their  sufferings  ; but  these  doubts  have 
generally  a deeper  source  than  the  evils 
of  life.  Such  scepticism  is  a moral  dis- 
ease, the  growth  of  some  open  or  lurking 
depravity.  It  is  not  created,  but  brought 
into  light  by  the  pressure  of  suffering. 
It  is,  indeed,  true  that  a good  man,  in 
seasons  of  peculiar,  repeated,  pressing 
calamities,  may  fall  into  dejection  and 
perplexity.  His  faith  may  tremble  for 
the  moment.  The  passing  cloud  may 


hide  the  sun.  But  deliberate,  habitual 
questionings  of  God’s  benevolence,  argue 
great  moral  deficiency.  Whoever  sees 
the  glory,  and  feels  within  himself  the 
power  of  disinterested  goodness,  is  quick 
to  recognize  it  in  others,  especially  in 
his  Creator.  He  sees  in  his  own  love  a 
sign,  expression,  and  communication  of 
uncreated,  unbounded,  all- originating 
love.  The  idea  of  malignity  in  the  in- 
finite Creator  shocks  his  moral  nature 
just  as  a palpable  contradiction  offends 
his  reason.  He  repels  it  with  indigna- 
tion and  horror.  Suffering  has  little  to 
do  towards  creating  a settled  scepticism. 
The  most  sceptical  men,  the  most  in- 
sensible to  God’s  goodness,  the  most 
prone  to  murmur,  may  be  found  among 
those  who  are  laden  above  all  others 
with  the  goods  of  life,  whose  cup  over- 
flows with  prosperity,  and  who,  by  an 
abuse  of  prosperity,  have  become  selfish, 
exacting,  and  all  alive  to  inconveniences 
and  privations.  These  are  the  cold- 
hearted  and  doubting.  If  I were  to 
seek  those  whose  conviction  of  God’s 
goodness  is  faintest  and  most  easily 
disturbed,  I would  seek  them  in  the 
palace  sooner  than  the  hovel.  I would 
go  to  the  luxurious  table,  to  the  pillow 
of  ease,  to  those  among  us  who  abound 
most,  to  the  self- exalting,  the  self- wor- 
shipping, not  to  the  depressed  and  for- 
saken. The  profoundest  sense  of  God’s 
goodness  which  it  has  been  my  privilege 
to  witness,  I have  seen  in  the  counte- 
nance and  heard  from  the  lips  of  the 
suffering.  I have  found  none  to  lean 
on  God  with  such  filial  trust  as  those 
whom  he  has  afflicted.  I doubt,  indeed, 
if  true  gratitude  and  true  confidence 
ever  spring  up  in  the  human  soul  until 
it  has  suffered.  A superficial,  senti- 
mental recognition  of  God  s goodness 
may  indeed  be  found  among  those  who 
have  lived  only  to  enjoy.  But  deep, 
strong,  earnest  piety  strikes  root  in  the 
soil  which  has  been  broken  and  softened 
by  calamity.  Such,  I believe,  is  the  ob- 
servation of  every  man  who  has  watched 
the  progress  of  human  character ; and 
therefore  I say  that  I fear  very  little 
the  influence  of  suffering  in  producing 
scepticism.  Still,  virtuous  minds  are 
sometimes  visited  with  perplexities,  with 
painful  surprise  ; and  in  seasons  of  pe- 
culiar calamity,  the  question  is  asked 
with  reverence,  but  still  with  anxiety, 
How  is  it  that  so  much  suffering  is  ex- 


THE  DEA  TH  OF  DR.  POLLEN. 


6ll 


perienced  under  a Being  of  perfect  good- 
ness ? and  such  passing  clouds  are  apt 
to  darken  us  in  earlier  life,  and  in  the 
earlier  stages  of  the  Christian  character  ? 
On  this  account  it  is  right  to  seek  and 
communicate  such  explanations  as  may 
be  granted  us  of  the  ways  of  God. 

One  of  the  most  common  vindications 
of  divine  benevolence  is  found  in  the 
fact  that,  much  as  men  suffer,  they  enjoy 
more.  We  are  told  that  there  is  a great 
balance  of  pleasure  over  pain,  and  that 
it  is  by  what  prevails  in  a system  that 
we  must  judge  of  its  author.  This  view 
is  by  no  means  to  be  overlooked.  It  is 
substantially  true.  There  is  a great  ex- 
cess of  enjoyment,  of  present  good  in 
life.  The  pains  of  sickness  may  indeed 
be  intenser  than  the  pleasures  of  health, 
but  health  is  the  rule,  and  sickness  the 
exception.  A few  are  blind,  or  deaf,  or 
speechless  ; but  almost  all  men  maintain, 
through  the  open  eye  and  ear,  perpetual 
communication  with  outward  nature  and 
one  another.  Some  may  be  broken 
down  with  excessive  toil ; but,  to  the 
great  mass  of  men,  labor  is  healthful, 
invigorating,  and  gives  a zest  to  repose, 
and  to  the  common  blessings  of  life. 
We  all  suffer  more  or  less  from  our 
connection  with  imperfect  fellow-creat- 
ures ; but  how  much  more  of  good 
comes  to  us  from  our  social  nature, 
from  the  sympathies  and  kind  offices  of 
families,  friends,  neighbors,  than  of  pain 
from  malignity  and  wrongs  ! There  is, 
indeed,  a great  amount  of  suffering,  and 
there  is  an  intensity  in  suffering  not 
found  in  pleasure  ; and  yet,  when  we 
take  a broad  view,  we  must  see  a much 
greater  amount  of  gratification.  The 
world  is  not  a hospital,  an  alms-house, 
a dungeon.  A beautiful  sun  shines  on  it. 
Flowers  and  fruits  deck  its  fields.  A 
reviving  atmosphere  encompasses  it, 
and  man  has  power,  by  arts  and  com- 
merce, to  multiply  and  spread  almost 
indefinitely  its  provision  for  human 
wants.  Here  is  an  eloquent  testimony 
to  the  goodness  of  the  Creator.  And 
yet  the  obstinate  sceptic  may  escape  its 
power.  He  will  say,  Be  it  granted  that 
pleasure  prevails  over  pain  ; still,  is  not 
much  pain  inflicted  ? and  how  can  this 
be  reconciled  with  perfect  goodness  ? 
Does  a kind  father  satisfy  himself  with 
giving  a greater  amount  of  enjoyment 
than  of  suffering  ? Suppose  a parent  to 
heap  on  a child  every  possible  indul- 


gence for  twenty  hours  of  the  day,  and 
to  visit  him  with  a severe  pain  the  re- 
maining four,  should  we  celebrate  his 
tenderness  ? Besides,  it  will  be  added, 
are  there  not  individual  cases  in  which 
suffering  outweighs  enjoyment  ? Are 
there  none  whose  lives  have  been  filled 
up  with  disease  and  want  ? and  be  these 
ever  so  few,  they  disprove  God’s  love  to 
every  human  being,  if  this  love  is  to  be 
vindicated  by  the  excess  of  pleasure  over 
pain.  I state  these  objections,  not  be- 
cause they  weigh  in  the  least  on  my  own 
mind,  but  because  they  show  that  the 
argument  in  favor  of  divine  goodness, 
drawn  from  the  passing  events  of  life,  is 
not  of  itself  a sufficient  foundation  for 
faith  to  rest  on.  Whoever  confines  his 
view  to  the  alternations  of  good  and  evil 
in  every  man’s  lot,  cannot  well  escape 
doubt.  We  must  take  higher  ground. 
We  must  cease  to  count  pleasures  and 
pains,  as  if  working  a sum  in  arithmetic, 
or  to  weigh  them  against  each  other  as 
in  scales.  We  need  larger  views  of  our- 
selves and  the  universe,  and  these  will 
more  and  more  establish  our  faith  in  the 
perfection  of  God. 

There  is  a grand  vindication  of  God’s 
benevolence,  not  reaching,  indeed,  to 
every  case  of  suffering,  not  broad 
enough  to  cover  the  whole  ground  of 
human  experience,  but  still  so  compre- 
hensive, so  sublime,  as  to  assure  us  that 
what  remains  obscure  would  be  turned 
into  light,  could  all  its  connections  be 
discerned.  This  is  found  in  the  truth, 
that  benevolence  has  a higher  aim  than 
to  bestow  enjoyment.  There  is  a higher 
good  than  enjoyment ; and  this  requires 
suffering  in  order  to  be  gained.  As  long 
as  we  narrow  our  view  of-  benevolence, 
and  see  in  it  only  a disposition  to  bestow 
pleasure,  so  long  life  will  be  a mystery  ; 
for  pleasure  is  plainly  not  its  great  end. 
Earth  is  not  a paradise,  where  streams 
of  joy  gush  out  unbidden  at  our  feet,  and 
uncloying  fruits  tempt  us  on  every  side 
to  stretch  out  our  hands  and  eat.  But 
this  does  not  detract  from  God’s  love  ; 
because  he  has  something  better  for  us 
than  gushing  streams  or  profuse  indul- 
gence. When  we  look  into  ourselves, 
we  find  something  besides  capacities 
and  desires'  of  pleasure.  Amidst  the 
selfish  and  animal  principles  of  our 
nature,  there  is  an  awful  power,  a sense 
of  right,  a voice  which  speaks  of  duty, 
an  idea  grander  than  the  largest  per- 


6l2 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


sonal  interest,  the  idea  of  excellence,  of 
perfection.  Here  is  the  seal  of  Divinity 
on  us  ; here  the  sign  of  our  descent  from 
God.  It  is  in  this  gift  that  we  see  the 
benevolence  of  God.  It  is  in  writing 
this  inward  law  on  the  heart,  it  is  in 
giving  us  the  conception  of  moral  good- 
ness, and  the  power  to  strive  after  it,  the 
power  of  self-conflict  and  self-denial,  of 
surrendering  pleasure  to  duty,  and  of 
suffering  for  the  right,  the  true,  and  the 
good  ; — it  is  in  thus  enduing  us,  and 
not  in  giving  us  capacities  of  pleasure, 
that  God’s  goodness  shines ; and,  of 
consequence,  whatever  gives  a field  and 
excitement  and  exercise  and  strength 
and  dignity  to  these  principles  of  our 
nature,  is  the  highest  manifestation  of 
benevolence.  I trust  I speak  a lan- 
guage to  which  all  who  hear  me  in  some 
measure  respond.  You  know,  you  feel 
the  difference  between  excellence  and 
indulgence,  between  conscience  and  ap- 
petite, between  right-doing  and  prosper- 
ity, between  strivings  to  realize  the  idea 
of  perfection  and  strivings  for  gain.  No 
one  can  wholly  overlook  these  different 
elements  within  us  ; and  can  any  one 
question  which  is  God’s  greatest  gift,  or 
for  what  ends  such  warring  principles 
are  united  in  our  souls  ? 

The  end  of  our  being  is  to  educate, 
bring  out,  and  perfect  the  divine  prin- 
ciples of  our  nature.  We  were  made 
and  are  upheld  in  life  for  this  as  our 
great  end,  that  we  may  be  true  to  the 
principle  of  duty  within  us  ; that  we 
may  put  down  all  desire  and  appetite 
beneath  the  inward  law  ; that  we  may 
enthrone  God,  the  infinitely  perfect 
Father,  in  our  souls  ; that  we  may 
count  all  things  as  dross  in  comparison 
with  sanctity  of  heart  and  life  ; that  we 
may  hunger  and  thirst  for  righteousness, 
more  than  for  daily  food  ; that  we  may 
resolutely  and  honestly  seek  for  and 
-communicate  truth  ; that  disinterested 
love  and  impartial  justice  may  triumph 
over  every  motion  of  selfishness  and 
every  tendency  to  wrong-doing ; in  a 
word,  that  our  whole  lives,  labors,  con- 
versation, may  express  and  strengthen 
reverence  for  ourselves,  for  our  fellow- 
creatures,  and,  above  all,  for  God.  Such 
is  the  good  for  which  we  are  made  ; and 
in  order  to  this  triumph  of  virtuous  and 
religious  principles,  we  are  exposed  to 
temptation,  hardship,  pain.  Is  suffer- 
ing, then,  inconsistent  with  God’s  love  ? 


Moral,  spiritual  excellence,  that  which 
we  confide  in  and  revere,  is  not,  and 
from  its  nature  cannot  be,  an  instinctive, 
irresistible  feeling  infused  into  us  from 
abroad,  and  which  may  grow  up  amidst 
a life  of  indulgence  and  ease.  It  is,  in 
its  very  essence,  a free  activity,  an  en- 
ergy of  the  will,  a deliberate  preference 
of  the  right  and  the  holy  to  all  things, 
and  a chosen,  cheerful  surrender  of 
every  thing  to  these.  It  grows  brighter, 
stronger,  in  proportion  to  the  pains  it 
bears,  the  difficulties  it  surmounts. 
Can  we  wonder  that  we  suffer?  Is  not 
suffering  the  true  school  of  a moral 
being  ? As  administered  by  Providence, 
may  it  not  be  the  most  necessary  portion 
of  our  lot  ? 

Had  I time,  I might  show  how  suffer- 
ing ministers  to  human  excellence  ; how 
it  calls  forth  the  magnanimous  and  sub- 
lime virtues,  and  at  the  same  time 
nourishes  the  tenderest,  sweetest  sym- 
pathies of  our  nature  ; how  it  raises  us 
to  energy  and  to  the  consciousness  of 
our  powers,  and  at  the  same  time  infuses 
the  meekest  dependence  on  God  ; how 
it  stimulates  toil  for  the  goods  of  this 
world,  and  at  the  same  time  weans  us 
from  it,  and  lifts  us  above  it.  I might 
tell  you  how  I have  seen  it  admonishing 
the  heedless,  reproving  the  presumptu- 
ous, humbling  the  proud,  rousing  the 
sluggish,  softening  the  insensible,  awak- 
ening the  slumbering  conscience,  speak- 
ing of  God  to  the  ungrateful,  infusing 
courage  and  force  and  faith  and  unwav- 
ering hope  of  heaven.  I do  not,  then, 
doubt  God’s  beneficence  on  account  of 
the  sorrows  and  pains  of  life.  I look 
without  gloom  on  this  suffering  world. 
True,  suffering  abounds.  The  wail  of 
the  mourner  comes  to  me  from  every 
region  under  heaven  ; from  every  human 
habitation,  for  death  enters  into  all ; 
from  the  ocean,  where  the  groan  of  the 
dying  mingles  with  the  solemn  roar  of 
the  waves  ; from  the  fierce  flame,  encir- 
cling, as  an  atmosphere  or  shroud,  the 
beloved,  the  revered.  Still,  all  these 
forms  of  suffering  do  not  subdue  my 
faith,  for  all  are  fitted  to  awaken  the 
human  soul,  and  through  all  it  may  be 
glorified.  We  shrink  indeed  with  hor-*. 
ror,  when  imagination  carries  us  to  the 
blazing,  sinking  vessel,  where  young 
and  old,  the  mother  and  her  child,  hus- 
bands, fathers,  friends,  are  overwhelmed 
by  a common,  sudden,  fearful  fate. 


THE  DEATH  OF  DR.  FOLLEN. 


613 


But  the  soul  is  mightier  than  the  unspar- 
ing elements.  I have  read  of  holy  men 
who,  in  days  of  persecution,  have  been 
led  to  the  stake,  to  pay  the  penalty  of 
their  uprightness,  not  in  fierce  and  sud- 
denly destroying  flames,  but  in  a slow 
fire  ; and,  though  one  retracting  word 
would  have  snatched  them  from  death, 
they  have  chosen  to  be  bound  ; and, 
amidst  the  protracted  agonies  of  limb 
burning  after  limb,  they  have  looked  to 
God  with  unwavering  faith  and  sought 
forgiveness  for  their  enemies.  What, 
then,  are  outHvard  fires  to  the  celestial 
flame  within  us  ? And  can  I feel  as  if 
God  had  ceased  to  love,  as  if  man  were 
forsaken  of  his  Creator,  because  his 
body  is  scattered  into  ashes  by  the  fire  ? 
It  would  seem  as  if  God  intended  to 
disarm  the  most  terrible  events  of  their 
power  to  disturb  our  faith,  by  making 
them  the  occasions  of  the  sublimest 
virtues.  In  shipwrecks  we  are  furnished 
with  some  of  the  most  remarkable  ex- 
amples that  history  affords  of  trust  in 
God,  of  unconquerable  energy,  and  of 
tender,  self-sacrificing  love,  making  the 
devouring  ocean  the  most  glorious  spot 
on  earth.  A friend  rescued  from  a 
wreck  told  me  that  a company  of  pious 
Christians,  who  had  been  left  in  the 
sinking  ship,  were  heard  from  the  boat 
in  which  he  had  found  safety,  lifting  up 
their  voices,  not  in  shrieks  or  moans, 
but  in  a joint  hymn  to  God,  thus  await- 
ing, in  a serene  act  of  piety,  the  last, 
swift-approaching  hour.  How  much 
grander  was  that  hymn  than  the  ocean’s 
roar  ! And  what  becomes  of  suffering, 
when  thus  awakening  into  an  energy, 
otherwise  unknown,  the  highest  senti- 
ments of  the  soul  ? I can  shed  tears 
over  human  griefs ; but  thus  viewed 
they  do  not  discourage  me ; they 
strengthen  my  faith  in  God. 

I will  not  say  that  I have  now  offered 
a sufficient  explanation  of  the  evils  of 
life,  a complete  vindication  of  God’s 
providence  in  the  permission  of  suffer- 
ing. Do  not  think  me  so  presumptu- 
ous. What ! shall  a weak  man,  who  is 
but  dust  and  ashes,  talk  of  vindicating 
fully  the  providence  of  God  ? That 
providence,  could  I explain  it,  would 
not  be  infinite.  In  this  our  childhood, 
plunged  as  we  are  into  the  midst  of  a 
boundless  universe,  we  must  expect  to 
find  mysteries  on  every  side  of  us. 
Darkness  must  hem  in  all  our  steps.  I 


presume  not  to  say  why  this  or  that 
event  has  befallen  us.  I bow  my  head 
with  filial  reverence  before  the  infinite 
Disposer.  How  little  of  him  do  I,  can 
I,  comprehend  ! Still  he  vouchsafes  to 
us  some  light  in  this  our  darkness. 
Still  he  has  given  us,  in  our  own  spirits, 
some  cheering  revelations  of  the  designs 
of  his  vast,  mysterious  providence  ; and 
these  we  are  gratefully  to  receive,  and 
to  use  them  as  confirmations  of  our 
faith  and  hope. 

I have  been  led  to  this  subject  by  the 
appalling  calamity  which,  for  a few  days 
past,  has  filled  so  many  of  our  thoughts, 
and  awakened  universal  sympathy  in 
our  community.  I was  driven  by  this 
awful  visitation  of  God’s  providence  to 
turn  my  mind  to  the  sufferings  of  human 
life,  and  some  of  my  reflections  I have 
now  laid  before  you.  It  is  not  my  desire 
to  bring  back  to  your  imaginations  that 
affecting  scene.  Our  imaginations  in 
such  seasons  need  no  quickening.  They 
often  scare  us  with  unreal  terrors,  and 
thus  our  doubts  of  God’s  goodness  are 
aggravated  by  the  fictions  of  our  own 
diseased  minds.  Most  of  us  are  proba- 
bly destined  to  pass  through  more  pain- 
ful, because  more  lingering,  deaths  than 
the  lamented  sufferers  who  have  within 
a few  days  been  so  suddenly  summoned 
to  the  presence  of  God.  The  ocean  is 
a softer,  less  torturing  bed  than  that 
which  is  to  be  spread  for  many  here. 
It  was  not  the  physical  pain  which  I 
shuddered  at  when  I first  heard  of  that 
night  of  horrors.  It  was  the  mental 
agony  of  those  who,  in  a moment  of 
health  and  security,  were  roused  to  see 
distinctly  the  abyss  opening  beneath 
them,  to  see  God’s  awful  ministers  of 
fire  and  sea  commissioned  to  sunder  at 
once  every  hold  on  life,  and  to  carry 
them  so  unwarned  into  the  unknown 
world.  Even  this  agony,  however,  in 
the  first  moment  of  our  grief  and  hor- 
ror, was  perhaps  exaggerated.  When 
my  mind,  composed  by  time,  now  goes 
back  to  that  flame-encircled  boat,  I 
search  for  one  among  the  crowd  who 
was  singularly  dear  to  me,  the  close  and 
faithful  friend  of  many  years  ; and  as  he 
rises  to  my  mind,  I see  no  terror  on  his 
countenance.  I see  him  with  collected 
mind  and  quick  eye  looking  round  him 
for  means  of  escape,  using  every  energy 
of  a fearless  spirit,  thoughtful,  too,  of 
others  as  well  as  of  himself,  and  desist- 


614 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


ing  from  no  efforts  of  love  and  prudence 
till  the  power  of  effort  failed.  I see, 
indeed,  one  agony;  it  was  the  thought 
that  the  dear  countenances  of  wife  and 
child  and  beloved  friend  were  to  be 
seen  no  more  on  earth.  I see  another, 
perhaps  deeper  agony ; it  was  the  thought 
of  the  woe  which  his  loss  was  to  inflict 
on  hearts  dearer  to  him  than  life.  But 
even  at  that  hour  his  love  was  not  all 
agony ; for  it  had  always  lived  in  union 
with  faith.  He  had  loved  spiritually ; 
he  had  reverenced  in  his  friends  an 
infinite,  undying  nature  ; he  had  cher- 
ished in  them  principles  and  hopes 
stronger  than  death.  I cannot  doubt 
that  in  that  fearful  hour  he  committed 
them  and  himself  with  filial  trust  to  the 
all-merciful  Father.  I cannot  doubt 
that  death  was  disarmed  of  its  worst 
terrors,  that  the  spirit  passed  away  in 
breathings  of  unutterable  love  and  im- 
mortal hope.  Thus  died  one  of  that 
seemingly  forlorn,  desolate,  forsaken 
company ; I hope,  thus  others  died. 
But  one  such  example  mingles  with  the 
terrors  and  agonies  of  that  night  so 
much  that  is  heavenly,  soothing,  cheer- 
ing, that  I can  look  at  the  scene  without 
overwhelming  gloom,  and  without  one 
doubt  of  the  perfect  goodness  of  God. 

The  friend  to  whom  I have  referred 
was  not  only  my  friend,  but  most  dear 
to  several  who  worship  in  this  house. 
For  their  sakes,  more  than  my  own,  I 
would  say  something  of  his  character ; 
though,  in  truth,  I have  a higher  object 
than  to  minister  to  any  private  grief. 
This  is  not  the  place  for  the  utterance 
of  personal  feeling.  This  house  was 
reared  not  for  the  glory  even  of  the  best 
and  the  greatest  of  men,  but  for  the 
glory  of  God,  and  for  the  spiritual  edifi- 
cation of  his  worshippers.  I feel,  how- 
ever, that  God  is  honored  and  man 
edified  by  notices  of  such  of  our  race 
as  have  signally  manifested  the  spirit  of 
the  Divinity  in  their  lives,  and  have  left 
a bright  path  to  guide  others  to  a better 
world. 

The  friend  of  whom  I speak  was  one 
of  the  few  who  seem  set  apart  from  the 
race  by  blamelessness  of  life  and  eleva- 
tion of  spirit.  All  who  have  had  oppor- 
tunities of  knowing  him  will  testify,  by 
a spontaneous  impulse,  that  they  knew 
no  purer,  nobler  human  being.  Some 
think  that  on  the  whole  he  was  the  best 
man  whom  it  has  been  their  privilege  to 


know.  Such  a man  may  be  spoken  of 
even  in  the  house  of  God,  in  that  place 
where  flattery  is  profanation,  and  God, 
not  man,  is  to  be  adored.  Our  friend 
did  not  grow  up  among  us.  He  came 
here  an  exile  from  a distant  land  ; and, 
poor  and  unfriended,  was  to  earn  his 
bread  with  toil ; and  under  these  disad- 
vantages he  not  only  won  friends  and  a 
home,  but  was  adopted  with  love  and 
trust,  which  few  inspire  who  have  been 
known  from  infancy  to  age. 

The  character  which  secured  such 
love  it  is  not  difficult  to  depict,  because 
greatness  is  simple,  artless,  and  lies 
open  to  every  eye.  It  was  his  distinc- 
tion that  he  united  in  himself  those 
excellences  which  at  first  seem  to  repel 
each  other,  though  in  truth  they  are  of 
one  loving  family.  This  union  was  so 
striking  as  to  impress  even  those  who 
did  not  enjoy  his  intimacy.  For  exam- 
ple, he  was  a hero,  a man  of  a lion- 
heart,  victorious  over  fear,  gathering 
strength  and  animation  from  danger, 
and  bound  the  faster  to  duty  by  its  hard- 
ships ancf privations  ; and  at  the  same 
time  he  was  a child  in  simplicity,  sweet- 
ness, innocence,  and  benignity.  His 
firmness,  which  I trusted  perhaps  more 
than  that  of  any  man,  had  not  the  least 
alloy  of  roughness.  His  countenance, 
which  at  times  wore  a stern  decision, 
was  generally  lighted  up  with  a beauti- 
ful benignity ; and  his  voice,  which  ex- 
pressed, when  occasion  required  it,  an 
inflexible  will,  was  to  many  of  us  musi- 
cal beyond  expression,  from  the  deep 
tenderness  which  it  breathed. 

As  another  example  of  seemingly  in- 
congruous virtues,  he  was  singularly 
alive  to  the  domestic  affections.  Who, 
that  saw  him  in  the  bosom  of  his  family, 
can  forget  the  deep  sympathies  and  the 
overflowing  joyousness  of  his  spirit  ? 
His  home  was  pervaded  by  his  love  as 
by  the  sun’s  light.  A.  stranger  might 
have  thought  that  his  whole  soul  was 
centred  there  ; and  yet  with  these  strong 
domestic  affections  he  joined  a love  of 
his  race  far  more  rare.  His  heart  beat 
in  unison  with  the  mighty  heart  of  hu- 
manity. He  did  not  love  mankind  as 
these  words  are  commonly  used.  He 
was  knit  to  them  by  a strong  living  tie 
of  brotherhood.  He  felt  for  all  men, 
but  above  all  for  the  depressed  and  the 
wronged.  His  mild  countenance  would 
flash  "fire  at  the  mention  of  an  injured 


THE  DEATH  OF  DR.  FOLLEN. 


man ; not  the  fire  of  revenge,  or  unkind- 
ness, but  of  holy  indignation,  of  un- 
bounded love  and  reverence  for  invaded 
right. 

I can  mention  another  union  of  qual- 
ities not  always  reconciled.  He  was  a 
man  of  refined  taste.  - He  loved  refined 
society.  His  manners,  courteous,  sweet, 
bland,  fitted  him  for  intercourse  with 
the  most  cultivated,  and  he  enjoyed  it 
keenly  ; and  yet  his  deepest  sympathies 
were  given  to  the  mass  of  men.  He 
was  ' the  friend  of  the  laboring  man. 
He  had  a great  respect  for  minds  which 
had  been  trained  in  simple  habits,  and 
amidst  the  toils  of  life  ; and  could  he 
have  chosen  the  congregation  to  which 
he  would  minister,  it  would  have  been 
composed  chiefly  of  such  members. 

I will  mention  one  more  union  of 
seemingly  dissimilar  virtues.  He  was 
singularly  independent  in  his  judgments. 
He  was  not  only  uninfluenced  by  au- 
thority and  numbers  and  interest  and 
popularity,  but  by  friendship,  by  those 
he  most  loved  and  honored.  He  seemed 
almost  too  tenacious  of  his  convictions. 
But  with  all  this  firmness  of  judgment 
he  never  gave  offence  by  positiveness, 
never  challenged  assent,  never  urged 
his  dearest  convictions  with  unbecom- 
ing warmth,  never  in  argument  passed 
the  limits  of  the  most  delicate  courtesy, 
and,  from  a reverence  of  others’  rights, 
encouraged  the  freest  expression  of 
opinion,  however  hostile  to  his  own. 

Such  were  some  of  the  traits  of  this 
good  and  great  man ; and  of  these 
traits,  which  bore  rule  ? Not  a few, 
who  saw  him  cursorily,  remember  most 
distinctly  his  singular  sweetness  and 
benignity.  But  had  these  predomi- 
nated, I might  not,  perhaps,  think  myself 
authorized  to  pay  him  this  extended 
tribute  in  a Christian  congregation.  I 
should  confine  the  utterance  of  my  grief 
to  the  circle  of  private  friendship.  It 
was  his  calm,  enlightened,  Christian 
heroism  which  imparted  to  his  charac- 
ter its  singular  glory.  His  sweetness 
threw  a lustre  over  this  attribute,  by 
showing  that  it  was  no  morbid  enthusi- 
asm, no  reckless  self-exposure  ; that  he 
was  not  raised  above  danger  and  per- 
sonal regards  by  vehemence  of  emotion. 
His  heroism  had  its  root  and  life  in 
reason,  in  the  sense  of  justice,  in  the 
disinterested  principles  of  Christianity, 
in  deliberate,  enlightened  reverence  for 


615 

human  nature  and  for  the  rights  of  every 
human  being.  It  was  singularly  free 
from  passion.  Tender  and  affectionate 
as  his  nature  was,  his  sense  of  justice, 
his  reverence  for  right,  was  stronger 
than  his  affections  ; and  this  was  the 
chief  basis  and  element  of  his  heroic 
character.  Accordingly,  the  love  of  free- 
dom glowed  as  a central,  inextinguish- 
able fire  in  his  soul ; not  the  school- 
boy’s passion  for  liberty,  caught  from 
the  blood-stained  pages  of  Greece  and 
Rome,  but  a love  of  freedom,  resting' 
on  and  blended  with  the  calmest  knowl- 
edge,  growing  from  clear,  profound  per- 
ceptions of  the  nature  and  destiny  and 
inalienable  rights  of  man.  He  felt,  to 
the  very  depth  of  his  soul,  that  man, 
God’s  rational,  immortal  creature,  was 
worth  living  for  and  dying  for.  To  him, 
the  most  grievous  sight  on  earth  was 
not  misery  in  its  most  agonizing  forms, 
but  the  sight  of  man  oppressed,  trodden 
down  by  his  brother.  To  lift  him  up, 
to  make  him  free,  to  restore  him  to  the 
dignity  of  a man,  to  restore  him  to  the 
holy  hope  of  a Christian,  — this  seemed 
to  him  the  grandest  work  on  earth,  and 
he  consecrated  himself  to  it  with  his 
whole  soul.  I felt  habitually  in  his 
presence  that  here  was  a man  ready  at 
any  moment  to  shed  his  blood  for  truth 
and  freedom.  For  his  devotion  to  hu- 
man rights  he  had  been  exiled  from  his 
home  and  native  country;  he  had  been 
hunted  by  arbitrary  power  in  foreign 
lands,  and  had  sought  safety  beyond  an 
ocean.  But  peril  and  persecution,  whilst 
they  had  tempered  his  youthful  enthusi- 
asm, had  only  wrought  more  deeply 
into  his  soul  the  principles  for  which  he 
had  suffered,  and  his  resolution,  in 
growing  calmer,  had  grown  more  in- 
vincible. 

His  greatness  had  one  of  the  chief 
marks  of  reality  ; it  was  unpretending. 
He  had  no  thought  of  playing  the  part 
of  a hero.  He  was  never  more  himself, 
never  more  unstudied,  spontaneous,  than 
in  the  utterance  of  generous  sentiments. 
His  greatness  was  immeasurably  above 
show,  and  above  the  arts  by  which  in- 
ferior minds  thrust  themselves  on  notice. 
There  was  a singular  union  in  his  char- 
acter, of  self-respect  and  modesty,  which 
brought  out  both  these  qualities  in  strong 
relief.  He  was  just  to  himself  without 
flattery,  and  too  single-hearted  and  truth- 
ful to  seek  or  accept  flattery  from  others. 


6i6 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


He  made  no  merit,  nor  did  he  talk  of 
the  sufferings,  past  or  present,  which 
he  had  incurred  by  faithfulness  to  prin- 
ciple. In  truth,  he  could  hardly  be  said 
to  suffer,  except  through  solicitude  for 
what  he  might  bring  on  those  who  were 
dearer  to  him  than  himself.  It  was  a 
part  of  his  faith,  that  the  highest  hap- 
piness is  found  in  that  force  of  love  and 
holy  principle  through  which  a man  sur- 
renders himself  wholly  to  the  cause  of 
God  and  mankind  ; and  he  proved  the 
truth  in  his  own  experience.  Though 
often  unprosperous  and  often  disap- 
pointed, his  spirit  was  buoyant,  cheer- 
ful, overflowing  with  life,  full  of  faith 
and  hope,  often  sportive,  and  always 
open  to  the  innocent  pleasures  which 
sprung  up  in  his  path. 

He  was  a true  Christian.  The  char- 
acter of  Christ  was  his  delight.  His 
faith  in  immortality  had  something  of 
the  clearness  of  vision.  He  had  given 
himself  much  to  the  philosophical  study 
of  human  nature,  and  there  were  two 
principles  of  the  soul  on  which  he  seized 
with  singular  force.  One  of  these  was 
“ the  sense  of  the  infinite, ” — that  prin- 
ciple of  our  nature  which  always  as- 
pires after  something  higher  than  it  has 
gained,  which  conceives  of  the  perfect, 
and  can  find  no  rest  but  in  pressing  for- 
ward to  perfection.-  The  other  was 
“the  free-will  of  man,”  which  was  to 
him  the  grand  explanation  of  the  mys- 
teries of  our  being,  and  which  gave  to 
the  human  soul  inexpressible  interest 
and  dignity  in  his  sight.  To  him,  life 
was  a state  in  which  a free  being  is  to 
determine  himself,  amidst  sore  trials 
and  temptations,  to  the  right  and  the 
holy,  and  to  advance  towards  perfec- 
tion. His  piety  took  a character  from 
these  views.  It  was  eminently  a filial 
piety.  He  might  almost  be  said  to  have 
no  name  for  God  but  Father.  But  then 
God  was  not  to  his  view  a fond,  indul- 
gent father,  but  a wise  parent,  sending 
forth  his  child  to  be  tried  and  tempted, 
to  suffer  and  contend,  to  watch  and 
pray,  and,  amidst  such  discipline,  to 
approve  and  exalt  his  love  towards  God 
and  mankind. 

Such  were  the  grand  traits  of  our 
departed  friend.  He  was  not  good  as 
most  of  us  are,  — faithful  to  duty  when 
duty  is  convenient,  loyal  to  truth  when 
truth  is  shouted  from  the  crowd.  He 
loved  virtue  for  herself,  loved  her  when 


her  dowry  was  suffering,  and  therefore 
I deem  him  worthy  to  be  spoken  of 
thus  largely  in  Christ’s  church.  The 
world  has  its  temples  in  which  its  favor- 
ites, the  powerful,  the  successful,  may 
be  lauded.  But  he  only  is  fit  to  be 
commemorated  in  a Christian  church 
who  has  borne  the  cross,  who  has  left 
all  for  duty  and  Christ.  Not  that  I 
mean  to  speak  of  our  friend  as  perfect. 
He  fell  below  his  standard.  He  was 
a partaker  in  human  infirmities.  He 
has  gone  not  to  plead  his  merits,  but 
to  cast  himself  on  the  mercy  of  his 
Creator. 

My  thoughts  have  been  so  attracted 
to  his  moral  qualities,  that  I have  neg- 
lected to  speak  of  his  intellectual  powers. 
These  were  of  a high  order.  His  in- 
tellect had  the  strength,  simplicity,  and . 
boldness  of  his  character.  Without 
rashness,  it  shrunk  from  nothing  that 
bore  the  signature  of  truth.  He  was 
given  chiefly  to  the  higher  philosophy, 
which  treats  of  the  laws,  powers,  and 
destinies  of  the  human  soul.  He  hoped 
to  live  to  complete  a work  on  this  sub- 
ject. I presume  that,  next  to  the  dis- 
charge of  all  duty,  this  was  the  object 
he  had  most  at  heart ; and  though  I 
differed  from  him  as  to  some  funda- 
mental doctrines,  I shared  in  his  strong 
desire  of  giving  his  views  to  the  world. 
His  theory  stood  in  direct  hostility  to 
Atheism,  which  confounds  man  with 
nature  ; to  Pantheism  and  Mysticism, 
which  confound  man  with  God ; and 
to  all  the  systems  of  philosophy  and 
religion  which  ascribe  to  circumstances 
or  to  God  an  irresistible  influence  on 
the  mind.  The  free-will,  through  which  s 
we  create  our  own  characters,  through 
which  we  become  really,  not  nominally, 
responsible  beings,  and  are  fitted  to 
sustain,  not  physical,  but  moral  rela- 
tions to  God  and  the  universe,  this  was 
his  grand  principle  ; and  he  followed 
it  out  to  all  its  consequences  with  his 
characteristic  decision.  But  he  was  not 
confined  to  abstract  subjects.  He  had 
studied  moral  science,  history,  and  the 
civil  law  profoundly.  He  had  given 
much  thought  to  Christianity  and  the 
church.  His  acquisitions  of  knowledge 
were  various,  his  taste  refined,  and  his 
power  of  expression  great.  His  thoughts, 
often  original,  were  robed  in  beauty,  from 
an  imagination  which  received  fresh, 
genial,  quickening  influences  from  his 


THE  DEA  TH  OF  DR.  POLLEN. 


moral  nature.  His  intellect,  however, 
had  one  quality  which,  whether  justly 
or  not,  prevented  its  extensive  action 
on  our  community.  It  did  not  move 
fast  enough  for  us.  It  was  too  deliber- 
ate, too  regular,  too  methodical,  too 
anxious  to  do  full  justice  to  a subject, 
for  such  an  impatient  people  as  we  are. 
He  did  not  dazzle  men  by  sudden,  bold, 
exaggerated  conceptions.  In  his  writ- 
ings he  seemed  compelled  to  unfold  a 
subject  in  its  order  ; and  sometimes  in- 
sisted on  what  might  have  been  left  to 
the  quick  conception  of  the  hearer. 
Hence  he  was  thought  by  some  to  want 
animation  and  interest  as  a preacher, 
whilst  by  others  his  religious  instruc- 
tions and  his  prayers  were  felt  to  be 
full  of  life  and  power.  The  effect  of 
his  eloquence  was  often  diminished  by 
his  slow,  deliberate  utterance ; a habit 
which,  as  a foreigner  anxious  to  pro- 
nounce our  language  with  perfect  ac- 
curacy, he  could  hardly  help  contracting. 
Of  late,  however,  his  freedom  and  ear- 
nestness had  increased  ; and  his  preach- 
ing was  listened  to  with  delight  by  those 
who  insist  most  on  animation  of  thought 
and  manner.  Indeed  to  his  last  moment 
he  was  growing  in  the  desire  and  the 
power  to  do  good. 

Thus  he  lived  ; nor  is  he  to  be  com- 
passionated, because  in  the  midst  of  such 
a life  he  was  suddenly  taken  away.  Our 
imaginations  associate  a peculiar  terri- 
bleness with  death,  when  it  comes  with- 
out warning,  in  the  form  of  tempest, 
lightning,  fire,  and  raging  waves.  But 
within  and  beneath  these  awful  powers 
of  nature  there  is  another  and  mightier 
power.  These  are  only  God’s  minis- 
ters ; and  through  these  he  separates 
from  earthly  bonds  the  spirit  which 
he  has  watched  over  and  prepared  for 
nearer  access  to  himself.  Perhaps,  were 
our  minds  more  elevated,  it  would  seem 
to  us  worthier  of  a man,  more  appropri- 
ate to  his  greatness,  to  fall  under  these 
mighty  powers,  to  find  a grave  in  these 
unbounded  elements,  than  to  sink  by 
slow  disease  and  to  be  consigned  to  the 
dark,  narrow  tomb.  Our  friend  lived  the 
life  of  a man  and  a Christian  to  the  last 
hour.  His  life,  though  not  prosperous 
in  our  common  language,  had  yet  yielded 
him  the  best  blessings  of  the  present 
state.  If  strangers  had  not  heard  his 
name,  he  was  cherished,  honored,  as  few 
men  are,  by  those  who  knew  him  best ; 


617 

and  if  extensive  possessions  were  denied 
him,  he  owned  what  is  worth  more  than 
the  wealth  of  worlds,  a happy  home, 
consecrated  by  intelligence,  piety,  and  a 
celestial  love.  Who  had  greater  cause 
than  he  to  rejoice  in  life  ? nor  ought  any 
tears,  but  those  which  we  shed  for  our- 
selves, to  be  called  forth  by  his  death. 

I have  thus,  my  friends,  spoken  of  a 
good  and  noble  man,  and  I have  spoken 
not  to  give  relief  to  a full  heart,  nor 
chiefly  to  soothe  the  wounded  hearts  of 
others.  This  house  is  consecrated  to 
God.  This  excellent,  honored  man  was 
still  a ray,  and  a faint  ray,  from  the  Un- 
created Light.  What  we  loved  in  him 
was  an  inspiration  from  God  ; and  all 
admiration,  which  does  not  rise  above 
him,  falls  infinitely  below  its  true  object. 
Let  us  thank  God,  who  has  manifested 
himself  to  us  in  this  his  servant,  who 
speaks  to  us  in  all  holy  and  noble  men. 
Let  us  not  stop  at  these.  If  we  do,  we 
bury  ourselves  in  the  finite,  we  lose  the 
most  precious  influences,  the  holiest 
ministry  of  living  and  departed  virtuous 
friends.  We  say  of  the  good  man  whom 
we  have  lost,  that  he  has  gone  to  God. 
Let  us,  too,  go  to  God.  Let  us  humble 
ourselves  before  him  for  our  past  im- 
piety, irreverence,  unthankful  insensi- 
bility to  his  infinite  perfection  ; and,  with 
new  affection  and  entire  obedience,  let 
us  consecrate  ourselves  to  him  from 
whose  fulness  all  that  is  beautiful  and 
glorious  in  the  human  soul  and  in  the 
universe  is  derived. 

I have  spoken  of  the  friend  we  have 
lost,  that  through  him  we  should  the 
more  honor  God.  We  may  learn  from 
him,  now  that  he  sleeps  in  the  ocean, 
another  lesson.  We  may  learn  the  glo- 
rious power  of -virtue,  how  it  can  throw 
a brightness  over  the  most  appalling 
scenes  of  human  life,  and  can  rob  the 
most  awful  forms  of  death  of  their  de- 
pressing influence.  To  the  eye  of  sense, 
what  a sad  spectacle  was  the  friend  we 
have  lost,  first  circled  with  the  flames, 
then  weltering  in  the  cold;  lonely  sea  ! 
At  the  moment  of  hearing  the  sad  news, 
a feeling  horror  oppressed  me  ; but 
soon  a light  beamed  in  this  darkness, 
and  it  beamed  from  his  virtues.  The 
thought  of  the  spirit  which  I had  com- 
muned with  gradually  took  the  place  of 
the  "body  which  had  been  taken  from  us 
under  circumstances  so  appalling.  I felt 
that  the  spirit  which  had  informed  that 


6i8 


MEMOIR  OF  JOHN  G ALLIS  ON,  ESQ . 


body,  had  spoken  through  those  lips, 
had  beamed  from  that  benign  face,  was 
mightier  than  the  elements.  I felt  that 
all  the  waves  of  ocean  could  not  quench 
that  spark.  I felt  how  vast,  how  unut- 
terable the  transition  from  that  burning 
deck  and  pitiless  sea  to  the  repose  and 
life  of  a better  world.  I felt  that  the  seal 
of  immortality  had  been  put  on  the  virtue 
which  we  had  seen  unfolding  on  our 
earth.  Still  more,  his  virtues  have  grad- 
ually brought  back  to  my  mind  his  out- 
ward form  divested  of  painful  associa- 
tions. As  I now  think  of  the  departed, 
his  countenance  is  no  longer  defaced  by 
death.  It  rises  to  me  in  the  sweetest, 
noblest  expression  which  it  wore  in  life. 
Thus  the  body,  through  which  virtue  has 
shed  its  light,  becomes  hallowed  and 
immortal  to  the  memory  and  the  heart. 
And  if  this  be  true,  if  goodness  be  so 
divine  as  to  gain  and  shed  glory  in  that 
awful  change,  which  dissolves  the  out- 
ward frame  and  tears  us  away  from  the 
earth,  — shall  we  go  on  to  live  to  the 
earth,  to  outward,  material,  perishing 
good  ? Shall  we  continue  to  slight,  and 
refuse  to  secure,  imperishable  virtue  ? 

Once  more,  a solemn  teaching  comes 
to  us  from  this  day’s  meditation.  Our 


friend  was  called  in  the  midst  of  life,  and 
so  may  we  be  called.  How  thin  the 
barrier  between  time  and  eternity  ! We 
think  this  earth  firmer  than  the  sea  in 
which  he  found  a grave.  But  one  false 
step  on  this  firm  earth  may  precipitate 
us  into  the  tomb.  Human  life  is  not  so 
strong  that  waves  and  fires  must  join  for 
its  extinction.  One  ruptured  artery  may 
suspend  the  breath  as  suddenly  as  an 
ocean.  From  that  awful  scene,  where 
so  many  have  perished,  a voice  comes  to 
us,  saying,  Prepare  to  die.  So  live, 
that  sudden  death  may  only  be  a swifter 
entrance  into  a higher  life.  So  live,  that 
survivors  may  shed  over  you  tears  of 
hope  as  well  as  of  sorrow,  that  they  may 
find  in  their  remembrances  of  you  springs 
of  comfort,  testimonies  to  religion,  en- 
couragements to  goodness,  and  proofs 
and  pledges  of  immortality.  So  live, 
that  the  injured  and  oppressed,  the  poor 
and  forsaken,  may  utter  blessings  on 
your  name.  So  live,  that  if  by  God’s 
mysterious  providence  you  also  are  to 
die  in  flames  or  in  the  sea,  you  may 
commit  your  departing  spirits  to  him  who 
gave  them,  with  humble  trust,  with  filial 
prayer,  with  undying  hope. 


MEMOIR  OF  JOHN  GALLISON,  ESQ. 

First  published  in  1821. 


Our  last  number  contained  a brief 
notice  of  Mr.  Gallison  *r  but  his  rare 
excellence,  and  the  singular  affection, 
esteem,  and  confidence  which  he  en- 
joyed, have  been  thought  to  demand 
a more  particular  delineation  of  his 
character.  And  the  office  is  too  grate- 
ful to  be  declined.  In  the  present  im- 
perfect condition  of  human  nature,  when 
strange  and  mournful  inconsistencies  so 
often  mix  with  and  shade  the  virtues  of 
good  men  ; when  truth,  that  stern  mon- 
itor, almost  continually  forbids  us  to 
give  free  scope  to  admiration,  and  com- 
pels us  to  dispense  our  praise  with  a 
measured  and  timid  liberality,  — it  is 
delightful  to  meet  an  example  of  high 
endowments,  undebased  by  the  mixture 


of  unworthy  habits  and  feelings ; to 
meet  a character  whose  blamelessness 
spares  us  the  pain  of  making  deductions 
from  its  virtues.  And  our  satisfaction 
is  greatly  increased  when  Providence 
has  seen  fit  to  unfold  this  character  in 
the  open  light  of  a conspicuous  station, 
so  that  many  around  us  have  had  oppor- 
tunity to  observe  it  as  well  as  ourselves, 
and  we  can  give  utterance  to  our  affec- 
tion and  respect  with  the  confidence  of 
finding  sympathy  and  a full  response  in 
the  hearts  of  our  readers. 

But  we  have  a higher  motive  than  the 
relief  and  gratification  of  personal  feel- 
ings for  paying  this  tribute  to  Mr.  Galli- 
son. We  consider  his  character  as 
singularly  instructive,  particularly  to  that 


MEMOIR  OF  JOHN  GALLISON \ ESQ. 


important  class  of  the  community,  young 
men.  His  life,  whilst  it  bore  strong 
testimony  to  those  great  principles  of 
morality  and  religion  in  which  all  ranks 
and  ages  have  an  interest,  and  on  which 
society  rests,  seems  to  us  peculiarly 
valuable  as  a commentary  on  the  capaci- 
ties and  right  application  of  youth  ; as 
demonstrating  what  a young  man  may 
become,  what  honor,  love,  and  influence 
he  may  gather  round  him,  and  how  at 
tractive  are  the  Christian  virtues  at  that 
age  which  is  generally  considered  as  least 
amenable  to  the  laws  of  religion.  For 
young  men  we  chiefly  make  this  record  ; 
and  we  do  it  with  a deep  conviction  that 
society  cannot  be  served  more  effectually 
than  by  spreading  through  this  class  a 
purer  morality  and  a deeper  sense  of 
responsibility  than  are  now  enforced  by 
public  opinion  ; for  our  young  men  are 
soon  to  be  the  fathers,  guides,  and  de- 
fenders of  the  community ; and  how- 
ever examples  may  now  and  then  occur 
of  early  profligacy  changed  by  time  into 
purity  and  virtue,  yet  too  often  the  har- 
vest answers  to  the  seed,  the  building 
to  the  foundation  ; and  perhaps  it  will 
appear  in  that  great  day  which  is  to  un- 
fold the  consequences  of  actions,  that 
even  forsaken  vice  leaves  wounds  in  the 
mind  which  are  slowly  healed,  and  which 
injure  the  moral  powers  and  predispose 
to  moral  disease  through  the  whole  life. 

In  this  connection  it  may  be  proper 
to  observe,  that  there  is  no  country  in 
which  society  has  such  an  interest  in 
bringing  strong  moral  and  religious 
influences  to  bear  on  young  men  as  in 
this  ; for  our  country  has  been  distin- 
guished by  the  premature  growth  of 
those  to  whom  it  gives  birth.  Various 
circumstances  here  develop  the  mind 
and  active  powers  earlier  than  in  Europe. 
Our  young  men  come  forward  sooner 
into  life  , mix  sooner  in  the  stir  and 
conflicts  of  business  and  politics  ; and 
form  sooner  the  most  important  domes- 
tic relations.  It  has  often  been  sug- 
gested, that  the  mind  suffers  under  this 
forcing  system,  that  it  is  exhausted  by 
excess  of  action,  that  a slower  growth 
would  give  it  greater  strength  and  ex- 
pansion. But  be  this  true  or  not  (and 
we  trust  that  the  suggestion  is  founded 
on  remote  analogies  rather  than  on  ob- 
servation), one  thing  is  plain,  that  in 
proportion  as  the  young  advance  rapidly 
in  intellect  and  activity,  there  should  be 


619 

powerful  application  of  moral  and  re- 
ligious truths  and  sanctions  to  their 
consciences  and  hearts.  Their  whole 
nature  should  grow  at  once.  The  moral 
sense,  the  sense  of  God,  should  not 
slumber,  whilst  the  intellect  and  the 
passions  are  awake  and  enlarging  them- 
selves with  a fearful  energy.  A con- 
viction of  their  responsibility  to  God 
and  society  should  be  deeply  wrought 
into  the  opening  reason,  so  as  to  recur 
through  life  with  the  force  of  instinct. 
Mr.  Gallison  was  a striking  example  of 
the  early  and  harmonious  unfolding  of 
the  moral  and  intellectual  nature,  and  in 
this  view  his  character  is  particularly 
fitted  to  the  wants  and  dangers  of  our 
state  of  society. 

When  we  know  or  hear  of  uncommon 
excellence,  it  is  natural  to  inquire  by 
what  propitious  circumstances  it  was 
formed  ; and  hence  the  curiosity  which 
has  sifted  so  diligently  the  early  his- 
tory of  eminent  men.  But  such  investi- 
gations, we  believe,  generally  teach  us 
that  character  is  more  independent  on 
outward  circumstances  than  is  usually 
thought,  that  the  chief  causes  which 
form  a superior  mind  are  within  itself. 
Whilst  the  Supreme  Being  encourages 
liberally  the  labors  of  education,  by 
connecting  with  them  many  good  and 
almost  sure  results,  still,  as  if  to  mag- 
nify his  own  power  and  to  teach  men 
humility  and  dependence,  he  often  pro- 
duces, with  few  or  no  means,  a strength 
of  intellect  and  principle,  a grace  and 
dignity  of  character,  which  the  most 
anxious  human  culture  cannot  confer. 
In  the  early  years  of  Mr.  Gallison,  we 
find  no  striking  circumstances  or  inci- 
dents which  determined  the  peculiarities 
of  his  future  character.  The  processes 
by  which  he  became  what  he  was  were 
inward  ; and  the  only  voice  which  could 
disclose  them  is  now  silent  in  death. 

He  was  born  in  Marblehead,  October, 
1788.  His  mother,  a sister  of  the  late 
Chief  Justice  Sewall,  survived  his  birth 
but  a few  hours  ; and  his  life  began 
with  one  of  the  heaviest  of  life’s  afflic- 
tions, the  loss  of  a mother’s  love.  He 
was  so  happy,  however,  as  to  be  the 
object  of  singular  and  never-failing  kind- 
ness to  his  surviving  parent,  whom  he 
requited  with  no  common  filial  attach- 
ment ; and  he  may  be  cited  as  a proof 
of  the  good  effects  of  that  more  unre- 
strained and  tender  intercourse  between 


620 


MEMOIR  OF  JOHN  GALL/SON,  ESQ. 


parents  and  children  which  distinguishes 
the  present  from  the  past  age.  He  was 
early  placed  under  the  tuition  of  the  Rev. 
Dr.  Harris,  now  President  of  Columbia 
College,  New  York,  then  preceptor  of 
an  academy,  and  rector  of  an  Episcopal 
church,  in  Marblehead.  He  is  said  to 
have  endeared  himself  to  his  revered 
instructor  by  his  docility,  industry,  mod- 
esty, love  of  truth,  and  steady  improve- 
ment. He  held  a high  but  unenvied 
rank  at  school  ; and  it  may  be  men- 
tioned, as  an  evidence  of  early  judgment 
and  a constant  mind,  that  some  of  the 
friendships  of  that  early  period  went 
with  him  to  the  grave,  and  were  among 
the  best  enjoyments  of  his  life. 

He  entered  the  University  at  Cam- 
bridge, a.d.  1803,  in  the  fifteenth  year 
of  his  age  ; and  whilst  his  unremitting 
application  gave  him  the  full  benefit  of 
its  various  provisions  for  literary  im- 
provement, his  consistent  character  and 
social  virtues  won  for  him  universal  con- 
fidence and  esteem.  On  leaving  the 
University,  he  commenced  the  study 
of  the  law  under  the  Hon.  John  Quincy 
Adams,  and,  having  completed  his  prepa- 
ration under  the  Hon.  Joseph  Story,  be- 
gan the  practice  of  his  profession  at 
Marblehead,  a.d.  1810.  By  the  advice 
of  his  friends,  he  soon  removed  to  this 
metropolis,  a more  proper,  because  wider, 
sphere  of  action.  Here  he  experienced, 
for  a time,  those  anxieties  and  depres- 
sions which  form  the  common  trial  of 
young  men  who  enter  a crowded  pro- 
fession. But  his  prospects  were  bright- 
ened by  a connection  in  business  which 
he  formed  with  the  Hon.  William  Pres- 
cott, and  which,  as  it  was  unsolicited 
and  attended  by  other  flattering  circum- 
stances, gave  him  a gratifying  assurance 
of  the  confidence  which  he  had  inspired. 
The  progress  of  his  reputation  as  a law- 
yer was  soon  a matter  of  common  re- 
mark ; and  those  who  were  most  capable 
of  understanding  the  depth  and  extent 
of  his  legal  attainments,  were  confident 
that,  should  his  life  be  spared,  he  would 
attain  the  highest  honors  of  his  pro- 
fession. 

He  died,  December,  1820,  at  the  age 
of  32.  The  shock  given  to  the  com- 
munity by  this  event  was  unusual,  and 
the  calamity  was  heightened  by  its 
unexpectedness.  His  general  health, 
cheerfulness,  and  activity,  had  given 
the  promise  of  a long  life,  and  his 


friends  were  not  alarmed  for  him  until 
a week  before  his  death.  His  disease 
was  an  inflammation  of  the  brain,  which 
first  discovered  itself  in  slight  aberra- 
tions of  mind,  and  terminated  in  de- 
lirium. This  awful  eclipse  of  reason 
continued  to  the  last,  so  that  his  friends 
were  denied  the  satisfaction  of  receiv- 
ing from  his  dying  lips  assurances  of 
his  Christian  hope.  Some  of  them, 
however,  recollect  with  pleasure,  that 
at  the  beginning  of  his  disease,  when 
his  intellect  was  rather  exalted  than 
deranged,  his  expressions  of  religious 
feeling  and  joy  were  unusually  strong ; 
and  he  has  left  them  higher  consolation 
than  a dying  testimony,  even  the  mem- 
ory of  a blameless  and  well-spent  life. 

Having  given  this  brief  record  of  a 
life  too  peaceful  and  prosperous  to  fur- 
nish matter  for  biography,  we  proceed 
to  give  our  views  of  the  character  of 
Mr.  Gallison.  His  chief  distinction  was 
not  talent,  although  he  had  fine  powers 
of  intellect,  and  a capacity  of  attention 
which,  in  usefulness  if  not  in  splendor, 
generally  surpasses  genius.  His  pri- 
mary characteristic,  and  that  which  gave 
him  his  peculiar  weight  in  the  com- 
munity, was  the  force  of  moral  and 
religious  principle,  — a force  which 
operated  with  the  steadiness  of  a law 
of  nature,  a paramount  energy,  which 
suffered  no  portion  of  life  or  intellect 
to  be  wasted,  which  concentrated  all 
his  faculties  and  feelings  on  worthy 
objects.  His  powers  did  not  astonish, 
but  none  of  them  were  lost  to  himself 
or  society.  His  great  distinction  was 
the  singleness  of  his  mind,  the  sway 
which  duty  had  gained  over  him,  his 
habit  of  submitting  to  this  as  to  an 
inviolable  ordinance  of  the  universe. 
Conscience  was  consulted  reverently  as 
an  oracle  of  God.  The  moral  power 
seemed  always  at  work  in  his  breast, 
and  its  control  reached  to  his  whole 
life. 

We  sometimes  witness  a strong  re- 
gard to  duty,  which  confers  little  grace 
or  interest  on  the  character,  because 
partial  and  exclusive  views  are  taken 
of  duty,  and  God  is  thought  to  require 
a narrow  service,  which  chains  and  con- 
tracts instead  of  unfolding  the  mind. 
In  Mr.  Gallison,  the  sense  of  duty  was 
as  enlightened  and  enlarged  as  it  was 
strong.  To  live  religiously,  he  did  not 
I think  himself  called  to  give  up  the 


621 


MEMOIR  OF  JOHN  G ALLIS  ON,  ESQ. 


proper  pursuits  and  gratifications  of 
human  nature.  He  believed  that  re- 
ligion was  in  harmony  with  intellectual 
improvement,  with  the  pleasures  of  im- 
agination and  society,  and  especially  with 
the  kind  affections.  His  views  of  the 
true  excellence  of  a human  being  were 
large  and  generous  ; and  hence,  instead 
of  that  contracted  and  repulsive  char- 
acter which  has  often  been  identified 
with  piety,  his  virtue,  though  of  ada- 
mantine firmness,  was  attractive,  cheer- 
ful, lovely. 

This  union  of  strength  and  light,  in 
his  sense  of  duty,  gave  a singular  har- 
mony to  his  character.  All  his  faculties 
and  sensibilities  seemed  to  unfold  to- 
gether, just  as  the  whole  body  grows 
at  once  ; and  all  were  preserved  by  a 
wise,  presiding  moral  sentiment,  in  their 
just  proportions.  He  was  remarkably 
free  from  excess,  even  in  the  virtues 
and  pursuits  to  which  he  was  most  prone. 
His  well-balanced  mind  was  the  admira- 
tion of  his  friends.  He  had  strong  feel- 
ing, yet  a calm  judgment ; and  unwearied 
activity,  without  restlessness  or  precipi- 
tancy. He  had  vigor  and  freedom  of 
thought,  but  not  the  slightest  propensity 
to  rash  and  wild  speculation.  He  had 
professional  ardor,  but  did  not  sacrifice 
to  his  profession  the  general  improve- 
ment of  his  intellect  and  heart.  He 
loved  study,  and  equally  loved  society. 
He  had  religious  sensibility,  but  a sen- 
sibility which  never  rested  until  it  had 
found  its  true  perfection  and  manifesta- 
tion in  practice.  His  mind  was  singu- 
larly harmonious,  a well-adjusted  whole  ; 
and  this  was  the  secret  of  the  signal 
confidence  which  he  had  inspired  ; for 
confidence,  or  the  repose  of  our  minds 
on  another,  depends  on  nothing  so  much 
as  on  the  proportion  which  we  observe 
in  his  character.  Even  a good  feeling, 
when  carried  to  excess,  though  viewed 
with  indulgence  and  affection,  always 
shakes  in  a measure  our  trust. 

From  this  general  survey,  we  pass  to 
some  particulars  of  the  character  of  Mr. 
Gallison.  His  religion  was  a trait  which 
claims  our  first  consideration.  He  be- 
lieved in  God,  and  in  the  revelation  of 
his  will  by  Jesus  Christ ; and  he  was 
not  a man  in  whom  such  a belief  could 
lie  dead.  That  great  and  almost  over- 
whelming doctrine  of  a God,  the  Maker 
of  all  things,  in  whom  he  lived,  and 
from  whom  all  his  blessings  came, 


wrought  in  him  powerfully.  He  was 
not  satisfied  with  a superficial  religion, 
but  was  particularly  interested  in  those 
instructions  from  the  pulpit  which  en- 
joined a deep,  living,  all-pervading  sense 
of  God’s  presence  and  authority,  and 
an  intimate  union  of  the  mind  with  its 
Creator.  A friend  who  knew  him  in- 
timately observes  : — “In  our  frequent 
walks,  his  conversation  so  naturally  and 
cheerfully  turned  on  the  attributes  and 
dispensations  of  God,  as  convinced  me 
that  his  religion  was  no  less  the  delight 
of  his  heart  than  the  guide  of  his  life. 
Though  habitually  temperate  in  his  feel- 
ings, 1 have  sometimes  known  him  kin- 
dle into  rapture  while  conversing  on  these 
holy  themes.” 

But  his  religion,  though  strong  and 
earnest,  was  in  unison  with  his  whole 
character,  calm,  inquisitive,  rational. 
Uninfected  by  bigotry  or  fanaticism, 
and  unseduced  by  the  fair  promises  of 
the  spirit  of  innovation,  he  formed  his 
views  of  the  Christian  system  with  cau- 
tion, and  held  them  without  asperity. 
In  regard  to  that  important  doctrine 
which  has  lately  agitated  the  community, 
he  was  a Unitarian,  believing  in  the  pre- 
existence of  the  Saviour,  and  as  firmly 
believing  that  he  was  a distinct  being 
from  the  Supreme  God,  derived  from 
and  dependent  on  him;  and  he  con- 
sidered the  Gospel  of  John,  which  is 
often  esteemed  as  the  stronghold  of  op- 
posite sentiments,  as  giving  peculiar 
support  to  these  views.  We  mention 
this,  not  because  the  conclusions  of  so 
wise  and  good  a man  were  necessarily 
true,  but  because  reproach  is  often 
thrown  on  the  opinions  which  he 
adopted,  as  wanting  power  to  purify 
and  save.  He  may  have  erred,  for  he 
was  a man;  but  who  that  knew  him 
can  doubt  that,  whatever  were  his  errors, 
he  held  the  most  important  and  effica- 
cious doctrines  of  Christianity  ? His 
religious  friends,  and  they  were  not  a 
few,  can  testify  to  the  seriousness  and 
reverence  with  which  he  approached  the 
Scriptures,  and  to  the  fidelity  with  which 
he  availed  himself  of  the  means  of  a 
right  interpretation. 

His  religion  was  not  ostentatiously 
thrust  on  notice  ; but  he  thought  as 
little  of  hiding  it  as  of  concealing  his 
social  feelings,  or  his  love  of  knowledge. 
It  was  the  light  by  which  he  walked,  and 
his  daily  path  showed  whence  the  light 


622 


MEMOIR  OF  JOHN  GALL/SON,  ESQ. 


came.  Of  his  decision  in  asserting  the 
principles  of  that  religion  which  he  re- 
ceived as  from  God,  he  gave  a striking 
proof  in  his  address  to  the  Peace  Society 
of  this  Commonwealth,  which  breathes 
the  very  morality  of  Christ,  and  is 
throughout  a mild  but  firm  remon- 
strance against  great  practical  errors, 
which  have  corrupted  the  church  al- 
most as  deeply  as  the  world.  It  was 
so  natural  to  him  to  act  on  the  convic- 
tions of  his  mind,  that  he  seemed  on 
this  occasion  utterly  unconscious  that 
there  was  a degree  of  heroism  in  a 
young  man  of  a secular  calling,  and  who 
mixed  occasionally  in  fashionable  life, 
enlisting  so  earnestly  in  the  service  of 
the  most  neglected,  yet  most  distinguish- 
ing virtues  of  Christianity. 

That  a man,  to  whom  Christianity  was 
so  authoritative,  should  be  characterized 
by  its  chief  grace,  benevolence,  we  can- 
not wonder.  Nature  formed  him  for 
the  kind  affections,  and  religious  prin- 
ciple added  tenderness,  steadiness,  dig- 
nity, to  the  impulses  of  nature.  That 
great  maxim  of  Christianity,  “ No  man 
liveth  to  himself,”  was  engraven  on  his 
mind.  Without  profession,  or  show,  or 
any  striking  discoveries  of  emotion,  he 
felt  the  claim  of  every  thing  human  on 
his  sympathy  and  service.  His  youth 
and  professional  engagements  did  not 
absolve  him  to  his  own  conscience 
from  laboring  in  the  cause  of  mankind  ; 
and  his  steady  zeal  redeemed  from 
business  sufficient  time  for  doing  ex- 
tensive good.  In  the  institutions  for 
useful  objects  with  which  he  connected 
himself,  he  gave  more  than  his  property ; 
he  contributed  his  mind,  his  judgment, 
his  well-directed  zeal ; and  the  object 
which  he  was  found  to  favor  derived 
advantage  from  his  sanction,  no  less 
than  from  his  labors. 

He  felt  strongly  what  a just  view  of 
human  nature  always  teaches,  that  soci- 
ety is  served  by  nothing  so  essentially 
as  by  the  infusion  of  a moral  and  relig- 
ious spirit  into  all  its  classes  ; and  this 
principle,  like  every  other  when  once 
recognized,  became  to  him  a law.  We 
cannot  but  mention,  with  great  pleasure, 
the  earnestness  with  which  he  entered 
into  a plan  for  collecting  the  poor  chil- 
dren, in  the  neighborhood  of  the  church 
where  he  worshipped,  into  a school  for 
religious  instruction  on  the  Lord’s  day. 
He  visited  many  poor  families  on  this 


errand  of  charity,  offering  at  once  Chris- 
tian instruction  and  the  pecuniary  means 
by  which  the  children  might  be  clothed 
decently  to  receive  it ; and  he  gave  a 
part  of  every  Sunday  to  this  office.  The 
friend,  whom  we  formerly  quoted,  ob- 
serves, “ I was  much  delighted  to  see 
him  one  Sunday,  leading  one  of  his 
little  flock  (who,  being  a stranger,  had 
not  become  familiarized  to  his  home) 
through  our  dirtiest  lanes,  and  inquir- 
ing at  the  humblest  sheds  for  his  dwell- 
ing.” To  a man,  crowded  with  business, 
and  accustomed  to  the  most  refined  so- 
ciety, this  lowly  and  unostentatious  mode 
of  charity  could  only  have  been  recom- 
mended by  a supreme  sense  of  relig- 
ious and  social  obligation.  He  was 
one  of  the  few  among  us  who  saw  that 
the  initiation  of  the  poor  into  moral  and 
religious  truth  was  an  office  worthy  of 
the  most  cultivated  understanding,  and 
that  to  leave  it,  as  it  is  sometimes  left, 
to  those  whose  zeal  outstrips  their  knowl- 
edge, was  to  expose  to  hazard  and  re- 
proach one  of  the  most  powerful  means 
of  benefiting  society. 

Another  cause  to  which  he  devoted 
himself  was  the  Peace  Society  of  this 
Commonwealth,  and  to  this  institution 
his  mind  was  drawn  and  bound  by  per- 
ceiving its  accordance  with  the  spirit  of 
Christianity.  Accustomed  as  he  was  to 
believe  that  every  principle  which  a man 
adopts  is  to  be  carried  into  life,  he  was 
shocked  with  the  repugnance  between 
the  Christian  code  and  the  'practice  of 
its  professed  followers  on  the  subject  of 
war ; and  he  believed  that  Christianity, 
seconded  as  it  is  by  the  progress  of 
society,  was  a power  adequate  to  the 
production  of  a great  revolution  of  opin- 
ion on  this  point,  if  its  plain  principles 
and  the  plain  interests  of  men  were 
earnestly  unfolded.  There  was  one 
part  of  this  extensive  topic  to  which 
his  mind  particularly  turned.  He  be- 
lieved that  society  had  made  sufficient 
advances  to  warrant  the  attempt  to  ex- 
punge from  the  usages  of  war  the  right 
of  capturing  private  property  at  sea. 
He  believed  that  the  evils  of  war  would 
be  greatly  abridged,  and  its  recurrence 
checked,  were  the  ocean  to  be  made  a 
safe,  privileged,  unmolested  pathway  for 
all  nations,  whether  in  war  or  peace  ; 
and  that  the  minds  of  men  had  become 
prepared  for  this  change  by  the  respect 
now  paid  by  belligerents  to  private  prop- 


MEMOIR  OF  JOHN  GALL/SON,  ESQ . 


erty  on  shore,  — a mitigation  of  war  to 
be  wholly  ascribed  to  the  progress  of  the 
principles  and  spirit  of  Christianity.  His 
interest  in  this  subject  led  him  to  study 
the  history  of  maritime  warfare,  and 
probably  no  man  among  us  had  ac- 
quired a more  extensive  acquaintance 
with  it.  Some  of  the  results  he  gave 
in  an  article  in  the  “ North  American 
Review,”  on  Privateering,  and  in  a 
memorial  to  Congress  against  this  rem- 
nant of  barbarism.  To  this  field  of 
labor  he  certainly  was  not  drawn  by 
the  hope  of  popularity  ; and  though  he 
outstripped  the  feelings  of  the  commu- 
nity, his  efforts  will  not  be  vain.  He 
was  a pioneer  in  a path  in  which  soci- 
ety, if  it  continue  to  advance,  will  cer- 
tainly follow  him,  and  will  at  length  do 
justice  to  the  wisdom  as  well  as  purity 
of  his  design. 

Other  institutions  shared  his  zeal  and 
countenance  ; but  we  pass  from  these  to 
observe  that  his  benevolence  was  not 
husbanded  for  public  works  or  great 
occasions.  It  entered  into  the  very 
frame  and  structure  of  his  mind,  so 
that,  wherever  he  acted,  he  left  its 
evidences  and  fruits.  Even  in  those 
employments  where  a man  is  expected 
to  propose  distinctly  his  own  interest, 
he  looked  beyond  himself  ; and  those 
who  paid  him  for  his  services  felt  that 
another  debt  was  due,  and  personal  at- 
tachment often  sprung  from  the  inter- 
course of  business.  In  his  social  and 
domestic  connections,  how  he  felt  and 
lived,  and  what  spirit  he  breathed,  we 
learn  from  the  countenances  and  tones 
of  his  friends,  when  they  speak  of  his 
loss.  The  kind  of  praise  which  a man 
receives  after  death  corresponds  gener- 
ally with  precision  to  his  character.  We 
can  often  see,  on  the  decease  of  a distin- 
guished individual,  that  whilst  all  praise, 
few  feel  ; that  the  heart  has  no  burden, 
no  oppression.  In  the  case  of  Mr.  Gal- 
lison,  there  was  a general,  spontaneous 
conviction  that  society  had  been  be- 
reaved ; and,  at  the  same  time,  a feeling 
of  personal  bereavement,  as  if  a void 
which  no  other  could  fill  were  made  in 
every  circle  in  which  he  familiarly 
moved  ; and  this  can  only  be  explained 
by  the  genuine  benevolence,  the  sym- 
pathy with  every  human  interest,  which 
formed  his  character.  His  benevolence, 
indeed,  was  singularly  unalloyed.  Those 
feelings  of  unkindness  which  sometimes 


623 

obscure  for  a moment  the  goodness  of 
excellent  men,  seldom  or  never  passed 
over  him.  Those  who  best  knew  him 
cannot,  by  an  effort  of  imagination,  put 
an  acrimonious  speech  into  his  lips,  any 
more  than  they  can  think  of  him  under 
an  entirely  different  countenance.  The 
voice  ceases  to  be  his,  its  tones  do  not 
belong  to  him,  when  they  would  make  it 
the  vehicle  of  unkindness.  We  have 
understood,  what  we  should  not  doubt, 
that  in  his  profession,  amidst  the  collision 
of  rivals,  his  ambition,  which  undoubt- 
edly degenerated  sometimes  into  excess, 
was  still  so  controlled  by  his  generosity 
and  uprightness,  that  he  was  never 
known  to  sully  with  an  envious  breath 
the  honest  fame  of  another,  or  to  with- 
hold a ready  testimony  to  another’s 
worth.  So  great  was  the  kindliness  of 
his  heart,  that  his  many  pressing  em- 
ployments did  not  exclude  those  little 
attentions  to  his  kindred  for  which 
multiplied  cares  are  generally  admitted 
as  an  excuse.  He  made  leisure  for 
minute  as  well  as  important  services, 
and  thus  it  is  that  a feeling  of  tender- 
ness as  well  as  of  respect  is  spread 
through  the  whole  circle  of  his  rela- 
tives. 

In  regard  to  his  intellectual  powers, 
they  derived  their  superiority  not  only 
from  the  liberality  of  nature,  but  from 
the  conscientiousness  with  which  they 
were  improved.  He  early  felt  the  im- 
portance of  a generous  and  extensive 
culture  of  the  mind,  and  systematically 
connected  with  professional  studies  the 
pursuit  of  general  literature.  He  was  a 
striking  example  of  the  influence  of  an 
operative  and  enlightened  moral  sense 
over  the  intellect.  His  views  were  dis- 
tinguished not  so  much  by  boldness  and 
excursiveness  as  by  clearness,  steadi- 
ness, judiciousness,  and  truth  ; and  these 
characteristic  properties  of  his  under- 
standing derived  their  strength,  if  not 
existence,  from  that  fairness,  rectitude, 
simplicity,  and  that  love  of  the  true  and 
useful,  which  entered  so  largely  into  his 
moral  constitution.  The  objects  on 
which  he  thought  and  wrote  did  not  offer 
themselves  to  him  in  the  bright  hues  of 
inspired  imagination,  but  in  the  forms, 
dimensions,  and  colors  of  reality  ; and 
yet  there  was  no  tameness  in  his  con- 
ception, for  the  moral  relations  of  things 
— the  most  sublime  of  all  relations  — he 
traced  with  eagerness  and  delighted  to 


MEMOIR  OF  JOHN  GALL/SON,  ESQ. 


62  4 

unfold.  Accordingly,  in  all  his  writings 
we  perceive  the  marks  of  an  understand- 
ing surrounded  by  a clear  and  warm 
moral  atmosphere.  His  intellect,  we 
repeat  it,  was  excited  and  developed 
very  much  by  moral  and  religious  prin- 
ciple. It  was  not  naturally  creative, 
restless,  stirred  by  a bright  and  burning 
imagination.  The  strong  power  within 
was  conscience,  enlightened  and  exalted 
by  religion ; and  this  sent  life  through 
the  intellect,  and  conferred  or  height- 
ened the  qualities  by  which  it  was  dis- 
tinguished. 

Of  his  professional  character  we  know 
nothing  by  personal  observation ; but 
we  do  know,  that  in  a metropolis  where 
the  standard  of  professional  talent  and 
purity  is  high,  he  was  eminent.  We 
have  understood  that  he  was  at  once  a 
scientific  and  practical  lawyer,  uniting 
comprehensive  views  of  jurisprudence 
and  laborious  research  into  general 
principles  with  a singular  accuracy  and 
most  conscientious  fidelity  in  investi- 
gating the  details  of  the  causes  in  which 
he  was  engaged.  The  spontaneous 
tribute  of  the  members  of  the  Suffolk 
Bar  to  so  young  a brother  is  perhaps 
without  precedent.  It  deserves  to  be 
mentioned  among  his  claims  to  esteem, 
that  he  was  not  usurped  by  a profession 
to  which  he  was  so  devoted ; that  his 
thirst  for  legal  knowledge  and  distinc- 
tion, though  so  ardent,  left  him  free  for 
such  a variety  of  exertions  and  acquisi- 
tions. 

Of  his  industry  we  have  had  occasion 
frequently  to  speak,  and  it  was  not  the 
least  striking  trait  in  his  character.  We 
need  no  other  proof  of  this  than  his 
early  eminence  in  a profession  which 
offers  no  prizes  to  genius  unaccompanied 
by  application,  and  whose  treasures  are 
locked  up  in  books  which  hold  out  no 
lures  to  imagination  or  taste,  and  which 
can  only  interest  a mind  disposed  to 
patient  and  intense  exertion.  We  recur, 
however,  to  his  industry,  not  so  much 
because  it  distinguished  him,  as  from 
the  desire  of  removing  what  seems  to  us 
a false  impression,  that  he  fell  a victim 
to  excessive  application.  That  he  was 
occasionally  guilty  of  intemperate  study 
(a  crime  in  the  eye  of  a refined  morality, 
because  it  sacrifices  future  and  exten- 
sive usefulness  to  immediate  acquisition), 
is  probably  true  ; but  less  guilty,  we 
apprehend,  than  many  who  are  not 


charged  with  excess.  His  social  nature, 
his  love  of  general  literature,  and  his 
regular  use  of  exercise,  gave  as  great 
and  frequent  relaxation  to  his  mind  as 
studious  men  generally  think  necessary  ; 
nor  ought  his  example  to  lose  its  power 
by  the  apprehension  that  to  follow  his 
steps  will  be  to  descend  with  him  to  an 
early  grave. 

This  excellent  man  it  has  pleased  God 
to  take  from  us  ; and  to  take  without 
warning,  when  our  hope  was  firmest, 
and  his  prospects  of  usefulness  and 
prosperity  were,  to  human  eyes,  un- 
clouded. That  such  a course  should  be 
so  short,  is  the  general  sorrow.  But 
ought  we  to  think  it  short  ? In  the  best 
sense  his  life  was  long.  To  be  the 
centre  of  so  many  influences  ; to  awaken 
through  so  large  a circle  sentiments  of 
affection  and  esteem ; to  bear  effectual 
testimony  to  the  reality  of  religion  ; to 
exalt  the  standard  of  youthful  charac- 
ter ; to  adorn  a profession  to  which  the 
administration  of  public  justice  and  the 
care  of  our  civil  institutions  are  pecu- 
liarly confided  ; to  uphold  and  strengthen 
useful  associations  ; to  be  the  friend  of 
the  poor  and  ignorant,  and  a model  for 
the  rich  and  improved  ; to  live  in  the 
hearts  of  friends,  and  to  die  amidst  gen- 
eral, deep,  unaffected  lamentation  ; — 
these  surely  are  not  evidences  of  a brief 
existence.  “ Honorable  age  is  not  that 
which  standeth  in  length  of  time,  nor 
which  is  measured  by  number  of  years  ; 
but  wisdom  is  the  gray  hair  unto  men, 
and  an  unspotted  life  is  old  age.” 

Still  the  question  may  be  asked, 
“ Why  was  he  taken  from  so  much  use- 
fulness ? ” Were  that  state  laid  open  to 
us  into  which  he  is  removed,  we  should 
have  an  answer.  We  should  see  that 
this  world  is  not  the  only  one  where 
intellect  is  unfolded,  and  the  heart  and 
active  powers  find  objects.  We  might 
see  that  such  a spirit  as  his  was  needed 
now  in  another  and  nobler  province  of 
the  creation ; and  that  all  God’s  prov- 
idence towards  him  had  been  training 
and  fitting  him  to  be  born,  if  we  may  so 
speak,  at  this  very  time,  into  the  future 
world,  there  to  perform  offices  and  re- 
ceive blessings  which  only  a mind  so 
framed  and  gifted  could  sustain  and 
enjoy.  He  is  not  lost.  Jesus,  whom 
he  followed,  “ hath  abolished  death.” 
Thought,  affection,  piety,  usefulness  do 
not  die..  If  they  did,  we  should  do  well 


NOTICE  OF  REV.  S.  C.  THACHER. 


to  hang  his  tomb  with  sackcloth,  or 
rather  to  obliterate  every  trace  and  rec- 
ollection of  his  tomb  and  his  name,  for 
then  a light,  more  precious  than  the 
sun’s,  is  quenched  for  ever.  But  he  is 
not  lost,  nor  is  he  exiled  from  his  true 
happiness.  An  enlightened,  just,  and 
good  mind  is  a citizen  of  the  universe, 
and  has  faculties  and  affections  which 
correspond  to  all  God’s  works.  Why 
would  we  limit  it  to  earth,  perhaps  the 
lowest  world  in  this  immense  creation  ? 
Why  should  not  the  spirit,  which  has 
given  proof  of  its  divine  origin  and 
heavenly  tendency,  be  suffered  to  rise  to 
its  proper  abode,  to  a holier  community, 
to  a vision  of  God,  under  which  earthly 
and  mortal  natures  would  sink  and  be 
dissolved  ? 

One  benefit  of  the  early  removal  of 
such  a man  as  Mr.  Gallison  is  obvious. 
We  learn  from  it  how  early  in  life  the 
great  work  of  life  may  begin,  and  how 
successfully  be  prosecuted.  Had  he 
lived  to  advanced  years,  the  acquisitions 
of  his  youth  would  have  been  forgotten 
and  lost  in  those  of  riper  years.  His 
character  would  have  been  an  invaluable 
legacy,  but  chiefly  to  the  mature  and 


625 

aged.  And  surely,  if  his  early  death 
shall  exalt  the  aims  and  purposes  of  the 
young  ; if  piety,  now  postponed  to  later 
years,  to  a winter  which  bears  no  such 
fruit,  shall  be  esteemed  the  ornament 
and  defence  of  that  interesting  and 
tempted  age  ; if  our  young  men  shall 
learn  from  him  that  they  belong  to  God 
and  society  ; then  his  early  death  may 
prove  as  useful  as  a protracted  life. 

We  shall  add  but  one  more  remark. 
The  general  sorrow  which  followed  Mr. 
Gallison  to  the  tomb  was  not  only  hon- 
orable to  him  but  to  the  community. 
For  he  had  no  dazzling  qualities.  His 
manners  were  not  imposing,  nor  was  he 
aided  by  uncommon  patronage.  His 
worth  was  unobtrusive,  mild,  retiring, 
and  left  to  win  its  own  way  to  notice  and 
honor.  Yet  how  few  young  men  have 
reared  such  a monument  in  the  memo- 
ries and  hearts  of  the  community  ! 
Amidst  charges  of  degeneracy,  and  with 
real  grounds  of  humiliation,  we  should 
deem  it  a privilege  to  live  in  a state  of 
society  in  which  such  a character  as  Mr. 
Gallison’s  is  so  generally  understood, 
and  is  recompensed  with  such  heartfelt 
and  generous  praise. 


NOTICE  OF  THE  REV.  S.  C.  THACHER. 


[The  Rev.  S.  C.  Thacher,  late  Minister  of  the  New  South  Church  in  Boston,  died  at  Moulines,  in 
France,  Jan.  2,  1818,  aetat.  32.  He  had  long  been  absent  from  this  country,  and  had  visited  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope  for  the  recovery  of  his  health.  The  following  sketch  of  his  character  is  taken 
from  a discourse  delivered  in  the  church  where  he  had  been  accustomed  to  officiate,  the  Sunday  after 
the  accounts  of  his  death  were  received.  ] 


The  news  of  Mr.  Thacher’s  death, 
although  not  unexpected,  spread  an  un- 
usual gloom  through  the  large  circle  in 
which  he  moved  and  was  known.  When 
we  thought  of  his  youth  and  virtues,  of 
the  place  which  he  had  filled  and  of  the 
confidence  he  had  inspired,  of  his  sick- 
ness and  sufferings,  of  his  death  in  a 
distant  land,  and  of  the  hopes  which 
died  with  him,  we  could  not  but  speak 
of  his  removal  as  mysterious,  dark,  un- 
timely. My  own  mind  participated  at 
first  in  the  general  depression  ; but  in 
proportion  as  I have  reflected  on  the 
circumstances  of  this  event,  I have  seen 
in  them  a kindness  which  I overlooked 


in  the  first  moments  of  sorrow ; and 
though  in  many  respects  inscrutable, 
this  dispensation  now  wears  a more  con- 
soling aspect. 

I now  see  in  our  friend  a young  man 
uncommonly  ripe  in  understanding  and 
virtue,  for  whom  God  appointed  an 
early  immortality.  His  lot  on  earth  was 
singularly  happy ; for  I have  never 
known  a minister  more  deeply  fixed  in 
the  hearts  of  the  people.  But  this  con- 
dition had  its  perils.  With  a paternal 
concern  for  his  character,  God  sent  ad- 
versity, and  conducted  him  to  the  end  of 
his  being  by  a rougher  but  surer  way,  a 
way  trodden  and  consecrated  by  the 


626 


NOTICE  OF  REV.  S.  C.  TEA  CHER. 


steps  of  the  best  men  before  him.  He 
was  smitten  by  sudden  sickness  ; but 
even  here  the  hand  of  God  was  gentle 
upon  him.  His  sickness,  whilst  it  wasted 
the  body,  had  no  power  over  the  spirit. 
His  understanding  retained  its  vigor; 
and  his  heart,  as  I often  observed,  gained 
new  sensibility.  His  sufferings,  by  call- 
ing forth  an  almost  unprecedented  kind- 
ness in  his  parishioners,  furnished  him 
with  new  and  constant  occasions  of 
pious  gratitude,  and  perhaps  he  was 
never  so  thankful  to  the  Author  of  his 
being  as  during  his  sickness. 

He  was,  indeed,  removed  at  length 
from  the  kind  offices  of  his  friends. 
But  this  event  was  fitted,  and,  may  I not 
say,  designed,  to  strengthen  his  connec- 
tion with  God,  and  to  prepare  him  for 
the  approaching  dissolution  of  all  earthly 
ties.  I now  see  him  tossed  on  % the 
ocean ; but  his  heart  is  fixed  on  the 
Rock  of  Ages.  He  is  borne  to  another 
hemisphere,  but  everywhere  he  sees  the 
footsteps  and  feels  the  presence  of  God. 
New  constellations  roll  over  his  head, 
but  they  guide  his  mind  to  the  same 
heaven  which  was  his  hope  at  home.  I 
see  him  at  the  extremity  of  Africa  ador- 
ing God  in  the  new  creation  which 
spreads  around  him,  and  thanking  him 
with  emotion  for  the  new  strength  which 
that  mild  atmosphere  communicated.  I 
see  him,  too,  in  the  trying  scene  which 
followed,  when  he  withered  and  shrunk 
like  a frail  plant  under  the  equinoctial 
sun,  still  building  piety  on  suffering,  and 
growing  in  submission  as  hope  declined. 
He  does  not  indeed  look  without  an 
occasional  sinking  of  the  heart,  without 
some  shudderings  of  nature,  to  a foreign 
soil  as  his  appointed  grave.  But  he 
remembers  that  from  every  region  there 
is  a path  to  immortality,  and  that  the 
spirit  which  religion  has  refined,  wher- 
ever freed  from  the  body,  will  find  its 
native  country.  He  does  not  indeed 
think  without  emotion  of  home,  — a 
thought  how  trying  to  a sick  and  dying 
man  in  a land  of  strangers  ! But  God, 
whom  he  adores  as  everywhere  present, 
seems  to  him  a bond  of  union  to  distant 
friends,  and  he  finds  relief  in  committing 
them  to  his  care  and  mercy.  At  length 
I see  him  expire,  but  not  until  suffering 
has  done  its  work  of  discipline  and 
purification.  His  end  is  tranquil,  like 
his  own  mild  spirit  ; and  I follow  him, 
— not  to  the  tomb,  for  that  lifeless  body 


is  not  he,  but  to  the  society  of  the  just 
made  perfect.  His  pains  are  now  past. 
He  has  found  a better  home  than  this 
place  of  his  nativity  and  earthly  resi- 
dence. Without  the  tossings  of  another 
voyage,  he  has  entered  a secure  haven. 
The  fever  no  longer  burns  in  his  veins  ; 
the  hollow  and  deep  voice  no  longer 
sends  forth  ominous  sounds.  Disease 
and  death,  having  accomplished  their 
purpose,  have  lost  their  power,  and  he 
remembers  with  gratitude  the  kind  sever- 
ity with  which  they  conducted  him  to  a 
nobler  life  than  that  which  they  took 
away.  Such  is  the  aspect  which  this 
dispensation  now  wears  ; how  different 
from  that  which  it  first  presented  to 
sense  and  imagination  ! 

Let  me  pay  a short  tribute  to  his  mem- 
ory. It  is  a duty  which  I perform  with 
a melancholy  pleasure.  His  character 
was  one  which  it  is  soothing  to  remem- 
ber. It  comes  over  the  mind  like  the 
tranquillizing  breath  of  spring.  It  asks 
no  embellishment.  It  would  be  injured 
by  a strained  and  labored  eulogy. 

The  character  of  our  friend  was  dis- 
tinguished by  blandness,  mildness,  equa- 
bleness, and  harmony.  All  the  elements 
were  tempered  in  him  kindly  and  hap- 
pily. He  passed  through  the  storms, 
tumults,  and  collisions  of  human  life 
with  a benignity  akin  to  that  which 
marked  our  perfect  Guide  and  Example. 
This  mild  and  bland  temper  spread  itself 
over  the  whole  man.  His  manners,  his 
understanding,  his  piety,  all  received  a 
hue  from  it,  just  as  a soft  atmosphere 
communicates  its  own  tender  and  tran- 
quil character  to  every  object  and  scene 
viewed  through  it. 

With  his  peculiar  mildness  he  united 
firmness.  His  purposes,  whilst  main- 
tained without  violence,  were  never  sur- 
rendered but  to  conviction.  His  opin- 
ions, though  defended  with  singular 
candor,  he  would  have  sealed  with  his 
blood.  He  possessed  the  only  true 
dignity,  that  which  results  from  propos- 
ing habitually  a lofty  standard  of  feeling 
and  action  ; and,  accordingly,  the  love 
which  he  called  forth  was  always  tem- 
pered with  respect.  He  was  one  of  the 
last  men  to  be  approached  with  a rude 
familiarity. 

His  piety  was  a deep  sentiment.  It 
had  struck  through  and  entwined  itself 
with  his  whole  soul.  In  the  freedom  of 
conversation  I have  seen  how  intimately 


NOTICE  OF  REV,  S.  C,  THACHER. 


God  was  present  to  him.  But  his  piety 
partook  of  the  general  temperament  of 
his  mind.  It  was  warm,  but  not  heated  ; 
earnest,  but  tranquil ; a habit,  not  an 
impulse  ; the  air  which  he  breathed,  not 
a tempestuous  wind,  giving  occasional 
violence  to  his  emotions.  A constant 
dew  seemed  to  distil  on  him  from  heaven, 
giving  freshness  to  his  devout  sensibili- 
ties ; but  it  was  a gentle  influence,  seen 
not  in  its  falling,  but  in  its  fruits.  His 
piety  appeared  chiefly  in  gratitude  and 
submission,  sentiments  peculiarly  suited 
to  such  a mind  as  his.  He  felt  strongly 
that  God  had  crowned  his  life  with  pecu- 
liar goodness ; and  yet,  when  his  bless- 
ings were  withdrawn,  his  acquiescence 
was  as  deep  and  sincere  as  his  thankful- 
ness. His  devotional  exercises  in  pub- 
lic were  particularly  striking.  He  came 
to  the  mercy-seat  as  one  who  was  not  a 
stranger  there.  He  seemed  to  inherit 
from  his  venerable  father  the  gift  of 
prayer.  His  acts  of  adoration  discov- 
ered a mind  penetrated  by  the  majesty 
and  purity  of  God  ; but  his  sublime 
conceptions  of  these  attributes  were 
always  tempered  and  softened  by  a sense 
of  the  divine  benignity.  The  paternal 
character  of  God  was  not  only  his  belief, 
but  had  become  a part  of  his  mind.  He 
never  forgot  that  he  “ worshipped  the 
Father.”  His  firm  conviction  of  the 
strict  and  proper  unity  of  the  divine 
nature  taught  him  to  unite  and  concen- 
trate, in  his  conception  of  the  Father, 
all  that  is  lovely  and  attractive,  as  well 
as  all  that  is  solemn  and  venerable  ; and 
the  general  effect  of  his  prayers  was  to 
diffuse  a devout  calmness,  a filial  confi- 
dence, over  the  minds  of  his  pious 
hearers. 

His  understanding  was  of  a high 
order ; active,  vigorous,  and  patient ; 
capable  of  exerting  itself  with  success 
on  every  subject;  collecting  materials 
and  illustrations  from  every  scene  ; and 
stored  with  a rich  and  various  knowledge, 
which  few  have  accumulated  at  so  early 
an  age.  His  understanding,  however, 
was  in  harmony  with  his  whole  charac- 
ter. It  was  not  so  much  distinguished 
by  boldness,  rapidity,  and  ardor,  as  by 
composed  energy,  judiciousness,  and 
expansiveness.  His  views  were  often 
original  and  often  profound,  but  were 
especially  marked  by  justness,  clearness, 
and  compass  of  thought.  I have  never 
known  a man,  so  young,  of  riper  judg- 


627 

ment,  of  more  deliberate  investigation, 
and  of  more  comprehensive  views  of  all 
the  bearings  and  connections  of  a sub- 
ject, on  which  he  was  called  to  decide. 
He  was  singularly  free  from  the  error 
into  which  young  preachers  most  readily 
fall,  of  overstating  arguments,  and  ex- 
aggerating and  straining  the  particular 
topics  which  they  wish  to  enforce.  But, 
in  avoiding  extravagance,  he  did  not  fall 
into  tameness.  There  was  a force  and 
freshness  in  his  conceptions  ; and  even 
when  he  communicated  the  thoughts  of 
others,  he  first  grafted  them  on  his  own 
mind,  so  that  they  had  the  raciness  of  a 
native  growth.  His  opinions  were  the 
results  of  much  mental  action,  of  many 
comparisons,  of  large  and  liberal  think- 
ing, of  looking  at  a subject  on  every 
side ; and  they  were  expressed  with 
those  limitations  which  long  experience 
suggests  to  others.  He  read  with  pleas- 
ure the  bold  and  brilliant  speculations 
of  more  adventurous  minds ; but  he  re- 
served his  belief  for  evidence,  for  truth ; 
and  if  the  most  valuable  gift  of  the 
understanding  be  an  enlarged,  discrimi- 
nating judgment,  then  his  was  a most 
highly-gifted  mind. 

From  a mind  so  balanced,  we  could 
hardly  expect  that  fervid  eloquence 
which  electrifies  an  assembly,  and 
makes  the  speaker  for  a moment  an 
absolute  sovereign  over  the  souls  of 
men.  His  influence,  like  that  of  the 
great  powers  in  the  natural  world,  was 
mild  and  noiseless,  but  penetrating  and 
enduring.  That  oratory  which  over- 
whelms and  bears  us  away  like  a torrent, 
almost  always  partakes  of  exaggeration 
and  extravagance,  and  could  not  easily 
be  reconciled  with  the  distinguishing 
properties  of  his  mind.  His  imagination 
was  fruitful  and  creative  ; but,  in  accord- 
ance with  his  whole  character,  it  de- 
rived its  illustrations  more  frequently 
from  regions  of  beauty  than  of  grandeur, 
and  it  imparted  a coloring  at  once  rich 
and  soft,  and  a peculiar  grace  to  every 
subject  susceptible  of  ornament.  His 
command  over  language  was  great.  His 
style  was  various,  vigorous,  unborrowed  ; 
abounding  infelicities  of  expression,  and 
singularly  free  from  that  triteness  and 
that  monotonous  structure  which  the 
habit  of  rapid  composition  on  familiar 
subjects  almost  forces  on  the  preacher, 
and  which  so  often  enervate  the  most 
powerful  and  heart-stirring  truths.  His 


628 


NOTICE  OF  REV,  S,  C,  THACHER. 


character  as  a preacher  needs  no  other 
testimony  than  the  impression  left  on 
his  constant  and  most  enlightened  hear- 
ers. To  these,  who  could  best  judge  of 
his  intellectual  resources,  and  of  his 
devotion  to  his  work,  his  public  services 
were  more  and  more  interesting.  They 
tell  us  of  the  affluence  of  his  thoughts, 
of  the  beauty  of  his  imagery,  of  the 
tenderness  and  earnestness  of  his  per- 
suasion, of  the  union  of  judgment  and 
sensibility  in  his  discourses,  and  of  the 
wisdom  with  which  he  displayed  at  the 
same  moment  the  sublimity  and  prac- 
ticableness of  Christian  virtue.  They 
tell  us  that  the  early  ripeness  of  his 
mind  did  not  check  its  growth ; but 
that  every  year  enlarged  his  treasures 
and  powers.  Their  tears  and  counte- 
nances tell  us,  more  movingly  than 
words,  their  deep  sorrow,  now  that  they 
shall  hear  his  voice  no  more. 

Of  his  social  character  I need  not 
speak  to  you.  No  one  who  ever  met  him 
in  a friendly  circle  can  easily  forget  the 
attraction  of  his  manners  and  conversa- 
tion. He  carried  into  society  a cheer- 
fulness and  sunshine  of  the  soul,  derived 
partly  from  constitution,  and  partly  from 
his  bright,  confiding  views  of  religion ; 
a delicacy  which  instinctively  shrunk 
from  wounding  the  feelings  of  the  hum- 
blest human  being  ; a disposition  to  sym- 
pathize with  every  innocent  enjoyment ; 
and  the  power  of  communicating  with 
ease  and  interest  the  riches  of  his  mind. 
Without  effort,  he  won  the  hearts  of  men 
to  a singular  degree.  Never  was  man 
more  universally  beloved.  Even  in  sick- 
ness and  in  foreign  lands,  he  continued 
to  attract  friends  ; and  it  is  our  consola- 
tion to  know  that  he  drew  from  strangers 
much  of  that  kindness  which  blessed  him 
at  home. 

In  his  sickness,  I was  particularly 
struck  with  his  submission  to  God,  and 
his  affection  for  his  people.  His  sub- 


mission seemed  entire.  There  was  no 
alloy  of  impatience  or  distrust.  His 
sickness  was  a severe  trial ; for  his 
heart  was  bound  up  in  his  profession, 
and  if  in  any  thing  his  ambition  was  ex- 
cessive, it  was  in  his  desire  to  enrich  his 
mind  by  laborious  study.  He  felt  deeply 
his  privation,  and  he  looked  forward  to 
an  early  death  as  a probable  event.  But 
he  bowed  to  Providence  without  a mur- 
mur. He  spoke  only  of  the  divine  good- 
ness. “ I am  in  God’s  hand,  and  his 
will  be  done,”  were  familiar  sentiments, 
not  uttered  with  commonplace  and  me- 
chanical formality,  but  issuing,  as  his 
tones  and  countenance  discovered,  from 
the  very  depths  of  his  heart.  A firmer 
and  calmer  submission  could  hardly  have 
been  formed  by  a long  life  of  suffering. 

His  feelings  towards  the  congregation 
which  he  served  seemed  at  times  too 
strong  for  the  self-possession  and  calm- 
ness by  which  he  was  characterized. 
Their  kindness  overpowered  him.  The 
only  tears  which  I saw  start  from  his 
eyes  flowed  from  this  source.  In  my  v 
last  interview  with  him,  a day  or  two 
before  his  voyage,  I said  to  him,  “ I 
trust  that  you  will  return,  but  I fear  you 
cannot  safely  continue  your  pastoral  re- 
lation. We  have,  however,  another  em- 
ployment for  you,  in  which  you  may  be 
useful  and  happy.”  He  answered,  “ If 
I get  strength  I shall  use  it  for  my  peo- 
ple. I am  willing  to  hazard  my  life  for 
their  sakes.  I would  preach  to  them, 
although  the  effort  should  shorten  my 
days.”  He  added,  “ Should  I forsake 
them  after  the  kindness  I have  received, 
the  cause  of  religion  and  of  the  ministry 
might  suffer ; and  to  this  cause  I ought 
and  am  willing  to  make  any  sacrifices.” 
Such  is  a brief  sketch  of  our  lamented 
friend.  He  was  one  of  the  most  blame- 
less men,  of  the  most  devoted  ministers, 
and  of  the  fairest  examples  of  the  dis- 
tinguishing virtues  of  Christianity. 


THE  UNION. 


629 


THE  UNION. 


[“  Correspondence  between  John  Quincy  Adams, 
Esquire,  President  of  the  United  States,  and  sev- 
eral Citizens  of  Massachusetts,  concerning  the 
Charge  of  a Design  to  dissolve  the  Union  alleged 
to  have  existed  in  that  State.”  Boston  : 1829.] 

We  have  placed  at  the  head  of  this 
article  the  title  of  a pamphlet  which  has 
drawn  much  attention  and  excited  much 
feeling.  But  in  so  doing,  we  have  not 
thought  of  reviewing  the  controversy  to 
which  it  relates.  Our  work  is  devoted 
to  the  inculcation  and  defence  of  great 
principles,  and  we  are  anxious  to  keep 
it  free  from  irritating  personalities.  We 
are  resolved  to  contend  earnestly  for 
what  we  deem  truth,  but  we  wish  no 
contest  with  individuals.  We  are  aware 
that  cases  may  exist,  in  which  justice  to 
persecuted  virtue,  or  to  a good  but  suf- 
fering cause,  may  bind  us  to  take  part  in 
temporary  controversies.  We  feel,  how- 
ever, no  such  obligation  in  the  present 
instance.  In  the  Correspondence,  those 
whom  we  deem  injured  have  vindicated 
themselves  too  effectually  to  need  other 
defenders.  The  charge  of  a Northern 
plot  for  dismembering  the  country  has 
been  fairly  met  and  triumphantly  refuted. 
We  violate,  therefore,  no  duty,  in  follow- 
ing our  inclinations,  and  in  leaving  this 
controversy  to  those  whom  it  immedi- 
ately concerns.  To  prevent  misappre- 
hension, we  will  add  that,  in  speaking  of 
the  charge  which  gave  rise  to  the  cor- 
respondence, as  fully  refuted,  we  mean 
not  to  accuse  of  wilful  misrepresentation 
the  individual  by  whom  it  was  brought 
forward.  We  are  not  ignorant  of  the 
facility  with  which  men  deceive  them- 
selves, especially  when  their  passions 
are  inflamed.  We  mean  not  to  deny 
that  Mr.  Adams  may  imagine  himself 
in  possession  of  proofs  which  sustain 
his  allegation  ; nor  is  it  hard  to  explain 
the  delusion.  It  is  very  possible  that, 
twenty-five  years  ago,  in  a most  agitated 
and  convulsed  state  of  the  country,  some 
among  us  questioned  whether  the  na- 
tional government  was  likely  to  accom- 
plish the  good  which  it  had  promised. 
It  is  very  possible  that,  in  that  season  of 
exasperation,  some  rash  spirits  among 
the  Federalists  gave  utterance  to  pas- 


sionate invectives,  and  inconsiderate 
menaces  ; and  we  can  very  easily  un- 
derstand how  a mind,  disposed  to  mis- 
construe the  words  and  actions  of  ar- 
dent partisans,  might,  in  the  midst  of 
such  excitement,  become  haunted  with 
suspicions  and  visionary  conspiracies. 
We  think  it  very  creditable  to  our  coun- 
try that,  in  passing  through  the  stormy 
season  of  which  we  have  spoken,  it 
teemed  with  no  more  panics  and  inven- 
tions of  secret  treasons ; that  so  few 
plots  were  feigned  or  feared.  We  ex- 
ceedingly regret  that.  Mr.  Adams  has 
made  it  necessary  to  his  reputation  to 
fasten  a reproach  of  this  nature  on  a por- 
tion of  his  fellow-citizens.  We  regret, 
not  only  for  public  reasons,  but  for  his 
own  sake,  that,  on  retiring  from  office, 
he  cannot  promise  himself  the  happiness 
of  his  predecessors,  the  happiness  of  a 
calm  and  dignified  retirement  from  pub- 
lic strife. 

Our  aim  in  the  present  article  is  to 
call  the  attention  of  our  readers  to  a 
subject  of  great  moment,  which  is 
directly  brought  before  us  by  the  Cor- 
respondence,— we  mean,  the  importance 
of  our  National  Union.  This  topic  is 
one  of  transcendent  and  universal  inter- 
est, and  therefore  deserves  a place  in  a 
work  devoted  to  the  inculcation  of  those 
great  principles  which  involve  the  virtue 
and  happiness  of  the  community.  In 
the  discussion  of  such  a topic,  we  shall 
of  necessity  recur  to  the  events  and 
struggles  of  the  last  thirty  or  forty 
years.  But  we  shall  do  so,  not  for  the 
purpose  of  reviving  half-extinguished 
animosities,  but  in  the  hope 'of  pointing 
out  our  danger  as  a nation,  and  of 
awakening  a more  enlightened  attach- 
ment to  our  common  country.  We  trust 
that  we  claim  for  ourselves  no  singular 
virtue  in  saying  that  we  look  back  on 
the  conflicts  and  revolutions  of  this 
period  as  on  matters  of  history,  and 
that  we  identify  ourselves  with  them 
scarcely  more  than  with  events  preced- 
ing our  birth.  It  seems  to  us  that  a 
good  degree  of  impartiality  in  relation 
to  this  period,  instead  of  requiring  a 


THE  UNION. 


630 

high  moral  effort,  is  almost  forced  upon 
us  by  the  circumstances  of  our  times. 
Our  age  has  been  marked  above  all 
others  by  the  suddenness,  variety,  and 
stupendousness  of  its  revolutions.  The 
events  of  centuries  have  been  crowded 
into  a single  life.  The  history  of  the 
civilized  world,  since  the  bursting  forth 
of  the  French  Revolution,  reminds  us  of 
one  of  the  irregular  dramas  of  Shak- 
speare,  in  which  the  incidents  of  a reign 
are  compressed  into  an  hour.  Over- 
whelming changes  have  rushed  upon 
one  another  too  rapidly  to  give  us  time 
to  comprehend  them,  and  have  been  so 
multiplied  as  to  exhaust  our  capacity 
of  admiration.  In  consequence  of  this 
thronging  and  whirl  of  events,  the  revo- 
lutions which  we  have  witnessed  seem 
to  be  thrown  back,  and  to  belong  to  a 
previous  age.  Our  interest  in  them  as 
contemporaries  is  diminished  to  a degree 
which  excites  our  own  wonder,  and  we 
think  that  we  recall  them  with  as  little 
selfish  partiality  as  we  experience  on 
looking  back  on  the  transactions  of  past 
centuries.  Perhaps  we  are  deceived  ; 
but  we  can  assure  our  readers  that  we 
should  not  trust  ourselves  to  speak  as 
frankly  as  we  may  of  the  past,  did  we 
not  believe  that  our  personal  interest  in 
it  differs  little  from  what  we  feel  in  other 
important  periods  of  human  history. 

We  have  said  that  our  present  topic 
is  the  importance  of  the  Union,  and  we 
have  selected  it  because  it  cannot,  we 
apprehend,  be  too  deeply  impressed. 
No  lesson  should  be  written  more  indel- 
ibly on  the  hearts  of  our  citizens.  To 
secure  to  it  the  strong  conviction  with 
which  it  ought  to  be  received,  we  have 
thought  that  we  might  usefully  insist  on 
the  chief  good  which  the  Union  confers  ; 
and  we  are  the  more  disposed  to  do  this, 
because  we  are  not  sure  that  this  sub- 
ject is  sufficiently  understood,  because 
we  sometimes  apprehend  that  the  people 
are  not  aware  of  the  most  essential  ben- 
efit which  they  derive  from  the  confed- 
eration, but  are  looking  to  it  for  advan- 
tages which  it  cannot  bestow,  and  are  in 
danger  of  exposing  it  to  hazard  by  ex- 
pecting from  it  more  than  it  can  accom- 
plish. Of  all  governments  we  may  say 
that  the  good  which  they  promote  is 
chiefly  negative,  and  this  is  especially 
true  of  the  federal  institutions  which 
bind  these  States  together.  Their  high- 
est function  is,  to  avert  evil.  Nor  let 


their  efficiency  on  this  account  be  dis- 
paraged. The  highest  political  good, 
liberty,  is  negative.  It  is  the  removal 
of  obstructions.  It  is  security  from 
wrong.  It  confers  no  positive  happi- 
ness, but  opens  a field  in  which  the  indi- 
vidual may  achieve  his  happiness  by  his 
own  unfettered  powers.  The  great  good 
of  the  Union  we  may  express  almost  in 
a word.  It  preserves  us  from  wasting 
and  destroying  one  another.  It  pre- 
serves relations  of  peace  among  com- 
munities, which,  if  broken  into  separate 
nations,  would  be  arrayed  against  one 
another  in  perpetual,  merciless,  and 
ruinous  war.  It  indeed  contributes  to 
our  defence  against  foreign  states,  but 
still  more  it  defends  us  from  one  an- 
other. This  we  apprehend  to  be  the 
chief  boon  of  the  Union,  and  its  impor- 
tance we  apprehend  is  not  sufficiently 
felt.  So  highly  do  we  estimate  it,  that 
we  ask  nothing  of  the  General  Govern- 
ment but  to  hold  us  together,  to  estab- 
lish among  the  different  States  relations 
of  friendship  and  peace ; and  we  are 
sure  that  our  State  Governments  and 
individual  energies  will  work  out  for  us 
a happiness  such  as  no  other  people 
have  yet  secured. 

The  importance  of  this  benefit  is  easy 
to  be  understood,  by  considering  the 
sure  and  tremendous  miseries  which 
would  follow  disunion.  For  ourselves, 
we  fear  that,  bloody  and  mournful  as 
human  history  now  is,  a sadder  page 
than  has  yet  been  written  might  record 
the  sufferings  of  this  country,  should  we 
divide  ourselves  into  separate  commu- 
nities. Our  impressions  on  this  subject 
are  so  strong,  that  we  cannot  resist  the 
desire  of  communicating  them  to  others. 
We  fear  that  our  country,  in  case  of  dis- 
union, would  be  broken  into  communi- 
ties, which  would  cherish  towards  one 
another  singularly  fierce  and  implacable 
enmities.  We  do  not  refer  to  the  angry 
and  vindictive  feelings  which  would 
grow  out  of  the  struggles  implied  in  a 
separation.  There  are  other  and  more 
permanent  causes  of  hatred  and  hos- 
tility. 

One  cause,  we  think,  would  be  found 
in  the  singularly  active,  bold,  enterpris- 
ing spirit  which  actuates  this  whole 
country.  Perhaps,  as  a people,  we  have 
no  stronger  distinction  than  a thirst  for 
adventure  and  new  acquisitions.  A 
quiet,  cold,  phlegmatic  race  might  be 


THE  UNION. 


631 


divided  with  comparatively  little  peril. 
But  a neighborhood  of  restless,  daring, 
all-grasping  communities,  would  contain 
within  itself  the  seeds  of  perpetual  hos- 
tility. Our  feverish  activity  would  break 
out  in  endless  competitions  and  jealous- 
ies. In  every  foreign  market,  we  should 
meet  as  rivals.  The  same  great  objects 
would  be  grasped  at  by  all.  Add  to 
this,  that  the  necessity  of  preserving 
some  balance  of  power  would  lead  each 
republic  to  watch  the  others  with  a sus- 
picious eye  ; and  this  balance  could  not 
be  maintained,  in  these  young  and  grow- 
ing communities,  as  easily  as  in  the  old 
and  stationary  ones  of  Europe.  Among 
nations,  such  as  we  should  form,  which 
would  only  have  begun  to  develop  their 
resources,  and  in  which  the  spirit  of  lib- 
erty would  favor  an  indefinite  expansion, 
the  political  equilibrium  would  be  per- 
petually disturbed.  Under  such  influ- 
ences an  irritable  and  almost  justifiable 
sensitiveness  to  one  another’s  progress 
would  fester  into  unrelenting  hatred. 
Our  neighbor’s  good  would  become  to 
us  a curse.  Among  such  communities 
there  could  be  no  love,  and  would  be  no 
real  peace.  To  obstruct  one  another’s 
growth  would  be  deemed  the  perfection 
of  policy.  Slight  collisions  of  interest, 
which  must  perpetually  recur,  would  be 
exaggerated  by  jealousy  and  hatred  into 
unpardonable  wrongs  ; and  unprincipled 
statesmen  would  find  little  difficulty  in 
swelling  imaginary  grievances  into  causes 
of  war.  When  we  look  at  the  charac- 
teristic spirit  of  this  country,  stimulated 
as  it  is  by  our  youth  and  capacities  of 
improvement,  we  cannot  conceive  of 
more  active  springs  of  contention  and 
hatred  than  would  be  created  at  once 
by  our  disunion-into  separate  nations. 

We  proceed  to  the  second  and  a very 
important  consideration.  Our  posses- 
sion of  a common  language,  which  is  now 
an  unspeakable  good,  would,  in  case  of 
disunion,  prove  as  great  a calamity  ; for 
it  would  serve,  above  all  things  to  multi- 
ply jealousies  and  exasperate  bad  pas- 
sions. In  Europe,  different  nations, 
having  each  its  own  language,  and 
comparatively  small  communication,  can 
act  but  little  on  each  other.  Each  ex- 
presses its  own  self-esteem  and  its  scorn 
of  other  communities  in  writings  which 
seldom  pass  its  own  bounds,  and  which 
minister  to  its  Own  vanity  and  prejudices 
without  inflaming  other  states.  But  sup- 


pose this  country  broken  up  into  con- 
tiguous nations,  all  speaking  the  same 
language,  all  enjoying  unrestrained  free- 
dom of  the  press,  and  all  giving  utter- 
ance to  their  antipathies  and  recrimina- 
tions in  newspapers,  which  would  fly 
through  all  on  the  wings  of  the  winds. 
Who  can  set  bounds  to  the  madness 
which  such  agents  of  mischief  would 
engender  ? It  is  a fact,  too  well  known, 
that  feelings  of  animosity  among  us  tow- 
ards Great  Britain  have  been  kept  alive 
chiefly  by  a few  publications  from  the 
latter  country,  which  have  been  read  by 
a very  small  part  of  our  population. 
What,  then,  are  we  to  expect  in  case 
of  our  disunion,  when  the  daily  press 
of  each  nation  would  pour  forth  on  the 
neighboring  communities  unceasing  tor- 
rents of  calumny,  satire,  ridicule,  and 
invective  ? An  exasperating  article  from 
the  pen  of  a distinguished  man  in  one 
republic  would  in  less  than  a week  have 
found  its  way  to  every  house  and  cottage 
in  the  adjoining  States.  The  passions  of 
a whole  people  would  be  kindled  at  one 
moment ; and  who  of  us  can  conceive 
the  intensity  of  hatred  which  would 
grow  from  this  continued,  maddening 
interchange  of  intemperate  and  unmeas- 
ured abuse  ? 

Another  source  of  discord,  in  case  of 
our  separation,  is  almost  too  obvious  to 
be  mentioned.  Once  divided,  we  should 
form  stronger  bonds  of  union  with  for- 
eign nations  than  with  one  another.  That 
Europe  would  avail  itself  of  our  broken 
condition  to  establish  an  influence  among 
us  ; that  belligerents  in  the  Old  World 
would  strive  to  enlist  us  in  their  quarrels  ; 
that  our  eagerness  for  commercial  favors 
and  monopolies  would  lay  us  open  to 
their  intrigues  ; that  at  every  quarrel 
among  ourselves  we  should  be  willing 
to  receive  aid  from  abroad,  and  that 
distant  nations  would  labor  to  increase 
our  dependence  upon  themselves  by  in- 
flaming and  dividing  us  against  each 
other  ; — these  are  considerations  too 
obvious  to  need  exposition,  and  as  sol- 
emn and  monitory  as  they  are  clear. 
From  disunion  we  should  reap  in  plen- 
tiful harvests  destructive  enmities  at 
home,  and  degrading  subserviency  to 
the  powers  of  Europe. 

We  pass  to  another  topic,  particularly 
worthy  of  notice.  In  case  of  separation, 
party-spirit,  the  worst  foe  of  free  States, 
would  rage  more  furiously  in  each  of  the 


THE  UNION. 


632 

new  and  narrower  communities  than  now 
it  does  in  our  extensive  Union;  and 
this  spirit  would  not  only  spread  deadly 
hatred  through  each  republic,  but  would 
perpetually  embroil  it  with  its  neighbors. 
We  complain  of  party  rage  even  now  ; 
but  it  is  mild  and  innocent  compared 
with  what  we  should  experience  were 
our  Union  dissolved.  Party-spirit,  when 
spread  over  a large  country,  is  far  less 
envenomed  and  ruinous  than  when  shut 
up  in  small  states.  The  histories  of 
Greece  and  Rome  are  striking  illustra- 
tions of  this  truth.  In  an  extensive 
community,  a party,  depressed  on  one 
spot,  finds  sympathies  and  powerful  pro- 
tectors in  another  ; and  if  not,  it  finds 
more  generous  enemies  at  a distance, 
who  mitigate  the  violence  of  its  nearer 
foes.  The  fury  attending  elections  is 
exceedingly  allayed  by  the  knowledge 
that  the  issue  does  not  depend  on  one 
or  another  city  or  district,  and  that  fail- 
ure in  one  place  is  not  the  loss  of  the 
cause.  It  may  be  added  that,  in  a large 
country,  party-spirit  is  necessarily  mod- 
ified and  softened  by  the  diversity  of 
interests,  views,  and  characters  which 
must  prevail  among  a widely  scattered 
people.  It  is  also  no  small  advantage 
that  the  leaders  of  parties  will  generally 
be  separated  from  one  another  by  con- 
siderable distances,  will  move  in  remote 
spheres,  instead  of  facing  • each  other, 
and  engaging  perpetually  in  personal 
debate  and  conflict.  Suppose  these 
circumstances  reversed ; suppose  the 
country  broken  into  republics  so  small 
as  to  admit  a perfect  unity  and  sym- 
pathy among  the  members  of  the  same 
party,  as  to  keep  the  leaders  of  oppo- 
site parties  perpetually  in  one  another’s 
sight  and  hearing,  as  to  make  the  fate 
of  elections  dependent  on  definite  efforts 
and  votes  in  particular  places  ; and  who 
can  calculate  the  increase  of  personal 
animosity,  of  private  rancor,  of  public 
rage  ? Nor  would  the  spirit  of  party 
convulse  only  the  separate  communities. 
It  would  establish  between  them  the 
most  injurious  relations.  No  passion 
seems  to  overpower  patriotism  and 
moral  sentiment  more  effectually  than 
this  spirit.  Those  whom  it  binds  seem 
to  throw  off  all  other  bonds.  Inflamed 
parties  are  most  unscrupulous  as  to 
means.  Under  great  excitement,  they 
of  course  look  round  them  on  other 
communities  to  find  means  of  ensuring 


triumph  over  their  opponents.  Of  con- 
sequence, the  political  relations  which 
would  subsist  between  the  different  re- 
publics that  would  spring  up  from  our 
disunion  would  be  determined  chiefly  by 
party-spirit ; by  a passion  which  is  most 
reckless  of  consequences,  most  prolific 
of  discord,  most  prodigal  of  blood.  Each 
republic  would  be  broken  into  two  fac- 
tions, one  in  possession,  and  the  other 
in  pursuit  of  power,  and  both  prepared 
to  link  themselves  with  the  factions  of 
their  neighbors,  and  to  sacrifice  the 
peace  and  essential  interests  of  the 
state  to  the  gratification  of  ambition 
and  revenge.  Through  such  causes, 
operating  in  the  Grecian  republics,  civil 
war  added  its  horrors  to  foreign  contests. 
We  see  nothing  to  avert  from  ourselves, 
if  ever  divided,  the  same  unspeakable 
calamity. 

In  this  exposition  of  the  evils  which 
would  spring  from  disunion,  we  have 
spoken  strongly,  but,  we  trust,  calmly. 
There  is  no  need  of  exaggeration.  It 
seems  to  us  that  the  imagination  cannot 
easily  exceed  the  truth.  We  do  dread 
separation  as  the  greatest  of  political 
evils,  with  the  single  exception  of  sla- 
very. Undoubtedly  a particular  State 
may  and  ought  to  break  the  bond,  if 
that  bond  is  to  be  turned  into  a yoke 
of  oppression.  But  much,  very  much, 
should  be  endured  before  we  expose 
ourselves  to  the  calamities  of  separation. 
We  particularly  recommend  the  views 
which  we  have  taken  to  those  among  us 
whose  interest  in  the  Union  is  weakened 
by  a vague  idea  that  a large  community 
cannot  be  as  well  governed  as  a small. 
The  reverse  of  this  maxim,  as  we  have 
seen,  is  true  of  a federal  republic.  Under 
despotisms,  indeed,  a vast  territory  may 
increase  the  sufferings  of  the  people, 
because  the  sovereign  at  the  centre, 
however  well  disposed,  cannot  spread 
himself  to  the  extremities,  and  distant 
provinces  are  almost  of  necessity  given 
up  to  the  spoliations  of  irresponsible 
governors.  But,  under  the  wise  dis- 
tribution of  power  in  this  country,  we 
enjoy  the  watchful  and  minute  protec- 
tion of  a local  government,  combined 
with  the  immense  advantage  of  a wide- 
spread community.  Greater  means  of 
prosperity  a people  cannot  enjoy.  Let 
us  not  be  defrauded  of  them  by  selfish 
or  malignant  passions. 

From  the  remarks  now  made,  it  will 


THE  UNION. 


at  once  be  understood  on  what  account 
chiefly  we  prize  and  would  uphold  our 
National  Government.  We  prize  it  as 
our  bond  of  union ; as  that  which  con- 
stitutes us  one  people  ; as  preserving 
the  different  States  from  mutual  jealous- 
ies and  wars,  and  from  separate  alli- 
ances with  foreign  nations  ; as  mitigating 
party-spirit ; in  one  word,  as  perpetuat- 
ing our  peace.  So  great,  so  inestimable 
is  this  good,  that  all  other  benefits  and 
influences  of  the  Federal  Government 
seem  to  us  as  nothing.  We  would  lay 
down  this  as  the  fundamental  principle 
of  its  administration.  The  bearing  of 
measures  on  our  Union  should  be  the 
chief  aspect  under  which  they  should 
be  regarded  by  Congress.  Taking  this 
position,  we  are  naturally  led  to  some 
great  maxims  by  which,  as  we  conceive, 
our  public  affairs  should  be  guided,  and 
we  now  proceed  to  develop  these,  as 
well  as  to  point  out  other  means  for 
securing  our  confederation. 

In  the  first  place,  it  seems  to  be  im- 
portant that  the  administration  of  our 
government  should  be  marked  by  the 
greatest  possible  simplicity.  We  hold 
this  to  be  no  unimportant  means  of  per- 
petuating our  Union.  Laws  and  meas- 
ures should  be  intelligible,  founded  on 
plain  principles,  and  such  as  common 
minds  may  comprehend.  This,  indeed, 
is  a maxim  to  be  applied  to  republican 
governments  universally.  The  essential 
idea  of  a republic  is  that  the  sovereignty 
is  in  the  people.  In  choosing  repre- 
sentatives they  do  not  devolve  the 
supreme  power  on  others.  By  the 
frequency  of  elections,  they  are  called 
to  pass  judgment  on  the  representatives. 
It  is  essential  to  this  mode  of  govern- 
ment that,  through  a free  press,  all  pub- 
lic measures  should  be  brought  before 
the  tribunal  of  the  people.  Of  course, 
a refined  and  subtile  policy,  or  a com- 
plicated legislation,  which  cannot  be  un- 
derstood but  by  laborious  research  and 
reasoning,  is  hostile  to  the  genius  of 
republican  institutions.  Laws  should 
be  plain  and  few,  intended  to  meet  obvi- 
ous wants,  and  such  as  are  clearly  re- 
quired by  the  great  interests  of  the 
community.  For  ourselves,  we  are  sat- 
isfied that  all  governments,  without  ex- 
ception, can  adopt  no  safer  rule  than 
the  simplicity  which  we  have  now  rec- 
ommended. The  crying  sin  of  all 
governments  is,  that  they  intermeddle 


633 

injuriously  with  human  affairs,  and  ob- 
struct the  processes  of  nature  by  exces- 
sive regulation.  To  us,  society  is  such 
a complicated  concern,  its  interests  are 
affected  by  so  many  and  such  subtile 
causes,  there  are  so  many  secret  springs 
at  work  in  its  bosom,  and  such  uncer- 
tainty hangs  over  the  distant  issues  of 
human  arrangements,  that  we  are  as- 
tonished and  shocked  at  the  temerity  of 
legislators  in  interposing  their  contriv- 
ances and  control,  except  where  events 
and  experience  shed  a clear  light.  Above 
all,  in  a country  like  our  own,  where 
public  measures  are  to  be  judged  by 
millions  of  people  scattered  over  a vast 
territory,  and  most  of  whom  are  en- 
gaged in  laborious  occupations,  we  know 
not  a plainer  principle  than  that  the 
domestic  and  foreign  policy  of  govern- 
ment should  be  perspicuous  and  founded 
on  obvious  reasons,  so  that  plain  cases 
may  in  the  main,  if  not  always,  be  of- 
fered to  popular  decision.  Measures 
which  demand  profound  thought  for 
their  justification,  about  which  intelli- 
gent and  honest  men  differ,  and  the  use- 
fulness of  which  cannot  be  made  out  to 
the  common  mind,  are  unfit  for  a repub- 
lic. If  in  this  way  important  national 
advantages  should  be  sometimes  lost, 
we  ought  to  submit  to  the  evil  as  in- 
separable from  our  institutions,  and 
should  comfort  ourselves  with  thinking 
that  Providence  never  bestows  an  un- 
mixed good,  that  the  best  form  of  gov- 
ernment has  its  inconveniences,  and  that 
a people,  possessing  freedom,  can  afford 
to  part  with  many  means  of  immediate 
wealth.  We  have  no  fear,  however, 
that  a people  will  ever  suffer  by  a rigid 
application  of  our  rule.  Legislators  can- 
not feel  too  deeply  the  delicacy  of  their 
work,  and  their  great  ignorance  of  the 
complicated  structure  and  of  the  multi- 
plied and  secret  relations  of  the  social 
state ; and  they  ought  not  to  hasten, 
nay,  more,  they  ought  to  distrust,  a 
policy,  to  the  justice  and  wisdom  of 
which  the  suffrage  of  public  opinion 
cannot  be  decidedly  and  intelligently 
secured.  In  our  republic,  the  aim  of 
Congress  should  be  to  stamp  its  legisla- 
tion with  all  possible  simplicity,  and  to 
abstain  from  measures  which,  by  their 
complication,  obscurity,  and  uncertainty, 
must  distract  the  public  mind,  and  throw 
it  into  agitation  and  angry  controversy. 
Let  it  be  their  aim  to  cast  among  the 


THE  UNION. 


634 

people  as  few  brands  of  discord  as  pos- 
sible ; and  for  this  end  let  the  spirit  of 
adventurous  theory  be  dismissed,  and 
the  spirit  of  modesty,  caution,  and  pru- 
dent simplicity  preside  over  legislation. 
In  these  remarks  we  have  not  forgotten 
that  there  are  exigencies  in  which  gov- 
ernment is  compelled  to  determine  its 
course  without  delay,  amidst  great  haz- 
ards, and  in  a stormy,  distracted  state 
of  the  public  mind.  But  these  are  ex- 
ceptions to  the  ordinary  course  of  hu- 
man affairs,  and  to  these  the  principle 
which  we  have  advanced  is  not  to  be 
applied. 

We  here  proceed  to  another  principle, 
still  more  important  to  the  preservation 
of  the  Union.  The  General  Govern- 
ment should  correspond  to  its  name  ; 
that  is,  should  be  general,  or  universal, 
in  its  spirit  and  operations.  It  should 
be  characterized  by  nothing  so  strik- 
ingly as  by  impartiality,  by  the  absence 
of  sectional  feeling,  by  a solicitude  to 
distribute  equally  the  public  burdens, 
and  to  extend  equal  benefits  to  all  mem- 
bers of  the  confederation.  On  this  prin- 
ciple the  Union  chiefly  depends.  In  a 
free  community  the  strongest  of  all 
feelings  is  a jealousy  of  rights,  and 
states  cannot  be  long  held  together,  if 
it  shall  be  thought  that  the  power,  given 
for  the  general  weal,  is,  through  intrigue 
and  selfish  combinations,  perverted  to 
build  up  a portion  of  the  confederacy 
at  the  expense  of  the  rest.  No  stronger 
argument  can  be  urged  against  a public 
measure  than  that  it  has  the  appearance 
of  a partial  or  unequal  bearing  on  the 
country,  or  seems  to  indicate  a dispo- 
sition in  the  majority  to  sacrifice  the 
common  good  to  factious  or  sectional 
views.  To  guard  against  the  jealousies 
of  the  States  should  be  the  most  anx- 
ious desire  of  our  national  legislators  ; 
and,  for  this  purpose,  they  should  aim 
to  restrict  themselves  to  general  objects 
in  which  all  may  find  a benefit,  to  re- 
frain from  touching  narrow  or  local 
interests,  especially  those  between  which 
a rivalry  subsists,  to  proportion  the  pres- 
sure of  taxation  according  to  the  most 
rigorous  justice,  to  watch  equally  over 
the  rights  of  all,  and  to  exact  no  sacri- 
fices but  such  as  the  common  good 
plainly  demands. 

A weighty  argument  for  limiting  gov- 
ernment to  the  simple  and  general  legis- 
lation which  we  have  now  recommended, 


though  not  intimately  connected  with 
our  main  subject,  deserves  a brief  notice. 
It  is  found  in  the  great  and  growing  ex- 
tent of  the  country.  The  attention  of 
Congress  is  already  distracted  and  over- 
whelmed by  the  multiplicity  of  affairs, 
and  every  session  it  is  more  and  more 
in  danger  of  neglecting  its  proper  objects 
and  doing  nothing  well.  We  fear  that 
the  most  pressing  business  is  the  most 
frequently  postponed.  We  refer  to  the 
claims  of  individuals  on  the  government ; 
and  we  call  these  the  most  pressing  con- 
cerns, because  the  man  who  has  been 
wronged  by  an  unanticipated  operation 
of  the  laws  or  of  any  public  measures, 
has  a right  to  immediate  redress,  and 
because  delay  of  justice  may  be  his  ruin. 
Already  we  hear  angry  complaint  and 
derision  of  the  inefficiency  of  Congress, 
and  the  evil  will  increase  until  that  body 
shall  select  from  a bewildering  crowd 
of  applications  its  appropriate  objects, 
and  shall  confine  itself  to  a legislation 
demanded  by  the  general  voice,  and  by 
the  obvious  wants  of  the  community. 

The  principles  of  legislation  now  laid 
down  seem  to  us  to  have  an  important 
bearing  on  two  great  questions  which 
have  already  agitated  the  country,  and 
which,  we  fear,  bode  no  good  to  the 
Union.  We  refer  to  the  restrictive 
system  and  to  internal  improvement. 
The  first,  which  proposes  -to  protect 
certain  branches  of  domestic  industry, 
seems  to  us  singularly  wanting  in  that 
simplicity  and  impartiality  which,  as  we 
have  said,  should  characterize  our  legis- 
lation. It  cannot  be  understood  by  the 
mass  of  the  people,  and  it  will  certainly 
divide  them.  In  the  first  place,  the  re- 
strictive system  involves  a constitutional 
difficulty.  We  of  this  region,  indeed, 
generally  concede  to  Congress  the  right 
of  limiting  trade  in  general,  or  of  anni- 
hilating particular  branches  of  it,  for 
the  encouragement  of  domestic  indus- 
try ; but  the  argument  for  a narrower 
construction  of  the  Constitution  is  cer- 
tainly specious,  and  certainly  strong 
enough  to  give  to  those  on  whom  a 
tariff  may  press  heavily,  the  conscious- 
ness of  being  wronged.  In  the  next 
place,  the  general  question  of  the  ex- 
pediency of  restriction  must  be  allowed 
by  its  advocates  to  be  a difficult  one. 
The  growing  light  of  the  age  certainly 
seems  to  oppose  it,  and  the  statements 
and  reasonings  by  which  it  is  defended, 


THE  UNION. 


even  if  founded  in  truth,  are  yet  so  in- 
tricate and  so  open  to  objection,  that 
vast  numbers  even  of  the  enlightened 
cannot  be  satisfied  of  their  validity. 
But  supposing  restriction  to  be  ad- 
mitted, the  question  as  to  its  extent, 
as  to  the  kinds  of  industry  which  shall 
be  protected,  as  to  the  branches  of  trade 
which  shall  be  sacrificed,  this  question 
is  the  most  perplexing  which  can  be 
offered  to  popular  discussion,  and  can- 
not fail  to  awaken  cupidity,  jealousy, 
and  hatred.  From  the  nature  of  the 
case,  the  protection  must  be  unequally 
extended,  nor  can  any  wisdom  balance 
the  losses  to  which  different  States 
will  be  exposed.  A restrictive  tariff 
is  necessarily  a source  of  discord.  To 
some  portions  of  the  country  it  must 
be  an  evil,  nor  will  they  suffer  patiently. 
Disadvantages  imposed  by  nature,  com- 
munities will  bear,  but  not  those  which 
are  brought  on  them  by  legislation.  We 
have,  indeed,  various  objections  to  the 
whole  system  of  protection.  We  be- 
lieve it  to  be  deceptive  throughout.  We 
also  oppose  it  on  the  ground  that  our 
country,  in  adopting  it,  abandons  its 
true  and  honorable  position.  To  this 
country,  above  all  others,  belongs,  as 
its  primary  duty  and  interest,  the  sup- 
port of  liberal  principles.  It  has  noth- 
ing in  its  institutions  congenial  with  the 
maxims  of  barbarous  ages,  with  the 
narrow,  monopolizing,  restrictive  legis- 
lation of  antiquated  despotisms.  Free- 
dom, in  all  its  forms,  is  our  life,  strength, 
prosperity;  and  every  system  at  war 
with  it,  however  speciously  maintained, 
is  a contradiction  to  our  character,  and, 
wanting  harmony  with  our  spirit,  must 
take  something,  however  silently,  from 
the  energy  of  the  institutions  which 
hold  us  together.  As  citizens  of  the 
world,  we  grieve  that  this  country  should 
help  to  prolong  prejudices  which  even 
monarchy  is  outgrowing ; should,  in 
imitation  of  meddling  despotisms,  un- 
dertake to  direct  the  industry  and  cap- 
ital of  the  citizen,  and  especially  should 
lose  sight  of  that  sublime  object  of  phi- 
lanthropy, the  promotion  of  free,  unre- 
stricted commerce  through  the  world. 
As  patriots,  we  grieve  that  a precedent 
has  been  afforded  for  a kind  of  legisla- 
tion which,  if  persisted  in,  will  almost 
certainly  loosen,  and  may  rupture,  the 
Union.  The  principal  excellence  of  the 
late  tariff  is,  that  it  is  so  constructed  as 


635 

to  please  no  one,  that  even  its  friends 
pronounce  it  an  abomination ; for,  by 
offending  and  injuring  all,  it  excites 
less  animosity  in  the  principal  sufferers. 
Tariffs  never  will  be  impartial.  They 
will  always,  in  a greater  or  less  degree, 
be  the  results  of  selfish  combinations  of 
private  and  public  men,  through  which 
a majority  will  be  secured  to  particular 
interests ; and  such  is  the  blindness  of 
avarice,  that  to  grasp  a short-lived,  par- 
tial good,  the  infinite  blessings  of  union 
will  be  hazarded,  and  may  be  thrown 
away. 

If  we  may  be  allowed  a short  digres- 
sion, we  would  say  that  we  have  no 
partiality  to  tariffs  of  any  kind,  not  even 
to  those  which  are  laid  on  imports  for 
the  purpose  of  raising  revenue.  We 
suppose  that  they  are  necessary  at 
present,  especially  where  they  have  be- 
come the  habit  of  the  people  and  we 
are  not  insensible  to  the  facility  they 
afford  for  collecting  the  revenue.  But 
we  should  rejoice  if  by  some  great  im- 
provement in  finance  every  custom- 
house could  be  shut  from  Maine  to 
Louisiana.  The  interests  of  human 
nature  require  that  every  fetter  should 
be  broken  from  the  intercourse  of  na- 
tions, that  the  most  distant  countries 
should  exchange  all  their  products, 
whether  of  manual  or  intellectual  labor, 
as  freely  as  the  members  of  the  same 
community.  An  unrestricted  commerce 
we  regard  as  the  most  important  means 
of  diffusing  through  the  world  knowl- 
edge, arts,  comforts,  civilization,  relig- 
ion, and  liberty  ; and  to  this  great  cause 
we  would  have  our  country  devoted. 
We  will  add,  that  we  attach  no  impor- 
tance to  what  is  deemed  the  chief  bene- 
fit of  tariffs,  that  they  save  the  neces- 
sity of  direct  taxation,  and  draw  from 
a people  a large  revenue  without  their 
knowledge.  In  the  first  place,  we  say 
that  a free  people  ought  to  know  what 
they  pay  for  freedom,  and  to  pay  it  joy- 
fully, and  that  they  should  as  truly  scorn 
to  be  cheated  into  the  support  of  their 
government  as  into  the  support  of  their 
children.  In  the  next  place,  a large 
revenue  is  no  blessing.  An  overflow- 
ing treasury  will  always  be  corrupting 
to  the  governors  and  the  governed.  A 
revenue,  rigorously  proportioned  to  the 
wants  of  a people,  is  as  much  as  can 
be  trusted  safely  to  men  in  power.  The 
only  valid  argument  against  substituting 


THE  UNION, 


636 

direct  for  indirect  taxation  is  the  diffi- 
culty of  ascertaining  with  precision  the 
property  of  the  citizen.  Happy  would  it 
be  for  us  could  tariffs  be  done  away, 
for  with  them  would  be  abolished  fruit- 
ful causes  of  national  jealousies,  of  war, 
of  perjairy,  of  smuggling,  of  innumera- 
ble frauds  and  crimes,  and 'of  harassing 
restraint  on  that  commerce  which  should 
be  free  as  the  winds. 

We  consider  many  of  the  remarks 
made  in  reference  to  tariffs  as  applicable 
to  internal  improvements.  These  also 
involve  a constitutional  question  of  no 
small  difficulty  ; and  it  seems  impossible 
that  they  should  be  prosecuted  with  any 
degree  of  impartiality.  We  will  not  say 
that  an  extensive  system  of  internal  im- 
provements, comprehending  and  con- 
necting the  whole  country,  and  promising 
great,  manifest,  and  universal  good,  may 
not  be  framed.  But  let  Congress  pro- 
pose narrow,  local  improvements,  and 
we  need  no  prophet  to  foretell  the  end- 
less and  ever-multiplying  intrigues,  the 
selfish  combinations,  the  jealousies,  and 
discontents  which  will  follow  by  a neces- 
sity as  sure  as  the  laws  of  nature.  An 
irresistible  temptation  will  be  offered 
to  unprincipled  bargains  between  States 
and  legislators,  and  the  treasury,  send- 
ing out  partial  streams,  will  become  a 
fountain  of  bitterness  and  discord. 

Let  it  not  be  said  that  most  of  the 
proposed  improvements  are  designed  to 
promote  intercourse,  and  that  thus  they 
favor  what  we  conceive  to  be  the  great 
end  of  government,  by  binding  us  to- 
gether. We  answer,  that  the  General 
Government  already  promotes  inter- 
course incomparably  more  than  all  other 
causes  combined,  and  we  are  unwilling 
to  put  to  hazard  this  actual  beneficent 
influence  by  striving  to  extend  it.  Gov- 
ernment already  does,  more  for  this  ob- 
ject than  all  the  canals,  railroads,  and 
oth£r  internal  improvements  which  hu- 
man ingenuity  can  devise,  and  this  it 
does  by  that  negative  influence  which, 
as  we  have  often  said,  is  its  chief  func- 
tion. This  it  does  by  making  us  one 
people,  by  preserving  us  from  being 
broken  into  different  communities,  by 
preventing  those  obstructions  to  a free 
interchange  of  commodities  which,  in 
case  of  disunion,  would  at  once  rise  up 
between  us  ; by  preserving  us  from  na- 
tional rivalries,  from  the  war  of  tariffs, 
and  from  open  and  ruinous  hostility. 


We  grant  that  cases  may  occur  in  which 
national  advantage  may  be  lost,  or  use- 
ful objects  delayed,  for  want  of  positive 
interference  of  government  in  the  work 
of  internal  improvement.  But  the  wis- 
dom of  nations,  like  that  of  individuals, 
consists  very  much  in  a willingness  to 
forego  near  and  inferior  benefits  for 
permanent  security.  We  have,  how- 
ever, little  apprehension  of  much  injury 
resulting  from  the  forbearance  of  gov- 
ernment in  this  particular.  Let  Con- 
gress hold  us  together,  and  keep  us  in 
peace,  and  the  spirit  of  the  people  will 
not  slumber.  It  will  pour  itself  forth 
through  our  State  Governments,  through 
corporations,  and  through  individual  en- 
terprise ; and  who  that  observes  what 
it  has  already  done  can  set  limits  to  its 
efficiency  ? Since  the  adoption  of  the 
Federal  Constitution,  nothing  has  con- 
tributed so  much  to  extend  intercourse 
through  the  States  as  the  invention  of 
steamboats.  No  legislation,  and  no  pos- 
sible direction  of  the  revenue  to  public 
improvements,  could  have  effected  so 
much  as  the  steam-engine ; and  this 
was  contrived,  perfected,  and  applied  to 
navigation  by  the  genius  and  wealth  of 
individuals.  Next  to  this  agent,  the 
most  important  service  to  internal  com- 
munication has  been  rendered  by  the 
New  York  canal,  and  this  was  the  work 
of  a State.  With  such  examples,  we 
need  not  fear  that  our  progress  will  be 
arrested  by  the  confinement  of  the  Gen- 
eral Government  to  general  objects. 
We  are  not  sure  that,  were  every  objec- 
tion which  we  have  stated  removed,  we 
should  be  anxious  to  interest  our  national 
legislature  in  public  improvements.  As 
a people,  we  want  no  new  excitement. 
Our  danger  is  from  over-action,  from 
impatient  and  selfish  enterprise,  from 
feverish  energy,  from  too  rapid  growth, 
rather  than  from  stagnation  and  lethargy. 
A calm,  sober,  steady  government  is 
what  we  chiefly  need.  May  it  be  kept 
from  the  hands  of  theorists  and  specu- 
lators ! 

We  have  not  yet  exhausted  the  ques- 
tion how  government  may  best  strengthen 
and  perpetuate  our  Union.  There  is  one 
of  its  establishments  which,  in  this  point 
of  view,  we  highly  value,  and  which  we 
fear  is  not  sufficiently  prized  for  the 
highest  benefit  which  it  confers.  We 
refer  to  the  post-office.  The  facilities 
which  this  institution  affords  to  the 


THE  UNION. 


government  for  communication  with  all 
parts  of  the  country,  are  probably  re- 
garded by  many  as  the  most  important 
national  service  which  it  renders.  But 
it  does  incomparably  more  for  us  as 
a community.  It  does  much  towards 
making  us  one,  by  admitting  free  com- 
munication between  distant  parts  of  the 
country,  which  no  other  channel  of  in- 
tercourse could  bring  together.  It  binds 
the  whole  country  in  a chain  of  sympa- 
thies, and  makes  it  in  truth  one  great 
neighborhood.  It  promotes  a kind  of 
society  between  the  seashore  and  the 
mountains.  It  perpetuates  friendships 
between  those  who  are  never  to  meet 
again.  It  binds  the  family  in  the  new 
settlement  and  the  half-cleared  forest  to 
the  cultivated  spot  from  which  it  emi- 
grated. It  facilitates,  beyond  calcula- 
tion, commercial  connections,  and  the 
interchange  of  products.  On  this  ac- 
count, we  always  grieve  to  see  a state- 
ment of  the  revenue  accruing  to  govern- 
ment from  the  post-office.  It  ought  not 
to  yield  a cent  to  the  treasury.  It  should 
simply  support  itself.  Such  importance 
do  we  attach  to  the  freest  communication 
between  all  parts  of  the  country,  so  much 
do  we  desire  that  the  poor,  as  well  as 
rich,  may  enjoy  the  means  of  intercourse, 
that  we  would  sooner  have  the  post- 
office  a tax  on  the  revenue  than  one  of 
its  sources. 

We  pass  to  another  method  by  which 
the  government  is  to  strengthen  the 
Union.  We  know  not  a more  important 
one.  It  is,  to  give  dignity  and  inde- 
pendence to  the  national  judiciary.  Let 
Congress  feel,  let  the  people  feel,  that 
to  this  department  the  security  of  the 
Union  is  especially  committed,  that  it  is 
the  great  preservative  power  among  our 
institutions,  and  that  its  sanctity  cannot 
be  too  jealously  protected.  Its  office  is, 
to  settle  peacefully  the  questions  between 
the  different  States  and  their  citizens, 
which,  without  it,  would  be  settled  by 
arms.  What  beneficence  and  dignity 
belong  to  this  function  ! Nor  is  this  all. 
It  affords  to  citizens,  who  feel  them- 
selves aggrieved  by  what  they  deem  an 
unconstitutional  law,  the  means  of  peace- 
ful resistance.  It  gives  them  an  oppor- 
tunity of  being  heard  before  a tribunal 
on  which  the  most  solemn  obligations 
to  justice  are  laid,  and  which  is  emi- 
nently fitted  to  be  an  umpire  between 
the  citizen  and  the  legislature.  We 


6 37 

know  not  how  government  can  contrib- 
ute more  effectually  to  its  own  stability 
than  by  reverencing  and  guarding  the 
rights  of  the  national  judiciary.  A 
Congress  which  should  trench  on  its 
independence  ought  to  be  counted  guilty 
of  a species  of  sacrilege. 

From  considering  the  importance  of 
the  judiciary  to  our  Union,  we  are  nat- 
urally led  to  another  department  of  the 
government,  and  one  which  is  particu- 
larly worthy  of  attention,  because  at  the 
present  moment  it  seems  to  menace  our 
confederation  more  seriously  than  any 
other  cause.  We  refer  to  the  execu- 
tive department.  We  refer  to  the 
struggles  which  the  election  to  the  Pres- 
idency has  again  and  again  provoked. 
These  are  too  solemn  and  fearful  to  be 
overlooked.  A remedy  must  be  found, 
or  the  country  will  be  thrown  into  per- 
petual convulsions,  and  split  into  factions 
devoted  each  to  a chief.  We  shall  waste 
ourselves  in  struggles  for  a few  leaders, 
who,  by  their  prominence,  will  become 
dearer  to  a people  than  their  institutions, 
and  in  fighting  for  our  favorites  we  may 
become  their  slaves. 

This  evil  we  regard  as  a growing  one  ; 
and  we  know  but  one  remedy  for  it.  The 
people  must  acquire  a just  self-respect. 
This  they  want.  It  has  been  repressed 
by  false  notions  about  government, 
which  have  come  down  from  ages  of 
monarchy.  The  spirit  of  freedom,  of 
which  we  so  much  boast,  has  not  yet 
given  a due  elevation  of  sentiment  to 
the  community  ; and  therefore  the  com- 
munity basely  binds  itself  to  leaders  as 
if  they  were  its  superiors.  A people 
should  understand  its  own  greatness 
and  dignity  too  well  to  attach  much  im- 
portance to  any  individual.  It  should 
regard  no  individual  as  necessary  to  it, 
nor  should  it  suffer  any  one  to  urge  his 
claims  on  its  gratitude.  It  should  feel 
that  it  has  a right  to  the  services  of  its 
members,  and  that  there  is  no  member 
with  whose  services  it  cannot  dispense. 
It  should  have  no  idols,  no  favorites. 
It  should  annihilate  with  its  frown  those 
who  would  monopolize  its  power,  or 
bring  it  into  subserviency  to  their  own 
glory.  No  man’s  name  should  be  much 
on  its  lips.  It  should  bind  up  in  no  man 
its  prosperity  and  honor. 

A free  community,  indeed,  has  need 
of  a presiding  officer,  but  it  depends 
on  no  individual  as  alone  fitted  for  the 


THE  UNION. 


638 

office ; and,  still  more,  it  needs  a Presi- 
dent, not  to  be  its  master,  but  to  express 
and  execute  its  own  will.  This  last 
thought  is  fundamental,  and  never  to  be 
forgotten.  The  only  law  of  a free  peo- 
ple is  the  will  of  the  majority,  or  public 
sentiment ; and  to  collect,  embody,  utter, 
and  execute  this,  is  the  great  end  of  its 
civil  institutions.  Self-government  is 
its  great  attribute,  its  supreme  distinc- 
tion, and  this  gives  to  office  in  a free 
state  an  entirely  different  character  from 
what  it  possesses  in  despotic  countries. 
The  difference,  however,  is  overlooked 
among  us,  and  the  same  importance  is 
attached  to  office  as  if  it  conferred  abso- 
lute power. 

We  repeat  it,  the  supreme  law  in  a 
free  state  is  its  own  will,  and,  conse- 
quently, among  such  a people,  the  high- 
est power  does  not  necessarily  belong  to 
him  who  is  clothed  with  office,  but  to 
him  who  does  most,  in  whatever  sphere, 
to  guide  and  determine  the  public  mind. 
Office  is  a secondary  influence,  and,  in- 
deed, its  most  enviable  distinction  con- 
sists in  the  opportunities  which  it  affords 
for  swaying  the  opinions  and  purposes 
of  the  community.  The  nominal  legisla- 
tor is  not  always  the  real  one.  He  is 
often  the  organ  of  superior  minds,  and, 
if  the  people  be  truly  free,  his  chief 
function  is  to  give  form  and  efficiency 
to  the  general  will.  Even  in  monarch- 
ies, where  a free  press  is  enjoyed,  the 
power  passes  more  and  more  from  the 
public  functionary  to  the  master-spirits 
who  frame  the  nation’s  mind.  Thus  the 
pen  of  Burke  rivalled  the  sceptre  of  his 
sovereign.  The  progress  of  freedom 
and  of  society  is  marked  by  this  fact, 
that  official  gives  place  to  personal, 
intellectual,  and  moral  dignity.  It  is  a 
bad  omen  where  office  is  thought  the 
supreme  good,  and  where  a people  sees 
in  the  public  functionary,  not  an  organ 
of  its  own  will,  but  a superior  being,  on 
whom  its  peace  and  happiness  depend. 

We  mean  not  to  deny  the  necessity 
of  office.  We  know  that  the  President 
fills  an  important  place.  We  know  that 
the  community  has  an  interest  in  his 
integrity  and  wisdom,  and  that  it  is  dis- 
graced and  injured  by  placing  an  incom- 
petent or  unprincipled  man  in  the  most 
conspicuous  station.  To  the  President 
are  confided  important  functions,  but 
not  such  functions  as  can  be  discharged 
only  by  one  or  two  individuals  in  the 


country,  not  such  as  ought  to  make  him 
an  object  of  idolatry  or  dread,  not  such 
as  should  draw  to  him  any  extraordinary 
homage,  not  such  as  to  justify  intense 
desire  in  the  candidate,  or  intense  ex- 
citement in  the  people.  Under  institu- 
tions really  free,  no  office  can  exist 
which  deserves  the  struggles  of  ambi- 
tion. Did  our  Constitution  create  such 
an  office,  it  would  prove  its  authors  to 
have  been  blind  or  false  to  their  coun- 
try’s dignity  and  rights.  But  that  noble 
charter  is  open  to  no  such  reproach. 
The  Presidency,  the  highest  function  in 
the  state,  is  exceedingly  bounded  by  the 
Constitution,  and  still  more  by  the  spirit 
of  the  community.  A President  has 
been,  and  may  often  be,  one  of  the  least 
efficient  men  in  the  government.  We 
need  not  go  far  for  proof.  In  both 
houses  of  Congress  there  were  men 
whose  influence  over  the  country  was 
greater  than  that  of  the  last  President. 
He  indeed  contributed  to  keep  the  wheel 
of  government  in  motion.  But  we  ask, 
What  new  impulse  did  he  give  it  ? What 
single  important  measure  did  he  origi- 
nate ? Was  there  a man  in  office  more 
fettered  and  thwarted  ? We  talk  of  the 
administrations  of  Mr.  Monroe  and  Mr. 
Adams.  We  ask,  What  impression  of 
themselves  have  they  left  on  legislation 
and  on  public  affairs  ? They  gave  no 
spring  to  the  public  mind.  A popular 
senator  or  representative  did  more  to 
sway  the  community.  And  this  is  as 
it  should  be.  We  rejoice  that  official 
influence  is  so  restricted  that  the  people 
are  not  mere  echoes  of  a single  voice, 
that  no  man  can  master  his  fellow-citi- 
zens, that  there  is  a general,  all-pervad- 
ing intelligence,  which  modifies,  controls, 
and  often  neutralizes,  the  opinion  and- 
will  of  the  highest  public  functionary. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  Presidency  as 
it  has  actually  existed,  and  as  it  must  in 
a great  measure  exist  whilst  we  are  free  ; 
and  yet,  through  a delusion  which  has 
come  down  from  past  ages,  this  office, 
so  limited  in  power,  so  obstructed  by 
the  legislative  branches  and  by  public 
opinion,  which  is  conferred  on  the  indi- 
vidual at  the  longest  but  for  eight  years, 
and  from  which  he  retires  to  a seclusion 
where  scarcely  an  eye  follows,  or  a voice 
of  approbation  cheers  him,  this  office, 
to  our  disgrace,  is  coveted  by  an  insane 
ambition,  as  if  it  were  an  hereditary 
throne,  and  the  people  are  as  much  ex- 


THE  UNION. 


cited  and  disturbed,  when  called  to  fill 
it,  as  if  they  were  choosing  a master  for 
life  at  whose  feet  the  country  was  to  be 
laid  an  unprotected  victim.  To  our 
shame  be  it  said,  for  the  last  eight  years 
every  interest  of  the  nation  has  been 
postponed  to  the  comparatively  inferior 
concern  of  choosing  a President.  The 
national  legislature,  forgetting  its  ap- 
pointment to  watch  over  the  general 
weal,  has  wasted,  and  worse  than  wasted, 
its  annual  sessions  in  intrigues  for  the 
advancement  of  rival  candidates.  The 
most  important  measures  have  been  dis- 
cussed and  decided,  not  with  reference 
to  the  country,  but  chiefly  according  to 
their  bearings  on  what  has  been  called 
the  Presidential  election.  So  sadly  have 
we  wanted  the  self-respect  which  belongs 
to  freemen  ! In  these  disgraceful  trans- 
actions, in  this  shameful  excitement 
spread  through  the  community,  we  see 
that,  as  a people,  we  have  not  drunk  as 
deeply  as  we  imagine  into  the  lofty 
spirit  of  liberty.  In  proportion  as  a 
people  become  free,  in  propoition  as 
public  sentiment  reigns,  office  ceases  to 
be  a distinction,  political  ambition  ex- 
pires, the  prizes  of  political  ambition 
are  withdrawn,  the  self  respect  of  the 
people  preserves  it  from  bowing  to  favor- 
ites or  idols.  Whilst  it  is  the  character- 
istic of  despotism  that  the  ruler  is  every 
thing  and  the  people  comparatively  noth- 
ing, the  reverse  is  the  grand  distinction 
of  a free  state.  This  distinction  we 
have  yet  to  learn ; and  it  cannot  be 
learned  too  thoroughly.  Unless  we  are 
preserved  by  a just  self-respect  from 
dividing  into  factions  for  the  elevation 
of  leaders,  we  shall  hold  our  Union  and 
our  rights  by  a very  uncertain  tenure. 
Better  were  it  to  choose  a President 
by  lot  from  a hundred  names  to  which 
each  State  shall  contribute  its  fair  pro- 
portion, than  repeat  the  degrading  strug- 
gle through  which  we  have  recently 
passed. 

We  close  this  topic  by  entreating  our 
citizens  to  remember  the  great  argument 
in  favor  of  hereditary  monarchy.  It 
may  be  expressed  in  few  words.  “ The 
highest  office  in  a nation,”  says  the  mon- 
archist, “ ought  to  be  hereditary,  because 
it  is  an  object  too  dazzling  and  exciting 
to  be  held  up  for  competition.  Such  a 
prize,  offered  to  the  aspiring,  must  in- 
flame to  madness  the  lust  of  power,  and 
engender  perpetual  strife.  A people 


639 

having  such  a gift  to  bestow  will  be 
exposed  to  perpetual  arts  and  machina- 
tions. Its  passions  will  never  be  allowed 
to  sleep.  Factions,  headed  by  popular 
chiefs  and  exasperated  by  conflict,  will 
at  length  resort  to  force,  and,  in  the 
storms  which  will  follow,  the  Constitu- 
tion will  be  prostrated,  and  the  supreme 
power  be  the  prey  of  a successful  usurper. 
The  peace  and  stability  of  a nation  de- 
mand that  the  supreme  power  should 
be  placed  above  rivalry,  and  beyond  the 
hopes  of  ambition,  and  this  can  only  be 
done  by  making  it  hereditary.”  Such  is 
the  grand  argument  in  favor  of  monarchy. 
As  a people,  we  have  done  too  much  to 
confirm  it.  It  is  time  that  we  proved 
ourselves  more  loyal  to  freedom.  We 
shall  do  well  to  remember  that  a repub- 
lic, broken  into  parties  which  have  the 
chief  magistracy  for  their  aim,  and 
thrown  into  perpetual  agitation  by  the 
rivalry  of  popular  leaders,  is  lending  a 
mournful  testimony  to  the  reasonings  of 
monarchists,  and  accelerating  the  fulfil- 
ment of  their  sinister  forebodings. 

Much  remains  to  be  said  of  the  means 
of  perpetuating  the  Union,  and  of  the 
dangers  to  which  it  is  exposed.  But 
we  want  time  to  prosecute  the  subject. 
The  injuries  with  which  the  confedera- 
tion is  menaced  by  party-spirit  and  a 
sectional  spirit  are  too  obvious  to  need 
exposition.  The  importance  of  a na- 
tional literature  to  our  Union  and  honor 
deserves  particular  consideration.  But 
the  topic  is  too  great  for  our  present 
limits,  and  we  reserve  it  for  future  dis- 
cussion.* 

We  intended  to  close  this  article  with 
some  remarks  on  the  conduct  of  the  dif- 
ferent parties  in  this  country  in  relation 
to  the  Union,  for  the  purpose  of  show- 
ing that  all  have  occasionally  been  want- 
ing in  fidelity  to  it.  But  the  subject 
would  necessarily  expand  itself  beyond 
the  space  allowed  us.  Still,  we  cannot 
wholly  abandon  it.  One  branch  of  it  is 
particularly  recommended  to  us  by  the 
Correspondence  at  the  head  of  this  re- 
view. The  merits  or  the  demerits  of  the 
Federal  party  in  respect  to  our  Union 
seem  to  be  in  a measure  forced  on  our 
consideration ; and  we  are  the  more 
willing  to  give  a few  thoughts  to  the 
topic,  because  we  think  that  we  under- 
stand it,  and  because  we  trust  that  we 
can  treat  it  dispassionately,  Our  attach- 
* See  “Remarks  on  National  Literature,”  p.  124. 


640 


THE  UNION. 


ment  to  this  party  we  have  no  desire  to 
conceal ; but  our  ideas  of  the  allegiance 
due  to  a party  are  exceedingly  liberal. 
We  claim  the  privilege  of  censuring 
those  with  whom  we  generally  agree  ; 
and  we  indignantly  disclaim  the  obliga- 
tion of  justifying  in  the  mass  whatever 
they  may  please  to  do.  Of  the  Feder- 
alists, therefore,  we  shall  speak  freely. 
We  have  no  desire  to  hide  what  we 
deem  to  be  their  errors.  They  belong 
now  to  history,  and  the  only  question 
is,  how  their  history  may  be  made  most 
useful  to  their  country  and  to  the  cause 
of  freedom.  Before  we  proceed,  how- 
ever, we  beg  to  remark  that  in  this,  as 
in  every  part  of  the  present  review,  we 
write  from  our  own  convictions  alone, 
that  we  hold  no  communication  with 
political  leaders,  and  that  we  are  far 
from  being  certain  of  the  reception 
which  our  views  will  meet  from  our  best 
friends. 

A purer  party  than  that  of  the  Feder- 
alists, we  believe,  never  existed  under 
any  government.  Like  all  other  com- 
binations, it  indeed  contained  weak  and 
bad  men.  In  its  prosperity,  it  drew  to 
itself  seekers  for  office.  Still,  when  we 
consider  that  it  enjoyed  the  confidence 
of  Washington  to  his  last  hour ; that  its 
leaders  were  his  chosen  friends  ; that  it 
supported  and  strengthened  his  whole 
administration  ; that  it  participated  with 
him  in  the  proclamation  and  system  of 
neutrality,  through  which  that  great  man 
served  his  country  as  effectually  as  dur- 
ing the  revolutionary  war ; when  we 
consider  that  it  contributed  chiefly  to 
the  organization  of  the  Federal  Govern- 
ment in  the  civil,  judicial,  financial,  mili- 
tary, and  naval  departments  ; that  it 
carried  the  country  safely  and  honorably 
through  the  most  tempestuous  days  of 
the  French  Revolution ; that  it  with- 
stood the  frenzied  tendencies  of  multi- 
tudes to  alliance  with  that  power,  and 
that  it  averted  war  with  Great  Britain 
during  a period  when  such  a war  would 
have  bowed  us  into  ruinous  subserviency 
to  the  despot  of  France  ; when  we  con- 
sider these  things,  we  feel  that  the  debt 
of  this  country  to  the  Federal  party  is 
never  to  be  extinguished. 

Still,  we  think  that  this  party  in  some 
respects  failed  of  its  duty  to  the  cause 
of  the  Union  and  of  freedom.  But  it 
so  failed  not  through  treachery  ; for 
truer  spirits  the  world  could  not  boast. 


It  failed  through  despondence.  Here 
was  the  rock  on  which  Federalism  split. 
Too  many  of  its  leading  men  wanted  a 
just  confidence  in  our  free  institutions 
and  in  the  moral  ability  of  the  people 
to  uphold  them.  Appalled  by  the  ex- 
cesses of  the  French  Revolution,  by  the 
extinction  of  liberty  in  that  republic, 
and  by  the  fanaticism  with  which  the 
cause  of  France  was  still  espoused 
among  ourselves,  they  began  to  despair 
of  their  own  country.  The  sympathies 
of  the  majority  of  our  people  with  the 
despotism  of  France  were  indeed  a 
fearful  symptom.  There  seemed  a fas- 
cination in  that  terrible  power.  An  in- 
sane admiration  for  the  sworn  foe  of 
freedom,  joined  with  as  deadly  a hatred 
towards  England,  so  far  pervaded  the 
country,  that  to  the  Federalists  we 
seemed  enlisted  as  a people  on  the  side 
of  despotism,  and  fated  to  sink  under 
its  yoke.  That  they  had  cause  for  fear, 
we  think.  That  they  were  criminal  in 
the  despondence  to  which  they  yielded, 
we  also  believe.  They  forgot  that  great 
perils  call  on  us  for  renewed  efforts,  and 
for  increased  sacrifices  in  a good  cause. 
That  some  of  them  considered  the  doom 
of  the  country  as  sealed,  we  have  reason 
to  believe.  Some,  disappointed  and  irri- 
tated, were  accustomed  to  speak  in  bit- 
ter scorn  of  institutions  which,  bearing 
the  name  of  free,  had  proved  unable  to 
rescue  us  from  base  subserviency  to  an 
all-menacing  despot.  The  Federalists, 
as  a body,  wanted  a just  confidence  in 
our  national  institutions.  They  wanted 
that  faith  which  hopes  against  hope,  and 
which  freedom  should  inspire.  Here 
was  their  sin,  and  it  brought  its  penalty ; 
for  through  this,  more  than  any  cause, 
they  were  driven  from  power.  By  not 
confiding  in  the  community,  they  lost  its 
confidence.  By  the  depressed  tone  with 
which  they  spoke  of  liberty,  their  at- 
tachment to  it  became  suspected.  The 
taint  of  anti-republican  tendencies  was 
fastened  upon  them  by  their  opponents, 
and  this  reproach  no  party  could  sur- 
vive. 

We  know  not  in  what  manner  we 
can  better  communicate  our  views  of 
the  Federal  party,  of  its  merits  and  de- 
fects, than  by  referring  to  that  distin- 
guished man  who  was  so  long  prominent 
in  its  ranks,  — we  mean  the  late  George 
Cabot.  If  any  man  in  this  region  de- 
served to  be  called  its  leader,  it  was  he, 


THE  UNION. 


and  a stronger  proof  of  its  political 
purity  cannot  be  imagined  than  is  found 
in  the  ascendency  which  this  illustrious 
individual  maintained  over  it.  He  was 
the  last  man  to  be  charged  with  a crim- 
inal ambition.  His  mind  rose  far  above 
office.  The  world  had  no  station  which 
would  have  tempted  him  from  private  life. 
But  in  private  life  he  exerted  the  sway 
which  is  the  worthiest  prize  of  a lofty 
ambition.  He  was  consulted  with  some- 
thing of  the  respect  which  was  paid  to 
an  ancient  oracle,  and  no  mind  among 
us  contributed  so  much  to  the  control 
of  public  affairs.  It  is  interesting  to 
inquire  by  what  intellectual  attributes  he 
gained  this  influence  ; and,  as  his  char- 
acter now  belongs  to  history,  perhaps 
we  may  render  no  unacceptable  service 
in  delineating  its  leading  features. 

We  think  that  he  was  distinguished 
by  nothing  so  much  as  by  the  power  of 
ascending  to  general  principles,  and  by 
the  reverence  and  constancy  with  which 
he  adhered  to  them.  The  great  truths 
of  history  and  experience,  the  immutable 
laws  of  human  nature,  according  to  which 
all  measures  should  be  framed,  shone  on 
his  intellectual  eye  with  an  unclouded 
brightness.  No  impatience  of  present 
evils,  no  eagerness  for  immediate  good, 
ever  tempted  him  to  think  that  these 
might  be  forsaken  with  impunity.  To 
these  he  referred  all  questions  on  which 
he  was  called  to  judge,  and  accordingly 
his  conversation  had  a character  of  com- 
prehensive wisdom  which,  joined  with 
his  urbanity,  secured  to  him  a singular 
sway  over  the  minds  of  his  hearers. 
With  such  a mind,  he  of  course  held 
in  contempt  the  temporary  expedients 
and  motley  legislation  of  commonplace 
politicians.  He  looked  with  singular 
aversion  on  every  thing  factitious, 
forced,  and  complicated  in  policy.  We 
have  understood  that  by  the  native 
strength  and  simplicity  of  his  mind,  he 
anticipated  the  lights  which  philosophy 
and  experience  have  recently  thrown  on 
the  importance  of  leaving  enterprise, 
industry,  and  commerce  free.  He  car- 
ried into  politics  the  great  axiom  which 
the  ancient  sages  carried  into  morals, 
“ Follow  Nature.”  In  an  age  of  read- 
ing, he  leaned  less  than  most  men  on 
books.  A more  independent  mind  our 
country  perhaps  has  not  produced. 
When  we  think  of  his  whole  charac- 
ter, when  with  the  sagacity  of  his  in- 


641 

tellect  we  combine  the  integrity  of  his 
heart,  the  dignified  grace  of  his  manners, 
and  the  charm  of  his  conversation,  we 
hardly  know  the  individual,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Washington,  whom  we  should 
have  offered  more  willingly  to  a for- 
eigner as  a specimen  of  the  men  whom 
America  can  produce. 

Still,  we  think  that  his  fine  qualities 
were  shaded  by  what  to  us  is  a great 
defect,  though  to  some  it  may  appear  a 
proof  of  his  wisdom.  He  wanted  a just 
faith  in  man’s  capacity  of  freedom,  at 
least  in  that  degree  of  it  which  our  in- 
stitutions suppose.  He  inclined  to  dark 
views  of  the  condition  and  prospects  of 
his  country.  He  had  too  much  the  wis- 
dom of  experience.  He  wanted  what 
may  be  called  the  wisdom  of  hope.  In 
man’s  past  history  he  read  too  much 
what  is  to  come,  and  measured  our  pres- 
ent capacity  of  political  good  too  much 
by  the  unsuccessful  experiments  of 
former  times.  We  apprehend  that  it  is 
possible  to  make  experience  too  much 
our  guide  ; and  such  was  the  fault  of 
this  distinguished  man.  There  are  sea- 
sons, in  human  affairs,  of  inward  and 
outward  revolution,  when  new  depths 
seem  to  be  broken  up  in  the  soul,  when 
new  wants  are  unfolded  in  multitudes, 
and  a new  and  undefined  good  is  thirsted 
for.  These  are  periods  when  the  prin- 
ciples of  experience  need  to  be  modi- 
fied, when  hope  and  trust  and  instinct 
claim  a share  with  prudence  in  the  guid- 
ance of  affairs,  when,  in  truth,  to  dare 
is  the  highest  wisdom.  Now,  in  the 
distinguished  man  of  whom  we  speak, 
there  was  little  or  nothing  of  that  en- 
thusiasm which,  we  confess,  seems  to 
us  sometimes  the  surest  light.  He  lived 
in  the  past,  when  the  impulse  of  the  age 
was  towards  the  future.  He  was  slow 
to  promise  himself  any  great  melioration 
of  human  affairs  ; and,  whilst  singularly 
successful  in  discerning  the  actual  good 
which  results  from  the  great  laws  of 
nature  and  Providence,  he  gave  little 
hope  that  this  good  was  to  be  essen- 
tially enlarged.  To  such  a man,  the 
issue  of  the  P'rench  Revolution  was  a 
confirmation  of  the  saddest  lessons  of 
history,  and  these  lessons  he  applied  too 
faithfully  to  his  own  country.  His  in- 
fluence in  communicating  sceptical,  dis- 
heartening views  of  human  affairs,  seems 
to  us  to  have  been  so  important  as  to 
form  a part  of  our  history,  and  it  throws 
1 


WAR. 


642 

much  light  on  what  we  deem  the  great 
political  error  of  the  Federalists. 

That  the  Federalists  did  at  one  period 
look  with  an  unworthy  despondence  on 
our  institutions,  is  true.  Especially 
when  they  saw  the  country,  by  a decla- 
ration of  war  against  England,  virtually 
link  itself  with  that  despotism  which 
menaced  the  whole  civilized  world,  their 
hearts  sunk  within  them  ; and  we  doubt 
not  that,  in  some  cases,  their  mixed 
anger  and  gloom  broke  forth  in  reckless 
speeches,  which,  to  those  who  are  igno- 
rant of  the  workings  of  the  passions, 
might  seem  to  argue  a scorn  for  the  con- 
federation and  for  all  its  blessings.  So 
far  they  failed  of  their  duty  ; for  a good 
citizen  is  never  to  despair  of  the  repub- 
lic, never  to  think  freedom  a lost  cause. 

The  political  sin  of  the  Federal  party 
we  have  stated  plainly.  In  the  other 
great  party,  examples  of  unfaithfulness 
to  the  Union  might  also  be  produced. 
Whoever  reverts  to  the  language  of 
Virginia  on  the  subject  of  the  alien  and 
sedition  laws,  or  to  the  more  recent  pro- 
ceedings and  declarations  of  Georgia  in 
respect  to  the  Indian  territories  within 
her  jurisdiction,  or  to  the  debates  and 


resolutions  of  the  legislature  of  South 
Carolina  at  its  last  session,  will  learn 
that  a sense  of  the  sacredness  of  the 
Union,  and  of  the  greatness  of  its  bless- 
ings, is  but  faintly  apprehended,  even 
by  that  party  which  boasts  of  unfalter- 
ing adherence  to  it. 

In  closing  this  article,  we  are  aware  that 
we  have  said  much  in  which  many  of  our 
fellow-citizens  will  not  concur.  Men  of 
all  parties  will  probably  dissent  from 
some  of  our  positions.  But  has  not  the 
time  come  when  the  vassalage  of  party 
may  be  thrown  off  ? when  we  may  speak 
of  the  past  and  present  without  asking 
whether  our  opinion  will  be  echoed  by 
this  or  that  class  of  politicians  ? when 
we  may  cease  to  condemn  and  justify  in 
the  mass  ? when  a more  liberal  and 
elevated  style  of  discussion  may  be  in- 
troduced ? when  we  may  open  our  eyes 
on  the  faults  of  our  friends,  and  may 
look  at  subjects  which  involve  our  coun- 
try’s welfare  in  the  broad,  clear  light  of 
day  ? This  style  of  discussion  we  are 
anxious  to  promote  ; and  we  feel  that 
whoever  may  encourage  and  diffuse  it, 
will  deserve  a place  among  the  most 
faithful  friends  of  freedom. 


WAR. 

Discourse  before  the  Congregational  Ministers  of  Massachusetts} 

Bostoriy  1816. 


Isaiah  ii.  4:  “Nation  shall  not  lift  up  sword  against 

nation,  neither  shall  they  learn  war  any  more.” 

I have  chosen  a subject  which  may 
seem  at  first  view  not  altogether  appro- 
priate to  the  present  occasion,  — the 
subject  of  war.  It  may  be  thought  that 
an  address  to  an  assembly  composed 
chiefly  of  the  ministers  of  religion  should 
be  confined  to  the  duties,  dangers,  en- 
couragements of  the  sacred  office.  But 
I have  been  induced  to  select  this  topic 
because,  after  the  slumber  of  ages, 
Christians  seem  to  be  awakening  to  a 
sense  of  the  pacific  character  of  their 
religion,  and  because  I understood  that 
this  Convention  were  at  this  anniversary 
to  consider  the  interesting  question, 


whether  no  method  could  be  devised  for 
enlightening  the  public  mind  on  the  nat- 
ure and  guilt  of  war.  I was  unwilling 
that  this  subject  should  be  approached 
and  dismissed  as  an  ordinary  affair.  I 
feared  that,  in  the  pressure  of  business, 
we  might  be  satisfied  with  the  expres- 
sion of  customary  disapprobation ; and 
that,  having  in  this  way  relieved  our 
consciences,  we  should  relapse  into  our 
former  indifference,  and  continue  to 
hear  the  howlings  of  this  dreadful  storm 
of  human  passions  with  as  much  uncon- 
cern as  before.  I resolved  to  urge  on 
you  the  duty,  and  I hoped  to  excite  in 
you  the  purpose,  of  making  some  new 
and  persevering  efforts  for  the  abolition 


WAR. 


of  this  worst  vestige  of  barbarism,  this 
grossest  outrage  on  the  principles  of 
Christianity.  The  day,  I trust,  is  com- 
ing when  Christians  will  look  back  with 
gratitude  and  affection  on  those  men 
who,  in  ages  of  conflict  and  bloodshed, 
cherished  generous  hopes  of  human 
improvement,  withstood  the  violence  of 
corrupt  opinion,  held  forth,  amidst  the 
general  darkness,  the  pure  and  mild 
light  of  Christianity,  and  thus  ushered 
in  a new  and  peaceful  era  in  the  history 
of  mankind.  May  you,  my  brethren,  be 
included  in  the  grateful  recollection  of 
that  day  ! 

The  miseries  and  crimes  of  war,  its 
sources , its  remedies,  will  be  the  subjects 
of  our  present  attention. 

In  detailing  its  miseries  and  crimes, 
there  is  no  temptation  to  recur  to  unreal 
or  exaggerated  horrors.  No  depth  of 
coloring  can  approach  reality.  It  is 
lamentable  that  we  need  a delineation 
of  the  calamities  of  war  to  rouse  us  to 
exertion.  The  mere  idea  of  human 
beings  employing  every  power  and  fac- 
ulty in  the  work  of  mutual  destruction 
ought  to  send  a shuddering  through  the 
frame.  But  on  this  subject  our  sensi- 
bilities are  dreadfully  sluggish  and  dead. 
Our  ordinary  sympathies  seem  to  for- 
sake us  when  war  is  named.  The  suf- 
ferings and  death  of  a single  fellow-being 
often  excite  a tender  and  active  com- 
passion ; but  we  hear  without  emotion 
of  thousands  enduring  every  variety  of 
woe  in  war.  A single  murder  in  peace 
thrills  through  our  frames.  The  count- 
less murders  of  war  are  heard  as  an 
amusing  tale.  The  execution  of  a crim- 
inal depresses  the  mind,  and  philan- 
thropy is  laboring  to  substitute  milder 
punishments  for  death.  But  benevo- 
lence has  hardly  made  an  effort  to 
snatch  from  sudden  and  untimely  death 
the  innumerable  victims  immolated  on 
the  altar  of  war.  This  insensibility  de- 
mands that  the  miseries  and  crimes  of 
war  should  be  placed  before  us  with 
minuteness,  with  energy,  with  strong 
and  indignant  feeling. 

The  miseries  of  war  may  be  easily 
conceived  from  its  very  nature.  By  war, 
we  understand  the  resort  of  nations  to 
force,  violence,  and  the  most  dreaded 
methods  of  destruction  and  devastation. 
In  war,  the  strength,  skill,  courage,  en- 
ergy, and  resources  of  a whole  people 
are  concentrated  for  the  infliction  of  pain 


643 

and  death.  The  bowels  of  the  earth  are 
explored,  the  most  active  elements  com- 
bined, the  resources  of  art  and  nature 
exhausted,  to  increase  the  power  of  man 
in  destroying  his  fellow-creatures. 

Would  you  learn  what  destruction 
man,  when  thus  aided,  can  spread 
around  him  ? Look,  then,  at  that  ex- 
tensive region,  desolate  and  overspread 
with  ruins  ; its  forests  rent,  as  if  blasted 
by  lightning  ; its  villages  prostrated,  as 
by  an  earthquake  ; its  fields  barren,  as 
if  swept  by  storms.  Not  long  ago,  the 
sun  shone  on  no  happier  spot.  But 
ravaging  armies  prowled  over  it ; war 
frowned  on  it ; and  its  fruitfulness  and 
happiness  are  fled.  Here  thousands  and 
ten  thousands  were  gathered  from  dis- 
tant provinces,  not  to  embrace  as  breth- 
ren, but  to  renounce  the  tie  of  brother- 
hood ; and  thousands  in  the  vigor  of  life, 
when  least  prepared  for  death,  were 
hewn  down  and  scattered  like  chaff  be- 
fore the  whirlwind. 

Repair,  my  friends,  in  thought,  to  a 
field  of  recent  battle.  Here  are  heaps  , 
of  slain,  weltering  in  their  own  blood, 
their  bodies  mangled,  their  limbs  shat- 
tered, and  almost  every  vestige  of  the 
human  form  and  countenance  destroyed. 
Here  are  multitudes  trodden  under  foot, 
and  the  war-horse  has  left  the  trace  of 
his  hoof  in  many  a crushed  and  muti- 
lated frame.  Here  are  severer  suffer- 
ers ; they  live,  but  live  without  hope 
or  consolation.  Justice  despatches  the 
criminal  with  a single  stroke  ; but  the 
victims  of  war,  falling  by  casual,  undi- 
rected blows,  often  expire  in  lingering 
agony,  their  deep  groans  moving  no 
compassion,  their  limbs  writhing  on  the 
earth  with  pain,  their  lips  parched  with 
a burning  thirst,  their  wounds  open  to 
the  chilling  air,  the  memory  of  home 
rushing  on  their  minds,  but  not  a voice 
of  friendship  or  comfort  reaching  their 
ears.  Amidst  this  scene  of  horrors,  you 
see  the  bird  and  beast  of  prey  gorging 
themselves  with  the  dead  or  dying,  and 
human  plunderers  rifling  the  warm  and 
almost  palpitating  remains  of  the  slain. 

If  you  extend  your  eye  beyond  the  im- 
mediate field  of  battle,  and  follow  the 
track  of  the  victorious  and  pursuing 
army,  you  see  the  roads  strewed  with 
the  dead  ; you  see  scattered  flocks,  and 
harvests  trampled  under  foot,  the  smok- 
ing ruins  of  cottages,  and  the  miserable 
inhabitants  flying  in  want  and  despair ; 


WAR. 


644 

and  even  yet,  the  horrors  of  a single 
battle  are  not  exhausted.  Some  of  the 
deepest  pangs  which  it  inflicts  are  si- 
lent, retired,  enduring,  to  be  read  in  the 
widow’s  countenance,  in  the  unprotected 
orphan,  in  the  aged  parent,  in  affection 
cherishing  the  memory  of  the  slain,  and 
weeping  that  it  could  not  minister  to 
their  last  pangs. 

I have  asked  you  to  traverse,  in 
thought,  a field  of  battle.  There  is 
another  scene  often  presented  in  war, 
perhaps  more  terrible.  I refer  to  a 
besieged  city.  The  most  horrible  pages 
in  history  are  those  which  record  the 
reduction  of  strongly  fortified  places. 
In  a besieged  city  are  collected  all 
descriptions  and  ages  of  mankind, 
women,  children,  the  old,  the  infirm. 
Day  and  night  the  weapons  of  death 
and  conflagration  fly  around  them. 
They  see  the  approaches  of  the  foe, 
the  trembling  bulwark,  and  the  fainting 
strength  of  their  defenders.  They  are 
worn  with  famine,  and  on  famine  presses 
pestilence.  At  length  the  assault  is 
made,  every  barrier  is  broken  down,  and 
a lawless  soldiery,  exasperated  by  resist- 
ance, and  burning  with  lust  and  cruelty, 
are  scattered  through  the  streets.  The 
domestic  retreat  is  violated  ; and  even 
the  house  of  God  is  no  longer  a sanc- 
tuary. Venerable  age  is  no  protection, 
female  purity  no  defence.  Is  woman 
spared  amidst  the  slaughter  of  father, 
brother,  husband,  and  son?  She  is 
spared  for  a fate  which  makes  death  in 
comparison  a merciful  doom.  With  such 
heart-rending  scenes  history  abounds  ; 
and  what  better  fruits  can  you  expect 
from  war  ? 

These  views  are  the  most  obvious  and 
striking  which  war  presents.  There  are 
more  secret  influences,  appealing  less 
powerfully  to  the  senses  and  imagina- 
tion, but  deeply  affecting  to  a reflecting 
and  benevolent  mind.  Consider,  first, 
the  condition  of  those  who  are  immedi- 
ately engaged  in  war.  The  sufferings 
of  soldiers  from  battle  we  have  seen  ; 
but  their  sufferings  are  not  limited  to 
the  period  of  conflict.  The  whole  of 
war  is  a succession  of  exposures  too 
severe  for  human  nature.  Death  em- 
ploys other  weapons  than  the  sword. 
It  is  computed  that  in  ordinary  wars 
greater  numbers  perish  by  sickness  than 
in  battle.  Exhausted  by  long  and  rapid 
marches,  by  unwholesome  food,  by  ex- 


posure to  storms,  by  excessive  labor 
under  a burning  sky  through  the  day, 
and  by  interrupted  and  restless  sleep  on 
the  damp  ground  and  in  the  chilling 
atmosphere  of  night,  thousands  after 
thousands  of  the  young  pine  away  and 
die.  They  anticipated  that  they  should 
fall,  if  to  fall  should  be  their  lot,  in 
what  they  called  the  field  of  honor ; 
but  they  perish  in  the  inglorious  and 
crowded  hospital,  surrounded  with  sights 
and  sounds  of  woe,  far  from  home  and 
every  friend,  and  denied  those  tender 
offices  which  sickness  and  expiring  nat- 
ure require. 

Consider,  next,  the  influence  of  war 
on  the  character  of  those  who  make  it 
their  trade.  They  let  themselves  for 
slaughter,  place  themselves  servile  in- 
struments, passive  machines,  in  the 
hands  of  rulers,  to  execute  the  bloodiest 
mandates,  without  a thought  on  the  jus- 
tice of  the  cause  in  which  they  are  en- 
gaged. What  a school  is  this  for  the 
human  character  ! From  men  trained 
in  battle  to  ferocity,  accustomed  to  the 
perpetration  of  cruel  deeds,  accustomed 
to  take  human  life  without  sorrow  or 
remorse,  habituated  to  esteem  an  un- 
thinking courage  a substitute  for  every 
virtue,  encouraged  by  plunder  to  prodi- 
gality, taught  improvidence  by  perpetual 
hazard  and  exposure,  restrained  only  by 
an  iron  discipline  which  is  withdrawn  in 
peace,  and  unfitted  by  the  restless  and 
irregular  career  of  war  for  the  calm  and 
uniform  pursuits  of  ordinary  life  ; from 
such  men,  what  ought  to  be  expected 
but  contempt  of  human  rights  and  of 
the  laws  of  God?  From  the  nature  of 
his  calling,  the  soldier  is  almost  driven 
to  sport  with  the  thought  of  death,  to 
defy  and  deride  it,  and,  of  course,  to 
banish  the  thought  of  that  retribution 
to  which  it  leads  ; and  though  of  all  men 
the  most  exposed  to  sudden  death,  he 
is  too  often  of  all  men  most  unprepared 
to  appear  before  his  Judge. 

The  influence  of  war  on  the  commu- 
nity at  large,  on  its  prosperity,  its  mor- 
als, and  its  political  institutions,  though 
less  striking  than  on  the  soldiery,  is  yet 
baleful.  How  often  is  a community  im- 
poverished to  sustain  a war  in  which  it 
has  no  interest?  Public  burdens  are 
aggravated,  whilst  the  means  of  sustain- 
ing them  are  reduced.  Internal  im- 
provements are  neglected.  The  revenue 
of  the  state  is  exhausted  in  military 


WAR. 


establishments,  or  flows  through  secret 
channels  into  the  coffers  of  corrupt 
men,  whom  war  exalts  to  power  and 
office.  The  regular  employments  of 
peace  are  disturbed.  Industry  in  many 
of  its  branches  is  suspended.  The 
laborer,  ground  with  want,  and  driven 
to  despair  by  the  clamor  of  his  suffering 
family,  becomes  a soldier  in  a cause 
which  he  condemns,  and  thus  the  coun- 
try is  drained  of  its  most  effective  popu- 
lation. The  people  are  stripped  and 
reduced,  whilst  the  authors  of  war 
retrench  not  a comfort,  and  often  fatten 
on  the  spoils  and  woes  of  their  country. 

The  influence  of  war  on  the  morals  of 
society  is  also  to  be  deprecated.  The 
suspension  of  industry  multiplies  want ; 
and  criminal  modes  of  subsistence  are 
the  resource  of  the  suffering.  Com- 
merce, shackled  and  endangered,  loses 
its  upright  and  honorable  character,  and 
becomes  a system  of  stratagem  and 
collusion.  In  war,  the  moral  sentiments 
of  a community  are  perverted  by  the 
admiration  of  military  exploits.  The 
milder  virtues  of  Christianity  are  eclipsed 
by  the  baleful  lustre  thrown  round  a 
ferocious  courage.  The  disinterested, 
the  benignant,  the  merciful,  the  forgiv- 
ing, those  whom  Jesus  has  pronounced 
blessed  and  honorable,  must  give  place 
to  the  hero,  whose  character  is  stained 
not  only  with  blood,  but  sometimes  with 
the  foulest  vices,  but  all  whose  stains 
are  washed  away  by  victory.  War 
especially  injures  the  moral  feelings  of 
a people  by  making  human  nature  cheap 
in  their  estimation,  and  human  life  of  as 
little  worth  as  that  of  an  insect  or  a 
brute. 

War  diffuses  through  a community 
unfriendly  and  malignant  passions.  Na- 
tions, exasperated  by  mutual  injuries, 
burn  for  each  others5  humiliation  and 
ruin.  They  delight  to  hear  that  famine, 
pestilence,  want,  defeat,  and  the  most 
dreadful  scourges  which  Providence 
sends  on  a guilty  world,  are  desolating 
a hostile  community.  The  slaughter 
of  thousands  of  fellow-beings,  instead 
of  awakening  pity,  flushes  'them  with 
delirious  joy,  illuminates  the  city,  and 
dissolves  the  whole  country  in  revelry 
and  riot.  Thus  the  heart  of  man  is 
hardened.  His  worst  passions  are  nour- 
ished. He  renounces  the  bonds  and 
sympathies  of  humanity.  Were  the 
prayers,  or  rather  the  curses,  of  warring 


64s 

nations  prevalent  in  heaven,  the  whole 
earth  would  long  since  have  become  a 
desert.  The  human  race,  with  all  their 
labors  and  improvements,  would  have 
perished  under  the  sentence  of  universal 
extermination. 

But  war  not  only  assails  the  prosper- 
ity and  morals  of  a community ; its  in- 
fluence on  the  political  condition  is 
threatening.  It  arms  government  with 
a dangerous  patronage,  multiplies  de- 
pendents and  instruments  of  oppression, 
and  generates  a power  which,  in  the 
hands  of  the  energetic  and  aspiring, 
endangers  a free  constitution.  War 
organizes  a body  of  men  who  lose  the 
feelings  of  the  citizen  in  the  soldier  ; 
whose  habits  detach  them  from  the 
community ; whose  ruling  passion  is 
devotion  to  a chief ; who  are  inured 
in  the  camp  to  despotic  sway ; who  are 
accustomed  to  accomplish  their  ends  by 
force,  and  to  sport  with  the  rights  and 
happiness  of  their  fellow-beings  ; who 
delight  in  tumult,  adventure,  and  peril ; 
and  turn  with  disgust  and  scorn  from 
the  quiet  labors  of  peace.  Is  it  wonder- 
ful that  such  protectors  of  a state  should 
look  with  contempt  on  the  weakness  of 
the  protected,  and  should  lend  them- 
selves base  instruments  to  the  subver- 
sion of  that  freedom  which  they  do  not 
themselves  enjoy?  In  a community, 
in  which  precedence  is  given  to  the 
military  profession,  freedom  cannot  long 
endure.  The  encroachments  of  power 
at  home  are  expiated  by  foreign  tri- 
umphs. The  essential  interests  and 
rights  of  the  state  are  sacrificed  to  a 
false  and  fatal  glory.  Its  intelligence 
and  vigor,  instead  of  presenting  a bul- 
wark to  domestic  usurpation,  are  ex- 
pended in  military  achievements.  Its 
most  active  and  aspiring  citizens  rush 
to  the  army,  and  become  subservient 
to  the  power  which  dispenses  honor. 
The  nation  is  victorious,  but  the  recom- 
pense of  its  toils  is  a yoke  as  galling  as 
that  which  it  imposes  on  other  com- 
munities. 

Thus  war  is  to  be  ranked  among  the 
most  dreadful  calamities  which  fall  on 
a guilty  world  ; and,  what  deserves  con- 
sideration, it  tends  to  multiply  and  per- 
petuate itself  without  end.  It  feeds  and 
grows  on  the  blood  which  it  sheds.  The 
passions  from  which  it  springs  gain 
strength  and  fury  from  indulgence. 
The  successful  nation,  flushed  by  vie- 


WAR. 


64  6 

tory,  pants  for  new  laurels  ; whilst  the 
humbled  nation,  irritated  by  defeat,  is 
impatient  to  redeem  its  honor  and  re- 
pair its  losses.  Peace  becomes  a truce, 
a feverish  repose,  a respite  to  sharpen 
anew  the  sword,  and  to  prepare  for 
future  struggles.  Under  professions  of 
friendship  lurk  hatred  and  distrust ; and 
a spark  suffices  to  renew  the  mighty 
conflagration.  When,  from  these  causes, 
large  military  establishments  are  formed, 
and  a military  spirit  kindled,  war  be- 
comes a necessary  part  of  policy.  A 
foreign  field  must  be  found  for  the  en- 
ergies and  passions  of  a martial  people. 
To  disband  a numerous  and  veteran 
soldiery  would  be  to  let  loose  a dan- 
gerous horde  on  society.  The  blood- 
hounds must  be  sent  forth  on  other 
communities,  lest  they  rend  the  bosom 
of  their  own  country.  Thus  war  ex- 
tends and.  multiplies  itself.  No  sooner 
is  one  storm  scattered,  than  the  sky  is 
darkened  with  the  gathering  horrors  of 
another.  Accordingly,  war  has  been 
the  mournful  legacy  of  every  generation 
to  that  which  succeeds  it.  Every  age 
has  had  its  conflicts.  Every  country 
has  in  turn  been  the  seat  of  devastation 
and  slaughter.  The  dearest  interests 
and  rights  of  every  nation  have  been 
again  and  again  committed  to  the  haz- 
ards of  a game,  of  all  others  the  most 
uncertain,  and  in  which,  from  its  very 
nature,  success  too  often  attends  on  the 
fiercest  courage  and  the  basest  fraud. 

Such,  my  friends,  is  an  unexaggerated, 
and,  I will  add,  a faint  delineation  of 
the  miseries  of  war ; and  to  all  these 
miseries  and  crimes  the  human  race 
have  been  continually  exposed,  for  no 
worthier  cause  than  to  enlarge  an  em- 
pire already  tottering  under  its  unwieldy 
weight,  to  extend  an  iron  despotism,  to 
support  some  idle  pretension,  to  repel 
some  unreal  or  exaggerated  injury.  For 
no  worthier  cause,  human  blood  has 
been  poured  out  as  water,  and  millions 
of  rational  and  immortal  beings  have 
been  driven  like  sheep  to  the  field  of 
slaughter. 

Having  considered  the  crimes  and 
miseries  of  war,  I proceed,  as  I pro- 
posed, to  inquire  into  its  sources,  — an 
important  branch  of  our  subject,  for  it 
is  only  by  a knowledge  of  the  sources 
that  we  can  be  guided  to  the  remedies 
of  war.  And  here,  I doubt  not,  many 
will  imagine  that  the  first  place  ought 


to  be  given  to  malignity  and  hatred. 
But  justice  to  human  nature  requires 
that  we  ascribe  to  national  animosities 
a more  limited  operation  than  is  usually 
assigned  to  them  in  the  production  of 
this  calamity.  It  is,  indeed,  true  that 
ambitious  men,  who  have  an  interest  in 
war,  too  often  accomplish  their  views 
by  appealing  to  the  malignant  feelings 
of  a community,  by  exaggerating  its 
wrongs,  ridiculing  its  forbearance,  and 
reviving  ancient  jealousies  and  resent- 
ments. But  it  is  believed  that,  were 
not  malignity  and  revenge  aided  by  the 
concurrence  of  higher  principles,  the 
false  splendor  of  this  barbarous  custom 
might  easily  be  obscured,  and  its  ravages 
stayed. 

One  of  the  great  springs  of  war  may 
be  found  in  a very  strong  and  general 
propensity  of  human  nature,  in  the  love 
of  excitement,  of  emotion,  of  strong  in- 
terest, — a propensity  which  gives  a 
charm  to  those  bold  and  hazardous  en- 
terprises which  call  forth  all  the  energies 
of  our  nature.  No  state  of  mind,  not 
even  positive  suffering,  is  more  painful 
than  the  want  of  interesting  objects. 
The  vacant  soul  preys  on  itself,  and 
often  rushes  with  impatience  from  the 
security  which  demands  no  effort  to 
the  brink  of  peril.  This  part  of  human 
nature  is  seen  in  the  kind  of  pleasures 
which  have  always  been  preferred.  Why 
has  the  first  rank  among  sports  been 
given  to  the  chase  ? Because  its  diffi- 
culties, hardships,  hazards,  tumults, 
awaken  the  mind,  and  give  to  it  a new 
consciousness  of  existence,  and  a deep 
feeling  of  its  powers.  What  is  the 
charm  which  attaches  the  statesman 
to  an  office  which  almost  weighs  him 
down  with  labor  and  an  appalling  re- 
sponsibility ? He  finds  much  of  his 
compensation  in  the  powerful  emotion 
and  interest  awakened  by  the  very  hard- 
ships of  his  lot,  by  conflict  with  vigor- 
ous minds,  by  the  opposition  of  rivals, 
and  by  the  alternations  of  success  and 
defeat.  What  hurries  to  the  gaming 
table  the  man  of  prosperous  fortune  and 
ample  resource  ? The  dread  of  apathy, 
the  love  of  strong  feeling  and  of  mental 
agitation.  A deeper  interest  is  felt  in 
hazarding  than  in  securing  wealth,  and 
the  temptation  is  irresistible.  One  more 
example  of  this  propensity  may  be  seen 
in  the  attachment  of  pirates  and  high- 
waymen to  their  dreadful  employment. 


WAR. 


Its  excess  of  peril  has  given  it  a terrible 
interest ; and  to  a man  who  has  long 
conversed  with  its  dangers,  the  ordinary 
pursuits  of  life  are  vapid,  tasteless,  and 
disgusting.  We  have  here  one  spring 
of  war.  War  is  of  all  games  the  deep- 
est, awakening  most  powerfully  the  soul, 
and,  of  course,  presenting  powerful  at- 
traction to  those  restless  and  adventur- 
ous minds  which  pant  for  scenes  of 
greater  experiment  and  exposure  than 
peace  affords.  The  savage,  finding  in 
his  uncultivated  modes  of  life  few  ob- 
jects of  interest,  few  sources  of  emotion, 
burns  for  war  as  a field  for  his  restless 
energy.  Civilized  men,  too,  find  a pleas- 
ure in  war,  as  an  excitement  of  the  mind. 
They  follow,  with  an  eager  concern,  the 
movements  of  armies,  and  wait  the  issue 
of  battles  with  a deep  suspense,  an  al- 
ternation of  hope  and  fear,  inconceivably 
more  interesting  than  the  unvaried  uni- 
formity of  peaceful  pursuits. 

Another  powerful  principle  of  our 
nature,  which  is  the  spring  of  war,  is 
the  passion  for  superiority,  for  triumph, 
for  power.  The  human  mind  is  aspir- 
ing, impatient  of  inferiority,  and  eager 
for  pre-eminence  and  control.  I need 
not  enlarge  on  the  predominance  of  this 
passion  in  rulers  whose  love  of  power  is 
influenced  by  the  possession,  and  who 
are  ever  restless  to  extend  their  sway. 
It  is  more  important  to  observe  that, 
were  this  desire  restrained  to  the  breasts 
of  rulers,  war  would  move  with  a slug- 
gish pace.  But  the  passion  for  power 
and  superiority  is  universal ; and  as 
every  individual,  from  his  intimate  un- 
ion with  the  community,  is  accustomed 
to  appropriate  its  triumphs  to  himself, 
there  is  a general  promptness  to  engage 
in  any  contest  by  which  the  community 
may  obtain  an  ascendency  over  other 
nations.  The  desire  that  our  country 
should  surpass  all  others  would  not  be 
criminal  did  we  understand  in  what  re- 
spects it  is  most  honorable  for  a nation 
to  excel ; did  we  feel  that  the  glory  of 
a state  consists  in  intellectual  and  moral 
superiority,  in  pre-eminence  of  knowl- 
edge, freedom,  and  purity.  But  to  the 
mass  of  a people  this  form  of  pre-emi- 
nence is  too  refined  and  unsubstantial 
There  is  another  kind  of  triumph,  which 
they  better  understand,  the  triumph  of 
physical  power,  triumph  in  battle,  tri- 
umph, not  over  the  minds,  but  the  terri- 
tory of  another  state.  Here  is  a palpable, 


647 

visible  superiority  ; and  for  this  a people 
are  willing  to  submit  to  severe  priva- 
tions. A victory  blots  out  the  memory 
of  their  sufferings,  and  in  boasting  of 
their  extended  power,  they  find  a com- 
pensation for  many  woes. 

I now  proceed  to  another  powerful 
spring  of  war  ; and  it  is  the  admiration 
of  the  brilliant  qualities  displayed  in 
war.  These  qualities,  more  than  all 
things,  have  prevented  an  impression 
of  the  crimes  and  miseries  of  this  sav- 
age custom.  Many  delight  in  war,  not 
for  its  carnage  and  woes,  but  for  its 
valor  and  apparent  magnaminity,  for  the 
self-command  of  the  hero,  the  fortitude 
which  despises  suffering,  the  resolution 
which  courts  danger,  the  superiority  of 
the  mind  to  the  body,  to  sensation,  to 
fear.  Let  us  be  just  to  human  nature 
even  in  its  errors  and  excesses.  Men 
seldom  delight  in  war,  considered  merely 
as  a source  of  misery.  When  they  hear 
of  battles,  the  picture  which  -rises  to 
their  view  is  not  what  it  should  be,  a 
picture  of  extreme  wretchedness,  of  the 
wounded,  the  mangled,  the  slain.  These 
horrors  are  hidden  under  the  splendor 
of  those  mighty  energies  which  break 
forth  amidst  the  perils  of  conflict,  and 
which  human  nature  contemplates  with 
an  intense  and  heart-thrilling  delight. 
Attention  hurries  from  the  heaps  of  the 
slaughtered  to  the  victorious  chief* 
whose  single  mind  pervades  and  ani- 
mates a host,  and  directs  with  stern 
composure  the  storm  of  battle  ; and  the 
ruin  which  he  spreads  is  forgotten  in 
admiration  of  his  power.  This  admira- 
tion has,  in  all  ages,  been  expressed  by 
the  most  unequivocal  signs.  Why  that 
garland  woven  ? that  arch  erected  ? that 
festive  board  spread  ? These  are  trib- 
utes to  the  warrior.  Whilst  the  peaceful 
sovereign,  who  scatters  blessings  with 
the  silence  and  constancy  of  Providence, 
is  received  with  a faint  applause,  men 
assemble  in  crowds  to  hail  the  con- 
queror, perhaps  a monster  in  human 
form,  whose  private  life  is  blackened 
with  lust  and  crime,  and  whose  great- 
ness is  built  on  perfidy  and  usurpation. 
Thus  war  is  the  surest  and  speediest 
road  to  renown ; and  war  will  never 
cease  while  the  field  of  battle  is  the  field 
of  glory,  and  the  most  luxuriant  laurels 
grow  from  a root  nourished  with  blood. 

Another  cause  of  war  is  a false  patri- 
otism. It  is  a natural  and  generous 


WAR, 


648 

impulse  of  nature  to  love  the  country 
which  gave  us  birth,  by  whose  institu- 
tions we  have  been  moulded,  by  whose 
laws  defended,  and  with  whose  soil 
and  scenery  innumerable  associations  of 
early  years,  of  domestic  affection,  and 
of  friendship,  have  been  formed.  But 
this  sentiment  often  degenerates  into 
a narrow,  partial,  exclusive  attachment, 
alienating  us  from  other  branches  of  the 
human  family,  and  instigating  to  aggres- 
sion on  other  states.  In  ancient  times 
this  principle  was  developed  with  won- 
derful energy,  and  sometimes  absorbed 
every  other  sentiment.  To  the  Roman, 
Rome  was  the  universe.  Other  nations 
were  of  no  value  but  to  grace  her  tri- 
umphs and  illustrate  her  power  ; and  he 
who  in  private  life  would  have  disdained 
injustice  and  oppression,  exulted  in  the 
successful  violence  by  which  other  na- 
tions were  bound  to  the  chariot-wheels 
of  this  mistress  of  the  world.  This 
spirit  still  exists.  The  tie  of  country  is 
thought  to  absolve  men  from  the  obli- 
gations of  universal  justice  and  human- 
ity. Statesmen  and  rulers  are  expected 
to  build  up  their  own  country  at  the  ex- 
pense of  others  ; and,  in  the  false  pa- 
triotism of  the  citizen,  they  have  a 
security  for  any  outrages  which  are 
sanctioned  by  success. 

Let  me  mention  one  other  spring  of 
war,  — I mean  the  impressions  we  re- 
ceive in  early  life.  In  our  early  years 
we  know  war  only  as  it  offers  itself  to 
us  at  a review ; not  arrayed  in  terror, 
not  stalking  over  fields  of  the  slain,  and 
desolated  regions,  its  eye  flashing  with 
fury,  and  its  sword  reeking  with  blood. 
War,  as  we  first  see  it,  is  decked  with 
gay  and  splendid  trappings,  and  wears 
a countenance  of  joy.  It  moves  with 
a measured  and  graceful  step  to  the 
sound  of  the  heart-stirring  fife  and 
drum.  Its  instruments  of  death  wound 
only  the  air.  Such  is  war  ; the  youth- 
ful eye  is  dazzled  with  its  ornaments  ; 
the  youthful  heart  dances  to  its  ani- 
mated sounds.  It  seems  a pastime  full 
of  spirit  and  activity,  the  very  sport  in 
which  youth  delights.  These  false  views 
of  war  are  confirmed  by  our  earliest  read- 
ing. We  are  intoxicated  with  the  ex- 
ploits of  the  conqueror,  as  recorded  in 
real  history  or  in  glowing  fiction.  We 
follow,  with  a sympathetic  ardor,  his 
rapid  and  triumphant  career  in  battle, 
and,  unused  as  we  are  to  suffering  and 


death,  forget  the  fallen  and  miserable 
who  are  crushed  under  his  victorious 
car.  Particularly  by  the  study  of  the 
ancient  poets  and  historians,  the  senti- 
ments of  early  and  barbarous  ages  on 
the  subject  of  war  are  kept  alive  in  the 
mind.  The  trumpet  which  roused  the 
fury  of  Achilles  and  of  the  hordes  of 
Greece  still  resounds  in  our  ears  ; and, 
though  Christians  by  profession,  some 
of  our  earliest  and  deepest  impressions 
are  received  in  the  school  of  uncivilized 
antiquity.  Even  where  these  impres- 
sions in  favor  of  war  are  not  received 
in  youth,  we  yet  learn  from  our  early 
familiarity  with  it  to  consider  it  as  a 
necessary  evil,  an  essential  part  of  our 
condition.  We  become  reconciled  to  it 
as  to  a fixed  law  of  our  nature  ; and 
consider  the  thought  of  its  abolition  as 
extravagant  as  an  attempt  to  chain  the 
winds  or  arrest  the  lightning. 

I have  thus  attempted  to  unfold  the 
principal  causes  of  war.  They  are,  you 
perceive,  of  a moral  nature.  They  may 
be  resolved  into  wrong  views  of  human 
glory,  and  into  excesses  of  passions  and 
desires  which,  by  right  direction,  would 
promote  the  best  interests  of  humanity. 
From  these  causes  we  learn  that  this 
savage  custom  is  to  be  repressed  by 
moral  means,  by  salutary  influences  on 
the  sentiments  and  principles  of  man- 
kind. And  thus  we  are  led  to  our  last 
topic,  — the  remedies  of  war.  In  intro- 
ducing the  observations  which  I have  to 
offer  on  this  branch  of  the  subject,  I 
feel  myself  bound  to  suggest  an  impor- 
tant caution.  Let  not  the  cause  of  peace 
be  injured  by  the  assertion  of  extreme 
and  indefensible  principles.  I particu- 
larly refer  to  the  principle,  that  war  is 
absolutely,  and  in  all  possible  cases,  un- 
lawful, and  prohibited  by  Christianity. 
This  doctrine  is  considered,  by  a great 
majority  of  the  judicious  and  enlight- 
ened, as  endangering  the  best  interests 
of  society ; and  it  ought  not  therefore 
to  be  connected  with  our  efforts  for  the 
diffusion  of  peace,  unless  it  appear  to 
us  a clear  and  indubitable  truth.  War, 
as  it  is  commonly  waged,  is  indeed  a 
tremendous  evil ; but  national  subju- 
gation is  a greater  evil  than  a war  of  de- 
fence ; and  a community  seems  to  me 
to  possess  an  indisputable  right  to  re- 
sort to  such  a war,  when  all  other  means 
have  failed  for  the  security  of  its  exist- 
ence or  freedom.  It  is  universally  ad- 


WAR. 


mitted  that  a community  may  employ 
force  to  repress  the  rapacity  and  vio- 
lence of  its  own  citizens,  to  disarm  and 
restrain  its  internal  foes  ; and  on  what 
ground  can  we  deny  to  it  the  right  of 
repelling  the  inroads  and  aggressions  of 
a foreign  power  ? If  a government  may 
not  lawfully  resist  a foreign  army,  in- 
vading its  territory  to  desolate  and  sub- 
due, on  what  principles  can  we  justify  a 
resistance  of  a combination  of  its  own 
citizens  for  the  same  injurious  purpose  ? 
Government  is  instituted  for  the  very 
purpose  of  protecting  the  community 
from  all  violence,  no  matter  by  what 
hands  it  may  be  offered ; and  rulers 
would  be  unfaithful  to  their  trust  were 
they  to  abandon  the  rights,  interests, 
and  improvements  of  society  to  unprin- 
cipled rapacity,  whether  of  domestic  or 
foreign  foes. 

We  are  indeed  told  that  the  language 
of  Scripture  is,  “ Resist  not  evil.”  But 
the  Scriptures  are  given  to  us  as  reason- 
able beings.  We  must  remember  that 
to  the  renunciation  of  reason  in  the  in- 
terpretation of  Scripture  we  owe  those 
absurdities  which  have  sunk  Christi- 
anity almost  to  the  level  of  Heathenism. 
If  the  precept  to  “ resist  not  evil  ” ad- 
mit no  exception,  then  civil  government 
is  prostrated ; then  the  magistrate  must 
in  no  case  resist  the  injurious  ; then  the 
subject  must  in  no  case  employ  the  aid 
of  the  laws  to  enforce  his  rights.  The 
very  end  and  office  of  government  is,  to 
resist  evil  men.  For  this,  the  civil 
magistrate  bears  the  sword ; and  he 
should  beware  of  interpretations  of  the 
Scriptures  which  would  lead  him  to 
bear  it  in  vain.  The  doctrine  of  the 
absolute  unlawfulness  of  war  is  thought 
by  its  advocates  to  be  necessary  to  a 
successful  opposition  to  this  barbarous 
custom.  But  were  we  employed  to  re- 
store peace  to  a contentious  neighbor- 
hood, we  should  not  consider  ourselves 
as  obliged  to  teach  that  self-defence  is 
in  every  possible  case  a crime ; and 
equally  useless  is  this  principle  in  our 
labors  for  the  pacification  of  the  world. 
Without  taking  this  uncertain  and  dan- 
gerous ground,  we  may  and  ought  to 
assail  war,  by  assailing  the  principles 
and  passions  which  gave  it  birth,  and 
by  improving  and  exalting  the  moral 
sentiments  of  mankind. 

For  example  ; important  service  may 
be  rendered  to  the  cause  of  peace  by 


649 

communicating  and  enforcing  just  and 
elevated  sentiments  in  relation  to  the 
true  honor  of  rulers.  Let  us  teach  that 
the  prosperity,  and  not  the  extent,  ol  a 
state  is  the  measure  of  a ruler’s  glory ; 
that  the  brute  force  and  crooked  policy 
which  annex  a conquest  are  infinitely 
inferior  to  the  wisdom,  justice,  and  be- 
neficence which  make  a country  happy  ; 
and  that  the  earth  holds  not  a more 
abandoned  monster  than  the  sovereign 
who,  intrusted  with  the  dearest  inter- 
ests of  a people,  commits  them  to  the 
dreadful  hazards  of  war,  that  l;e  may 
extend  his  prostituted  power,  and  fill 
the  earth  with  his  worthless  name.  Let 
us  exhibit  to  the  honor  and  veneration 
of  mankind  the  character  of  the  Chris- 
tian ruler,  who,  disdaining  the  cheap 
and  vulgar  honor  of  a conqueror,  as- 
pires to  a new  and  more  enduring  glory  ; 
who,  casting  away  the  long-tried  weap- 
ons of  intrigue  and  violence,  adheres 
with  a holy  and  unshaken  confidence  to 
justice  and  philanthropy,  as  a nation’s 
best  defence  ; and  who  considers  him- 
self as  exalted  by  God  only  that  he  may 
shed  down  blessings  and  be  as  a bene- 
ficent deity  to  the  world. 

To  these  instructions,  in  relation  to 
the  true  glory  of  rulers,  should  be 
added  just  sentiments  as  to  the  glory 
of  nations.  Let  us  teach  that  the  honor 
of  a nation  consists,  not  in  the  forced 
and  reluctant  submission  of  other  states, 
but  in  equal  laws  and  free  institutions, 
in  cultivated  fields  and  prosperous  cit- 
ies ; in  the  development  of  intellectual 
and  moral  power,  in  the  diffusion  of 
knowledge,  i*n  magnanimity  and  justice, 
in  the  virtues  and  blessings  of  peace. 
Let  us  never  be  weary  in  reprobating 
that  infernal  spirit  of  conquest  by  which 
a nation  becomes  the  terror  and  abhor- 
rence of  the  world,  and  inevitably  pre- 
pares a tomb  — at  best  a splendid  tomb 
— for  its  own  liberties  and  prosperity. 
Nothing  has  been  more  common  than 
for  nations  to  imagine  themselves  great 
and  glorious  on  the  ground  of  foreign 
conquest,  when  at  home  they  have  been 
loaded  with  chains.  Cannot  these  gross 
and  monstrous  delusions  be  scattered  ? 
Can  nothing  be  done  to  persuade  Chris- 
tian nations  to  engage  in  a new  and  untried 
race  of  glory,  in  generous  competitions, 
in  a noble  contest  for  superiority  in  wise 
legislation  and  internal  improvements,  in 
the  spirit  of  liberty  and  humanity  ? 


WAR. 


650 

Another  most  important  method  of 
promoting  the  cause  of  peace  is  to  turn 
men’s  admiration  from  military  courage 
to  qualities  of  real  nobleness  and  dig- 
nity. It  is  time  that  the  childish  admi- 
ration of  courage  should  give  place  to 
more  manly  sentiments  ; and  in  propor- 
tion as  we  effect  this  change,  we  shall 
shake  the  main  pillar  of  war,  we  shall 
rob  military  life  of  its  chief  attraction. 
Courage  is  a very  doubtful  quality, 
sprirtging  from  very  different  sources, 
and  possessing  a corresponding  variety 
of  character.  Courage  sometimes  re- 
sults from  mental  weakness.  Peril  is 
confronted,  because  the  mind  wants 
comprehension  to  discern  its  extent. 
This  is  often  the  courage  of  youth,  the 
courage  of  unreflecting  ignorance,  — a 
contempt  of  peril  because  peril  is  but 
dimly  seen.  Courage  still  more  fre- 
quently springs  from  physical  tempera- 
ment, from  a rigid  fibre  and  iron  nerves, 
and  deserves  as  little  praise  as  the  pro- 
portion of  the  form  or  the  beauty  of  the 
countenance.  Again,  every  passion 
which  is  strong  enough  to  overcome  the 
passion  of  fear,  and  to  exclude  by  its 
vehemence  the  idea  of  danger,  commu- 
nicates at  least  a temporary  courage. 
Thus  revenge,  when  it  burns  with  great 
fury,  gives  a terrible  energy  to  the  mind, 
and  has  sometimes  impelled  men  to 
meet  certain  death,  that  they  might  in- 
flict the  same  fate  on  an  enemy.  You 
see  the  doubtful  nature  of  courage.  It 
is  often  associated  with  the  worst  vices. 
The  most  wonderful  examples  of  it  may 
be  found  in  the  history  of  pirates  and 
robbers,  whose  fearlessness  is  generally 
proportioned  to  the  insensibility  of  their 
consciences,  and  to  the  enormity  of  their 
crimes.  Courage  is  also  exhibited  with 
astonishing  power  in  barbarous  coun- 
tries, where  the  child  is  trained  to  de- 
spise the  hardships  and  pains  to  which 
he  is  exposed  by  his  condition  ; where 
the  absence  of  civil  laws  obliges  every 
man  to  be  his  own  defender  ; and  where, 
from  the  imperfection  of  moral  senti- 
ment, corporeal  strength  and  ferocious 
courage  are  counted  the  noblest  quali- 
ties of  human  nature.  The  common 
courage  of  armies  is  equally  worthless 
with  that  of  the  pirate  and  the  savage. 
A considerable  part  of  almost  every 
army,  so  far  from  deriving  their  resolu- 
tion from  love  of  country  and  a sense 
of  justice,  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  a 


country,  and  have  been  driven  into  the 
ranks  by  necessities  which  were  gener- 
ated by  vice.  These  are  the  brave  sol- 
diers, whose  praises  we  hear;  brave, 
from  the  absence  of  all  reflection  ; prod- 
igal of  life,  because  their  vices  have 
robbed  life  of  its  blessings  ; brave,  from 
sympathy ; brave,  from  the  thirst  of 
plunder  ; and  especially  brave,  because 
the  sword  of  martial  law  is  hanging  over 
their  heads.  Accordingly,  military  cour- 
age is  easily  attained  by  the  most  de- 
based and  unprincipled  men.  The  com- 
mon drunkard  of  the  streets,  who  is 
enlisted  in  a fit  of  intoxication,  when 
thrown  into  the  ranks  among  the  un- 
thinking and  profane,  subjected  to  the 
rigor  of  martial  discipline,  familiarized 
by  exposure  to  the  idea  of  danger,  and 
menaced  with  death  if  he  betray  a symp- 
tom of  fear,  becomes  as  brave  as  his 
officer,  whose  courage  may  often  be 
traced  to  the  same  dread  of  punishment, 
and  to  fear  of  severer  infamy  than  at- 
tends on  the  cowardice  of  the  common 
soldier.  Let  the  tribute  of  honor  be 
freely  and  liberally  given  to  the  soldier 
of  principle,  who  exposes  his  life  for  a 
cause  which  his  conscience  approves, 
and  who  mingles  clemency  and  mercy 
with  the  joy  of  triumph.  But  as  for  the 
multitude  of  military  men,  who  regard 
war  as  a trade  by  which  to  thrive,  who 
hire  themselves  to  fight  and  slay  in  any 
cause,  and  who  destroy  their  fellow- 
beings  with  as  little  concern  as  the  hus- 
bandman does  the  vermin  that  infest  his 
fields,  I know  no  class  of  men  on  whom 
admiration  can  more  unjustly  and  more 
injuriously  be  bestowed.  Let  us  labor, 
my  brethren,  to  direct  the  admiration 
and  love  of  mankind  to  another  and  in- 
finitely higher  kind  of  greatness,  to  that 
true  magnanimity  which  is  prodigal  of 
ease  and  life  in  the  service  of  God  and 
mankind,  and  which  proves  its  courage 
by  unshaken  adherence,  amidst  scorn 
and  danger,  to  truth  and  virtue.  Let 
the  records  of  past  ages  be  explored,  to 
rescue  from  oblivion,  not  the  wasteful 
conqueror,  whose  path  was  as  the  whirl- 
wind, but  the  benefactors  of  the  human 
race,  martyrs  to  the  interests  of  freedom 
and  religion,  men  who  have  broken  the 
chain  of  the  slave,  who  have  traversed 
the  earth  to  shed  consolation  into  the 
cell  of  the  prisoner,  or  whose  sublime 
faculties  have  explored  and  revealed 
useful  and  ennobling  truths.  Can  noth- 


WAR. 


ing  be  done  to  hasten  the  time  when  to 
such  men  eloquence  and  poetry  shall 
offer  their  glowing  homage,  — when  for 
these  the  statue  and  monument  shall 
be  erected,  the  canvass  be  animated, 
and  the  laurel  entwined,  — and  when  to 
these  the  admiration  of  the  young  shall 
be  directed  as  their  guides  and  forerun- 
ners to  glory  and  immortality  ? 

I proceed  to  another  method  of  pro- 
moting the  cause  of  peace.  Let  Chris- 
tian ministers  exhibit,  with  greater  clear- 
ness and  distinctness  than  ever  they 
have  done,  the  pacific  and  benevolent 
spirit  of  Christianity.  My  brethren, 
this  spirit  ought  to  hold  the  same  place 
in  our  preaching  which  it  holds  in  the 
gospel  of  our  Lord.  Instead  of  being 
crowded  and  lost  among  other  subjects, 
it  should  stand  in  the  front  of  Christian 
graces  ; it  should  be  inculcated  as  the 
life  and  essence  of  our  religion.  We 
should  teach  men  that  charity  is  greater 
than  faith  and  hope  ; that  God  is  love, 
or  benevolence  ; and  that  love  is  the 
brightest  communication  of  divinity  to 
the  human  soul.  We  should  exhibit 
Jesus  in  all  the  amiableness  of  his 
character,  now  shedding  tears  over 
Jerusalem,  and  now  his  blood  on  Cal- 
vary, and  in  his  last  hours  recommend- 
ing his  own  sublime  love  as  the  badge 
and  distinction  of  his  followers.  We 
should  teach  men  that  it  is  the  property 
of  the  benevolence  of  Christianity  to 
diffuse  itself  like  the  light  and  rain  of 
heaven,  to  disdain  the  limits  of  rivers, 
mountains,  or  oceans,  by  which  nations 
are  divided,  and  to  embrace  every  human 
being  as  a brother.  Let  us  never  forget 
that  our  preaching  is  evangelical  just  in 
proportion  as  it  inculcates  and  awakens 
this  disinterested  and  unbounded  char- 
ity ; and  that  our  hearers  are  Christians 
just  as  far  and  no  farther  than  they 
delight  in  peace  and  beneficence. 

It  is  a painful  truth,  which  ought  not 
to  be  suppressed,  that  the  pacific  influ- 
ence of  the  gospel  has  been  greatly  ob- 
structed by  the  disposition  which  has 
prevailed  in  all  ages,  and  especially 
among  Christian  ministers,  to  give  im- 
portance to  the  peculiarities  of  sects, 
and  to  rear  walls  of  partition  between 
different  denominations.  Shame  ought 
to  cover  the  face  of  the  believer,  when 
he  remembers  that  under  no  religion 
have  intolerance  and  persecution  raged 
more  fiercely  than  under  the  gospel  of 


651 

the  meek  and  forbearing  Saviour.  Chris- 
tians have  made  the  earth  to  reek  with 
blood  and  to  resound  with  denunciation. 
Can  we  wonder  that,  while  the  spirit  of 
war  has  been  cherished  in  the  very 
bosom  of  the  church,  it  has  continued 
to  ravage  among  the  nations  ? Were 
the  true  spirit  of  Christianity  to  be  in- 
culcated with  but  half  the  zeal  which 
has  been  wasted  on  doubtful  and  dis- 
puted doctrines,  a sympathy,  a co-oper- 
ation might  in  a very  short  time  be 
produced  among  Christians  of  every 
nation,  most  propitious  to  the  pacifica- 
tion of  the  world.  In  consequence  of 
the  progress  of  knowledge  and  the 
extension  of  commerce,  Christians  of 
both  hemispheres  are  at  this  moment 
brought  nearer  to  one  another  than  at 
any  former  period  ; and  an  intercourse, 
founded  on  religious  sympathies,  is  grad- 
ually connecting  the  most  distant  re- 
gions. What  a powerful  weapon  is 
furnished  by  this  new  bond  of  union 
to  the  ministers  and  friends  of  peace  ! 
Should  not  the  auspicious  moment  be 
seized  to  inculcate  on  all  Christians,  in 
all  regions,  that  they  owe  their  first 
allegiance  to  their  common  Lord  in 
heaven,  whose  first,  and  last,  and  great 
command  is,  love  ? Should  they  not 
be  taught  to  look  with  a shuddering 
abhorrence  on  war,  which  continually 
summons  to  the  field  of  battle,  under 
opposing  standards,  the  followers  of  the 
same  Saviour,  and  commands  them  to 
imbrue  their  hands  in  each  others’ 
blood  ? Once  let  Christians  of  every 
nation  be  brought  to  espouse  the  cause  of 
peace  with  one  heart  and  one  voice,  and 
their  labor  will  not  be  in  vain  in  the 
Lord.  Human  affairs  will  rapidly  as- 
sume a new  and  milder  aspect.  The 
predicted  ages  of  peace  will  dawn  on 
the  world.  Public  opinion  will  be  puri- 
fied. The  false  lustre  of  the  hero  will 
grow  dim.  A nobler  order  of  character 
will  be  admired  and  diffused.  The 
kingdoms  of  the  world  will  gradually 
become  the  kingdoms  of  God  and  of  his 
Christ. 

My  friends,  I did  intend,  but  I have 
not  time,  to  notice  the  arguments  which 
are  urged  in  support  of  war.  Let  me 
only  say  that  the  common  argument, 
that  war  is  necessary  to  awaken  the 
boldness,  energy,  and  noblest  qualities 
of  human  nature,  will,  I hope,  receive 
a practical  refutation  in  the  friends  of 


WAR. 


652 

philanthropy  and  peace.  Let  it  appear 
in  your  lives  that  you  need  not  this  spark 
from  hell  to  kindle  a heroic  resolution  in 
your  breasts.  Let  it  appear  that  a pacific 
spirit  has  no  affinity  with  a tame  and 
feeble  character.  Let  us  prove  that 
courage,  the  virtue  which  has  been 
thought  to  flourish  most  in  the  rough 
field  of  war,  may  be  reared  to  a more 
generous  height,  and  to  a firmer  texture, 
in  the  bosom  of  peace.  Let  it  be  seen 
that  it  is  not  fear,  but  principle,  which 
has  made  us  the  enemies  of  war.  In 
every  enterprise  of  philanthropy  which 
demands  daring  and  sacrifice  and  ex- 
posure to  hardship  and  toil,  let  us  em- 
bark with  serenity  and  joy.  Be  it  our 
part  to  exhibit  an  undaunted,  unshaken, 
unwearied  resolution,  not  in  spreading 
ruin,  but  in  serving  God  and  mankind, 
in  alleviating  human  misery,  in  diffusing 
truth  and  virtue,  and  especially  in  oppos- 
ing war.  The  doctrines  of  Christianity 
have  had  many  martyrs.  Let  us  be  will- 
ing, if  God  shall  require  it,  to  be  martyrs 
to  its  spirit,  — the  neglected,  insulted 
spirit  of  peace  and  love.  In  a better 
service  we  cannot  live ; in  a nobler 
cause  we  cannot  die.  It  is  the  cause 
of  Jesus  Christ,  supported  by  Almighty 
Goodness,  and  appointed  to  triumph 
over  the  passions  and  delusions  of  men, 
the  customs  of  ages,  and  the  fallen  mon- 
uments of  the  forgotten  conqueror. 


Note  to  the  First  Discourse  on 
War. 

I have  deferred  to  this  place  a few 
remarks  on  the  arguments  which  are 
usually  adduced  in  support  of  war. 

War,  it  is  said,  kindles  patriotism  ; 
by  fighting  for  our  country,  we  learn  to 
love  it.  But  the  patriotism  which  is 
cherished  by  war  is  ordinarily  false  and 
spurious,  a vice  and  not  a virtue,  a 
scourge  to  the  world,  a narrow,  unjust 
passion,  which  aims  to  exalt  a particular 
state  on  the  humiliation  and  destruction 
of  other  nations.  A genuine,  enlight- 
ened patriot  discerns  that  the  welfare  of 
his  own  country  is  involved  in  the  gen- 
eral progress  of  society ; and  in  the 
character  of  a patriot,  as  well  as  of  a 
Christian,  he  rejoices  in  the  liberty  and 
prosperity  of  other  communities,  and  is 
anxious  to  maintain  with  them  the  rela- 
tions of  peace  and  amity. 

It  is  said  that  a military  spirit  is  the 


defence  of  a country.  But  it  more  fre- 
quently endangers  the  vital  interests  of 
a nation  by  embroiling  it  with  other 
states.  This  spirit,  like  every  other 
passion,  is  impatient  for  gratification, 
and  often  precipitates  a country  into 
unnecessary  war.  A people  have  no 
need  of  a military  spirit.  Let  them  be 
attached  to  their  government  and  institu- 
tions by  habit,  by  early  associations,  and 
especially  by  experimental  conviction  of 
their  excellence,  and  they  will  never 
want  means  or  spirit  to  defend  them. 

War  is  recommended  as  a method  of 
redressing  national  grievances.  But,  un- 
happily, the  weapons  of  war,  from  their 
very  nature,  are  often  wielded  most 
successfully  by  the  unprincipled.  Jus- 
tice and  force  have  little  congeniality. 
Should  not  Christians  everywhere  strive 
to  promote  the  reference  of  national  as 
well  as  of  individual  disputes  to  an  im- 
partial umpire  ? Is  a project  of  this 
nature  more  extravagant  than  the  idea 
of  reducing  savage  hordes  to  a state  of 
regular  society  ? The  last  has  been 
accomplished.  Is  the  first  to  be  aban- 
doned in  despair  ? 

It  is  said  that  war  sweeps  off  the  idle, 
dissolute,  and  vicious  members  of  the 
community.  Monstrous  argument ! If 
a government  may  for  this  end  plunge  a 
nation  into  war,  it  may  with  equal  justice 
consign  to  the  executioner  any  number 
of  its  subjects  whom  it  may  deem  a 
burden  on  the  state.  The  fact  is,  that 
war  commonly  generates  as  many  profli- 
gates as  it  destroys.  A disbanded  army 
fills  the  community  with  at  least  as  many 
abandoned  members  as  at  first  it  ab- 
sorbed. There  is  another  method,  not 
quite  so  summary  as  war,  of  ridding  a 
country  of  unprofitable  and  injurious 
citizens,  but  vastly  more  effectual ; and 
a method  which  will  be  applied  with 
spirit  and  success  just  in  proportion  as 
war  shall  yield  to  the  light  and  spirit  of 
Christianity.  I refer  to  the  exertions 
which  Christians  have  commenced  for 
the  reformation  and  improvement  of  the 
ignorant  and  poor,  and  especially  for  the 
instruction  and  moral  culture  of  indigent 
children.  Christians  are  entreated  to 
persevere  and  abound  in  these  godlike 
efforts.  By  diffusing  moral  and  relig- 
ious principles,  and  sober  and  indus- 
trious habits  through  the  laboring  classes 
of  society,  they  will  dry  up  one  impor- 
tant source  of  war.  They  will  destroy 


WAR. 


°S3 


in  a considerable  degree  the  materials  of 
armies.  In  proportion  as  these  classes 
become  well  principled  and  industrious, 
poverty  will  disappear,  the  population 
of  a country  will  be  more  and  more  pro- 
portioned to  its  resources,  and  of  course 
the  number  will  be  diminished  of  those 
who  have  no  alternative  but  beggary  or 
a camp.  The  moral  care  which  is  at 
the  present  day  extended  to  the  poor  is 
one  of  the  most  honorable  features  of 
our  age.  Christians ! remember  that 
your  proper  warfare  is  with  ignorance 
and  vice,  and  exhibit  here  the  same  un- 
wearied and  inventive  energy  which  has 
marked  the  warriors  of  the  world. 

It  is  sometimes  said  that  a military 
spirit  favors  liberty.  But  how  is  it  that 
nations,  after  fighting  for  ages,  are  so 
generally  enslaved  ? The  truth  is,  that 
liberty  has  no  foundation  but  in  private 
and  public  virtue  ; and  virtue,  as  we 
have  seen,  is  not  the  common  growth  of 
war. 

But  the  great  argument  remains  to  be 
discussed.  It  is  said  that  without  war 
to  excite  and  invigorate  the  human  mind, 
some  of  its  noblest  energies  will  slum- 
ber, and  its  highest  qualities,  courage, 
magnanimity,  fortitude,  will  perish.  To 
this  I answer  that,  if  war  is  to  be  encour- 
aged among  nations,  because  it  nourishes 
energy  and  heroism,  on  the  same  prin- 
ciple war  in  our  families,  and  war  be- 
tween neighborhoods,  villages,  and  cities 
ought  to  be  encouraged ; for  such  con- 
tests would  equally  tend  to  promote 
heroic  daring  and  contempt  of  death. 
Why  shall  not  different  provinces  of  the 
same  empire  annually  meet  with  the 
weapons  of  death,  to  keep  alive  their 
courage  ? We  shrink  at  this  suggestion 
with  horror ; but  why  shall  contests  of 
nations,  rather  than  of  provinces  or  fami- 
lies, find  shelter  under  this  barbarous 
argument  ? 

I observe  again  ; if  war  be  a blessing 
because  it  awakens  energy  and  courage, 
then  the  savage  state  is  peculiarly  privi- 
leged ; for  every  savage  is  a soldier, 
and  his  whole  modes  of  life  tend  to  form 
him  to  invincible  resolution.  On  the 
same  principle,  those  early  periods  of 
society  were  happy,  when  men  were 
called  to  contend  not  only  with  one 
another  but  with  beasts  of  prey ; for  to 
these  excitements  we  owe  the  heroism 
of  Hercules  and  Theseus.  On  the  same 
principle,  the  feudal  ages  were  more 


favored  than  the  present ; for  then  every 
baron  was  a military  chief,  every  castle 
frowned  defiance,  and  every  vassal  was 
trained  to  arms.  And  do  we  really  wish 
that  the  earth  should  again  be  overrun 
with  monsters,  or  abandoned  to  savage 
or  feudal  violence,  in  order  that  heroes 
may  be  multiplied  ? If  not,  let  us  cease 
to  vindicate  war  as  affording  excitement 
to  energy  and  courage. 

I repeat,  what  I have  observed  in  the 
preceding  discourse,  we  need  not  war 
to  awaken  human  energy.  There  is  at 
least  equal  scope  for  courage  and  mag- 
nanimity in  blessing  as  in  destroying 
mankind.  The  condition  of  the  human 
race  offers  inexhaustible  objects  for  en- 
terprise, and  fortitude,  and  magnanimity. 
In  relieving  the  countless  wants  and 
sorrows  of  the  world,  in  exploring  un- 
known regions,  in  carrying  the  arts  and 
virtues  of  civilization  to  unimproved 
communities,  in  extending  the  bounds 
of  knowledge,  in  diffusing  the  spirit  of 
freedom,  and  especially  in  spreading  the 
light  and  influence  of  Christianity,  how 
much  may  be  dared,  how  much  endured ! 
Philanthropy  invites  us  to  services  which 
demand  the  most  intense,  and  elevated, 
and  resolute,  and  adventurous  activity. 
Let  it  not  be  imagined  that,  were  nations 
imbued  with  the  spirit  of  Christianity, 
they  would  slumber  in  ignoble  ease  ; 
that,  instead  of  the  high-minded  mur- 
derers, who  are  formed  on  the  present 
system  of  war,  we  should  have  effeminate 
and  timid  slaves.  Christian  benevolence 
is  as  active  as  it  is  forbearing.  Let  it 
once  form  the  character  of  a people,  and 
it  will  attach  them  to  every  important 
interest  of  society.  It  will  call  forth 
sympathy  in  behalf  of  the  suffering  in 
every  region  under  heaven.  It  will  give 
a new  extension  to  the  heart,  open  a 
wider  sphere  to  enterprise,  inspire  a 
courage  of  exhaustless  resource,  and 
prompt  to  every  sacrifice  and  exposure 
for  the  improvement  and  happiness  of 
the  human  race.  The  energy  of  this 
principle  has  been  tried  and  displayed 
in  the  fortitude  of  the  martyr,  and  in 
the  patient  labors  of  those  who  have 
carried  the  gospel  into  the  dreary  abodes 
of  idolatry.  Away,  then,  with  the  argu- 
ment that  war  is  needed  as  a nursery  of 
heroism.  The  school  of  the  peaceful 
Redeemer  is  infinitely  more  adapted  to 
teach  the  nobler,  as  well  as  the  milder 
virtues,  which  adorn  humanity. 


654 


WAX. 


WAR. 

Discourse  delivered  yanuary  25,  1835. 


James  v.  i : “ Whence  come  wars  and  fightings  among 
you?” 

I ask  your  attention  to  the  subject  of 
public  war.  I am  aware  that  to  some 
this  topic  may  seem  to  have  political 
bearings,  which  render  it  unfit  for  the 
pulpit ; but  to  me  it  is  eminently  a 
moral  and  religious  subject.  In  ap- 
proaching it,  political  parties  and  inter- 
est vanish  from  my  mind.  They  are 
forgotten  amidst  the  numerous  miseries 
and  crimes  of  war.  To  bring  war  to  an 
end  was  one  of  the  purposes  of  Christ, 
and  his  ministers  are  bound  to  concur 
with  him  in  the  work.  The  great  diffi- 
culty on  the  present  occasion  is,  to  select 
some  point  of  view  from  the  vast  field 
which  opens  before  us.  After  some 
general  remarks,  I shall  confine  myself 
to  a single  topic,  which  at  present  de- 
mands peculiar  attention. 

Public  war  is  not  an  evil  which  stands 
alone,  or  has  nothing  in  common  with 
other  evils.  It  belongs,  as  the  text  in- 
timates, to  a great  family.  It  may  be 
said  that  society,  through  its  whole  ex- 
tent, is  deformed  by  war.  Even  in 
families  we  see  jarring  interests  and 
passions,  invasions  of  rights,  resistance 
of  authority,  violence,  force ; and  in 
common  life,  how  continually  do  we 
see  men  struggling  with  one  another  for 
property  or  distinction,  injuring  one 
another  in  word  or  deed,  exasperated 
against  one  another  by  jealousies,  neg- 
lects, and  mutual  reproach.  All  this  is 
essentially  war,  but  war  restrained, 
hemmed  in,  disarmed  by  the  opinions 
and  institutions  of  society.  To  limit  its 
ravages,  to  guard  reputation,  property, 
and  life,  society  has  instituted  govern- 
ment, erected  the  tribunal  of  justice, 
clothed  the  legislator  with  the  power  of 
enacting  equal  laws,  put  the  sword  into 
the  hand  of  the  magistrate,  and  pledged 
its  whole  force  to  his  support.  Human 
wisdom  has  been  manifested  in  nothing 
more  conspicuously  than  in  civil  institu- 


tions for  repressing  war,  retaliation,  and 
passionate  resort  to  force,  among  the 
citizens  of  the  same  state.  But  here  it 
has  stopped.  Government,  which  is 
ever  at  work  to  restrain  the  citizen  at 
home,  often  lets  him  loose,  and  arms 
him  with  fire  and  sword  against  other 
communities,  sends  out  hosts  for  desola- 
tion and  slaughter,  and  concentrates  the 
whole  energies  of  a people  in  the  work 
of  spreading  misery  and  death.  Gov- 
ernment, the  peace-officer  at  home, 
breathes  war  abroad,  organizes  it  into  a 
science,  reduces  it  to  a system,  makes 
it  a trade,  and  applauds  it  as  if  it  were 
the  most  honorable  work  of  nations. 
Strange,  that  the  wisdom  which  has  so 
successfully  put  down  the  wars  of  indi- 
viduals, has  never  been  inspired  and 
emboldened  to  engage  in  the  task  of 
bringing  to  an  end  the  more  gigantic 
crimes  and  miseries  of  public  war ! 
But  this  universal  pacification,  until  of 
late,  has  hardly  been  thought  of  ; and 
in  reading  history  we  are  almost  tempted 
to  believe  that  the  chief  end  of  govern- 
ment in  promoting  internal  quiet,  has 
been  to  accumulate  greater  resources 
for  foreign  hostilities.  Bloodshed  is 
the  staple  of  history,  and  men  have 
been  butchered  and  countries  ravaged, 
as  if  the  human  frame  had  been  con- 
structed with  such  exquisite  skill  only 
to  be  mangled,  and  the  earth  covered 
with  fertility  only  to  attract  the  spoiler. 

These  reflections,  however,  it  is  not 
my  intention  to  pursue.  The  miseries 
of  war  are  not  my  present  subject.  One 
remark  will  be  sufficient  to  place  them 
in  their  true  light.  What  gives  these 
miseries  pre-eminence  among  human 
woes  — what  should  compel  us  to  look 
on  them  with  peculiar  horror  — is,  not 
their  awful  amount,  but  their  origin, 
their  source.  They  are  miseries  in- 
flicted by  man  on  man.  They  spring 
from  depravity  of  will.  They  bear  the 
impress  of  cruelty,  of  hardness  of  heart. 


WAR. 


The  distorted  features,  writhing  frames, 
and  shrieks  of  the  wounded  and  dying, 
— these  are  not  the  chief  horrors  of 
war  : they  sink  into  unimportance  com- 
pared with  the  infernal  passions  which 
work  this  woe.  Death  is  a light  evil 
when  not  joined  with  crime.  Had  the 
countless  millions  destroyed  by  war 
been  swallowed  up  by  floods  or  yawning 
earthquakes,  we  should  look  back  awe- 
struck, but  submissive,  on  the  mysteri- 
ous providence  which  had  thus  fulfilled 
the  mortal  sentence  originally  passed  on 
the  human  race.  But  that  man,  born  of 
woman,  bound  by  ties  of  brotherhood  to 
man,  and  commanded  by  an  inward  law 
and  the  voice  of  God  to  love  and  do 
good,  should,  through  selfishness,  pride, 
revenge,  inflict  these  agonies,  shed  these 
torrents  of  human  blood,  — here  is  an 
evil  which  combines  with  exquisite  suf- 
fering fiendish  guilt.  All  other  evils 
fade  before  it. 

Such  are  the  dark  features  of  war.  I 
have  spoken  of  them  strongly,  because 
humanity  and  religion  demand  from  us 
all  a new  and  sterner  tone  on  this  master 
evil.  But  it  is  due  to  human  nature  to 
observe,  that  whilst  war  is,  in  the  main, 
the  offspring  and  riot  of  the  worst  pas- 
sions, better  principles  often  mix  with 
it  and  throw  a veil  over  its  deformity. 
Nations  fight  not  merely  for  revenge  or 
booty.  Glory  is  often  the  stirring  word  ; 
and  glory,  though  often  misinterpreted 
and  madly  pursued  by  crime,  is  still  an 
impulse  of  great  minds,  and  shows  a 
nature  made  to  burn  with  high  thoughts, 
and  to  pour  itself  forth  in  noble  deeds. 
Many  have  girded  themselves  for  battle 
from  pure  motives  ; and,  as  if  to  teach 
us  that  unmingled  evil  cannot  exist  in 
God’s  creation,  the  most  ferocious  con- 
flicts have  been  brightened  by  examples 
of  magnanimous  and  patriotic  virtue. 
In  almost  all  wars  there  is  some  infu- 
sion of  enthusiasm ; and  in  all  enthusi- 
asm there  is  a generous  element. 

Still  war  is  made  up  essentially  of 
crime  and  misery,  and  to  abolish  it  is 
one  great  purpose  of  Christianity,  and 
should  be  the  earnest  labor  of  philan- 
thropy ; nor  is  this  enterprise  to  be 
scoffed  at  as  hopeless.  The  tendencies 
of  civilization  are  decidedly  towards 
peace.  The  influences  of  progressive 
knowledge,  refinement,  arts,  and  national 
wealth,  are  pacific.  The  old  motives 
for  war  are  losing  power.  Conquest, 


655 

which  once  maddened  nations,  hardly 
enters  now  into  the  calculation  of  states- 
men. The  disastrous  and  disgraceful 
termination  of  the  last  career  of  con- 
quest which  the  world  has  known,  is 
reading  a lesson  not  soon  to  be  forgot- 
ten. It  is  now  thoroughly  understood 
that  the  development  of  a nation’s  re- 
sources in  peace  is  the  only  road  to 
prosperity ; that  even  successful  war 
makes  a people  poor,  crushing  them 
with  taxes  and  crippling  their  progress 
in  industry  and  useful  arts.  We  have 
another  pacific  influence  at  the  present 
moment,  in  the  increasing  intelligence 
of  the  middle  and  poorer  classes  of 
society,  who,  in  proportion  as  they  learn 
their  interests  and  rights,  are  unwilling 
to  be  used  as  materials  of  war,  to  suffer 
and  bleed  in  serving  the  passions  and 
glory  of  a privileged  few.  Again  ; sci- 
ence, commerce,  religion,  foreign  travel, 
new  facilities  of  intercourse,  new  ex- 
changes of  literature,  new  friendships, 
new  interests,  are  overcoming  the  old 
antipathies  of  nations,  and  are  silent- 
ly spreading  the  sentiment  of  human 
brotherhood,  and  the  conviction  that 
the  welfare  of  each  is  the  happiness  of 
all.  Once  more  ; public  opinion  is  con- 
tinually gaining  strength  in  the  civilized 
and  Christian  world  ; and  to  this  tribu- 
nal all  states  must  in  a measure  bow. 
Here  are  pacific  influences.  Here  are 
encouragements  to  labor  in  the  cause 
of  peace. 

At  the  present  day,  one  of  the  chief 
incitements  to  war  is  to  be  found  in 
false  ideas  of  honor.  Military  prowess 
and  military  success  are  thought  to  shed 
peculiar  glory  on  a people  ; and  many, 
who  are  too  wise  to  be  intoxicated  with 
these  childish  delusions,  still  imagine 
that  the  honor  of  a nation  consists 
peculiarly  in  the  spirit  which  repels 
injury,  in  sensibility  to  wrongs,  and  is 
therefore  peculiarly  committed  to  the 
keeping  of  the  sword.  These  opinions 
I shall  now  examine,  beginning  with 
the  glory  attached  to  military  achieve- 
ments. 

That  the  idea  of  glory  should  be  as- 
sociated strongly  with  military  exploits, 
ought  not  to  be  wondered  at.  From  the 
earliest  ages,  ambitious  sovereigns  and 
states  have  sought  to  spread  the  mili- 
tary spirit  by  loading  it  with  rewards. 
Badges,  ornaments,  distinctions,  the 
most  flattering  and  intoxicating,  have 


WAR. 


656 

been  the  prizes  of  war.  The  aristoc- 
racy of  Europe,  which  commenced  in 
barbarous  ages,  was  founded  on  military 
talent  and  success  ; and  the  chief  educa- 
tion of  the  young  noble  was,  for  a long 
time,  little  more  than  a training  for  bat- 
tle, — hence  the  strong  connection  be- 
tween war  and  honor.  All  past  ages  have 
bequeathed  us  this  prejudice,  and  the 
structure  of  society  has  given  it  a fear- 
ful force.  Let  us  consider  it  with  some 
particularity. 

The  idea  of  honor  is  associated  with 
war.  But  to  whom  does  the  honor  be- 
long? If  to  any,  certainly  not  to  the 
mass  of  the  people,  but  to  those  who 
are  particularly  engaged  in  it.  The 
mass  of  a people,  who  stay  at  home, 
and  hire  others  to  fight ; who  sleep  in 
their  warm  beds,  and  hire  others  to 
sleep  on  the  cold  and  damp  earth  : who 
sit  at  their  well-spread  board,  and  hire 
others  to  take  the  chance  of  starving ; 
who  nurse  the  slightest  hurt  in  their 
own  bodies,  and  hire  others  to  expose 
themselves  to  mortal  wounds,  and  to 
linger  in  comfortless  hospitals,  — cer- 
tainly this  mass  reap  little  honor  from 
war  ; the  honor  belongs  to  those  imme- 
diately engaged  in  it.  Let  me  ask,  then, 
what  is  the  chief  business  of  war  ? It 
is  to  destroy  human  life  ; to  mangle  the 
limbs  ; to  gash  and  hew  the  body  ; to 
plunge  the  sword  into  the  heart  of  a 
fellow-creature  ; to  strew  the  earth  with 
bleeding  frames,  and  to  trample  them 
under  foot  with  horses’  hoofs.  It  is  to 
batter  down  and  burn  cities  ; to  turn 
fruitful  fields  into  deserts  ; to  level  the 
cottage  of  the  peasant  and  the  magni- 
ficent abode  of  opulence  ; to  scourge 
nations  with  famine  ; to  multiply  wid- 
ows and  orphans.  Are  these  honorable 
deeds  ? Were  you  called  to  name  ex- 
ploits worthy  of  demons,  would  you  not 
naturally  select  such  as  these  ? Grant 
that  a necessity  for  them  may  exist ; it 
is  a dreadful  necessity,  such  as  a good 
man  must  recoil  from  with  instinctive 
horror  ; and  though  it  may  exempt  them 
from  guilt,  it  cannot  turn  them  into 
glory.  We  have  thought  that  it  was 
honorable  to  heal,  to  save,  to  mitigate 
pain,  to  snatch  the  sick  and  sinking 
from  the  jaws  of  death.  We  have 
placed  among  the  revered  benefactors 
of  the  human  race  the  discoverers  of 
arts  which  alleviate  human  sufferings, 
which  prolong,  comfort,  adorn,  and  cheer 


human  life  ; and  if  these  arts  be  honor- 
able, where  is  the  glory  of  multiplying 
and  aggravating  tortures  and  death  ? 

It  will  be  replied,  that  the  honorable- 
ness of  war  consists  not  in  the  business 
which  it  performs,  but  in  the  motives 
from  which  it  springs,  and  in  the  quali- 
ties which  it  indicates.  It  will  be  asked, 
Is  it  not  honorable  to  serve  one’s  coun- 
try, and  to  expose  one’s  life  in  its  cause  ? 
Yes,  our  country  deserves  love  and  ser- 
vice ; and  let  her  faithful  friends,  her 
loyal  sons,  who,  under  the  guidance  of 
duty  and  disinterested  zeal,  have  poured 
out  their  blood  in  her  cause,  live  in  the 
hearts  of  a grateful  posterity.  But  who 
does  not  know  that  this  moral  heroism 
is  a very  different  thing  from  the  com- 
mon military  spirit  ? Who  is  so  simple 
as  to  believe  that  this  all-sacrificing  pa- 
triotism of  principle  is  the  motive  which 
fills  the  ranks  of  war,  and  leads  men  to 
adopt  the  profession  of  arms  ? Does 
this  sentiment  reign  in  the  common 
soldier,  who  enlists  because  driven  from 
all  other  modes  of  support,  and  hires 
himself  to  be  shot  at  for  a few  cents  a 
day  ? Or  does  it  reign  in  the  officer, 
who,  for  pay  and  promotion,  from  the 
sense  of  reputation,  or  dread  of  disgrace, 
meets  the  foe  with  a fearless  front  ? 
There  is,  indeed,  a vulgar  patriotism 
nourished  by  war,  — I mean  that  which 
burns  to  humble  other  nations,  and  to 
purchase  for  our  own  the  exultation  of 
triumph  and  superior  force.  But  as  for 
true  patriotism,  which  has  its  root  in 
benevolence,  and  which  desires  the  real 
and  enduring  happiness  of  our  country, 
nothing  is  more  adverse  to  it  than  war, 
and  no  class  of  men  have  less  of  it  than 
those  engaged  in  war.  Perhaps  in  no 
class  is  the  passion  for  display  and  dis- 
tinction so  strong ; and  in  accordance 
with  this  infirmity,  they  are  apt  to  re- 
gard as  the  highest  interest  of  the  state, 
a career  of  conquests,  which  makes  a 
show  and  dazzles  the  multitude,  however 
desolating  or  unjust  in  regard  to  foreign 
nations,  or  however  blighting  to  the 
prosperity  of  their  own. 

The  motives  which  generally  lead  to 
the  choice  of  a military  life  strip  it  of 
all  claim  to  peculiar  honor.  There  are 
employments  which,  from  their  peculiar 
character,  should  be  undertaken  only 
from  high  motives.  This  is  peculiarly 
the  case  with  the  profession  of  arms. 
Its  work  is  bloodshed,  destruction,  the 


WAR. 


6 57 


infliction  of  the  most  dreaded  evils,  not 
only  on  wrcng-doers,  oppressors,  usurp- 
ers, but  on  the  innocent,  weak,  defence- 
less. From  this  task  humanity  recoils, 
and  nothing  should  reconcile  us  to  it 
but  the  solemn  conviction  of  duty  to 
God,  to  our  country,  to  mankind.  The 
man  who  undertakes  this  work  solely  or 
chiefly  to  earn  money  or  an  epaulette, 
commits,  however  unconsciously,  a great 
wrong.  Let  it  be  conceded  that  he  who 
engages  in  military  life  is  bound,  as  in 
other  professions,  to  insure  from  his  em- 
ployers the  means  of  support,  and  that  he 
may  innocently  seek  the  honor  which  is 
awarded  to  faithful  and  successful  ser- 
vice. Still,  from  the  peculiar  character 
of  the  profession,  from  the  solemnity  and 
terribleness  of  its  agency,  no  man  can 
engage  in  it  innocently  or  honorably, 
who  does  not  deplore  its  necessity,  and 
does  not  adopt  it  from  generous  motives, 
from  the  power  of  moral  and  public  con- 
siderations. That  these  are  not  the  mo- 
tives which  now  fill  armies,  is  too  noto- 
rious to  need  proof.  How  common  is  it 
for  military  men  to  desire  war,  as  giv- 
ing rich  prizes  and  as  advancing  them 
in  their  profession.  They  are  willing 
to  slaughter  their  fellow-creatures  for 
money  and  distinction  ; — and  is  the  pro- 
fession of  such  men  peculiarly  glorious  ? 
I am  not  prepared  to  deny  that  human 
life  may  sometimes  be  justly  taken  ; but 
it  ought  to  be  taken  under  the  solemn 
conviction  of  duty  and  for  great  public 
ends.  To  destroy  our  fellow-creatures 
for  profit  or  promotion,  is  to  incur  a 
guilt  from  which  most  men  would  shrink, 
could  it  be  brought  distinctly  before 
their  minds.  That  there  may  be  soldiers 
of  principle,  men  who  abhor  the  thought 
of  shedding  human  blood,  and  who  con- 
sent to  the  painful  office  only  because  it 
seems  to  them  imposed  by  their  country 
and  the  best  interests  of  mankind,  is 
freely  granted.  Such  men  spring  up, 
especially  in  periods  of  revolution,  when 
the  liberties  of  a nation  are  at  stake. 
But  that  this  is  not  the  spirit  of  the  mil- 
itary profession,  you  know.  That  men 
generally  enter  this  profession  from  self- 
ish motives,  that  they  hire  themselves 
to  kill  for  personal  remuneration,  you 
know.  That  they  are  ready  to  slay  a 
fellow-creature,  from  inducements  not  a 
whit  more  disinterested  than  those  which 
lead  other  men  to  fell  an  ox  or  crush  a 
pernicious  insect,  you  know ; and,  of 


consequence,  the  profession  has  no  pecul- 
iar title  to  respect.  It  is  particularly  de- 
graded by  the  offer  of  prize-money.  The 
power  of  this  inducement  is  well  under- 
stood. But  is  it  honorable  to  kill  a fel- 
low-creature for  a share  of  his  spoils  ? 
A nation  which  offers  prize-money  is 
chargeable  with  the  crime  of  tainting  the 
mind  of  the  soldier.  It  offers  him  a 
demoralizing  motive  to  the  destruction 
of  his  fellow-creatures.  It  saps  high 
principle  in  the  minds  of  those  who  are 
susceptible  of  generous  impulses.  It 
establishes  the  most  inhuman  method  of 
getting  rich  which  civilized  men  can  pur- 
sue. I know  that  society  views  this 
subject  differently,  and  more  guilt  should 
be  attached  to  society  than  to  the  soldier ; 
but  still  the  character  of  the  profession 
remains  degraded  by  the  motives  which 
most  commonly  actuate  its  members ; 
and  war,  as  now  carried  on,  is  certainly 
among  the  last  vocations  to  be  called 
honorable. 

Let  not  these  remarks  be  miscon- 
strued. I mean  not  to  deny  to  military 
men  equal  virtue  with  other  classes  of 
society.  All  classes  are  alike  culpable 
in  regard  to  war,  and  the  burden  presses 
too  heavily  on  all  to  allow  any  to  take 
up  reproaches  against  others.  Society 
has  not  only  established  and  exalted  the 
military  profession,  but  studiously  allures 
men  into  it  by  bribes  of  vanity,  cupidity, 
and  ambition.  They  who  adopt  it  have 
on  their  side  the  suffrage  of  past  ages, 
the  sanction  of  opinion  and  law,  and  the 
applauding  voice  of  nations ; so  that 
justice  commands  us  to  acquit  them  of 
peculiar  deviations  from  duty,  or  of  fall- 
ing below  society  in  moral  worth  or  pri- 
vate virtue. 

Much  of  the  glare  thrown  over  the 
military  profession  is  to  be  ascribed  to 
the  false  estimate  of  courage  which  pre- 
vails through  the  Christian  world.  Men 
are  dazzled  by  this  quality.  On  no  point 
is  popular  opinion  more  perverted  and 
more  hostile  to  Christianity,  and  to  this 
point  I would  therefore  solicit  particular 
attention.  The  truth  is,  that  the  delu- 
sion on  this  subject  has  come  down  to 
us  from  remote  ages,  and  has  been  from 
the  beginning  a chief  element  of  the  Eu- 
ropean character.  Our  northern  ances- 
tors, who  overwhelmed  the  Roman  em- 
pire, were  fanatical  to  the  last  degree  in 
respect  to  military  courage.  They  made 
it  the  first  of  virtues.  One  of  the  chief 


WAR. 


658 

articles  of  their  creed  was,  that  a man 
dying  on  the  field  of  battle  was  trans- 
ported at  once  to  the  hall  of  their  god 
Odin,  a terrible  paradise,  where  he  was 
to  quaff  for  ever  delicious  draughts  from 
the  skulls  of  his  enemies.  So  rooted 
was  this  fanaticism,  that  it  was  thought 
a calamity  to  die  of  disease  or  old  age  ; 
and  death  by  violence,  even  if  inflicted 
by  their  own  hands,  was  thought  more 
honorable  than  to  expire  by  the  slow, 
inglorious  processes  of  nature.  This 
spirit,  aided  by  other  causes,  broke  out 
at  length  into  chivalry,  the  strangest 
mixture  of  good  and  evil,  of  mercy  and 
cruelty,  of  insanity  and  generous  senti- 
ment, to  be  found  in  human  history. 
This  whole  institution  breathed  an  ex- 
travagant estimation  of  courage.  To  be 
without  fear  was  the  first  attribute  of  a 
good  knight.  Danger  was  thirsted  for, 
when  it  might  innocently  be  shunned. 
Life  was  sported  with  wantonly.  Amuse- 
ments full  of  peril,  exposing  even  to 
mortal  wounds,  were  pursued  with  pas- 
sionate eagerness.  The  path  to  honor 
lay  through  rash  adventures,  the  chief 
merit  of  which  was  the  scorn  of  suffer- 
ing and  of  death  which  they  expressed. 
This  fanaticism  has  yielded  in  a meas- 
ure to  good  sense,  and  still  more  to  the 
spirit  of  Christianity.  But  still  it  is  rife  ; 
and  not  a few  imagine  fearless  courage 
to  be  the  height  of  glory. 

That  courage  is  of  no  worth,  I have 
no  disposition  to  affirm.  It  ought  to  be 
prized,  sought,  cherished.  Though  not 
of  itself  virtuous,  it  is  an  important  aid 
to  virtue.  It  gives  us  the  command  of 
our  faculties  when  needed  most.  It 
converts  the  dangers  which  palsy  the 
weak  into  springs  of  energy.  Its  firm 
look  often  awes  the  injurious,  and  silences 
insult.  All  great  enterprises  demand  it, 
and  without  it  virtue  cannot  rise  into 
magnanimity.  Whilst  it  leaves  us  ex- 
posed to  many  vices,  it  saves  us  from 
one  class  peculiarly  ignominious,  — from 
the  servility,  deceit,  and  base  compli- 
ance which  belong  to  fear.  It  is  accom- 
panied. too,  with  an  animated  conscious- 
ness of  power,  which  is  one  of  the  high 
enjoyments  of  life.  We  are  bound  to 
cherish  it  as  the  safeguard  of  happiness 
and  rectitude  ; and  when  so  cherished  it 
takes  rank  among  the  virtues. 

Still,  courage,  considered  in  itself,  or 
without  reference  to  its  origin  and  mo- 
tives, and  regarded  in  its  common  mani- 


festations, is  not  virtue,  is  not  moral 
excellence ; and  the  disposition  to  exalt 
it  above  the  spirit  of  Christianity  is  one 
of  the  most  ruinous  delusions  which 
have  been  transmitted  to  us  from  bar- 
barous times.  In  most  men,  courage 
has  its  origin  in  a happy  organization  of 
the  body.  It  belongs  to  the  nerves 
rather  than  the  character.  In  some,  it 
is  an  instinct  bordering  on  rashness. 
In  one  man,  it  springs  from  strong  pas- 
sions obscuring  the  idea  of  danger ; in 
another,  from  the  want  of  imagination 
or  from  the  incapacity  of  bringing  future 
evils  near.  The  courage  of  the  unedu- 
cated may  often  be  traced  to  stupidity  ; 
to  the  absence  of  thought  and  sensi- 
bility. Many  are  courageous  from  the 
dread  of  the  infamy  absurdly  attached 
to  cowardice.  One  terror  expels  another. 
A bullet  is  less  formidable  than  a sneer. 
To  show  the  moral  worthlessness  of 
mere  courage,  of  contempt  of  bodily 
suffering  and  pain,  one  consideration  is 
sufficient;  — the  most  abandoned  have 
possessed  it  in  perfection.  The  villain 
often  hardens  into  the  thorough  hero,  if 
cqurage  and  heroism  be  one.  The  more 
complete  his  success  in  searing  con- 
science and  defying  God,  the  more 
dauntless  his  daring.  Long-continued 
vice  and  exposure  naturally  generate 
contempt  of  life  and  a reckless  encoun- 
ter of  peril.  Courage,  considered  in 
itself,  or  without  reference  to  its  causes, 
is  no  virtue,  and  deserves  no  esteem. 
It  is  found  in  the  best  and  the  worst, 
and  is  to  be  judged  according  to  the 
qualities  from  which  it  springs  and  with 
which  it  is  conjoined.  There  is,  in 
truth,  a virtuous,  glorious  courage  ; but 
it  happens  to  be  found  least  in  those 
who  are  most  admired  for  bravery.  It 
is  the  courage  of  principle,  which  dares 
to  do  right  in  the  face  of  scorn,  which 
puts  to  hazard  reputation,  rank,  the 
prospects  of  advancement,  the  sympathy 
of  friends,  the  admiration  of  the  world, 
rather  than  violate  a conviction  of  duty. 
It  is  the  courage  of  benevolence  and 
piety,  which  counts  not  life  dear  in 
withstanding  error,  superstition,  vice, 
oppression,  injustice,  and  the  mightiest 
foes  of  human  improvement  and  happi- 
ness. It  is  moral  energy,  that  force  of 
will  in  adopting  duty  over  which  menace 
and  suffering  have  no  power.  It  is  the 
courage  of  a soul  which  reverences  itself 
too  much  to  be  greatly  moved  about 


WAR. 


what  befalls  the  body ; which  thirsts  so 
intensely  for  a pure  inward  life,  that  it 
can  yield  up  the  animal  life  without 
fear ; in  which  the  idea  of  moral,  spir- 
itual, celestial  good  has  been  unfolded 
so  brightly  as  to  obscure  all  worldly 
interests ; which  aspires  after  immor- 
tality, and  therefore  heeds  little  the  pains 
or  pleasures  of  a day  ; which  has  so  con- 
centred its  whole  power  and  life  in  the 
love  of  godlike  virtue,  that  it  even  finds 
a joy  in  the  perils  and  sufferings  by 
which  its  loyalty  to  God  and  virtue  may 
be  approved.  This  courage  may  be 
called  the  perfection  of  humanity,  for  it 
is  the  exercise,  result,  and  expression 
of  the  highest  attributes  of  our  nature. 
Need  I tell  you  that  this  courage  has 
hardly  any  thing  in  common  with  what 
generally  bears  the  name,  and  has  been 
lauded  by  the  crowd  to  the  skies  ? Can 
any  man,  not  wholly  blinded  to  moral 
distinctions,  compare  or  confound  with 
this  divine  energy  the  bravery  derived 
from  constitution,  nourished  by  ambi- 
tion, and  blazing  out  in  resentment, 
which  forms  the  glory  of  military  men 
and  of  men  of  the  world?  The  cour- 
age of  military  and  ordinary  life,  instead 
of  resting  on  high  and  unchangeable 
principles,  finds  its  chief  motive  in  the 
opinions  of  the  world,  and  its  chief  re- 
ward in  vulgar  praise.  Superior  to 
bodily  pain,  it  crouches  before  censure, 
and  dares  not  face  the  scorn  which 
faithfulness  to  God  and  unpopular  duty 
must  often  incur.  It  wears  the  appear- 
ance of  energy,  because  it  conquers  one 
strong  passion,  fear  ; but  the  other  pas- 
sions it  leaves  unmastered,  and  thus  dif- 
fers essentially  from  moral  strength  or 
greatness,  which  consists  in  subjecting 
all  appetites  and  desires  to  a pure  and 
high  standard  of  rectitude.  Brilliant 
courage,  as  it  is  called,  so  far  from  being 
a principle  of  universal  self-control,  is 
often  joined  with  degrading  pleasures, 
with  a lawless  spirit,  with  general  licen- 
tiousness of  manners,  with  a hardihood 
which  defies  God  as  well  as  man,  and 
which,  not  satisfied  with  scorning  death, 
contemns  the  judgment  that  is  to  follow. 
So  wanting  in  moral  worth  is  the  bra- 
very which  has  so  long  been  praised, 
sung,  courted,  adored.  It  is  time  that 
it  should  be  understood.  It  is  time  that 
the  old,  barbarous,  indiscriminate  wor- 
ship of  mere  courage  should  give  place 
to  a wise  moral  judgment.  This  fanati-  I 


659 

cism  has  done  much  to  rob  Christianity 
of  its  due  honor.  Men  who  give  their 
sympathies  and  homage  to  the  fiery  and 
destructive  valor  of  the  soldier,  will  see 
little  attraction  in  the  mild  and  peaceful 
spirit  of  Jesus.  His  unconquerable  for- 
bearance, the  most  genuine  and  touch- 
ing expression  of  his  divine  philanthropy, 
may  even  seem  to  them  a weakness. 
We  read  of  those  who,  surrounding  the 
cross,  derided  the  meek  sufferer.  They 
did  it  in  their  ignorance.  More  guilty, 
more  insensible  are  those  who,  living 
under  the  light  of  Christianity,  and 
yielding  it  their  assent,  do  not  see  in 
that  cross  a glory  which  pours  contempt 
on  the  warrior.  Will  this  delusion 
never  cease  ? Will  men  never  learn  to 
reverence  disinterested  love  ? Shall  the 
desolations  and  woes  of  ages  bear  their 
testimony  in  vain  against  the  false  glory 
wrhich  has  so  long  dazzled  the  world  ? 
Shall  Christ,  shall  moral  perfection, 
shall  the  spirit  of  heaven,  shall  God 
manifest  in  his  Son,  be  for  ever  insulted 
by  the  worship  paid  to  the  spirit  of  sav- 
age hordes  ? Shall  the  cross  ostenta- 
tiously worn  on  the  breast  never  come 
to  the  heart,  a touching  emblem  and 
teacher  of  all-suffering  love  ? I do  not 
ask  these  questions  in  despair.  Whilst 
we  lament  the  limited  triumphs  of  Chris- 
tianity over  false  notions  of  honor,  we 
see  and  ought  to  recognize  its  progress. 
War  is  not  now  the  only  or  chief  path 
to  glory.  The  greatest  names  are  not 
now  written  in  blood.  The  purest  fame 
is  the  meed  of  genius,  philosophy,  phi- 
lanthropy, and  piety,  devoting  them- 
selves to  the  best  interests  of  humanity. 
The  passion  for  military  glory  is  no 
longer,  as  once,  able  of  itself  to  precipi- 
tate nations  into  war.  In  all  this  let  us 
rejoice. 

In  the  preceding  remarks  I aimed  to 
show  that  the  glory  awarded  to  military 
prowess  and  success  is  unfounded,  — to 
show  the  deceitfulness  of  the  glare  which 
seduces  many  into  the  admiration  of  war. 
I proceed  to  another  topic,  which  is  nec- 
essary to  give  us  a full  understanding 
of  the  pernicious  influence  exerted  by 
the  idea  of  honor  in  exciting  nations  to 
hostility.  There  are  many  persons  who 
have  little  admiration  of  warlike  achieve- 
ments, and  are  generally  inclined  to 
peace,  but  who  still  imagine  that  the 
honor  of  a nation  consists  peculiarly  in 
quickness  to  feel  and  repel  injury,  and 


66o 


WAR. 


who,  consequently,  when  their  country 
has  been  wronged,  are  too  prone  to 
rush  into  war.  Perhaps  its  interests 
have  been  slightly  touched.  Perhaps 
its  well-being  imperiously  demands  con- 
tinued peace.  Still  its  honor  is  said  to 
call  for  reparation,  and  no  sacrifice  is 
thought  too  costly  to  satisfy  the  claim. 
That  national  honor  should  be  dear,  and 
guarded  with  jealous  care,  no  man  will 
deny ; but  in  proportion  as  we  exalt  it, 
we  should  be  anxious  to  know  precisely 
what  it  means,  lest  we  set  up  for  our 
worship  a false,  unjust,  merciless  deity, 
and  instead  of  glory  shall  reap  shame. 
I ask,  then,  in  what  does  the  honor  of 
a nation  consist  ? What  are  its  chief 
elements  or  constituents  ? The  com- 
mon views  of  it  are  narrow  and  low. 
Every  people  should  study  it ; and  in 
proportion  as  we  understand  it,  we  shall 
learn  that  it  has  no  tendency  to  precipi- 
tate .nations  into  war.  What,  I ask 
again,  is  this  national  honor  from  which 
no  sacrifice  must  be  withheld  ? 

The  first  element  of  a nation’s  honor 
is  undoubtedly  justice.  A people,  to 
deserve  respect,  must  lay  down  the 
maxim,  as  the  foundation  of  its  inter- 
course with  other  communities,  that 
justice  — a strict  regard  to  the  rights  of 
other  states  — shall  take  rank  of  its  in- 
terests. A nation  without  reverence  for 
right  can  never  plead  in  defence  of  a 
war,  that  this  is  needed  to  maintain  its 
honor,  for  it  has  no  honor  to  maintain. 
It  bears  a brand  of  infamy,  which  oceans 
of  human  blood  cannot  wash  away.  With 
these  views,  we  cannot  be  too  much 
shocked  by  the  language  of  a chief 
magistrate  recently  addressed  to  a legis- 
lative body  in  this  country. 

“ No  community  of  men,”  he  says, 
“ in  any  age  or  nation,  under  any  dis- 
pensation, political  or  religious,  has  been 
governed  by  justice  in  its  negotiations 
or  conflicts  with  other  states.  It  is  not 
justice  and  magnanimity,  but  interest 
and  ambition,  dignified  under  the  name 
of  state  policy,  that  has  governed, 
and  ever  will  govern,  masses  of  men 
acting  as  political  communities.  Indi- 
viduals may  be  actuated  by  a sense  of 
justice  ; but  what  citizen  in  any  country 
would  venture  to  contend  for  justice  to 
a foreign  and  rival  community,  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  prevailing  policy  of  his 
state,  without  forfeiting  the  character  of 
a patriot  ? ” 


Now,  if  this  be  true  of  our  country, — 
and  to  our  own  country  it  was  applied, 
— then,  I say,  we  have  no  honor  to  fight 
for.  A people  systematically  sacrificing 
justice  to  its  interests,  is  essentially  a 
band  of  robbers,  and  receives  but  the 
just  punishment  of  its  profligacy  in  the 
assaults  of  other  nations.  But  it  is  not 
true  that  nations  are  so  dead  to  moral 
principles.  The  voice  of  justice  is  not 
always  drowned  by  the  importunities  of 
interest ; nor  ought  we,  as  citizens,  to 
acquiesce  in  an  injurious  act  on  the  part 
of  our  rulers  towards  other  states,  as  if 
it  were  a matter  of  course,  a necessary 
working  of  human  selfishness.  It  ought 
to  be  reprobated  as  indignantly  as  the 
wrongs  of  private  men.  A people  strict- 
ly just  has  an  honor  independent  of 
opinion,  and  to  which  opinion  must  pay 
homage.  Its  glory  is  purer  and  more 
enduring  than  that  of  a thousand  victo- 
ries. Let  not  him  who  prefers  for  his 
country  the  renown  of  military  spirit 
and  success  to  that  of  justice,  talk  of 
his  zeal  for  its  honor.  He  does  not 
know  the  meaning  of  the  word.  He 
belongs  to  a barbarous  age,  and  desires 
for  his  country  no  higher  praise  than 
has  been  gained  by  many  a savage 
horde. 

The  next  great  element  of  a nation’s 
honor  is  a spirit  of  philanthropy.  * A 
people  ought  to  regard  itself  as  a mem- 
ber of  the  human  family,  and  as  bound 
to  bear  part  in  the  work  of  human  im- 
provement and  happiness.  The  obliga- 
tion of  benevolence,  belonging  to  men 
as  individuals,  belongs  to  them  in  their 
associated  capacities.  We  have,  indeed, 
no  right  to  form  an  association,  of  what- 
ever kind,  which  severs  us  from  the 
human  race.  I care  not  though  men  of 
loose  principles  scoff  at  the  idea  of  a 
nation  respecting  the  claims  of  humanity. 
Duty  is  eternal,  and  too  high  for  human 
mockery ; and  this  duty  in  particular, 
so  far  from  being  a dream,  has  been 
reduced  to  practice.  Our  own  country, 
in  framing  its  first  treaties,  proposed  to 
insert  an  article  prohibiting  privateering ; 
and  this  it  did  in  the  spirit  of  humanity, 
to  diminish  the  crimes  and  miseries  of 
war.  England,  from  philanthropy,  abol- 
ished the  slave-trade  and  slavery.  No 
nation  stands  alone  ; and  each  is  bound 
•to  consecrate  its  influence  to  the  pro- 
motion of  equitable,  pacific,  and  benefi- 
cent relations  among  all  countries,  and 


WAR. 


to  the  diffusion  of  more  liberal  principles 
of  intercourse  and  national  law.  This 
country  is  intrusted  by  God  with  a mis- 
sion for  humanity.  Its  office  is  to  com- 
mend to  all  nations  free  institutions,  as 
the  sources  of  public  prosperity  and 
personal  dignity ; and  I trust  we  desire 
to  earn  the  thanks  and  honor  of  nations 
by  fidelity  to  our  trust.  A people  reck- 
less of  the  interest  of  the  world,  and 
profligately  selfish  in  its  policy,  incurs 
far  deeper  disgrace  than  by  submission 
to  wrongs  ; and  whenever  it  is  precipi- 
tated into  war  by  its  cupidity,  its  very 
victories  become  monuments  of  its  guilt, 
and  deserve  the  execration  of  present 
and  coming  times. 

I now  come  to  another  essential  ele- 
ment of  a nation’s  honor ; and  that  is, 
the  existence  of  institutions  which  tend 
and  are  designed  to  elevate  all  classes 
of  its  citizens.  As  it  is  the  improved 
character  of  a people  which  alone  gives 
it  an  honorable  place  in  the  world,  its 
dignity  is  to  be  measured  chiefly  by  the 
extent  and  efficiency  of  its  provisions 
and  establishments  for  national  im- 
provement, — for  spreading  education 
far  and  wide  ; for  purifying  morals  and 
refining  manners  ; for  enlightening  the 
ignorant  and  succoring  the  miserable  ; 
for  building  up  intellectual  and  moral 
power,  and  breathing  the  spirit  of  true 
religion.  The  degree  of  aid  given  to 
the  individual  in  every  condition,  for 
unfolding  his  best  powers,  determines 
the  rank  of  a nation.  Mere  wealth  adds 
nothing  to  a people’s  glory ; it  is  the 
nation’s  soul  which  constitutes  its  great- 
ness. Nor  is  it  enough  for  a country 
to  possess  a select  class  of  educated, 
cultivated  men  ; for  the  nation  consists 
of  the  many,  not  the  few ; and  where 
the  mass  are  sunk  in  ignorance  and 
sensuality,  there  you  see  a degraded 
community,  even  though  an  aristocracy 
of  science  be  lodged  in  its  bosom.  It 
is  the  moral  and  intellectual  progress 
of  the  people  to  which  the  patriot  should 
devote  himself  as  the  only  dignity  and 
safeguard  of  the  state.  How  needed 
this  truth!  In  all  ages,  nations  have 
imagined  that  they  were  glorifying 
themselves  by  triumphing  over  foreign 
foes,  whilst  at  home  they  have  been 
denied  every  ennobling  institution  ; have 
been  trodden  under  foot  by  tyranny, 
defrauded  of  the  most  sacred  rights 
of  humanity,  enslaved  by  superstition, 


66 1 

buried  in  ignorance,  and  cut  off  from 
all  the  means  of  rising  to  the  dignity 
of  men.  They  have  thought  that  they 
were  exalting  themselves,  in  fighting 
for  the  very  despots  who  ground  them 
in  the  dust.  Such  has  been  the  com- 
mon notion  of  national  honor  ; nor  is 
it  yet  effaced.  How  many  among  our- 
selves are  unable  to  stifle  their  zeal  for 
our  honor  as  a people,  who  never  spent 
a thought  on  the  institutions  and  im- 
provements which  ennoble  a community, 
and  whose  character  and  examples  de- 
grade and  taint  their  country,  as  far  as 
their  influence  extends  ? 

I have  now  given  you  the  chief  ele- 
ments of  national  honor  ; and  a people 
cherishing  these  can  hardly  be  compelled 
to  resort  to  war.  I shall  be  told,  how- 
ever, that  an  enlightened  and  just  peo- 
ple, though  less  exposed  to  hostilities, 
may  still  be  wronged,  insulted,  and  en- 
dangered ; and  I shall  be  asked,  if  in 
such  a case  its  honor  do  not  require  it 
to  repel  injury,  — if  submission  be  not 
disgrace  ? I answer,  that  a nation  which 
submits  to  wrong  from  timidity,  or  a 
sordid  love  of  ease  or  gain,  forfeits  its 
claim  to  respect.  A faint-hearted,  self- 
indulgent  people,  cowering  under  men- 
ace, shrinking  from  peril,  and  willing 
to  buy  repose  by  tribute  or  servile  con- 
cession, deserves  the  chains  which  it 
cannot  escape.  But  to  bear  much  and 
long  from  a principle  of  humanity,  from 
reverence  for  the  law  of  love,  is  noble  ; 
and  nothing  but  moral  blindness  and 
degradation  induce  men  to  see  higher 
glory  in  impatience  of  injury  and  quick- 
ness to  resent. 

Still  I may  be  asked,  whether  a peo- 
ple, however  forbearing,  may  not  some- 
times owe  it  to  its  own  dignity  and  safety 
to  engage  in  war?  I answer,  Yes. 
When  the  spirit  of  justice,  humanity, 
and  forbearance,  instead  of  spreading 
peace,  provokes  fresh  outrage,  this  out- 
rage must  be  met  and  repressed  by 
force.  I know  that  many  sincere  Chris- 
tians oppose  to  this  doctrine  the  precept 
of  Christ,  “ Resist  not  evil.”  But  Chris- 
tianity is  wronged,  and  its  truth  exposed 
to  strong  objections,  when  these  and  the 
like  precepts  are  literally  construed. 
The  whole  legislation  of  Christ  is  in- 
tended to  teach  us  the  spirit  from  which 
we  should  act,  not  to  lay  down  rules 
for  outward  conduct.  The  precept, 
“ Resist  not  evil,”  if  practised  to  the 


662 


WAR. 


letter,  would  annihilate  all  government 
in  the  family  and  the  state  ; for  it  is  the 
great  work  of  government  to  resist  evil 
passions  and  evil  deeds.  It  is,  indeed, 
our  duty  as  Christians  to  love  our  worst 
enemy,  and  to  desire  his  true  good  ; but 
we  are  to  love  not  only  our  enemy,  but 
our  families,  friends,  and  country,  and 
to  take  a wise  care  of  our  own  rights 
and  happiness  ; and  when  we  abandon 
to  the  violence  of  a wrong-doer  these 
fellow-beings  and  these  rights  com- 
mended by  God  to  our  love  and  care, 
we  are  plainly  wanting  in  that  expand- 
ed benevolence  which  Christianity  de- 
mands. A nation,  then,  may  owe  it 
to  its  welfare  and  dignity  to  engage  in 
war ; and  its  honor  demands  that  it 
should  meet  the  trial  with  invincible 
resolution.  It  ought,  at  such  a moment, 
to  dismiss  all  fear,  except  the  fear  of  its 
own  passions,  — the  fear  of  the  crimes  to 
which  the  exasperations  and  sore  tempta- 
tions of  public  hostilities  expose  a state. 

I have  admitted  that  a nation’s  honor 
may  require  its  citizens  to  engage  in 
war  ; but  it  requires  them  to  engage 
in  it  wisely,  — with  a full  consciousness 
of  rectitude  and  with  unfeigned  sorrow. 
On  no  other  conditions  does  war  com- 
port with  national  dignity ; and  these 
deserve  a moment’s  attention.  A peo- 
ple must  engage  in  war  wisely ; for 
rashness  is  dishonorable,  especially  in 
so  solemn  and  tremendous  a concern. 
A nation  must  propose  a wise  end  in 
war ; and  this  remark  is  the  more  im- 
portant, because  the  end  or  object  which, 
according  to  common  speech,  a people 
is  bound  by  its  honor  to  propose,  is  gen- 
erally disowned  by  wisdom.  How  com- 
mon it  is  to  hear  that  the  honor  of  a 
nation  requires  it  to  seek  redress  of 
grievances,  — reparation  of  injuries. 
Now,  as  a general  rule,  war  does  not 
and  cannot  repair  injuries.  Instead  of 
securing  compensation  for  past  evils,  it 
almost  always  multiplies  them.  As  a 
general  rule,  a nation  loses  incompara- 
bly more  by  war  than  it  has  previously 
lost  by  the  wrong-doer.  Suppose,  for 
example,  a people  to  have  been  spoiled 
by  another  state  of  “five  millions  of 
dollars.”  To  recover  this  by  war,  it 
must  expend  fifty  or  a hundred  millions 
more,  and  will,  almost  certainly,  come 
forth  from  the  contest  burdened  with 
debt.  Nor  is  this  all.  It  loses  more 
than  wealth.  It  loses  many  lives.  Now, 


life  and  property  are  not  to  be  balanced 
against  each  other.  If  a nation,  by  slay- 
ing a single  innocent  man,  could  possess 
itself  of  the  wealth  of  worlds,  it  would 
have  no  right  to  destroy  him  for  that 
cause  alone.  A human  being  cannot  be 
valued  by  silver  and  gold  ; and,  of  con- 
sequence, a nation  can  never  be  author- 
ized to  sacrifice  or  expose  thousands 
of  lives,  for  the  mere  recovery  of  prop- 
erty of  which  it  has  been  spoiled.  To 
secure  compensation  for  the  past  is  very 
seldom  a sufficient  object  for  war.  The 
true  end  is,  security  for  the  future.  An 
injury  inflicted  by  one  nation  on  another 
may  manifest  a lawless,  hostile  spirit, 
from  which,  if  unresisted,  future  and 
increasing  outrages  are  to  be  feared, 
which  would  embolden  other  commu- 
nities in  wrong-doing,  and  against  which 
neither  property,  nor  life,  nor  liberty 
would  be  secure.  To  protect  a state 
from  this  spirit  of  violence  and  unprin- 
cipled aggression,  is  the  duty  of  rulers  ; 
and  protection  may  be  found  only  in 
war.  Here  is  the  legitimate  occasion 
and  the  true  end  of  an  appeal  to  arms. 
Let  me  ask  you  to.  apply  this  rule  of 
wisdom  to  a case,  the  bearings  of  which 
will  be  easily  seen.  Suppose,  then,  an 
injury  to  have  been  inflicted  on  us  by  a 
foreign  nation  a quarter  of  a century 
ago.  Suppose  it  to  have  been  inflicted 
by  a government  which  has  fallen  through 
its  lawlessness,  and  which  can  never  be 
restored.  Suppose  this  injury  to  have 
been  followed,  during  this  long  period, 
by  not  one  hostile  act,  and  not  one  sign 
of  a hostile  spirit.  Suppose  a disposi- 
tion to  repair  it  to  be  expressed  by  the 
head  of  the  new  government  of  the  in- 
jurious nation ; and  suppose,  further, 
that  our  long  endurance  has  not  exposed 
us  to  a single  insult  from  any  other 
power  since  the  general  pacification  of 
Europe.  Under  these  circumstances, 
can  it  be  pretended,  with  any  show  of 
reason,  that  threatened  wrong,  or  that 
future  security,  requires  us  to  bring  upon 
ourselves  and  the  other  nation  .the  hor- 
rors and  miseries  of  war  ? Does  not 
wisdom  join  with  humanity  in  repro- 
bating such  a conflict  ? 

I have  said  that  the  honor  of  a nation 
requires  it  to  engage  in  a war  for  a wise 
end.  I add,  as  a more  important  rule, 
that  its  dignity  demands  of  it  to  engage 
in  no  conflict  without  a full  conscious- 
ness of  rectitude.  It  must  not  appeal 


WAR.  • 


to  arms  for  doubtful  rights.  It  must  not 
think  it  enough  to  establish  a probable 
claim.  The  true  principle  for  a nation, 
as  for  an  individual,  is,  that  it  will  suffer 
rather  than  do  wrong.  It  should  prefer 
being  injured  to  the  hazard  of  doing 
injury.  To  secure  to  itself  this  full 
consciousness  of  rectitude,  a nation 
should  always  desire  to  refer  its  dis- 
putes to  an  impartial  umpire.  It  cannot 
too  much  distrust  its  own  judgment  in 
its  own  cause.  That  same  selfish  parti- 
ality which  blinds  the  individual  to  the 
claims  of  a rival  or  foe,  and  which  has 
compelled  society  to  substitute  public 
and  disinterested  tribunals  for  private 
war,  disqualifies  nations,  more  or  less, 
to  determine  their  own  rights,  and  should 
lead  them  to  seek  a more  dispassionate 
decision.  The  great  idea  which  should 
rise  to  the  mind  of  a country  on  medi- 
tating war  is  rectitude.  In  declaring 
war,  it  should  listen  only  to  the  voice 
of  duty.  To  resolve  on  the  destruction 
of  our  fellow-creatures  without  a com- 
mand from  conscience  — a commission 
from  God  — is  to  bring  on  a people  a 
load  of  infamy  and  crime.  A nation,  in 
declaring  war,  should  be  lifted  above  its 
passions  by  the  fearfulness  and  solem- 
nity of  the  act  It  should  appeal  with 
unfeigned  confidence  to  heaven  and 
earth  for  its  uprightness  of  purpose.  It 
should,  go  forth  as  the  champion  of 
truth  and  justice,  as  the  minister  of 
God,  to  vindicate  and  sustain  that  great 
moral  and  national  law,  without  which 
life  has  no  security,  and  social  improve- 
ments no  defence.  It  should  be  inspired 
with  invincible  courage,  not  by  its  pas- 
sions, but  by  the  dignity  and  holiness  of 
its  cause.  Nothing  in  the  whole  com- 
pass of  legislation  is  so  solemn  as  a 
declaration  of  war.  By  nothing  do  a 
people  incur  such  tremendous  respon- 
sibility. Unless  justly  waged,  war  in- 
volves a people  in  the  guilt  of  murder. 
The  state  which,  without  the  command 
of  justice  and  God,  sends  out  fleets  and 
armies  to  slaughter  fellow-creatures, 
must  answer  for  the  blood  it  sheds,  as 
truly  as  the  assassin  for  the  death  of  his 
victim.  Oh,  how  loudly  does  the  voice 
of  blood  cry  to  heaven  from  the  field  of 
battle  ! Undoubtedly,  the  men  whose 
names  have  come  down  to  us  with  the 
loudest  shouts  of  ages  stand  now  be- 
fore the  tribunal  of  eternal  justice  con- 
demned as  murderers  ; and  the  victories 


663 

which  have  been  thought  to  encircle  a 
nation  with  glory  have  fixed  the  same 
brand  on  multitudes  in  the  sight  of  the 
final  and  Almighty  Judge.  How  essen- 
tial is  it  to  a nation’s  honor  that  it  should 
engage  in  war  with  a full  conviction  of 
rectitude  ! 

But  there  is  one  more  condition  of  an 
honorable  war.  A nation  should  engage 
in  it  with  unfeigned  sorrow.  It  should 
beseech  the  throne  of  grace  with  earnest 
supplication,  that  the  dreadful  office  of 
destroying  fellow-beings  may  not  be  im- 
posed on  it.  War  concentrates  all  the 
varieties  of  human  misery,  and  a nation 
which  can  inflict  these  without  sorrow, 
contracts  deeper  infamy  than  from  cow- 
ardice. It  is  essentially  barbarous  ; and 
will  be  looked  back  upon  by  more  en- 
lightened and  Christian  ages  with  the 
horror  with  which  we  recall  the  atrocities 
of  savage  tribes.  Let  it  be  remembered 
that  the  calamities  of  war,  its  slaughter, 
famine,  and  desolation,  instead  of  being 
confined  to  its  criminal  authors,  fall 
chiefly  on  multitudes  who  have  had  no 
share  in  provoking  and  no  voice  in  pro- 
claiming it  ; and  let  not  a nation  talk  of 
its  honor  which  has  no  sympathy  with 
these  woes,  which  is  steeled  to  the  most 
terrible  sufferings  of  humanity. 

I have  now  spoken,  my  friends,  of  the 
sentiments  with  which  war  should  be 
regarded.  Is  it  so  regarded  ? When, 
recently,  the  suggestion  of  war  was 
thrown  out  to  this  people,  what  recep- 
tion did  it  meet  ? Was  it  viewed  at 
once  in  the  light  in  which  a Christian 
nation  should  immediately  and  most 
earnestly  consider  it  ? Was  it  received 
as  a proposition  to  slaughter  thousands 
of  our  fellow-creatures  ? Did  we  feel 
as  if  threatened  with  a calamity  more 
fearful  than  earthquakes,  famine,  or  pes- 
tilence ? The  blight  which  might  fall  on 
our  prosperity  drew  attention  ; but  the 
thought  of  devoting,  as  a people,  our 
power  and  resources  to  the  destruction 
of  mankind,  of  those  whom  a common 
nature,  whom  reason,  conscience,  and 
Christianity  command  us  to  love  and 
save,  — did  this  thrill  us  with  horror? 
Did  the  solemn  inquiry  break  forth 
through  our  land,  is  the  dreadful  ne- 
cessity indeed  laid  upon  us  to  send 
abroad  death  and  woe  ? No.  There 
was  little  manifestation  of  the  sensi- 
bility with  which  men  and  Christians 
should  look  such  an  evil  in  the  face. 


WAR. 


664 


As  a people,  we  are  still  seared  and 
blinded  to  the  crimes  and  miseries  of 
war.  The  principles  of  honor,  to  which 
the  barbarism  and  infatuation  of  dark 
ages  gave  birth,  prevail  among  us.  The 
generous,  merciful  spirit  of  our  religion 
is  little  understood.  The  law  of  love 
preached  from  the  cross  and  written  in 
the  blood  of  the  Saviour  is  trampled  on 
by  public  men.  The  true  dignity  of 
man,  which  consists  in  breathing  and 
cherishing  God’s  spirit  of  justice  and 
philanthropy  towards  every  human  being, 
is  counted  folly  in  comparison  with  that 
spirit  of  vindictiveness  and  self-aggran- 
dizement which  turns  our  earth  into  an 
image  of  the  abodes  of  the  damned. 
How  long  will  the  friends  of  humanity, 
of  religion,  of  Christ,  silently,  passively, 


uncomplainingly,  suffer  the  men  of  this 
world,  the  ambitious,  vindictive,  and  self- 
ish, to  array  them  against  their  brethren 
in  conflicts  which  they  condemn  and 
abhor  ? Shall  not  truth,  humanity,  and 
the  mild  and  holy  spirit  of  Christianity, 
find  a voice  to  rebuke  and  awe  the 
wickedness  which  precipitates  nations 
into  war,  and  to  startle  and  awaken 
nations  to  their  fearful  responsibility 
in  taking  arms  against  the  children  of 
their  Father  in  heaven  ? Prince  of 
Peace  ! Saviour  of  men  ! speak  in  thine 
own  voice  of  love,  power,  and  fearful 
warning ; and  redeem  the  world  for 
which  thou  hast  died  from  lawless  and 
cruel  passions,  from  the  spirit  of  rapine 
and  murder,  from  the  powers  of  dark- 
ness and  hell ! 


LECTURE 

Preface. 

This  lecture  was  delivered  in  the  be- 
ginning of  the  last  year  (1838).  It  was 
prepared  with  a distinct  knowledge  of 
the  little  interest  taken  in  the  subject  by 
the  people  at  large,  and  was  prepared 
on  that  very  account.  It  is  now  pub- 
lished, in  consequence  of  fresh  proofs 
of  the  insensibility  of  the  mass  of  this 
community  to  the  crimes  and  miseries 
of  war.  For  a few  weeks  this  calamity 
has  been  brought  distinctly  before  us  ; 
we  have  been  driven  by  one  of  the 
States  into  a hostile  position  towards  a 
great  European  power  ; and  the  manner 
in  which  the  subject  has  been  treated 
in  and  out  of  Congress  is  a sad  proof 
of  the  very  general  want  of  Christian 
and  philanthropic  views  of  the  subject, 
as  well  as  of  strange  blindness  to  our 
national  and  individual  well-being.  One 
would  think  that  the  suggestion  of  a 
war  with  England  would  call  forth  one 
strong,  general  burst  of  opposing  feel- 
ings. Can  a more  calamitous  event, 
with  the  exception  of  civil  war,  be  imag- 
ined ? What  other  nation  can  do  us  equal 
harm  ? With  what  other  nation  do  we 
hold  equally  profitable  connections  ? To 
what  other  are  we  bound  by  such  strong 


ON  WAR. 

and  generous  ties  ? We  are  of  one 
blood.  We  speak  one  language.  We 
have  a common  religion.  We  have  the 
noble  bond  of  free  institutions  ; and  to 
these  two  countries,  above  all  others,  is 
the  cause  of  freedom  on  earth  intrusted 
by  Providence.  A war  with  England 
would,  to  a great  extent,  sweep  our  ships 
from  the  seas,  cut  off  our  intercourse 
with  the  world,  shut  up  our  great  sta- 
ples, palsy  the  spirit  of  internal  improve- 
ment, and  smite  with  languor,  if  not 
death,  our  boldest  enterprises.  It  would 
turn  to  the  destruction  of  our  fellow- 
creatures  vast  resources,  which  are  now 
working  out  for  us  unparalleled  pros- 
perity. It  would  load  us  with  taxes 
and  public  debts,  and  breed  internal 
discontents  with  which  a free  govern- 
ment contends  at  fearful  odds  in  the 
midst  of  war.  Instead  of  covering  the 
ocean  with  the  sails  of  a beneficent 
commerce,  we  should  scour  it  with  pri- 
vateers, that  is,  as  legalized  pirates. 
Our  great  cities  would  be  threatened 
with  invasion  ; and  the  din  of  industry 
in  the  streets  of  this  metropolis  would 
be  stilled.  And  all  this  would  come 
upon  us  at  a moment  when  the  country 
is  pressing  forward  to  wealth,  greatness, 
and  every  kind  of  improvement,  with 


WAR. 


an  impulse,  a free  joyous  activity,  which 
has  no  parallel  in  the  history  of  the 
world.  And  these  immense  sacrifices 
are  to  be  made  for  a tract  of  wild  land, 
perhaps  not  worth  the  money  which  it 
has  cost  us  within  a few  weeks  past, 
if  we  take  into  account  the  expenses  of 
Maine,  and  the  losses  which  the  whole 
country  has  suffered  by  interruption  of 
tracle. 

But  this  is  not  all.  We  are  not  to 
suffer  alone.  We  should  inflict  in  such 
a war  deep  wounds  on  England,  not 
only  on  her  armed  bands,  on  her  rich 
merchants,  on  her  wide-spread  interests, 
but  on  vast  numbers  of  her  poor  pop- 
ulation, who  owe  subsistence  to  the 
employment  furnished  by  the  friendly 
intercourse  of  the  two  countries.  Thou- 
sands and  ten  thousands  of  her  labor- 
ers would  be  reduced  to  want  and  misery. 
Nor  would  it  be  any  mitigation  of  these 
evils  to  a man  of  humanity  that  we 
were  at  war  with  the  government  of  Eng- 
land. 

And  this  is  not  all.  A war  between 
these  countries  would  be  felt  through 
the  whole  civilized  world.  The  present 
bears  no  resemblance  to  those  half-bar- 
barous ages,  when  nations  stood  apart, 
frowning  on  one  another  in  surly  inde- 
pendence. Commerce  is  binding  all 
nations  together ; and  of  this  golden 
chain  England  and  America  are  the 
chief  links.  The  relations  between  these 
countries  cannot  become  hostile  without 
deranging,  more  or  less,  the  intercourse 
of  all  other  communities,  and  bringing 
evils  on  the  whole  Christian  world. 

Nor  is  this  all.  War  can  hardly  spring 
up  between  two  great  countries  without 
extending  beyond  them.  This  fire  natu- 
rally spreads.  The  peace  of  nations  is 
preserved  by  a kind  of  miracle.  The 
addition  of  a new  cause  of  conflict  is  al- 
ways to  be  dreaded  ; but  never  more  than 
at  this  moment,  when  communities  are 
slowly  adjusting  themselves  to  a new 
order  of  things.  All  nations  may  be 
drawn  into  the  conflict  which  we  may 
thoughtlessly  begin  ; and  if  so,  we  shall 
have  to  answer  for  wide  and  prolonged 
slaughters,  from  which  we  should  recoil 
with  horror,  could  they  be  brought 
plainly  before  our  eyes. 

And  these  evils  would  be  brought  on 
the  world  at  a moment  of  singular  in- 
terest and  promise  to  society  ; after  an 
unparalleled  duration  of  peace  ; when 


665 

a higher  civilization  seems  to  be  dawn- 
ing on  Christendom  ; when  nations  are 
everywhere  waking  up  to  develop  their 
own  resources  ; when  the  conquests  of 
industry,  art,  and  science  are  taking  the 
place  of  those  of  war  ; when  new  facili- 
ties of  intercourse  are  bringing  coun- 
tries from  their  old  unsocial  distance 
into  neighborhood  ; and  when  the  great- 
est of  all  social  revolutions  is  going  on, 
that  is,  the  elevation  of  the  middling 
and  laboring  classes,  of  the  multitude  of 
the  human  race.  To  throw  the  fire- 
brand of  war  among  the  nations  at  this 
period  would  be  treason  against  human- 
ity and  civilization,  as  foul  as  was  ever 
perpetrated.  The  nation  which  does 
this  must  answer  to  God  and  to  society 
for  every  criminal  resistance  to  the  prog- 
ress of  the  race.  Every  year,  every 
day  of  peace  is  a gain  to  mankind,  for 
it  adds  some  strength  to  the  cords  which 
are  drawing  the  nations  together.  And 
yet,  in  the  face  of  all  these  motives  to 
peace,  we  have  made  light  of  the  pres- 
ent danger.  How  few  of  us  seem  to 
have  felt  the  infinite  interests  which  a 
war  would  put  in  jeopardy  ? Many 
have  talked  of  national  honor,  as  duel- 
lists  talk  of  their  reputation  ; a few  have 
used  language  worthy  of  a mob  making 
a ring  to  see  a fight.  Hardly  anywhere 
has  a tone  worthy  of  the  solemnity  of 
the  subject  been  uttered.  National 
honor  ! This  has  been  on  our  lips  ; as 
if  the  true  honor  of  a nation  did  not  con- 
sist in  earnest,  patient  efforts  for  peace, 
not  only  for  its  own  sake,  but  for  the  sake 
of  humanity;  as  if  this  great  country, 
after  a long  history  which  has  borne  wit- 
ness to  its  prowess,  needed  to  rush  to 
battle  to  prove  itself  no  coward  ! Are  we 
still  in  the  infancy  of  civilization  ? Has 
Christianity  no  power  over  us  ? Can  a 
people  never  learn  the  magnanimity  of 
sacrifices  to  peace  and  humanity  ? I 
am,  indeed,  aware  that  the  vast  majority 
of  the  community  would  shrink  from 
this  war,  were  it  to  come  nearer.  But 
had  we  feelings  and  principles  worthy  of 
men  and  Christians,  should  we  wait  for 
the  evil  to  stand  at  our  door,  before 
waking  up  to  the  use  of  every  means 
for  averting  it  ? 

A great  addition  to  the  painfulness  of 
our  situation  is  found  in  the  manner  in 
which  we  have  been  forced  into  it.  One 
State  out  of  the  twenty-six  has  by  its 
rashness  exposed  us  to  the  greatest 


660 


WAR. 


calamities.  Maine,  by  sending  an  armed 
force,  without  warning,  into  the  disputed 
territory,  necessarily  awakened  in  the 
neighboring  British  Province  an  alarm, 
which  would  have  been  wholly  pre- 
vented by  friendly  consultation  with  its 
Governor ; and,  in  the  next  place,  this 
State,  by  declining  or  neglecting  to 
acquiesce  in  the  arrangement  of  the 
national  executive  with  the  British  min- 
ister, virtually  took  our  foreign  relations 
into  her  own  hands,  and  assumed  a 
power  more  dangerous  to  the  peace  of 
the  country  than  any  other  which  can 
be  imagined.  We  have  heard  of  the 
“ rights  ” of  a State  to  nullify  the  laws  of 
Congress,  and  to  secede  from  the  Union. 
But  to  some  of  us  these  are  less  formi- 
dable than  the  “right”  of  each  State  to 
involve  us  in  a foreign  war.  The  as- 
sumption of  such  a power  is  a flagrant 
violation  of  the  fundamental  principle, 
and  a rejection  of  one  of  the  chief  bene- 
fits of  the  confederacy.  Better  surren- 
der to  an  enemy  many  disputed  terri- 
tories, than  cede  this  right  to  a State. 
Ill-starred  indeed  must  be  this  Union, 
if  any  one  of  its  members  may  commit 
all  the  rest  to  hostilities.  The  general 
government  has  at  this  moment  a sol- 
emn duty  to  discharge,  one  requiring 
the  calm,  invincible  firmness  of  Wash- 
ington, or  the  iron  will  of  the  late  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States.  It  must 
not,  by  a suicidal  weakness,  surrender 
the  management  of  our  foreign  rela- 
tions to  a single  State. 

And  here  I am  bound  to  express  my 
gratitude  to  the  present  Chief  Magis- 
trate of  the  Union  for  his  temperate  and 
wise  efforts  for  the  preservation  of  peace. 
He  will  feel,  I trust,  that  there  is  a truer 
glory  in  saving  a country  from  war  than 
in  winning  a hundred  battles.  Much 
also  is  due  to  the  beneficent  influence  of 
General  Scott.  To  this  distinguished 
man  belongs  the  rare  honor  of  uniting 
with  military  energy  and  daring  the  spirit 
of  a philanthropist.  His  exploits  in  the 
field,  which  placed  him  in  the  first  rank  of 
our  soldiers,  have  been  obscured  by  the 
purer  and  more  lasting  glory  of  a pacifi- 
cator, and  of  a friend  of  mankind.  In 
the  whole  history  of  the  intercourse  of 
civilized  with  barbarous  or  half-civil- 
ized communities,  we  doubt  whether  a 
brighter  page  can  be  found  than  that 
which  records  his  agency  in  the  removal 
of  the  Cherokees.  As  far  as  the  wrongs 


done  to  this  race  can  be  atoned  for, 
General  Scott  has  made  the  expiation. 
In  his  recent  mission  to  the  disturbed 
borders  of  our  country,  he  has  succeeded, 
not  so  much  by  policy,  as  by  the  noble- 
ness and  generosity  of  his  character,  by 
moral  influences,  by  the  earnest  convic- 
tion with  which  he  has  enforced  on  all 
with  whom  he  had  to  do  the  obligations 
of  patriotism,  justice,  humanity,  and  Re- 
ligion. It  would  not  be  easy  to  find 
among  us  a man  who  has  won  a purer 
fame  ; and  I am  happy  to  offer  this  trib- 
ute, because  I would  do  something,  no 
matter  how  little,  to  hasten  the  time 
when  the  spirit  of  Christian  humanity 
shall  be  accounted  an  essential  attribute 
and  the  brightest  ornament  in  a public 
man. 

I close  this  preface  with  a topic  which 
ought  not  to  be  set  aside  as  an  unmean- 
ing commonplace.  We  have  Christians 
among  us  not  a few.  Have  they  been 
true  to  themselves  and  their  religion  in 
the  present  agitation  of  the  question  of 
war  ? Have  they  spoken  with  strength 
and  decision  ? Have  they  said,  We  will 
take  no  part  in  a rash,  passionate,  un- 
necessary war  ? Or  have  they  sat  still, 
and  left  the  country  to  parties  and  pol- 
iticians ? Will  they  always  consent  to 
be  the  passive  tools  of  the  ambitious  or 
designing  ? Is  the  time  never  to  come, 
when  they  will  plant  themselves  on  their 
religion,  and  resolve  not  to  stir  an  inch, 
in  obedience  to  the  policy  or  legislation 
of  the  men  of  this  world  ? On  this  topic 
I have  enlarged  in  the  following  dis- 
course, and  I respectfully  ask  for  it  the 
impartial  attention  of  Christians. 


Lecture. 

In  commencing  this  lecture  on  War, 
my  thoughts  are  irresistibly  drawn  to 
that  exemplary  servant  of  God,  the  late 
Noah  Worcester,  through  whose  la- 
bors, more  than  through  any  other  cause, 
the  attention  of  the  community  has  been 
awakened  to  the  guilt  and  misery  of 
war.  I feel  my  own  obligation  to  him 
in  this  particular.  In  truth,  it  was  not 
easy  to  know  him  and  to  escape  wholly 
the  influence  of  his  character.  So  im- 
bued was  he  with  the  spirit  of  peace, 
that  it  spread  itself  around  him  like  the 
fragrance  of  sweet  flowers.  Even  those 
within  his  sphere,  who  listened  at  first 


WAR. 


with  distrust  or  with  a feeling  approach- 
ing opposition,  were  not  seldom  over- 
come by  the  singular  union  in  his  con- 
versation of  gentleness,  earnestness,  and 
serene  wisdom.  He  did  not  live  in  vain. 
One  of  my  motives  for  taking  part  in 
this  course  of  lectures  is  my  respect  for 
this  venerated  man.  Another  and  a 
stronger  motive  is  the  fact  that  notwith- 
standing the  favorable  impression  made 
by  his  efforts,  there  is  yet  comparatively 
little  interest  in  the  subject  of  peace.  It 
is  a reason  for  setting  forth  great  truths* 
that  sceptics  deride  them,  and  the  multi- 
tude pass  them  by  with  unconcern.  Dr. 
Worcester  was  not  roused  by  the  shouts 
of  a crowd  to  lift  up  his  voice  in  behalf 
of  peace.  He  did  not  postpone  his  tes- 
timony to  “ a more  convenient  season.” 
He  was  as  “ one  crying  in  the  wilder- 
ness.” He  began  his  ministry  amidst 
the  triumphs  of  the  spirit  of  war.  He 
took  counsel  not  of  men,  but  of  the 
divine  oracle  in  his  own  breast.  The 
truth,  which  was  burning  as  a fire  within 
him,  he  could  not  but  give  forth.  He 
had  faith  in  it.  He  had  faith  in  God, 
its  inspirer.  So  ought  we  to  trust.  So 
ought  we  to  bear  a more  fervent  witness 
to  truth,  on  the  very  ground  that  it  is 
unpopular,  neglected,  despised. 

In  the  following  lecture,  I shall  aim  to 
set  forth  the  chief  evil  of  war,  to  set 
forth  its  great  remedy,  and  then  to 
point  out  some  of  the  causes  of  the 
faint  impression  made  by  its  woes  and 
crimes. 

Before  entering  on  these  topics,  I 
would  offer  one  or  two  remarks.  In 
speaking,  as  I propose  to  do,  of  the  evils 
of  war,  I have  no  thought  of  denying 
that  war  has  sometimes  done  good. 
There  is  no  unmixed  evil  in  the  uni- 
verse. Providence  brings  good  from 
every  thing,  from  fearful  sufferings, 
from  atrocious  crimes.  But  sufferings 
and  crimes  are  not  therefore  to  be  set 
down  among  our  blessings.  Murder 
sometimes  cuts  short  the  life  and  tri- 
umphs of  a monster  of  guilt.  Robbery 
may  throw  into  circulation  the  useless 
hoards  of  a miser.  Despotism  may  sub- 
due an  all-wasting  anarchy.  But  we  do 
not,  therefore,  canonize  despotism,  rob- 
bery, and  murder.  In  fierce  ages,  when 
common  life  is  made  up  of  violence  and 
borders  on  bloodshed,  when  piracy  is  an 
honorable  trade,  and  a stranger  is  a foe, 
war,  by  accumulating  force  in  the  hands 


667 

of  an  able  chieftain,  may  gather  many 
petty  tribes  under  one  iron  will,  and 
thus  a state  may  be  founded,  and  its 
rude  organization  may  prove  a germ  of 
social  order.  In  later  times,  war  may 
carry  into  less  civilized  regions  the  in- 
fluences, knowledge,  arts,  and  religion 
of  more  cultivated  nations.  Above  all, 
war  may  call  forth,  in  those  whom  it 
assails,  an  indignant  patriotism,  a fervent 
public  spirit,  a generous  daring,  and 
heroic  sacrifices,  which  testify  to  the 
inborn  greatness  of  human  nature  ; just 
as  great  vices,  by  the  horror  with  which 
they  thrill  us,  and  by  the  reaction  they 
awaken,  often  give  strength  to  the  moral 
sentiments  of  a community.  These, 
however,  are  the  incidental  influences  of 
war.  Its  necessary  fruits  are  crime  and 
woe.  To  enthrone  force  above  right  is 
its  essential  character  ; and  order,  free- 
dom, civilization,  are  its  natural  prey. 
Besides,  the  benefits  of  war,  such  as 
they  are,  belong  to  unrefined  ages,  when 
the  passions,  if  not  expended  in  public 
conflicts,  would  break  out  in  worse  forms 
of  rapine  and  lust,  and  when  one  nation 
can  act  on  another  only  by  violence. 
Society,  in  its  present  stage,  stands  in 
need  of  war  no  more  than  of  the  ordeal, 
the  rack,  the  inquisition,  the  baronial 
license  of  the  middle  ages.  All  these 
monuments  and  ministers  of  barbarism 
should  be  buried  in  one  grave. 

I.  I now  proceed  to  consider,  first,  as 
I proposed,  the  chief  evil  of  war.  The 
chief  evil  of  war ! What  is  it  ? What 
induces  us  to  place  war  at  the  head  of 
human  calamities.  In  replying  to  these 
questions,  I shall  not  direct  you  to  the 
physical  sufferings  of  war,  however 
great  or  terrible.  Death  in  its  most 
agonizing  forms  ; the  overthrow  of 
proud  cities  ; the  devastation  of  fruitful 
fields  ; the  impoverishing  of  nations  ; 
famine ; pestilence ; these  form  the 
train  of  victorious  war.  But  these  are 
not  the  distinguishing  evils  of  war. 
These  are  inflictions  of  other  causes 
much  more  than  of  war.  Other  causes 
are  wasting  human  life  and  joy  more 
than  battles.  Millions,  indeed,  die  by 
the  sword , but  these  millions  are  as 
nothing  compared  with  the  countless 
multitudes  who  die  by  slow  and  painful 
disease.  Cities  are  overthrown  by 
earthquakes  as  well  as  by  armies,  and 
more  frequently  swept  by  accidental 
conflagrations  than  by  the  flames  of  war. 


668 


WAR. 


Hostile  bands  ravage  the  fields ; but 
how  much  oftener  do  whirlwinds,  storms, 
hurricanes  rush  over  land  and  sea,  pros- 
trating harvests,  and  destroying  the 
labors  of  years  on  a scale  so  vast  as  to 
reduce  human  devastations  to  a narrow 
extent ! The  truth  is,  that  man  is  sur- 
rounded with  mighty  powers  of  nature 
which  he  cannot  comprehend  or  with- 
stand ; and,  amidst  their  beneficent 
operations,  all  of  them  inflict  much  suf- 
fering. What  distinguishes  war  is,  not 
that  man  is  slain,  but  that  he  is  slain, 
spoiled,  crushed  by  the  cruelty,  the  in- 
justice, the  treachery,  the  murderous 
hand  of  man.  The  evil  is  moral  evil. 
War  is  the  concentration  of  all  human 
crimes.  Here  is  its  distinguishing,  ac- 
cursed brand.  Under  its  standard 
gather  violence,  malignity,  rage,  fraud, 
perfidy,  rapacity,  and  lust.  If  it  only 
slew  men,  it  would  do  little.  It  turns 
man  into  a beast  of  prey.  Here  is  the 
evil  of  war,  that  man,  made  to  be  the 
brother,  becomes  the  deadly  foe  of  his 
kind ; that  man,  whose  duty  it  is  to 
mitigate  suffering,  makes  the  infliction 
of  suffering  his  study  and  end ; that 
man,  whose  office  it  is  to  avert  and  heal 
the  wounds  which  come  from  nature’s 
powers,  makes  researches  into  nature’s 
laws,  and  arms  himself  with  her  most 
awful  forces,  that  he  may  become  the 
destroyer  of  his  race.  Nor  is  this  all. 
There  is  also  found  in  war  a cold- 
hearted  indifference  to  human  miseries 
and  wrongs,  perhaps  more  shocking 
than  the  bad  passions  it  calls  forth.  To 
my  mind,  this  contempt  of  human  nature 
is  singularly  offensive.  To  hate,  ex- 
presses something  like  respect.  But  in 
war,  man  treats  his  brother  as  nothing 
worth  ; sweeps  away  human  multitudes 
as  insects ; tramples  them  down  as 
grass  ; mocks  at  their  rights  ; and  does 
not  deign  a thought  to  their  woes. 

These  remarks  show  us  the  great  evil 
of  war.  It  is  moral  evil.  The  field  of 
battle  is  a theatre,  got  up  at  immense 
cost,  for  the  exhibition  of  crime  on  a 
grand  scale.  There  the  hell  within  the 
human  breast  blazes  out  fiercely  and 
without  disguise.  A more  fearful  hell 
in  any  region  of  the  universe  cannot 
well  be  conceived.  There  the  fiends 
hold  their  revels  and  spread  their  fury. 

To  many,  the  physical  evils  of  war 
are  more  striking  than  moral.  The  out- 
ward impresses  multitudes  more  than 


the  inward.  It  is  because  they  cannot 
look  inward,  because  they  are  too  earth- 
ly and  sensual  to  see  and  comprehend 
the  deformity  of  a selfish,  unjust,  malig- 
nant soul.  The  outward  evils  of  life  are 
emblems  of  the  inward,  and  are  light 
when  severed  from  these.  The  saddest 
view  of  war  is,  that  it  is  the  breaking 
out  of  the  human  heart,  revealing  there 
what  is  more  awful  than  the  miseries 
which  it  inflicts.  The  death-groan  is 
fearful ; but  how  much  more  appalling 
the  spirit  of  murder  which  extorts  it ! 

Suppose  two  multitudes  of  men,  each 
composed  of  thousands,  meeting  from 
different  countries,  but  meeting  not  to 
destroy  but  to  consult  and  labor  for  the 
good  of  the  race  ; and  suppose  them,  in 
the  midst  of  their  deliberations,  to  be 
smitten  suddenly  by  some  mysterious 
visitation  of  God,  and  their  labors  to  be 
terminated  by  immediate  death.  We 
should  be  awe-struck  by  this  strange, 
sudden,  wide-spread  ruin.  But  reflec- 
tion would  teach  us  that  this  simultane- 
ous extinction  of  life  in  so  many  of  our 
race  was  but  an  anticipation  or  peculiar 
fulfilment  of  the  sentence  passed  on  all 
mankind  ; and  a tender  reverence  would 
spring  up  as  we  should  think  of  so  many 
generous  men  coming  together  from  so 
many  different  regions,  in  the  spirit  of 
human  brotherhood,  to  be  wrapped  in 
one  pall,  to  sleep  in  one  grave.  We 
should  erect  a monument  on  the  solemn 
spot ; but  chiefly  to  commemorate  the 
holy  purpose  which  had  gathered  them 
from  their  scattered  abodes ; and  we 
should  write  on  it,  “To  the  memory  of 
a glorious  company,  suddenly  taken 
from  God’s  ministry  on  earth  to  enter 
again  (a  blessed  brotherhood)  on  a 
higher  ministry  in  heaven.”  Here  you 
have  death  sweeping  away  hosts  in  a 
moment.  But  how  different  from  death 
in  a field  of  battle,  where  man  meets  man 
as  a foe,  where  the  countenance  flashes 
rage  and  the  arm  is  nerved  for  slaughter, 
where  brother  hews  down  brother,  and 
where  thousands  are  sent  unprepared, 
in  the  moment  of  crime,  to  give  their 
account ! When  nature’s  laws,  fulfilling 
the  mysterious  will  of  God,  inflict  death 
on  the  good,  we  bow,  we  adore,  we  give 
thanks.  How  different  is  death  from 
the  murderous  hand  of  man  ! 

Allow  me  to  make  another  supposition, 
which  may  bring  out  still  more  strongly 
the  truth  on  which  I now  insist,  that  the 


WAR. 


great  evil  of  war  is  inward,  moral ; that 
its  physical  woes,  terrible  as  they  may 
be,  are  light  by  the  side  of  this.  Sup- 
pose, then,  that  in  travelling  through  a 
solitary  region,  you  should  catch  the 
glimpse  of  a distant  dwelling.  You  ap- 
proach it  eagerly  in  the  hope  of  hearing 
a welcome  after  your  weary  journey.  As 
you  draw  nigh,  an  ominous  stillness 
damps  your  hope ; and  on  entering,  you 
see  the  inmates  of  the  house,  a numerous 
family  , stretched  out  motionless  and  with- 
out life.  A wasting  pestilence  has,  in  one 
day,  made  their  dwelling  a common 
tomb.  At  first  you  are  thrilled  with 
horror  by  the  sight ; but  as  you  survey 
the  silent  forms,  you  see  on  all  their 
countenances,  amidst  traces  of  suffering, 
an  expression  of  benignity.  You  see 
some  of  the  dead  lying  side  by  side,  with 
hands  mutually  entwined,  showing  that 
the  last  action  of  life  was  a grasp  of 
affection  ; whilst  some  lie  locked  in  one 
another’s  arms.  The  mother’s  cold  lips 
are  still  pressed  to  the  cheek  of  the 
child,  and  the  child’s  arms  still  wind 
round  the  neck  of  the  mother.  In  the 
forms  of  others,  you  see  no  ambiguous 
proof  that  the  spirit  took  its  flight  in 
the  act  of  prayer.  As  you  look  on  these 
signs  of  love  and  faith,  stronger  than 
the  last  agony,  what  a new  feeling  steals 
over  you!  Your  horror  subsides.  Your 
eyes  are  suffused  with  tears,  not  of  an- 
guish, but  of  sympathy,  affection,  tender 
reverence.  You  feel  the  spot  to  be  con- 
secrated. Death  becomes  lovely,  like 
the  sleep  of  infancy.  You  say,  Blessed 
family,  death  hath  not  divided  you  ! 

With  soothed  and  respectful  sorrow, 
you  leave  this  resting-place  of  the  good, 
and  another  dwelling,  dimly  descried  in 
the  horizon,  invites  your  steps.  As  you 
approach  it  the  same  stillness  is  an  au- 
gury of  a like  desolation,  and  you  enter 
it,  expecting  to  see  another  family  laid 
low  by  the  same  mysterious  disease. 
But  you  open  the  door,  and  the  spectacle 
freezes  your  blood,  and  chains  your 
steps  to  the  threshold.  On  every  face 
you  see  the  distortion  of  rage.  Every 
man’s  hand  grasps  a deadly  weapon  ; 
every  breast  is  gored  with  wounds. 
Here  lies  one,  rived  asunder  by  a sword. 
There  two  are  locked  together,  but  in 
the  death-grapple  of  hatred,  not  the 
embrace  of  love.  Here  lies  woman, 
trampled  on  and  polluted,  and  there 
the  child,  weltering  in  his  own  blood. 


669 

You  recoil  with  horror,  as  soon  as  the 
sickness  of  the  heart  will  suffer  you  to 
move.  The  deadly  steam  of  the  apart- 
ment oppresses,  overpowers  you,  as  if  it 
were  the  suffocating  air  of  hell.  You 
are  terror-struck,  as  if  through  the  open- 
ing earth  you  had  sunk  into  the  abode 
of  fiends  ; and  when  the  time  for  reflec- 
tion comes,  and  you  recall  the  blessed 
habitation  you  had  just  before  left,  what 
a conviction  rushes  on  you,  that  nothing 
deserves  the  name  of  woe  but  that  which 
crime  inflicts  ! You  feel  that  there  is  a 
sweetness,  loveliness,  sacredness  in  suf- 
fering and  death,  when  these  are  per- 
vaded by  holy  affections ; and  that  in- 
finite wretchedness  and  despair  gather 
over  these,  when  springing  from  unholy 
passion,  when  bearing  the  brand  of 
crime. 

In  these  remarks,  I do  not  mean  to 
deny  that  the  physical  sufferings  of  war 
are  great,  and  should  incite  us- to  labor 
for  its  abolition.  But  sufferings,  sepa- 
rate from  crime,  coming  not  through 
man’s  wickedness,  but  from  the  laws  of 
nature,  are  not  unmixed  evils.  They 
have  a ministry  of  love.  God  has  or- 
dained them,  that  they  should  bind  men 
to  one  another,  that  they  should  touch 
and  soften  the  human  heart,  that  they 
should  call  forth  mutual  aid,  solace, 
gratitude,  and  self-forgetting  love.  Sor- 
row is  the  chief  cement  of  souls.  Death, 
coming  in  the  order  of  nature,  gathers 
round  the  sufferer  sympathizing,  anxious 
friends,  who  watch  day  and  night,  with 
suffused  eyes  and  heart-breathed  prayer, 
to  avert  or  mitigate  the  last  agonies.  It 
calls  up  tender  recollections,  inspires 
solemn  thought,  rebukes  human  pride, 
obscures  the  world’s  glories,  and  speaks 
of  immortality.  From  the  still  death- 
bed, what  softening,  subduing,  chasten- 
ing, exalting  influences  proceed ! But 
death  in  war,  death  from  the  hand  of 
man,  sears  the  heart  and  conscience, 
kills  human  sympathies,  and  scatters 
the  thought  of  judgment  to  come.  Man 
dying  in  battle,  unsolaced,  unpitied,  and 
a victim  to  hatred,  rapacity,  and  insatiable 
ambition,  leaves  behind  him  wrongs  to 
be  revenged.  His  blood  does  not  speak 
peace  or  speak  of  heaven ; but  sends 
forth  a maddening  cry,  and  exasperates 
survivors  to  new  struggles. 

Thus  war  adds  to  suffering  the  unut- 
terable weight  of  crime,  and  defeats  the 
holy  and  blessed  ministry  which  all  suf- 


WAR. 


670 

fering  is  intended  to  fulfil.  When  I look 
back  on  the  ages  of  conflict  through 
which  the  race  has  passed,  what  most 
moves  me  is  not  the  awful  amount  of 
suffering  which  war  has  inflicted.  This 
may  be  borne.  The  terrible  thought  is, 
that  this  has  been  the  work  of  crime  ; 
that  men,  whose  great  law  is  love,  have 
been  one  another’s  butchers  ; that  God’s 
children  have  stained  his  beautiful  earth, 
made  beautiful  for  their  home,  with  one 
another’s  blood ; that  the  shriek,  which 
comes  to  us  from  all  regions  and  ages, 
has  been  extorted  by  human  cruelty  ; 
that  man  has  been  a demon,  and  has 
turned  earth  into  hell.  All  else  may  be 
borne.  It  is  this  which  makes  history 
so  horrible  a record  to  the  benevolent 
mind. 

II.  I have  now  set  before  you  what  I 
deem  the  chief  evil  of  war.  It  is  moral 
evil.  And  from  these  views  you  will 
easily  judge  what  I regard  as  the  true 
remedy  of  war,  as  the  means  of  remov- 
ing it,  which  above  all  others  we  should 
employ.  If  the  most  terrible  view  of 
war  be  that  it  is  the  triumph  and  jubilee 
of  selfish  and  malignant  passions,  then 
its  true  cure  is  to  be  sought  in  the  diffu- 
sion of  the  principles  of  universal  justice 
and  love,  in  that  spirit  of  Jesus  Christ 
which  expels  the  demons  of  selfishness 
and  malignity  from  the  heart.  Even 
supposing  that  war  could  be  abolished 
by  processes  which  leave  the  human 
character  unchanged,  that  it  could  be 
terminated  by  the  progress  of  a civiliza- 
tion, which,  whilst  softening  manners, 
would  not  diminish  the  selfishness,  mer- 
cenariness, hard-heartedness,  fraud,  am- 
bition of  men,  its  worst  evils  would  still 
remain,  and  society  would  reap  in  some 
other  forms  the  fruits  of  its  guilt.  God 
has  ordained  that  the  wickedness  within 
us  shall  always  find  its  expression  and 
punishment  in  outward  evil.  War  is 
nothing  more  than  a reflection  or  image 
of  the  soul.  It  is  the  fiend  within  com- 
ing out.  Human  history  is  nothing  more 
than  the  inward  nature  manifested  in  its 
native  acts  and  issues.  Let  the  soul 
continue  unchanged  ; and  should  war 
cease,  the  inward  plague  would  still  find 
its  way  to  the  surface.  The  infernal 
fire  at  the  centre  of  our  being,  though 
it  should  not  break  forth  in  the  wasting 
volcano,  would  not  slumber,  but  by  other 
eruptions,  more  insensible  yet  not  less 
deadly,  would  lay  waste  human  happi- 


ness. I do  not  believe,  however,  that 
any  remedy  but  the  Christian  spirit  can 
avail  against  war.  The  wild  beast,  that 
has  gorged  on  millions  of  victims  in 
every  age,  is  not  to  be  tamed  by  a pol- 
ished or  selfish  civilization.  Selfishness, 
however  drilled  into  courtesy,  always 
tends  to  strife.  Man,  as  long  as  pos- 
sessed by  it,  will  sacrifice  others  to  his 
own  interest  and  glory,  and  will  grow 
angry  and  fierce  when  others  stand  in 
his  way. 

War  will  never  yield  but  to  the  prin- 
ciples of  universal  justice  and  love,  and 
these  have  no  sure  root  but  in  the  re- 
ligion of  Jesus  Christ.  Christianity  is 
the  true  remedy  for  war,  not  Christianity 
in  name,  not  such  Christianity  as  we  see, 
not  such  as  has  grown  up  under  arbi- 
trary governments  in  church  and  state, 
not  such  as  characterizes  any  Christian 
sect  at  the  present  day,  but  Christianity 
as  it  lived  in  the  soul  and  came  forth  in 
the  life  of  its  Founder  ; a religion  that 
reveals  man  as  the  object  of  God’s  in- 
finite love,  and  which  commends  him  to 
the  unbounded  love  of  his  brethren  : a 
religion,  the  essence  of  which  is  self- 
denial,  self-sacrifice,  in  the  cause  of 
human  nature  ; a religion  which  pro- 
scribes, as  among  the  worst  sins,  the 
passion  of  man  for  rule  and  dominion 
over  his  fellow-creatures  ; which  knows 
nothing  of  rich  or  poor,  high  or  low, 
bond  or  free,  and  casts  down  all  the 
walls  of  partition  which  sever  men  from 
one  another’s  sympathy  and  respect. 

Christian  love  alone  can  supplant  war  ; 
and  this  love  is  not  a mere  emotion,  a 
tenderness  awakened  by  human  suffer- 
ing, but  an  intelligent,  moral,  spiritual 
love,  a perception  and  deep  feeling  of 
the  sacredness  of  human  nature,  a rec- 
ognition of  the  inalienable  rights,  the 
solemn  claims,  of  every  human  being. 
It  protests  fearlessly  against  all  wrong, 
no  matter  how  obscure  the  victim.  It 
desires  to  lift  up  each  and  all,  no  matter 
how  fallen.  It  is  a sympathy  with  the 
spiritual  principle  dwelling  under  every 
human  form.  This  is  the  love  which  is 
to  conquer  war  ; and  as  yet  this  has  been 
but  little  diffused.  The  Quakers,  indeed, 
have  protested  against  war  as  unchris- 
tian, but  have  done  little  towards  bring- 
ing into  clear  light,  and  sending  forth 
with  new  power,  the  spirit  to  which  wTar 
is  to  yield.  Cutting  themselves  off  by 
outward  peculiarities  from  the  commu- 


WAR. 


nity,  secluding  themselves  from  ordinary 
intercourse  through  fear  of  moral  infec- 
tion, living  almost  as  a separate  race, 
they  have  been  little  felt  in  society ; 
they  have  done  little  to  awaken  that 
deep  religious  interest  in  man  as  man, 
that  sensibility  to  his  rights,  that  hatred 
of  all  wrong,  that  thirst  for  the  elevation 
of  every  human  being,  in  which  Christian 
love  finds  its  truest  manifestation.  Every 
sect  has  as  yet  been  too  imbued  with 
the  spirit  of  sects,  and  has  inherited  too 
largely  the  exclusiveness  of  past  ages, 
to  understand  or  spread  the  true  spirit 
of  human  brotherhood.  The  love  which 
Christ  breathes,  which  looks  through 
man's  body  to  the  immortal  spirit,  which 
sees  something  divine  in  the  rational  and 
moral  powers  of  the  lowest  human  being, 
and  which  challenges  for  the  lowest  the 
sympathy,  respect,  and  fostering  aid  of 
his  race  ; this  has  been  rare,  and  yet  it 
is  only  by  the  gradual  diffusion  of  this 
that  the  plague  of  war  can  be  stayed. 
This  reverence  for  humanity,  could  it 
even  prevail  through  a narrow  sphere, 
could  it  bind  together  but  a small  body 
of  men,  would  send  forth  a testimony 
against  war  which  would  break  the 
slumber  of  the  Christian  world,  and 
which  would  strike  awe  into  many  a 
contemner  of  his  race. 

I am  aware  that  others  are  hoping  for 
the  abolition  of  war  by  other  causes  ; 
and  other  causes,  I am  aware,  must  be 
brought  into  action.  I only  say  that, 
unless  joined  with  the  spirit  of  Christi- 
anity, they  give  no  assurance  of  con- 
tinued repose.  This  thought  I would 
briefly  illustrate. 

The  present  unusual  cessation  of  arms 
in  the  Christian  world  is  to  some  a prom- 
ise of  a happier  era  in  human  affairs. 
It  is,  indeed,  a cheering  fact,  and  may 
well  surprise  us,  when  we  consider  how 
many  causes  of  war  have  been  in  action, 
how  many  threatening  clouds  have  over- 
cast the  political  sky,  during  the  pause 
of  war.  But  if  we  examine  the  causes 
of  this  tranquillity,  we  shall  learn  not 
to  confide  in  it  too  strongly. 

The  first  cause  was  the  exhaustion  in 
which  Europe  was  left  by  the  bloody 
conflicts  of  the  French  Revolution.  The 
nations,  worn  out  with  struggles,  wasted 
by  successive  invasions,  and  staggering 
under  an  unprecedented  load  of  debt, 
yearned  for  repose.  The  strong  man 
had  bled  too  freely  to  fight  more.  For 


671 

years  poverty  has  kept  the  peace  in 
Europe.  One  of  the  fruits  of  civiliza- 
tion is  the  increasing  expensiveness  of 
war,  so  that  when  the  voice  of  humanity 
cannot  be  heard,  the  hollow  sound  of  an 
empty  treasury  is  a warning  which  can- 
not be  slighted.  This  cause  of  peace  is 
evidently  temporary.  Nations,  resting 
from  exhaustion,  may  be  expected  to 
renew  their  pernicious  activity  when 
their  strength  is  renewed. 

Another  cause  of  the  continuance  of 
peace  is  undoubtedly  the  extension  of 
new  and  profitable  relations  through  the 
civilized  world.  Since  the  pacification 
of  Europe,  in  1816,  a new  impulse  has 
been  given  to  industry.  The  discoveries 
of  science  have  been  applied  with  won- 
derful success  to  the  useful  arts.  Na- 
tions have  begun  in  earnest  to  develop 
their  resources.  Labor  is  discovered 
to  be  the  grand  conqueror,  enriching 
and  building  up  nations  more  surely 
than  the  proudest  battles.  As  a nec- 
essary result  of  this  new  impulse,  com- 
merce has  been  wonderfully  enlarged. 
Nations  send  the  products  of  their  soil 
and  machinery,  where  once  they  sent 
armies ; and  such  a web  of  common 
interests  has  been  woven,  that  hostil- 
ities can  spring  up  in  no  corner  of  the 
civilized  world  without  deranging  in  a 
measure  the  order  and  industry  of  every 
other  state.  Undoubtedly  we  have  here 
a promise  of  peace  ; but  let  us  not  be 
too  sanguine.  We  have  just  begun  this 
career,  and  we  know  not  its  end.  Let 
wealth  grow  without  a corresponding 
growth  of  the  temperate,  just,  and  be- 
nevolent spirit  of  Christianity,  and  I 
see  few  auguries  but  of  evil.  Wealth 
breeds  power,  and  power  always  tempts 
to  wrong.  Communities,  which  at  once 
grow  rich  and  licentious,  breed  desperate 
men,  unprincipled  adventurers,  restless 
spirits,  who  unsettle  social  order  at  home, 
who  make  freedom  a cloak  and  instru- 
ment of  ambition,  and  find  an  interest 
in  embroiling  their  country  with  foreign 
foes.  Another  consequence  of  growing 
prosperity  is  the  rapid  growth  of  popu- 
lation ; and  this,  in  the  absence  of  Chris- 
tian restraints  and  Christian  principles, 
tends  to  pauperism  and  crime,  tends  to 
make  men  cheap,  and  to  destroy  the 
sacredness  of  human  life ; and  commu- 
nities are  tempted  to  throw  off  this 
dangerous  load,  this  excess  of  numbers, 
in  foreign  war.  In  truth,  the  vices  which 


WAR. 


672 

fester  in  the  bosom  of  a prosperous, 
licentious,  over-peopled  state,  are  hardly 
less  fearful  than  those  of  war,  and  they 
naturally  seek  and  find  their  punish- 
ment in  this  awful  calamity.  Let  us 
not  speak  of  industry,  commerce,  and 
wealth,  as  insuring  peace.  Is  commerce 
never  jealous  and  grasping  ? Have 
commercial  states  no  collisions  ? Have 
commercial  rights  never  drawn  the  sword 
in  self-defence  ? Are  not  such  states 
a tempting  prey  ? And  have  they  no 
desire  to  prey  on  others  ? Does  trade 
cherish  nothing  analogous  to  the  spirit 
of  war  in  ordinary  pursuits  ? Is  there 
no  fighting  on  the  exchange  ? Is  bar- 
gaining nothing  but  friendship  and 
peace  ? Why,  then,  expect  from  trade 
alone  peace  among  nations  ? Nothing, 
nothing  can  bind  nations  together  but 
Christian  justice  and  love.  I insist  on 
this  the  more  earnestly,  because  it  is 
the  fashion  now  to  trust  for  every  good 
to  commerce,  industry,  and  the  wonder- 
ful inventions  which  promise  indefinite 
increase  of  wealth.  But  to  improve 
man’s  outward  condition  is  not  to  im- 
prove man  himself,  and  this  is  the  sole 
ground  of  hope.  With  all  our  ingenuity, 
we  can  frame  no  machinery  for  manu- 
facturing wisdom,  virtue,  peace.  Rail- 
roads and  steamboats  cannot  speed  the 
soul  to  its  perfection.  This  must  come, 
if  it  come  at  all,  from  each  man’s  action 
on  himself,  from  putting  forth  our  power 
on  the  soul  and  not  over  nature,  from 
a sense  of  inward  not  outward  miseries, 
from  “ hunger  and  thirst  after  righteous- 
ness,” not  after  wealth.  I should  re- 
joice, like  the  prophet,  “to  bring  glad 
tidings,  to  publish  peace.”  But  I do 
fear  that,  without  some  great  spiritual 
revolution,  without  some  new  life  and 
love  breathed  into  the  church,  without 
some  deep  social  reforms,  men  will  turn 
against  each  other  their  new  accumula- 
tions of  power ; that  their  wealth  and 
boasted  inventions  will  be  converted 
into  weapons  of  destruction ; that  the 
growing  prosperity  of  nations  will  be- 
come the  nutriment  of  more  wasteful 
wars,  will  become  fuel  for  more  devour- 
ing fires  of  ambition  or  revenge. 

Another  cause  of  the  recent  long  ces- 
sation of  foreign  wars  has  been  the 
dread  of  internal  convulsions,  of  civil 
wars.  The  spirit  of  revolution  has,  more 
or  less,  penetrated  the  whole  civilized 
world.  The  grand  idea  of  human  rights 


has  found  its  way  even  into  despotisms. 
Kings  have  less  confidence  in  their  sub- 
jects and  soldiers.  They  have  felt  their 
thrones  totter,  and  have  felt  that  a dis- 
astrous war  would  expose  them  to  a 
force  more  terrible  than  that  of  victori- 
ous foes,  — the  force  of  burning  discon- 
tent, exasperated  opinion  at  home.  It 
is  understood  that  the  next  general  .war 
will  be  a war  not  of  nations  but  of  prin- 
ciples, that  absolutism  must  measure 
swords  with  liberalism,  despotism  with 
free  constitutions  ; and  from  this  terri- 
ble encounter  both  parties  recoil.  We 
indeed  believe  that,  with  or  without  war, 
liberal  principles  and  institutions  are 
destined  to  advance,  to  make  the  con- 
quest of  Europe  ; and  it  is  thought  that 
these,  being  recognitions  of  human 
rights,  will  be  less  prodigal  of  human 
blood  than  absolute  power.  But  can 
we  hope  that  these,  unsanctioned,  un- 
sustained by  the  Christian  spirit,  will 
insure  peace  ? What  teaches  our  own 
experience  ? Because  free,  have  we  no 
wars  ? What,  indeed,  is  the  free  spirit 
of  which  we  so  much  boast  ? Is  it  not 
much  more  a jealousy  of  our  own  rights 
than  a reverence  for  the  rights  of  all  ? 
Does  it  not  consist  with  the  inflictions 
of  gross  wrongs  ? Does  it  not  spoil  the 
Indian?  Does  it  not  enslave  the  Afri- 
can ? Is  it  not  anxious  to  spread  bond- 
age over  new  regions  ? Who  can  look 
on  this  free  country,  distracted  by  par- 
ties, rent  by  local  jealousies,  in  some 
districts  administering  justice  by  mobs 
and  silencing  speech  and  the  press  by 
conflagration  and  bloodshed,  — who  can 
see  this  free  country  and  say  that  liberal 
opinions  and  institutions  are  of  them- 
selves to  banish  war  ? Nowhere  are 
the  just,  impartial,  disinterested  prin- 
ciples of  Christianity  so  much  needed 
as  in  a free  state.  Nowhere  are  there 
more  elements  of  strife  to  be  composed, 
more  passions  to  be  curbed,  more  threat- 
ened wrongs  to  be  repressed.  Freedom 
has  its  perils  as  well  as  inestimable 
blessings.  In  loosening  outward  re- 
straints, it  demands  that  justice  and 
love  be  enthroned  within  man’s  soul. 
Without  Christian  principle,  freedom 
may  swell  the  tide  of  tumult  and  war. 

One  other  cause  will  probably  be  as- 
signed by  some  for  the  long  cessation  of 
hostilities  in  the  civilized  world  ; and 
that  is,  the  greater  success  of  statesmen 
in  securing  that  long-sought  good  among 


WAR. 


673 


nations,  the  balance  of  power.  Be  it  so. 
But  how  soon  may  this  balance  be"  dis- 
turbed ? How  does  it  tremble  now  ? 
Europe  has  long  been  threatened  by  the 
disproportionate  growth  of  Russia.  In 
the  north  of  Europe  is  silently  growing 
up  a power  which,  many  fear,  is  one  day 
to  grasp  at  universal  empire.  The  south, 
it  is  said,  is  to  fulfil  its  old  destiny,  that 
is,  to  fall  a prey  to  the  north.  All  Eu- 
rope is  interested  in  setting  bounds  to 
this  half-civilized  despotism.  But  the 
great  absolute  powers,  Prussia  and  Aus- 
tria, dreading  more  the  progress  of  lib- 
eral opinions  than  of  Russian  hordes, 
may  rather  throw  themselves  into  her 
scale,  and  be  found  fighting  with  her  the 
battles  of  legitimacy  against  free  institu- 
tions. It  is  true  that  many  wise  men 
dismiss  these  fears  as  vain,  and  believe 
that  the  ill-cemented  union  of  the  prov- 
inces, or  rather  nations,  which  compose 
the  colossal  empire  of  the  north,  cannot 
endure,  or  at  least  will  admit  no  steady 
prosecution  of  schemes  of  domination. 

I presume  not  to  read  the  future.  My 
single  object  is  to  show  the  uncertainty 
of  all  means  of  abolishing  war,  unless 
joined  with  and  governed  by  the  spread- 
ing spirit  of  our  disinterested  faith.  No 
calculations  of  interest,  no  schemes  of 
policy  can  do  the  work  of  love,  of  the 
spirit  of  human  brotherhood.  There  can 
be  no  peace  without,  but  through  peace 
within.  Society  must  be  an  expression 
of  the  souls  of  its  members.  Man’s 
character  moulds  his  outward  lot.  His 
destiny  is  woven  by  the  good  or  evil 
principles  which  bear  rule  in  his  breast. 

I indeed  attach  importance  to  all  the 
causes  of  peace  which  I have  now  stated. 
They  are  far  from  powerless  ; but  their 
power  will  be  spent  in' vain  unless  aided 
by  mightier  and  diviner  energy,  by  the 
force  of  moral  and  religious  principles, 
the  strength  of  disinterested  love. 

III.  I have  now  considered  the  great 
evil  of  war,  and  the  great  remedy  of  this 
scourge  of  nations,  and  I proceed,  as 
proposed,  to  point  out  some  causes  of 
that  insensibility  to  its  evils,  so  com- 
mon in  the  world,  and  so  common  even 
among  those  from  whom  better  things 
might  be  hoped ; and  this  I do,  not  to 
gratify  a love  of  speculation,  but  in  the 
belief  that  this  insensibility  will  be  re- 
sisted and  overcome,  in  proportion  as 
its  sources  shall  be  explained. 

Among  its  chief  causes,  one  undoubt- 


edly is  the  commonness  of  war.  This 
hardens  us  to  its  evils.  Its  horrors  are 
too  familiar  to  move  us,  unless  they  start 
up  at  our  own  door.  How  much  more 
would  they  appall  us  were  they  rare  ? 
If  the  history  of  the  race  were,  with  one 
solitary  exception,  a history  of  peace, 
concord,  brotherly  love  ; if  but  one  bat- 
tle had  been  fought  in  the  long  succes- 
sion of  ages  ; if  from  the  bosom  of  pro- 
found tranquillity  two  armies  on  one  fatal 
day  had  sprung  forth  and  rushed  to- 
gether for  mutual  destruction  ; if  but  one 
spot  on  earth  had  been  drenched  with 
human  blood,  shed  by  human  hands ; 
how  different  would  be  our  apprehen- 
sions of  war ! What  a fearful  interest 
would  gather  round  that  spot ! How 
would  it  remain  deserted,  dreaded,  ab- 
horred ! With  what  terrible  distinct- 
ness would  the  leaders  of  those  armies 
stand  out  as  monsters,  not  men  ! How 
should  we  confound  them  with  Moloch, 
and  the  fiercest  fallen  spirits  ! Should 
we  not  feel  as  if  on  that  mysterious 
day  the  blessed  influences  of  heaven 
had  been  intercepted,  and  a demoniacal 
frenzy  had  been  let  loose  on  the  race  ? 
And  has  war,  in  becoming  common,  lost 
its  horrors  ? Is  it  less  terrible  because 
its  Molochs  crowd  every  page  of  history, 
and  its  woes  and  crimes  darken  all  na- 
tions and  all  times  ? Do  base  or  fero- 
cious passions  less  degrade  and  destroy 
because  their  victims  are  unnumbered  ? 
If,  indeed,  the  evils  of  war  were  only 
physical,  and  were  inevitable,  we  should 
do  well  to  resign  ourselves  to  that  kindly 
power  of  habit  which  takes  the  edge 
from  oft- repeated  pains.  But  moral  evils, 
evils  which  may  and  ought  to  be  shunned, 
which  have  their  spring  in  human  will, 
which  our  higher  powers  are  given  us  to 
overcome,  these  it  is  a crime  unresist- 
ingly to  endure.  The  frequency  and 
strength  of  these  are  more  urgent  reasons 
for  abhorring  and  withstanding  them. 
Reflection  should  be  summoned  to  resist 
the  paralyzing  power  of  habit.  From 
principle  we  should  cherish  a deeper 
horror  of  war,  because  its  “sword  de- 
vours for  ever.” 

I proceed  to  a second  cause  of  insensi- 
bility to  the  evils  of  war,  and  one  of 
immense  power.  I refer  to  the  common 
and  almost  universal  belief  that  the  right 
of  war  belongs  to  civil  government.  Let 
us  be  just  to  human  nature.  The  idea  of 
“right”  has  always  mixed  itself  with 


43 


WAR. 


674 

war,  and  this  has  kept  out  of  view  the 
real  character  of  most  of  the  conflicts 
of  nations.  The  sovereign,  regarding 
the  right  of  war  as  an  essential  attribute 
of  sovereignty,  has  on  this  ground  as- 
cribed a legitimacy  to  all  national  hos- 
tilities, and  has  never  dreamed  that  in 
most  of  his  wars  he  was  a murderer.  S@ 
the  subject  has  thought  himself  bound  to 
obey  his  sovereign,  and,  on  this  ground, 
has  acquitted  himself  of  crime,  has  per- 
haps imputed  to  himself  merit,  in  fight- 
ing and  slaughtering  for  the  defence  of 
the  most  iniquitous  claims.  Here  lies 
the  delusion,  which  we  should  be  most 
anxious  to  remove.  It  is  the  legality 
ascribed  to  war,  on  account  of  its  being 
waged  by  government,  which  produces 
insensibility  to  its  horrors  and  crimes. 
When  a notorious  robber,  seized  bv  Alex- 
ander, asked  the  conqueror  of  the  world 
whether  he  was  not  a greater  robber 
than  himself,  the  spirit  of  the  hero  re- 
pelled the  title  with  indignation.  And 
why  so  ? Had  he  not,  without  provoca- 
tion and  cause,  spoiled  cities  and  realms, 
whilst  the  robber  had  only  plundered  in- 
dividuals and  single  dwellings  ? Had 
he  not  slaughtered  ten  thousand  innocent 
fellow-creatures  for  one  victim  who  had 
fallen  under  the  robber’s  knife  ? And 
why,  then,  did  the  arch-robber  disclaim 
the  name,  and  seriously  believe  that  he 
could  not  justly  be  confounded  with  ruf- 
fians ? Because  he  was  a king,  the  head 
of  a state,  and  as  such  authorized  to 
make  war.  Here  was  the  shelter  for 
his  conscience  and  his  fame.  Had  the 
robber,  after  addressing  his  question  to 
Alexander,  turned  to  the  Macedonian 
soldier,  and  said  to  him,  “ Are  you  not, 
too,  a greater  robber  than  I ? Have  not 
your  hands  been  busier  in  pillage  ? Are 
they  not  dyed  more  deeply  in  innocent 
blood?”  The  unconscious  soldier,  like 
his  master,  would  have  repelled  the 
title  ; and  why  ? “ I am  a subject,”  he 

would  have  replied,  “ and  bound  to  obey 
my  sovereign  ; and,  in  fulfilling  a duty, 
I cannot  be  sunk  to  the  level  of  the 
most  hated  criminal.”  Thus  king  and 
subject  take  refuge  in  the  right  of  war 
which  inheres  in  sovereignty,  and  thus 
the  most  terrible  crimes  are  perpetrated 
with  little  reproach. 

I need  not  tell  you  that  there  are 
Christians  who.  to  strip  war  of  this  pre- 
text or  extenuation,  deny  that  this  right 
exists  ; who  teach  that  Jesus  Christ 


has  wrested  the  sword  from  the  magis- 
trate as  truly  as  from  the  private  man. 
On  this  point  I shall  not  now  enter.  1 
believe  that  more  good  may  be  done  in 
the  present  instance  by  allowing  to  gov- 
ernment the  right  of  war.  I still  main- 
tain that  most  wars  bring  the  guilt  of 
murder  on  the  government  by  whom 
they  are  declared,  and  on  the  soldier  by 
whom  they  are  carried  on,  so  that  our 
sensibility  ought  in  no  degree  to  be  im- 
paired by  the  supposed  legitimacy  of 
national  hostilities. 

I will  allow  that  government  has  the 
right  of  war.  But  a right  has  bounds, 
and  when  these  are  transgressed  by  us, 
it  ceases  to  exist ; and  we  are  as  culpa- 
ble as  if  it  had  never  existed.  The 
private  citizen,  it  is  generally  acknowl- 
edged, has  the  right  of  taking  life  in 
self-defence  ; but  if,  under  plea  of  this 
right,  he  should  take  life  without  cause, 
he  would  not  stand  absolved  of  murder. 
In  like  manner,  though  government  be 
authorized  to  make  war  in  self-defence, 
it  still  contracts  the  guilt  of  murder  if 
it  proclaim  war  from  policy,  ambition, 
or  revenge.  By  the  Constitution  of  this 
country,  various  rights  are  conferred  on 
Congress  for  the  public  good  ; and 
should  they  extend  these  rights  beyond 
the  limits  prescribed  by  the  national 
charter,  for  purposes  of  cruelty,  rapac- 
ity, and  arbitrary  power,  they  would  be 
as  treacherous,  as  criminal,  as  if  they 
had  laid  claim  to  unconceded  rights. 
Now,  stricter  bounds  are  set  to  the 
right  of  war  than  those  which  the  Con- 
stitution has  prescribed  to  the  rulers. 
A higher  authority  than  man’s  defines 
this  terrible  prerogative.  Woe  ! woe  to 
him  who  impatiently,  selfishly  spurns 
the  restraints  of  God.  and  who  winks 
out  of  sight  the  crime  of  sending  forth 
the  sword  to  destroy,  because,  as  a sov- 
ereign, he  has  the  right  of  war. 

From  its  very  nature,  this  right  should 
be  exercised  above  all  others  anxiously, 
deliberately,  fearfully.  It  is  the  right  of 
passing  sentence  of  death  on  thousands 
of  our  fellow-creatures.  If  any  action  on 
earth  ought  to  be  performed  wfith  trem- 
bling, with  deep  prostration  before  God, 
with  the  most  solemn  inquisition  into 
motives,  with  the  most  reverent  consul- 
tation of  conscience,  it  is  a declaration 
of  war.  This  stands  alone  among  acts 
of  legislation.  It  has  no  parallel.  These 
few  words,  “ Let  war  be,”  have  the 


WAR. 


power  of  desolation  which  belongs  to 
earthquakes  and  lightnings  ; they  may 
stain  the  remotest  seas  with  blood  ; may 
wake  the  echoes  of  another  hemisphere 
with  the  thunders  of  artillery ; may 
carry  anguish  into  a thousand  human 
abodes.  No  scheme  of  aggrandizement, 
no  doubtful  claims,  no  uncertain  fears, 
no  anxiety  to  establish  a balance  of 
power,  will  justify  this  act.  It  can  find 
no  justification  but  in  plain,  stern  neces- 
sity, in  unquestionable  justice,  in  per- 
severing wrongs,  which  all  other  and 
long-tried  means  have  failed  to  avert. 
Terrible  is  the  responsibility,  beyond 
that  of  all  others,  which  falls  on  him 
who  involves  nations  in  war.  He  has 
no  excuse  for  rashness,  passion,  or  pri- 
vate ends.  He  ought  at  such  a moment 
to  forget,  to  annihilate  himself.  The 
spirit  of  God  and  justice  should  alone 
speak  and  act  through  him.  To  commit 
this  act  rashly,  passionately,  selfishly, 
is  to  bring  on  himself  the  damnation  of 
a thousand  murders.  An  act  of  legisla- 
tion, commanding  fifty  thousand  men  to 
be  assembled  on  yonder  common,  there 
to  be  shot,  stabbed,  trampled  under 
horses’  feet  until  their  shrieks  and 
agonies  should  end  in  death,  would 
thrill  us  with  horror ; and  such  an  act  is 
a declaration  of  war  ; and  a government 
which  can  perform  it,  without  the  most 
solemn  sense  of  responsibility  and  the 
clearest  admonitions  of  duty,  deserves, 
in  expiation  of  its  crime,  to  endure  the 
whole  amount  of  torture  which  it  has 
inflicted  on  its  fellow-creatures. 

I have  said  a declaration  of  war  stands 
alone.  There  is  one  act  which  ap- 
proaches it,  and  which,  indeed,  is  the 
very  precedent  on  which  it  is  founded. 
I refer  to  the  signing  of  a death- war- 
want  by  a chief  magistrate.  In  this 
case,  how  anxious  is  society  that  the 
guilty  only  should  suffer  ! The  offender 
is  first  tried  by  his  peers,  and  allowed 
the  benefit  of  skilful  counsel.  The 
laws  are  expounded,  and  the  evidence 
weighed,  by  learned  and  upright  judges  ; 
and  when,  after  these  protections  of 
innocence,  the  unhappy  man  is  con- 
victed, he  is  still  allowed  to  appeal  for 
mercy  to  the  highest  authority  of  the 
State,  and  to  enforce  his  own  cry  by 
solicitations  of  friends  and  the  people  ; 
and  when  all  means  of  averting  his 
doom  fail,  religion,  through  her  minis- 
ters, enters  his  cell,  to  do  what  yet  can 


675 

be  done  for  human  nature  in  its  most 
fallen,  miserable  state.  Society  does 
not  cast  from  its  bosom  its  most  un- 
worthy member  without  reluctance,  with- 
out grief,  without  fear  of  doing  wrong, 
without  care  for  his  happiness.  But 
wars,  by  which  thousands  of  the  unof- 
fending and  worthiest  perish,  are  con- 
tinually proclaimed  by  rulers,  in  mad- 
ness, through  ambition,  through  infernal 
policy,  from  motives  which  should  rank 
them  with  the  captains  of  pirate-ships 
or  leaders  of  banditti. 

It  is  time  that  the  right  of  war  should 
not  shield  governments  from  the  infamy 
due  to  hostilities  to  which  selfish,  wicked 
passions  give  birth.  Let  rulers  learn 
that  for  this  right  they  are  held  to  a 
fearful  responsibility.  Let  a war,  not 
founded  in  plain  justice  and  necessity, 
never  be  named  but  as  murder.  Let 
the  Christian  give  articulate  voice  to  the 
blood-  that  cries  from  the  earth  against 
rulers  by  whom  it  has  been  criminally 
shed.  Let  no  soft  terms  be  used.  On 
this  subject,  a new  moral  sense  and  a 
new  language  are  needed  throughout 
the  whole  civilized  and  Christian  world  ; 
and  just  in  proportion  as  the  truth  shall 
find  a tongue,  war  will  cease. 

But  the  right  of  war,  which  is  said  to 
belong  to  sovereignty,  not  only  keeps 
out  of  sight  the  enormous  guilt  of  rulers 
in  almost  all  national  conflicts.  It  also 
hides  or  extenuates  the  frequent  guilt 
of  subjects  in  taking  part  in  the  hostili- 
ties which  their  rulers  declare.  In  this 
way,  much  of  the  prevalent  insensibility 
to  the  evils  of  war  is  induced,  and  per- 
haps on  no  point  is  light  more  needed. 
The  ferocity  and  cruelty  of  armies  im- 
press us  little,  because  we  look  on  them 
as  doing  a work  of  duty.  The  subject 
or  citizen,  as  we  think,  is  bound  to  obey 
his  rulers.  In  his  worst  deeds  as  a 
soldier  he  is  discharging  his  obligations 
to  the  state  ; and  thus  murder  and  pil- 
lage, covered  with  a cloak  of  duty,  ex- 
cite no  deep,  unaffected  reprobation  and 
horror. 

I know  it  will  be  asked,  “ And  is  not 
the  citizen  bound  to  fight  at  the  call  of 
his  government  ? Does  not  his  com- 
mission absolve  him  from  the  charge  of 
murder  or  enormous  crime  ? Is  not 
obedience  to  the  sovereign  power  the 
very  foundation  on  which  society  rests  ? ” 
I answer,  “ Has  the  duty  of  obeying 
government  no  bounds  ? Is  the  human 


WAR. 


676 

sovereign  a God  ? Is  his  sovereignty 
absolute  ? If  he  command  you  to  slay  a 
parent,  must  you  obey  ? If  he  forbid  you 
to  worship  God,  must  you  obey  ? Have 
you  no  right  to  judge  his  acts  ? Have  you 
no  self-direction  ? Is  there  no  unchange- 
able right  which  the  ruler  cannot  touch  ? 
Is  there  no  higher  standard  than  human 
law?”  These  questions  answer  them- 
selves. A declaration  of  war  cannot 
sanction  wrong,  or  turn  murder  into  a 
virtuous  deed.  Undoubtedly,  as  a gen- 
eral rule,  the  citizen  is  bound  to  obey  the 
authorities  under  which  he  lives.  No 
difference  of  opinion  as  to  the  mere 
expediency  of  measures  will  warrant 
opposition.  Even  in  cases  of  doubtful 
right  he  may  submit  his  judgment  to  the 
law.  But  when  called  to  do  what  his 
conscience  clearly  pronounces  wrong, 
he  must  not  waver.  No  outward  law  is 
so  sacred  as  the  voice  of  God  in  his 
own  breast.  He  cannot  devolve  on 
rulers  an  act  so  solemn  as  the  destruc- 
tion of  fellow-beings  convicted  of  no 
offence.  For  no  act  will  more  solemn 
inquisition  be  made  at  the  bar  of  God. 

I maintain  that  the  citizen,  before 
fighting,  is  bound  to  inquire  into  the 
justice  of  the  cause  which  he  is  called 
to  maintain  with  blood,  and  bound  to 
withhold  his  hand  if  his  conscience  con- 
demn the  cause.  On  this  point  he  is 
able  to  judge.  No  political  question, 
indeed,  can  be  determined  so  easily  as 
this  of  war.  War  can  be  justified  only 
by  plain,  palpable  necessity;  by  unques- 
tionable wrongs,  which,  as  patient  trial 
has  proved,  can  in  no  other  way  be  re- 
dressed ; by  the  obstinate,  persevering 
invasion  of  solemn  and  unquestionable 
rights.  The  justice  of  war  is  not  a mys- 
tery for  cabinets  to  solve.  It  is  not  a 
state-secret  which  he  must  take  on  trust. 
It  lies  within  our  reach.  We  are  bound 
to  examine  it. 

We  are  especially  bound  to  this  ex- 
amination, because  there  is  always  a 
presumption  against  the  justice  of  war ; 
always  reason  to  fear  that  it  is  con- 
demned by  impartial  conscience  and 
God.  This  solemn  truth  has  peculiar 
claims  on  attention.  It  takes  away  the 
plea  that  we  may  innocently  fight,  be- 
cause our  rulers  have  decreed  war.  It 
strips  off  the  most  specious  disguise 
from  the  horrors  and  crimes  of  national 
hostilities.  If  hostilities  were,  as  a gen- 
eral rule,  necessary  and  just,  if  an  un- 


just war  were  a solitary  exception,  then 
the  citizen  might  extenuate  his  share  in 
the  atrocities  of  military  life,  by  urging 
his  obligation  to  the  state.  But  if  there 
is  always  reason  to  apprehend  the  exist- 
ence of  wrong  on  the  part  of  rulers,  then 
he  is  bound  to  pause  and  ponder  well 
his  path.  Then  he  advances  at  his 
peril,  and  must  answer  for  the  crimes  of 
the  unjust,  unnecessary  wars  in  which 
he  shares. 

The  presumption  is  always  against 
the  justice  and  necessity  of  war.  This 
we  learn  from  the  spirit  of  all  rulers  and 
nations  towards  foreign  states.  It  is 
partial,  unjust.  Individuals  may  be  dis- 
interested ; but  nations  have  no  feeling 
of  the  tie  of  brotherhood  to  their  race. 
A base  selfishness  is  the  principle  on 
which  the  affairs  of  nations  are  com- 
monly conducted.  A statesman  is  ex- 
pected to  take  advantage  of  the  weak- 
nesses and  wants  of  other  countries. 
How  loose  a morality  governs  the  inter- 
course of  states  ! What  falsehoods  and 
intrigues  are  licensed  diplomacy ! What 
nation  regards  another  with  true  friend- 
ship ? What  nation  makes  sacrifices  to 
another’s  good  ? What  nation  is  as  anx- 
ious to  perform  its  duties  as  to  assert  its 
rights  ? What  nation  chooses  to  suffer 
wrong,  rather  than  to  inflict  it  ? What 
nation  lays  down  the  everlasting  law  of 
right,  casts  itself  fearlessly  on  its  princi- 
ples, and  chooses  to  be  poor  or  to  perish 
rather  than  to  do  wrong  ? Can  commu- 
nities so  selfish,  so  unfriendly,  so  un- 
principled, so  unjust,  be  expected  to 
wage  righteous  wars  ? Especially  if 
with  this  selfishness  are  joined  national 
prejudices,  antipathies,  and  exasperated 
passions,  what  else  can  be  expected  in 
the  public  policy  but  inhumanity  and 
crime  ? An  individual,  we  know,  can- 
not be  trusted  in  Ifis  own  cause,  to  meas- 
ure his  own  claims,  to  avenge  his  own 
wrongs ; and  the  civil  magistrate,  an 
impartial  umpire,  has  been  substituted  as 
the  only  means  of  justice.  But  nations 
are  even  more  unfit  than  individuals  to 
judge  in  their  own  cause  ; more  prone 
to  push  their  rights  to  excess,  and  to 
trample  on  the  rights  of  others  ; because 
nations  are  crowds,  and  crowds  are  un- 
awed by  opinion,  and  more  easily  in- 
flamed by  sympathy  into  madness.  Is 
there  not,  then,  always  a presumption 
against  the  justice  of  war  ? 

This  presumption  is  increased,  when 


WAR. 


we  consider  the  false  notions  of  patriot- 
ism and  honor  which  prevail  in  nations. 
Men  think  it  a virtuous  patriotism  to 
throw  a mantle,  as  they  call  it,  over  their 
country’s  infirmities,  to  wink  at  her  er- 
rors, to  assert  her  most  doubtful  rights, 
to  look  jealously  and  angrily  on  the 
prosperity  of  rival  states ; and  they 
place  her  honor  not  in  unfaltering  ad- 
herence to  the  right,  but  in  a fiery  spirit, 
in  quick  resentment,  in  martial  courage, 
and  especially  in  victory ; and  can  a 
good  man  hold  himself  bound  and  stand 
prepared  to  engage  in  war  at  the  dictate 
of  such  a state  ? 

The  citizen  or  subject,  you  say,  may 
innocently  fight  at  the  call  of  his  rulers ; 
and  I ask,  who  are  his  rulers  ? Per- 
haps an  absolute  sovereign,  looking 
down  on  his  people  as  another  race,  as 
created  to  toil  for  his  pleasure,  to  fight 
for  new  provinces,  to  bleed  for  his  re- 
nown. There  are,  indeed,  republican 
governments.  But  were  not  the  repub- 
lics of  antiquity  as  greedy  of  conquest, 
as  prodigal  of  human  life,  as  steeled 
against  the  cries  of  humanity,  as  any 
despots  who  ever  lived  ? And  if  we 
come  down  to  modern  republics,  are 
they  to  be  trusted  with  our  consciences  ? 
What  does  the  Congress  of  these  United 
States  represent  ? Not  so  much  the 
virtue  of  the  country  as  a vicious  princi- 
ple, the  spirit  of  party.  It  acts  not  so 
much  for  the  people  as  for  parties  ; and 
are  parties  upright  ? Are  parties  merci- 
ful ? Are  the  wars,  to  which  party  com- 
mits a country,  generally  just  ? 

Unhappily,  public  men  under  all  gov- 
ernments are,  of  all  moral  guides,  the 
most  unsafe,  the  last  for  a Christian  to 
follow.  Public  life  is  thought  to  ab- 
solve men  from  the  strict  obligations  of 
truth  and  justice.  To  wrong  an  adverse 
party  or  another  country,  is  not  repro- 
bated as  are  wrongs  in  private  life. 
Thus  duty  is  dethroned ; thus  the  maj- 
esty of  virtue  insulted  in  the  adminis- 
tration of  nations.  Public  men  are 
expected  to  think  more  of  their  own 
elevation  than  of  their  country.  Is  the 
city  of  Washington  the  most  virtuous 
spot  in  this  republic  ? Is  it  the  school 
of  incorruptible  men  ? The  hall  of  Con- 
gress, disgraced  by  so  many  brawls, 
swayed  by  local  interest  and  party  in- 
trigues, in  which  the  right  of  petition  is 
trodden  under  foot,  is  this  the  oracle 
from  which  the  responses  of  justice 


677 

come  forth  ? Public  bodies  want  con- 
science. Men  acting  in  masses  shift  off 
responsibility  on  one  another.  Multi- 
tudes never  blush.  If  these  things  be 
true,  then  I maintain  that  the  Christian 
has  not  a right  to  take  part  in  war 
blindly,  confidingly,  at  the  call  of  his 
rulers.  To  shed  the  blood  of  fellow- 
creatures  is  too  solemn  a work  to  be 
engaged  in  lightly.  Let  him  not  put 
himself,  a tool,  into  wicked  hands.  Let 
him  not  meet  on  the  field  his  brother 
man,  his  brother  Christian,  in  a cause 
on  which  heaven  frowns.  Let  him  bear 
witness  against  unholy  wars,  as  his 
country’s  greatest  crimes.  If  called  to 
take  part  in  them,  let  him  deliberately 
refuse.  If  martial  law  seize  on  him,  let 
him  submit.  If  hurried  to  prison,  let 
him  submit.  If  brought  thence  to  be 
shot,  let  him  submit.  There  must  be 
martyrs  to  peace  as  truly  as  to  other 
principles  of  our  religion.  The  first 
Christians  chose  to  die  rather  than 
obey  the  laws  of  the  state  which  com- 
manded them  to  renounce  their  Lord. 
“ Death  rather  than  crime  ; ” such  is 
the  good  man’s  watchword,  such  the 
Christian’s  vow.  Let  him  be  faithful 
unto  death. 

Undoubtedly  it  will  be  objected,  that 
if  one  law  of  the  state  may  in  any  way 
be  resisted,  then  all  may  be,  and  so  gov- 
ernment must  fall.  This  is  precisely  the 
argument  on  which  the  doctrine  of  pas- 
sive obedience  to  the  worst  tyrannies 
rests.  The  absolutist  says,  “ If  one  gov- 
ernment may  be  overturned,  none  can 
stand.  Your  right  of  revolution  is  noth- 
ing but  the  right  of  anarchy,  of  universal 
misrule.”  The  reply  is  in  both  instances 
the  same.  Extreme  cases  speak  for 
themselves.  We  must  put  confidence 
in  the  common-sense  of  men,  and  sup- 
pose them  capable  of  distinguishing  be- 
tween reasonable  laws  and  those  which 
require  them  to  commit  manifest  crimes. 
The  objection  which  we  are  consider- 
ing rests  on  the  supposition  that  a dec- 
laration of  war  is  a common  act  of  leg- 
islation, bearing  no  strong  marks  of 
distinction  from  other  laws,  and  conse- 
quently to  be  obeyed  as  implicitly  as  all. 
But  it  is  broadly  distinguished.  A dec- 
laration of  war  sends  us  forth  to  destroy 
our  fellow-creatures,  to  carry  fire,  sword, 
famine,  bereavement,  want,  and  woe  into 
the  fields  and  habitations  of  our  brethren  ; 
whilst  Christianity,  conscience,  and  all 


WAR. 


678 

the  pure  affections  of  our  nature,  call  us 
to  love  our  brethren,  and  to  die,  if  need 
be,  for  their  good.  And  from  whence 
comes  this  declaration  of  war?  From 
men  who  would  rather  die  than  engage 
in  unjust  or  unnecessary  conflict  ? Too 
probably  from  men  to  whom  Christianity 
is  a name,  whose  highest  law  is  honor, 
who  are  used  to  avenge  their  private 
wrongs  and  defend  their  reputations  by 
shedding  blood,  and  who,  in  public  as  in 
private  life,  defy  the  laws  of  God.  Who- 
ever, at  such  men’s  dictation,  engages 
in  war  without  solemnly  consulting  con- 
science, and  inquiring  into  the  justice 
of  the  cause,  contracts  great  guilt,  nor 
can  the  “ right  of  war,”  which  such  men 
claim  as  rulers,  absolve  him  from  the 
crimes  and  woes  of  the  conflict  in  which 
he  shares. 

I have  thus  considered  the  second 
cause  of  the  prevalent  insensibility  to 
war ; namely,  the  common  vague  belief 
that,  as  the  right  of  war  inheres  in  gov- 
ernment, therefore  murder  and  pillage 
in  national  conflicts  change  their  nature, 
or  are  broadly  distinguished  from  the 
like  crimes  in  common  life.  This  topic 
has  been  so  extended  that  I must  pass 
over  many  which  remain,  and  can  take 
but  a glance  at  one  or  two  which  ought 
not  to  be  wholly  overlooked.  I observe 
then,  thirdly,  that  men’s  sensibility  to 
the  evil  of  war  has  been  very  much 
blunted  by  the  deceptive  show,  the  cos- 
tume, the  splendor  in  which  war  is  ar- 
rayed. Its  horrors  are  hidden  under  its 
dazzling  dress.  To  the  multitude,  the 
senses  are  more  convincing  reasoners 
than  the  conscience.  In  youth,  — the 
period  which  so  often  receives  impres- 
sions for  life,  — we  cannot  detect,  in  the 
heart-stirring  fife  and  drum,  the  true 
music  of  war,  — the  shriek  of  the  newly 
wounded  or  the  faint  moan  of  the  dying. 
Arms  glittering  in  the  sunbeam  do  not 
remind  us  of  bayonets  dripping  with 
blood.  To  one  who  reflects,  there  is 
something  very  shocking  in  these  deco- 
rations of  war.  If  men  must  fight,  let 
them  wear  the  badges  which  become 
their  craft.  It  would  shock  us  to  see  a 
hangman  dressed  out  in  scarf  and  epau- 
lette, and  marching  with  merry  music 
to  the  place  of  punishment.  The  soldier 
has  a sadder  work  than  the  hangman. 
His  office  is  not  to  despatch  occasion- 
ally a single  criminal ; he  goes  to  the 
slaughter  of  thousands  as  free  from 


crime  as  himself.  The  sword  is  worn 
as  an  ornament ; and  yet  its  use  is  to 
pierce  the  heart  of  a fellow-creature. 
As  well  might  the  butcher  parade  before 
us  his  knife,  or  the  executioner  his  axe 
or  halter.  Allow  war  to  be  necessary, 
still  it  is  a horrible  necessity,  a work  to 
fill  a good  man  with  anguish  of  spirit. 
Shall  it  be  turned  into  an  occasion  of 
pomp  and  merriment?  To  dash  out 
men’s  brains,  to  stab  them  to  the  heart, 
to  cover  the  body  with  gashes,  to  lop 
off  the  limbs,  to  crush  men  under  the 
hoof  of  the  war-horse,  to  destroy  hus- 
bands and  fathers,  to  make  widows  and 
orphans,  all  this  may  be  necessary ; but 
to  attire  men  for  this  work  with  fantastic 
trappings,  to  surround  this  fearful  occu- 
pation with  all  the  circumstances  of 
gayety  and  pomp,  seems  as  barbarous 
as  it  would  be  to  deck  a gallows,  or  to 
make  a stage  for  dancing  beneath  the 
scaffold.  I conceive  that  the  military 
dress  was  not  open  to  as  much  reproach 
in  former  times  as  now.  It  was  then 
less  dazzling,  and  acted  less  on  the  im- 
agination, because  it  formed  less  an  ex- 
ception to  the  habits  of  the  times.  The 
dress  of  Europe,  not  many  centuries 
ago,  was  fashioned  very  much  after  what 
may  be  called  the  harlequin  style.  That 
is,  it  affected  strong  colors  and  strong 
contrasts.  This  taste  belongs  to  rude 
ages,  and  has  passed  away  very  much 
with  the  progress  of  civilization.  The 
military  dress  alone  has  escaped  the 
reform.  The  military  man  is  the  only 
harlequin  left  us  from  ancient  times.  It 
is  time  that  his  dazzling  finery  were 
gone,  that  it  no  longer  corrupted  the 
young,  that  it  no  longer  threw  a perni- 
cious glare  over  his  terrible  vocation. 

I close  with  assigning  what  appears 
to  me  to  be  the  most  powerful  cause  of 
the  prevalent  insensibility  to  war.  It  is 
our  blindness  to  the  dignity  and  claims 
of  human  nature.  We  know  not  the 
worth  of  a man.  We  know  not  who  the 
victims  are  on  whom  war  plants  its  foot, 
whom  the  conqueror  leaves  to  the  vulture 
on  the  field  of  battle,  or  carries  captive 
to  grace  his  triumph.  Oh  ! did  we  know 
what  men  are,  did  we  see  in  them  the 
spiritual,  immortal  children  of  God,  what 
a voice  should  we  lift  against  war  ! How 
indignantly,  how  sorrowfully  should  we 
invoke  heaven  and  earth  to  right  our 
insulted,  injured  brethren ! 

I close  with  asking,  “ Must  the  sword 


DUTIES  OF  THE  CITIZEN,  ETC. 


devour  for  ever?”  Must  force,  fear, 
pain,  always  rule  the  world  ? Is  the 
kingdom  of  God,  the  reign  of  truth, 
duty,  and  love  never  to  prevail  ? Must 
the  sacred  name  of  brethren  be  only  a 
name  among  men  ? Must  the  divinity 
in  man’s  nature  never  be  recognized 
with  veneration?  Is  the  earth  always 
to  steam  with  human  blood  shed  by 
man's  hands,  and  to  echo  with  groans 
wrung  from  hearts  which  violence  has 
pierced  ? Can  you  and  I,  my  friends, 
do  nothing,  nothing  to  impress  a different 
character  on  the  future,  history  of  our 
race  ? You  say  we  are  weak  ; and  why 
weak  ? It  is  from  inward  defect,  not 
from  outward  necessity.  We  are  ineffi- 
cient abroad,  because  faint  within,  — faint 
in  love,  and  trust,  and  holy  resolution. 
Inward  power  always  comes  forth,  and 
works  without.  Noah  Worcester,  enfee- 
bled in  body,  was  not  weak.  George 
Fox,  poor  and  uneducated,  was  not 
weak.  They  had  light  and  life  within, 
and  therefore  were  strong  abroad.  Their 
spirits  were  stirred  by  Christ’s  truth  and 
spirit  ; and,  so  moved,  they  spoke  and 
were  heard.  We  are  dead,  and  there- 
fore cannot  act.  Perhaps  we  speak 
against  war ; but  if  we  speak  from  tra- 
dition, if  we  echo  what  we  hear,  if  peace 


679 

be  a cant  on  our  lips,  our  words  are  un- 
meaning air.  Our  own  souls  must  bleed 
when  our  brethren  are  slaughtered.  We 
must  feel  the  infinite  wrong  done  to 
man  by  the  brute  force  which  treads 
him  in  the  dust.  We  must  see  in  the 
authors  of  unjust,  selfish,  ambitious, 
revengeful  wars,  monsters  in  human 
form,  incarnations  of  the  dread  enemy 
of  the  human  race.  Under  the  inspira- 
tion of  such  feelings,  we  shall  speak, 
even  the  humblest  of  us,  with  something 
of  prophetic  force.  This  is  the  power 
which  is  to  strike  awe  into  the  coun- 
sellors and  perpetrators  of  now  licensed 
murder  ; which  is  to  wither  the  laurelled 
brow  of  now  worshipped  heroes.  Deep 
moral  convictions,  unfeigned  reverence 
and  fervent  love  for  man,  and  living 
faith  in  Christ,  are  mightier  than  armies  ; 
mighty  through  God  to  the  pulling  down 
of  the  strongholds  of  oppression  and 
war.  Go  forth,  then,  friends  of  man- 
kind, peaceful  soldiers  of  Christ ! and 
in  your  various  relations,  at  home  and 
abroad,  in  private  life,  and,  if  it  may  be, 
in  more  public  spheres,  give  faithful 
utterance  to  the  principles  of  universal 
justice  and  love,  give  utterance  to  your 
deep,  solemn,  irreconcilable  hatred  of 
the  spirit  of  war. 


DUTIES  OF  THE  CITIZEN  IN  TIMES  OF  TRIAL 
OR  DANGER. 


Extracts  from  Sermons  preached  on  - Days  of 
Humiliation  and  Prayer , appointed  in  con- 
sequence of  the  Declaration  of  War  against 
Great  Britain. 

In  all  circumstances,  at  all  times,  war 
is  to  be  deprecated.  The  evil  passions 
which  it  excites,  its  ravages,  its  bloody 
conflicts,  the  distress  and  terror  which 
it  carries  into  domestic  life,  the  tears 
which  it  draws  from  the  widow  and 
fatherless,  all  render  war  a tremendous 
scourge. 

There  are,  indeed,  conditions  in  which 
war  is  justifiable,  is  necessary.  It  may 
be  the  last  and  only  method  of  repelling 
lawless  ambition,  and  of  defending  in- 
vaded liberty  and  essential  rights.  It 
may  be  the  method  which  God’s  provi-  | 


dence  points  out  by  furnishing  the  means 
of  success.  In  these  cases  we  must  not 
shrink  from  war ; though  even  in  these 
we  should  deeply  lament  the  necessity 
of  shedding  human  blood.  In  such  wars 
our  country  claims  and  deserves  our 
prayers,  our  cheerful  services,  the  sacri- 
fice of  wealth,  and  even  of  life.  In 
such  wars  we  have  one  consolation, 
when  our  friends  fall  on  the  field  of 
battle  ; we  know  that  they  have  fallen 
in  a just  cause.  Such  conflicts,  which 
our  hearts  and  consciences  approve, 
are  suited  to  call  forth  generous  senti- 
ments, to  breathe  patriotism  and  forti- 
tude through  a community.  Could  I 
view  the  war  in  which  we  are  engaged 
in  this  light,  with  what  different  feelings, 


68o 


DUTIES  OF  THE  CITIZEN 


my  friends,  should  I address  you  ! We 
might  then  look  up  to  God  and  'commit 
to  him  our  country  with  a holy  confi- 
dence. But,  in  our  present  state,  what 
can  I say  to  you  ? I would,  but  I can- 
not, address  you  in  the  language  of  en- 
couragement. We  are  precipitated  into 
a war  which,  I think,  cannot  be  justified, 
and  a war  which  promises  not  a benefit, 
that  I can  discover,  to  this  country  or  to 
the  world. 

A solemn  question  now  offers  itself. 
What  conduct  belongs  to  a good  citizen 
in  our  present  trying  condition  ? To 
this  subject  I call  your  serious  attention. 

Our  condition  induces  me  to  begin 
with  urging  on  you  the  important  duty 
of  cherishing  respect  for  civil  govern- 
ment, and  a spirit  of  obedience  to  the 
laws.  I am  sensible  that  many  whom  I 
address  consider  themselves  as  called 
to  oppose  the  measures  of  our  present 
rulers.  Let  this  opposition  breathe  noth- 
ing of  insubordination,  impatience  of  au- 
thority, or  love  of  change.  It  becomes 
you  to  remember  that  government  is  a 
divine  institution,  essential  to  the  im- 
provement of  our  nature,  the  spring  of 
industry  and  enterprise,  the  shield  of 
property  and  life,  the  refuge  of  the  weak 
and  oppressed.  It  is  to  the  security 
which  laws  afford  that  we  owe  the  suc- 
cessful application  of  human  powers. 
Government,  though  often  perverted  by 
ambition  and  other  selfish  passions,  still 
holds  a distinguished  rank  among  those 
influences  by  which  man  has  been  res- 
cued from  barbarism,  and  conducted 
through  the  ruder  stages  of  society  to 
the  habits  of  order,  the  diversified  em- 
ployments and  dependencies,  the  refined 
and  softened  manners,  the  intellectual, 
moral,  and  religious  improvements  of 
the  age  in  which  we  live.  We  are  bound 
to  respect  government,  as  the  great  se- 
curity for  social  happiness ; and  we 
should  carefully  cherish  that  habit  of 
obedience  to  the  laws  without  which 
the  ends  of  government  cannot  be  ac- 
complished. All  wanton  opposition  to 
the  constituted  authorities  ; all  censures 
of  rulers,  originating  in  a factious,  as- 
piring, or  envious  spirit,  all  unwilling- 
ness to  submit  to  laws  which  are  directed 
to  the  welfare  of  the  community,  should 
be  rebuked  and  repressed  by  the  frown 
of  public  indignation. 

It  is  impossible  that  all  the  regulations 
of  the  wisest  government  should  equally 


benefit  every  individual ; and  sometimes 
the  general  good  will  demand  arrange- 
ments which  will  interfere  with  the  in- 
terests of  particular  members  or  classes 
of  the  nation.  In  such  circumstances, 
the  individual  is  bound  to  regard  the 
inconveniences  under  which  he  suffers 
as  inseparable  from  a social,  connected 
state,  as  the  result  of  the  condition 
which  God  has  appointed,  and  not  as 
the  fault  of  his  rulers  ; and  he  should 
cheerfully  submit,  recollecting  how  much 
more  he  receives  from  the  community 
than  he  is  called  to  resign  to  it.  Disaf- 
fection towards  a government  which  is 
administered  with  a view  to  the  general 
welfare  is  a great  crime  ; and  such  op- 
position, even  to  a bad  government,  as 
springs  from  and  spreads  a restless  tem- 
per, an  unwillingness  to  yield  to  whole- 
some and  necessary  restraint,  deserves 
no  better  name.  In  proportion  as  a peo- 
ple want  a conscientious  regard  to  the 
laws,  and  are  prepared  to  evade  them 
by  fraud,  or  to  arrest  their  operation  by 
violence,  — in  that  proportion  they  meed 
and  deserve  an  arbitrary  government, 
strong  enough  to  crush  at  a blow  every 
symptom  of  opposition. 

These  general  remarks  on  the  duty  of 
submission  are  by  no  means  designed  to 
teach  that  rulers  are  never  to  be  opposed. 
Because  I wish  to  guard  you  against  that 
turbulent  and  discontented  spirit  which 
precipitates  free  communities  into  an 
anarchy,  and  thus  prepares  them  for 
chains,  you  will  not  consider  me  as  as- 
serting that  all  opposition  to  govern- 
ment, whatever  be  the  occasion,  or  what- 
ever the  form,  is  to  be  branded  as  a 
crime.  The  citizen  has  rights  as  well 
as  duties.  Government  is  instituted  for 
one  and  a single  end,  — the  benefit  of 
the  governed,  the  protection,  peace,  and 
welfare  of  society  ; and  when  it  is  per- 
verted to  other  objects,  to  purposes  of 
avarice,  ambition,  or  party-spirit,  we  are 
authorized  and  even  bound  to  make  such 
opposition  as  is  suited  to  restore  it  to  its 
proper  end,  to  render  it  as  pure  as  the 
imperfection  of  our  nature  and  state  will 
admit. 

The  Scriptures  have  sometimes  been 
thought  to  enjoin  an  unqualified,  unlim- 
ited subjection  to  the  “ higher  powers ; ” 
but  in  the  passages  which  seem  so  to 
teach,  it  is  supposed  that  these  powers 
are  “ministers  of  God  for  good,”  are  a 
terror  to  evil-doers,  and  an  encourage- 


IN  TIMES  OF  TRIAL  OR  DANGER. 


ment  to  those  that  do  well.  When  a 
government  wants  this  character,  when 
it  becomes  an  engine  of  oppression,  the 
Scriptures  enjoin  subjection  no  longer. 
Expediency  may  make  it  our  duty  to 
obey,  but  the  government  has  lost  its 
rights  ; it  can  no  longer  urge  its  claims 
as  an  ordinance  of  God. 

There  have,  indeed,  been  times  when 
sovereigns  have  demanded  subjection  as 
an  inalienable  right,  and  when  the  su- 
perstition of  subjects  has  surrounded 
them  with  a mysterious  sanctity,  with 
a majesty  approaching  the  divine.  But 
these  days  have  past.  Under  the  robe 
of  office,  we,  my  hearers,  have  learned  to 
see  a man  like  ourselves.  There  is  no 
such  sacredness  in  rulers  as  forbids 
scrutiny  into  their  motives,  or  condem- 
nation of  their  measures.  In  leaving 
the  common  walks  of  life,  they  leave 
none  of  their  imperfections  behind  them. 
Power  has  even  a tendency  to  corrupt, 
to  feed  an  irregular  ambition,  to  harden 
the  heart  against  the  claims  and  suffer- 
ings of  mankind.  Rulers  are  not  to  be 
viewed  with  a malignant  jealousy ; but 
they  ought  to  be  inspected  with  a watch- 
ful, undazzled  eye.  Their  virtues  and 
services  are  to  be  rewarded  with  gener- 
ous praise . and  their  crimes  and  arts 
and  usurpations  should  be  exposed  with 
a fearless  sincerity  to  the  indignation  of 
an  injured  people.  We  are  not  to  be 
factious,  and  neither  are  we  to  be  ser- 
vile. With  a sincere  disposition  to  obey, 
should  be  united  a firm  purpose  not  to 
be  oppressed. 

So  far  is  an  existing  government  from 
being  clothed  with  an  inviolable  sanctity, 
that  the  citizen,  in  particular  circum- 
stances, acquires  the  right,  not  only  of  re- 
monstrating, but  of  employing  force  for 
its  destruction.  This  right  accrues  to  him 
when  a government  wantonly  disregards 
the  ends  of  social  union  ; when  it  threat- 
ens the  subversion  of  national  liberty 
and  happiness  ; and  when  no  relief  but 
force  remains  to  the  suffering  commu- 
nity. This,  however,  is  a right  which 
cannot  be  exercised  with  too  much  de- 
liberation. Subjects  should  very  slowly 
yield  to  the  conviction  that  rulers  have 
that  settled  hostility  to  their  interests 
which  authorizes  violence.  They  must 
not  indulge  a spirit  of  complaint,  and 
suffer  their  passions  to  pronounce  on 
their  wrongs.  They  must  remember 
that  the  best  government  will  partake 


68 1 

the  imperfection  of  all  human  institu- 
tions, and  that  if  the  ends  of  the  social 
compact  are  in  any  tolerable  degree  ac- 
complished, they  will  be  mad  indeed  to 
hazard  the  blessings  they  possess  for 
the  possibility  of  greater  good. 

Resistance  of  established  power  is  so 
great  an  evil,  civil  commotion  excites 
such  destructive  passions,  the  result  is 
so  tremendously  uncertain,  that  every 
milder  method  of  relief  should  first  be 
tried,  and  fairly  tried.  The  last  dread- 
ful resort  is  never  justifiable  until  the 
injured  members  of  the  community  are 
brought  to  despair  of  other  relief,  and 
are  so  far  united  in  views  and  purposes 
as  to  be  authorized  in  the  hope  of  suc- 
cess. Civil  commotion  should  be  viewed 
as  the  worst  of  national  evils,  with  the 
single  exception  of  slavery.  I know 
that  this  country  has  passed  through 
one  civil  war  without  experiencing  the 
calamitous  consequences  of  which  I 
have  spoken.  But  let  us  not  forget 
that  this  was  a civil  war  of  a very  pe- 
culiar character.  The  government  which 
we  shook  off  was  not  seated  in  the  midst 
of  us.  Our  struggle  was  that  of  nation 
with  nation,  rather  than  of  fellow-citizens 
with  one  another.  Our  manners  and 
habits  tended  to  give  a considerateness 
and  a stability  to  the  public  mind  which 
can  hardly  be  expected  in  a future  strug- 
gle. And,  in  addition  to  these  favor- 
able circumstances,  we.  were  favored  by 
heaven  with  a leader  of  incorruptible 
integrity,  of  unstained  purity, — a patriot 
who  asked  no  glory  but  that  of  deliver- 
ing his  country,  who  desired  to  reign 
only  in  the  hearts  of  a free  and  happy 
people,  whose  disinterestedness  awed 
and  repressed  the  selfish  and  ambitious, 
who  inspired  universal  confidence,  and 
thus  was  a centre  and  bond  of  union  to 
the  minds  of  men  in  the  most  divided 
and  distracted  periods  of  our  country. 
The  name  of  Washington  I may  pro- 
nounce with  reverence  even  in  the  tem- 
ple of  the  Almighty ; and  it  is  a name 
which  revives  the  sinking  spirits  in  this 
day  of  our  declining  glory.  From  a rev- 
olution, conducted  by  such  a man,  under 
such  circumstances,  let  no  conclusions 
be  hastily  drawn  on  the  subject  of  civil 
commotion. 

It  becomes  us  to  rejoice,  my  friends, 
that  we  live  under  a constitution,  one 
great  design  of  which  is  to  prevent  the 
necessity  of  appealing  to  force,  to  give 


682 


DUTIES  OF  THE  CITIZEN 


the  people  an  opportunity  of  removing, 
without  violence,  those  rulers  from  whom 
they  suffer  or  apprehend  an  invasion  of 
rights.  This  is  one  of  the  principal  ad- 
vantages of  a republic  over  an  absolute 
government.  In  a despotism,  there  is 
no  remedy  for  oppression  but  force. 
The  subject  cannot  influence  public 
affairs  but  by  convulsing  the  state. 
With  us,  rulers  may  be  changed  with- 
out the  horrors  of  a revolution.  A 
republican  government  secures  to  its 
subjects  this  immense  privilege,  by  con- 
firming to  them  two  most  important 
rights,  — the  right  of  suffrage,  and  the 
right  of  discussing  with  freedom  the 
conduct  of  rulers.  The  value  of  these 
rights  in  affording  a peaceful  method  of 
redressing  public  grievances  cannot  be 
expressed,  and  the  duty  of  maintaining 
them,  of  never  surrendering  them,  can- 
not be  too  strongly  urged.  Resign 
either  of  these,  and  no  way  of  escape 
from  oppression  will  be  left  you  but 
civil  commotion. 

From  the  important  place  which  these 
rights  hold  in  a republican  government, 
you  should  consider  youselves  bound  to 
support  every  citizen  in  the  lawful  ex- 
ercise of  them,  especially  when  an 
attempt  is  made  to  wrest  them  from 
'any  by  violent  means.  At  the  present 
time,  it  is  particularly  your  duty  to  guard 
with  jealousy  the  right  of  expressing  with 
freedom  your  honest  convictions  respect- 
ing the  measures  of  your  rulers.  With- 
out this,  the  right  of  election  is  not  worth 
possessing.  If  public  abuses  may  not  be 
exposed,  their  authors  will  never  be 
driven  from  power.  Freedom  of  opin- 
ion, of  speech,  and  of  the  press,  is  our 
most  valuable  privilege,  the  very  soul  of 
republican  institutions,  the  safeguard  of 
{ all  other  rights.  We  may  learn  its  value 
if  we  reflect  that  there  is  nothing  which 
tyrants  so  much  dread.  They  anxiously 
fetter  the  press ; they  scatter  spies 
through  society,  that  the  murmurs,  an- 
guish, and  indignation  of  their  oppressed 
subjects  may  be  smothered  in  their  own 
breasts  ; that  no  generous  sentiment  may 
be  nourished  by  sympathy  and  mutual 
confidence.  Nothing  awakens  and  im- 
proves men  so  much  as  free  communica- 
tion of  thoughts  and  feelings.  Nothing 
can  give  to  public  sentiment  that  cor- 
rectness which  is  essential  to  the  pros- 
perity of  a commonwealth  but  the  free 
circulation  of  truth  from  the  lips  and 


pens  of  the  wise  and  good.  If  such  men 
abandon  the  right  of  free  discussion  ; if, 
awed  by  threats,  they  suppress  their 
convictions  ; if  rulers  succeed  in  silenc- 
ing every  voice  but  that  which  approves 
them ; if  nothing  reaches  the  people 
but  what  would  lend  support  to  men 
in  power,  — farewell  to  liberty.  The 
form  of  a free  government  may  remain, 
but  the  life,  the  soul,  the  substance  is 
fled. 

p If  these  remarks  be  just,  nothing 
tough  t to  excite  greater  indignation  and 
alarm  than  the  attempts  which  have 
lately  been  made  to  destroy  the  freedom 
of  the  press.  We  have  lived  to  hear 
the  strange  doctrine,  that  to  expose  the 
measures  of  rulers  is  treason  ; and  we 
have  lived  to  see  this  doctrine  carried 
into  practice.  We  have  seen  a savage 
populace  excited  and  let  loose  on  men 
whose  crime  consisted  in  bearing  test- 
imony against  the  present  war  ; and  let 
loose  not  merely  tQ  waste  their  property, 
but  to  tear  them  from  the  refuge  which 
the  magistrate  had  afforded,  and  to  shed 
their  blood.  In  this,  and  in  other  events, 
there  have  been  symptoms  of  a purpose 
to  terrify  into  silence  those  who  disap- 
prove the  calamitous  war  under  which 
we  suffer ; to  deprive  us  of  the  only 
method  which  is  left  of  obtaining  a wiser 
and  better  government.  The  cry  has 
been  that  war  is  declared,  and  all  oppo- 
sition should  therefore  be  hushed.  A 
sentiment  more  unworthy  of  a free  coun- 
try can  hardly  be  propagated.  If  this 
doctrine  be  admitted,  rulers  have  only 
to  declare  war,  and  they  are  screened  at 
once  from  scrutiny.  At  the  very  time 
when  they  have  armies  at  command, 
when  their  patronage  is  most  extended, 
and  their  power  most  formidable,  not  a 
word  of  warning,  of  censure,  of  alarm 
must  be  heard.  The  press,  which  is  to 
expose  inferior  abuses,  must  not  utter 
one  rebuke,  one  indignant  complaint, 
although  our  best  interests  and  most 
valuable  rights  are  put  to  hazard  by  an 
unnecessary  war  ! Admit  this  doctrine, 
let  rulers  once  know  that,  by  placing  the 
country  in  a state  of  war,  they  place 
themselves  beyond  the  only  power  they 
dread,  — the  power  of  free  discussion, — 
and  we  may  expect  war  without  end. 
Our  peace  and  all  our  interests  require 
that  a different  sentiment  should  prevail. 
We  should  teach  our  present  and  all  fut- 
ure rulers  that  there  is  no  measure  for 


IN  TIMES  of  trial  or  danger. 


which  they  must  render  so  solemn  an 
account  to  their  constituents  as  for  a 
declaration  of  war  ; that  no  measure 
will*  be  so  freely,  so  fully  discussed; 
and  that  no  administration  can  succeed 
in  persuading  this  people  to  exhaust 
their  treasure  and  blood  in  supporting 
war,  unless  it  be  palpably  necessary  and 
just.  In  war,  then,  as  in  peace,  assert 
the  freedom  of  speech  and  of  the  press. 
Cling  to  this  as  the  bulwark  of  all  your 
rights  and  privileges. 

But,  my  friends,  I should  not  be  faith- 
rful  were  I only  to  call  you  to  hold  fast 
this  freedom.  I would  still  more  ear- 
nestly exhort  you  not  to  abuse  it.  Its 
abuse  may  be  as  fatal  to  our  country  as 
its  relinquishment.  If  undirected,  unre- 
strained by  principle,  the  press,  instead 
of  enlightening,  depraves  the  public 
mind  ; and,  by  its  licentiousness,  forges 
chains  for  itself  and  for  the  community. 
The  right  of  free  discussion  is  not  the 
right  of  uttering  what  we  please.  Let 
nothing  be  spoken  or  written  but  truth. 
The  influence  of  the  press  is  exceedingly 
diminished  by  its  gross  and  frequent 
misrepresentations.  Each  party  listens 
with  distrust  to  the  statements  of  the 
other ; and  the  consequence  is,  that  the 
progress  of  truth  is  slow,  and  sometimes 
wholly  obstructed.  Whilst  we  encour- 
age the  free  expression  of  opinion,  let 
us  unite  in  fixing  the  brand  of  infamy 
on  falsehood  and  slander,  wherever  they 
originate,  whatever  be  the  cause  they 
are  designed  to  maintain. 

But  it  is  not  enough  that  truth  be 
told.  It  should  be  told  for  a good  end  ; 
not  to  irritate,  but  to  convince  ; not  to 
inflame  the  bad  passions,  but  to  sway 
the  judgment  and  to  awaken  sentiments 
of  patriotism.  Unhappily  the  press 
seems  now  to  be  chiefly  prized  as  an 
instrument  of  exasperation.  Those  who 
have  embraced  error  are  hardened  in 
their  principles  by  the  reproachful  epi- 
thets heaped  on  them  by  their  adversa- 
ries. I do  not  mean  by  this  that  political 
discussion  is  to  be  conducted  tamely, 
that  no  sensibility  is  to  be  expressed,  no 
indignation  to  be  poured  forth  on  wicked 
men  and  wicked  deeds.  But  this  I 
mean,  — that  we  shall  deliberately  in- 
quire whether  indignation  be  deserved 
before  we  express  it ; and  the  object  of 
expressing  it  should  ever  be,  not  to  in- 
fuse ill-will,  rancor,  and  fury  into  the 
minds  of  men,  but  to  excite  an  enlight- 


683 

ened  and  conscientious  opposition  to 
injurious  measures. 

Every  good  man  must  mourn  that  so 
much  is  continually  published  among  us, 
for  no  other  apparent  end  than  to  gratify 
the  malevolence  of  one  party  by  wound- 
ing the  feelings  of  the  opposite.  The 
consequence  is,  that  an  alarming  degree 
of  irritation  exists  in  our  country.  Fel- 
low-citizens burn  with  mutual  hatred, 
and  some  are  evidently  ripe  for  outrage 
and  violence.  In  this  feverish  state  of 
the  public  mind,  we  are  not  to  relinquish 
free  discussion,  but  every  man  should 
feel  the  duty  of  speaking  and  writing 
with  deliberation.  It  is  the  time  to  be 
firm  without  passion.  No  menace  should 
be  employed  to  provoke  opponents,  no 
defiance  hurled,  no  language  used  which 
will,  in  any  measure,  justify  the  fero- 
cious in  appealing  to  force. 

The  sum  of  my  remarks  is  this.  It  is 
your  duty  to  hold  fast  and  to  assert  with 
firmness  those  truths  and  principles  on 
which  the  welfare  of  your  country  seems 
to  depend  ; but  do  this  with  calmness, 
with  a love  of  peace,  without  ill-will  and 
revenge.  Use  every  opportunity  of 
allaying  animosities.  Discourage,  in 
decided  and  open  language,  that  rancor, 
malignity,  and  unfeeling  abuse,  which  so 
often  find  their  way  into  our  public 
prints.  Remember,  that  in  proportion 
as  a people  become  enslaved  to  their 
passions,  they  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
aspiring  and  unprincipled  ; and  that  a 
corrupt  government,  which  has  an  in- 
terest in  deceiving  the  people,  can  desire 
nothing  more  favorable  to  their  purposes 
than  a frenzied  state  of  the  public  mind. 

My  friends,  in  this  day  of  discord,  let 
us  cherish  and  breathe  around  us  the 
benevolent  spirit  of  Christianity.  Let 
us  reserve  to  ourselves  this  consolation, 
that  we  have  added  no  fuel  to  the  flames, 
no  violence  to  the  storms,  which  threaten 
to  desolate  our  country.  Though  dis- 
honored, though  endangered,  it  is  still 
our  country.  Let  us  not  forsake  it  in 
this  evil  day.  Let  us  hold  fast  the  in- 
heritance of  our  civil  and  religious  liber- 
ties, which  we  have  received  from  our 
fathers,  sealed  and  hallowed  by  their 
blood.  That  these  blessings  may  not 
be  lost,  let  us  labor  to  improve  public 
sentiment,  and  to  exalt  men  of  wisdom 
and  virtue  to  power.  Let  it  be  our  labor 
to  establish  in  ourselves  and  in  our  fel- 
low-citizens the  empire  of  true  religion. 


DUTIES  OF  THE  CITIZEN 


68  4 

Let  us  remember  that  there  is  no  foun- 
dation of  public  liberty  but  public  virtue, 
that  there  is  no  method  of  obtaining 
God’s  protection  but  adherence  to  his 
laws. 

Let  us  not  despair  of  our  country.  If 
all  that  we  wish  cannot  be  done  for  the 
state,  still  something  may  be  done.  In 
the  good  principles,  in  the  love  of  order 
and  liberty,  by  which  so  many  of  our 
citizens  are  distinguished;  in  the  tried 
virtue,  deliberate  prudence,  and  un- 
shaken firmness  of  the  chief  magistrate 
whom  God  in  his  great  goodness  has 
given  to  this  Commonwealth ; in  the 
value  of  the  blessings  which  are  at 
stake  ; in  the  peculiar  kindness  which 
God  has  manifested  towards  our  fathers 
and  ourselves,  we  have  motives,  encour- 
agements, and  solemn  obligations  to 
resolute,  persevering  exertion  in  our 
different  spheres,  and  according  to  our 
different  capacities,  for  the  public  good. 
Thus  faithful  to  ourselves  and  our  coun- 
try, and  using  vigorously  every  righteous 
means  for  restoring  peace  and  confirm- 
ing freedom,  we  may  confidently  leave 
the  issue  to  the  wise  and  holy  providence 
of  Him  who  cannot  err,  and  who,  we  are 
assured,  will  accept  and  reward  every 
conscientious  effort  for  his  own  glory 
and  the  good  of  mankind. 


Extracts  from  a Sermon  delivered  September  18, 

1814,  when  an  Invasion  by  the  British  Forces 

was  apprehended  at  Boston . 

At  such  a moment  as  the  present, 
when  every  mind  is  fixing  a fearful  at- 
tention on  the  state  of  the  country,  it  is 
impossible  that  a religious  instructor 
should  escape  participation  in  the  com- 
mon feeling.  His  sacred  calling  does 
not  require  him  to  separate  himself  from 
the  community,  to  forget  that  he  is  a 
citizen,  to  put  off  the  feelings  of  a man. 
The  religion  which  he  teaches  inculcates 
public  spirit  and  a strong  and  tender 
concern  for  all  by  whom  he  is  sur- 
rounded. He  would  be  unworthy  his 
sacred  function  were  he  not  to  love  his 
country,  and  to  sympathize  with  its 
prosperous  and  adverse  fortunes.  The 
religion  which  it  is  his  duty  to  dispense 
regards  men  in  all  their  relations,  and 
affords  instructions  suited  to  every  con- 
dition, whether  of  individuals  or  com- 
munities. You  will  not,  then,  consider 
me  as  leaving  the  province  of  a religious 


teacher,  if  I speak  to  you  of  the  dangers 
and  claims  of  our  country,  if  I address 
you  as  citizens,  and  attempt  to  point 
out  your  duties  at  the  present  solemn 
period. 

The  present  is,  indeed,  a solemn 
period.  The  sad  reverse  which  this 
country  exhibits  astonishes  as  well  as 
depresses  us.  But  a few  years  ago  we 
stood  on  the  height  of  prosperity. 
Amidst  the  storms  which  desolated  na- 
tions we  were  at  peace,  and  the  very 
storms  seemed  freighted  with  blessings 
for  our  tranquil  shores.  And  is  it  true 
that  from  this  height  we  have  sunk  so 
low  that  our  commerce  is  swept  from 
the  ocean,  that  industry  has  forsaken 
our  cities,  that  the  husbandman  has  re- 
signed the  ploughshare  for  the  sword, 
that  our  confidence  is  changed  into  fear, 
that  the  tumult  of  business  has  given 
place  to  the  din  of  arms,  that  some  of 
our  citizens  are  perishing  in  foreign 
prisons,  and  others  shedding  their  blood 
on  a foreign  soil,  that  hostile  fleets  scat- 
ter terror  through  our  coasts  and  flames 
through  our  cities,  that  no  man  feels 
secure,  that  the  thought  of  invasion  and 
slaughter  mingles  with  the  labors  of  the 
day  and  disturbs  the  slumbers  of  the 
night,  and  that  our  national  government, 
impoverished  and  inefficient,  can  afford 
us  no  protection  from  such  imminent 
danger?  Yes,  — this  is  true;  we  need 
no  reasoning  to  convince  us  of  its  truth. 
We  see  it  in  the  anxious  countenance, 
in  the  departing  family,  in  the  care 
which  removes  our  possessions,  in  the 
obstructions  and  perplexities  of  busi- 
ness, and  in  the  events  which  every  day 
brings  to  our  ears.  At  such  a moment 
it  becomes  each  man  to  ask  himself 
what  are  his  duties,  what  the  times  de- 
mand from  him,  in  what  manner  he  may 
contribute  to  the  public  safety.  It  is  a 
time  for  seriousness,  for  consideration. 
With  prosperity,  we  should  dismiss  our 
levity.  The  period  of  duty  may  to  many 
of  us  be  short.  Whilst  it  continues,  let 
it  be  improved. 

1.  The  first  remark  I shall  make  is, 
that  it  becomes  every  man  at  this  sol- 
emn moment  to  reflect  on  his  own  char- 
acter and  life,  to  inquire  what  he  has 
done  to  bring  down  judgments  on  his 
country,  to  confess  and  renounce  his 
sins,  and  to  resolve  on  a sincere  obedi- 
ence to  God’s  commands.  We  ought 
to  remember  that  we  live  under  a moral 


IN  TIMES  OF  TRIAL  OR  BANGER. 


government,  which  regards  the  character 
of  communities  as  truly  as  of  individuals. 
A nation  has  reason  for  fear  in  propor- 
tion to  its  guilt ; and  a virtuous  nation, 
sensible  of  dependence  on  God,  and  dis- 
posed to  respect  his  laws,  is  assured  of 
his  protection.  Every  people  must  in- 
deed be  influenced  in  a measure  by 
the  general  state  of  the  world,  by  the 
changes  and  conflicts  of  other  communi- 
ties. When  the  ocean  is  in  tumult 
every  shore  will  feel  the  agitation.  But 
a people  faithful  to  God  will  never  be 
forsaken.  In  addition  to  the  direct  and 
obvious  tendency  of  national  piety  and 
virtue  to  national  safety  and  exaltation, 
a virtuous  community  may  expect  pe- 
culiar interpositions  of  Providence  for 
their  defence  and  prosperity.  They  are 
not,  indeed,  to  anticipate  visible  mira- 
cles. They  are  not  to  imagine  that  in- 
vading hosts  will  be  annihilated,  like 
Sennacherib’s,  by  the  arm  of  an  angel. 
But  God,  we  must  remember,  can  effect 
his  purposes,  and  preserve  the  just, 
without  such  stupendous  interpositions. 
The  hearts  of  men  are  in  his  hand.  The 
elements  of  nature  obey  his  word.  He 
has  winds  to  scatter  the  proudest  fleet, 
diseases  to  prostrate  the  strongest  army. 
Consider  how  many  events  must  con- 
spire, how  many  secret  springs  must  act 
in  concert,  to  accomplish  the  purposes 
of  the  statesman  or  the  plans  of  the 
warrior.  How  often  have  the  best  con- 
certed schemes  been  thwarted,  the  most 
menacing  preparations  been  defeated, 
the  proud  boast  of  anticipated  victory 
been  put  to  shame,  by  what  we  call  cas- 
ualty, by  a slight  and  accidental  want 
of  concert,  by  the  error  of  a chief,  or  by 
neglect  in  subordinate  agents  ! Let  God 
determine  the  defeat  of  an  enemy,  and 
we  need  not  fear  that  means  will  be 
wanting.  He  sends  terror,  or  blindness, 
or  mad  presumption,  into  the  minds  of 
leaders.  Heaven,  earth,  and  sea  are  ar- 
rayed to  oppose  their  progress.  An 
unconquerable  spirit  is  breathed  into  the 
invaded  ; and  the  dreaded  foe  seeks  his 
safety  in  dishonorable  flight. 

My  friends,  if  God  be  for  us,  no  mat- 
ter who  is  against  us.  Mere  power 
ought  not  to  intimidate  us  ; he  can 
crush  it  in  a moment.  We  live  in  a 
period  when  God’s  supremacy  has  been 
remarkably  evinced,  when  he  has  sig- 
nally confounded  the  powerful,  and  de- 
livered the  oppressed  and  endangered. 


685 

At  his  word  the  forged  chain  has  been 
broken  ; mighty  armies  have  been  dis- 
persed as  chaff  before  the  whirlwind  ; 
colossal  thrones  have  been  shivered  like 
the  brittle  clay.  God  is  still  “ wonderful 
in  counsel  and  excellent  in  working ; ” 
and  if  he  wills  to  deliver  us,  we  cannot 
be  subdued.  It  is,  then,  most  important 
that  we  seek  God’s  favor.  And  how  is 
his  favor  to  be  obtained  ? I repeat  it : 
— He  is  a moral  governor,  the  friend 
of  the  righteous,  the  punisher  of  the 
wicked  ; and  in  proportion  as  piety, 
uprightness,  temperance,  and  Christian 
virtue  prevail  among  us,  in  that  propor- 
tion we  are  assured  of  his  favor  and  pro- 
tection. A virtuous  people,  fighting  in 
defence  of  their  altars  and  firesides,  may 
look  to  God  with  confidence.  An  invis- 
ible but  Almighty  arm  surrounds  them, 
an  impenetrable  shield  is  their  shadow 
and  defence. 

It  becomes  us,  then,  to  inquire,  How 
far  have  we  sustained  the  character  of 
a pious  and  virtuous  people  ? And  whose 
heart  does  not  accuse  him  of  many  sins  ? 
Who  can  look  around  on  his  country, 
and  not  see  many  proofs  of  ingratitude 
to  God,  and  of  contempt  of  his  laws  ? 
Do  I speak  to  any  who,  having  received 
success  and  innumerable  blessings  from 
God,  have  yet  forgotten  the  Giver  ? to 
any  who  have  converted  abundance  into 
the  instrument  of  excess  ? to  any  who, 
having  been  instructed  by  the  gospel, 
have  yet  refused  to  employ  in  well- 
doing the  bounty  of  heaven  ? to  any 
who  are  living  in  habits  of  intemperance, 
impurity,  impiety,  fraud,  or  any  known 
sin?  To  such  I would  say,  You  are 
among  the  enemies  of  your  country,  and, 
should  she  fall,  among  the  authors  of 
her  ruin.  Let,  then,  this  season  be 
something  more  than  an  occasion  of 
formal  confession.  We  owe  to  ourselves 
and  our  country  deep  sorrow  for  our 
sins,  and  those  sincere  purposes  of  ref- 
ormation which,  more  than  all  things, 
bring  down  blessings  from  heaven. 

2.  Having  recommended  penitence  in 
general  as  suited  to  the  present  moment, 
let  me  particularly  recommend  one 
branch  of  piety  which  the  times  demand 
of  us.  Let  us  each  be  instant  and  fer- 
vent in  prayer.  Let  us  pray  to  God  that 
he  will  not  forsake  us  in  this  dark  and 
menacing  day  ; that  he  will  remember 
the  mercy  shown  to  our  fathers  ; that 
he  will  crown  with  success  our  efforts 


686 


DUTIES  OF  THE  CITIZEN 


in  defence  of  our  possessions,  our  dwell- 
ings, and  our  temples ; that  he  will 
breathe  an  invincible  courage  into  our 
soldiers  ; that  he  will  guard  and  guide 
our  rulers  ; that  he  will  turn  the  invader 
from  our  shores  ; or,  if  he  shall  other- 
wise appoint,  that  he  will  be  our  shield 
in  battle,  and  will  send  us  deliverance. 
For  these  blessings  let  us  daily  besiege 
the  mercy-seat  of  God,  deeply  convinced 
that  he  controls  the  destinies  of  armies 
and  nations,  that  he  gives  or  withholds 
success,  and  that  without  him  all  exer- 
tion is  unavailing.  By  this  it  is  not  in- 
tended that  we  are  to  do  nothing  but 
pray ; that  we  are  to  leave  our  shores 
without  defence,  or  neglect  any  means  of 
security.  God  gives  us  powers  that  we 
should  exert,  weapons  that  we  should 
wield  them.  We  are  to  employ  every 
resource  which  he  grants  us  ; but,  hav- 
ing done  this,  we  must  remember  that 
on  God,  not  on  ourselves,  depends  the 
result  of  our  exertions.  The  race  is  not 
always  to  the  swift,  nor  the  battle  to  the 
strong.  God  gives  victory,  and  to  him 
let  every  eye  and  heart  be  directed. 
You  who  have  no  other  weapons,  con- 
tend with  your  prayers  for  your  country. 
It  will  not  be  imagined  from  these  re- 
marks, that  by  importunity  of  prayer 
God  can  be  bent  to  favor  an  unjust 
cause.  But  when  our  cause  is  just ; 
when,  instead  of  waging  offensive  war, 
we  gather  round  our  city  and  shores  for 
defence,  we  may  be  assured  that  sincere 
prayer,  united  with  a sincere  purpose  of 
obedience,  will  not  be  lost.  Prayer  is  a 
proper  and  appointed  acknowledgment 
of  our  dependence,  an  essential  means 
and  branch  of  piety  ; and  they  who  neg- 
lect it  have  no  reason  to  hope  the  pro- 
tection which  they  will  not  implore. 
Let  us,  then,  take  heed  lest  the  tumult 
of  military  preparation  make  us  forgetful 
of  the  Author  of  all  good ; lest  in  col- 
lecting armies  and  raising  walls  of  de- 
fence we  forsake  the  footstool  of  the 
Almighty,  the  only  giver  of  victory. 

3.  This  is  a time  when  we  should  all 
bring  clearly  and  strongly  to  our  minds 
our  duties  to  our  country,  and  should 
cherish  a strong  and  ardent  attachment 
to  the  public  good.  The  claims  of  coun- 
try have  been  felt  and  obeyed  even  in 
the  rudest  ages  of  society.  The  com- 
munity to  wh ich  we  belong  is  commended 
by  our  very  nature  to  our  affection  and 
service.  Christianity,  in  enjoining  a 


disinterested  and  benevolent  spirit,  ad- 
mits and  sanctions  this  sentiment  of 
nature,  this  attachment  to  the  land  of 
our  fathers,  the  land  of  our  nativity. 
It  only  demands  that  our  patriotism  be 
purified  from  every  mixture  of  injustice 
towards  foreign  nations.  Within  this 
limit  we  cannot  too  ardently  attach  our- 
selves to  the  welfare  of  our  country. 
Especially  in  its  perils,  we  should  fly 
to  its  rescue  with  filial  zeal  and  affec- 
tion, resolved  to  partake  its  sufferings, 
and  prepared  to  die  in  its  defence.  The 
present  moment,  my  friends,  calls  on 
us  for  this  fervent  patriotism.  The 
question  now  is,  not  whether  we  will 
carry  invasion,  slaughter,  and  desola- 
tion into  an  unoffending  province,  not 
whether  we  will  give  our  strength  and 
wealth  to  the  prosecution  of  unprinci- 
pled plans  of  conquest,  but  whether  we 
will  defend  our  firesides  and  altars, 
whether  we  will  repel  from  our  shores 
a hostile  army.  On  this  question  our 
[duty  is  clear.  However  unjustifiable 
may  have  been  the  measures  by  which 
we  have  been  reduced  to  this  mournful 
extremity,  our  right  to  our  soil  and  our 
possessions  remains  unimpaired-;  the 
right  of  defence  can  never  be  wrested 
Trom  us  : and  never,  whilst  God  gives 
means  of  resistance,  ought  we  to  resign 
our  country  to  the  clemency  of  a foe. 
Our  duties  as  patriots  and  Christians 
are  plain.  Whilst  we  disclaim  all  share 
in  the  guilt  of  that  war  which  is  burst- 
ing on  our  shores,  we  should  resolve 
that  we  will  be  true  to  ourselves,  to  our 
fathers,  and  to  posterity,  that  we  will 
maintain  the  inheritance  which  we  have 
received,  that  whilst  God  gives  us  power 
we  will  not  receive  law  as  a conquered 
people. 

We  should  animate  our  patriotism  at 
this  moment  of  danger  by  reflecting  that 
we  have  a country  to  contend  for  which 
deserves  every  effort  and  sacrifice.  As 
members  of  this  Commonwealth,  in  par- 
ticular, we  have  every  motive  to  invig- 
orate our  hearts  and  hands.  We  have 
the  deeds  of  our  fathers,  their  piety  and 
virtues,  and  their  solicitude  for  the  rights 
and  happiness  of  their  posterity,  to 
awaken  our  emulation.  How  invalu- 
able the  inheritance  they  have  left  us, 
earned  by  their  toils  and  defended  by 
their  blood  ! Our  populous  cities  and 
cultivated  fields,  our  schools,  colleges, 
and  churches,  our  equal  laws,  our  un- 


IN  TIMES  OF  TRIAL  OR  DANGER. 


corrupted  tribunals  of  justice,  our  spirit 
of  enterprise,  and  our  habits  of  order 
and  peace,  all  combine  to  form  a com- 
monwealth as  rich  in  blessings  and 
privileges  as  the  history  of  the  world 
records.  We  possess,  too,  the  chief 
glory  of  a state,  many  virtuous  and  dis- 
interested- citizens,  a chief  magistrate 
who  would  adorn  any  country  and  any 
age,  enlightened  statesmen,  and,  I trust, 
a fearless  soldiery.  Such  a community 
deserves  our  affection,  our  honor,  our 
zeal,  the  vigor  of  our  arms,  and  the  de- 
votion of  our  lives.  If  we  look  back 
to  Sparta,  Athens,  and  Rome,  we  shall 
find  that,  in  the  institutions  of  this 
Commonwealth,  we  have  sources  of  in- 
comparably richer  blessings  than  those 
republics  conferred  on  their  citizens  in 
their  proudest  days ; and  yet  Sparta, 
and  Rome,  and  Athens  inspired  a love 
stronger  than  death.  In  the  day  of 
their  danger,  every  citizen  offered  his 
breast  as  a bulwark,  every  citizen  felt 
himself  the  property  of  his  country. 
It  is  true,  a base  alloy  mingled  with 
the  patriotism  of  ancient  times,  and  God 
forbid  that  a sentiment  so  impure  should 
burn  in  our  breasts  ! God  forbid  that, 
like  the  Greek  and  the  Roman,  we 
should  carry  fire  and  slaughter  into 
other  countries,  to  build  up  a false, 
fleeting  glory  at  home  ! But  whilst  we 
take  warning  by  their  excesses,  let  us 
catch  a portion  of  their  fervor,  and  learn 
to  live,  not  for  ourselves,  but  for  that 
country  whose  honor  and  interest  God 
has  intrusted  to  our  care. 

4.  The  times  especially  demand  of  us 
that  we  cherish  a spirit  of  fortitude, 
courage,  and  resolution.  The  period 
of  danger  is  the  time  to  arm  the  mind 
with  all  the  force  and  energy  of  which 
it  is  susceptible.  In  communities,  as  in 
individuals,  there  is  a proneness  to  ex- 
cessive alarm.  Especially  when  untried, 
unexperienced  dangers  approach,  im- 
agination is  prone  to  enlarge  them;  a 
panic  spreads  like  lightning  from  breast 
to  breast,  and,  before  a blow  is  struck, 
a people  are  subdued  by  their  fears. 
There  is  a rational  fear  which  we  ought 
to  cherish,  — a fear  which  views  in  all  its 
dimensions  approaching  perils,  and  pre- 
pares with  vigilance  every  means  of  de- 
fence. At  the  present  moment  we  ought 
not  to  shut  our  eyes  on  our  danger.  Our 
enemy  is  formidable.  A veteran  army, 
trained  to  war,  accustomed  to  success, 


687 

fresh  from  conquest,  and  led  by  ex- 
perienced commanders,  is  not  to  be 
despised,  even  if  inferior  in  numbers, 
and  even  if  it  have  received  a temporary 
check.  But  such  an  army  owes  much 
of  its  formidableness  to  the  fearless 
spirit  which  habit  has  fostered ; and 
the  best  weapon,  under  Providence, 
which  we  can  oppose  to  it,  is  the  same 
courage,  nurtured  by  reflection,  by  sen- 
timents of  honor,  and  by  the  principles 
of  religion.  Courage,  indeed,  is  not 
always  invincible,  and  when  God  des- 
tines a nation  to  bondage,  the  valor  of 
the  hero  is  unavailing.  But  it  is  gen- 
erally true,  that  a brave  people,  contend- 
ing in  a just  cause,  possess  in  their 
courage  the  pledge  of  success.  The 
instrument  by  which  God  rescues  na- 
tions is  their  own  tindaunted  resolution. 
Let  us,  then,  cherish  in  ourselves  and 
others  a firm  and  heroic  spirit.  Let  us 
fortify  our  minds  by  reflecting  on  the 
justice  of  our  cause,  that  we  are  stand- 
ing on  our  own  shores,  and  defending 
invaded  rights.  Let  us  show  that  our 
love  of  peace  has  not  originated  in 
timidity,  and  that  the  spirit  of  our 
fathers  still  lives  in  their  sons.  Let  us 
call  to  the  support  of  our  resolution  the 
principles  of  religion.  Devoting  our- 
selves to  God,  and  engaging  in  this 
warfare  from  a sense  of  duty,  let  us 
feel  that  we  are  under  his  protection, 
that  in  the  heat  of  battle  he  is  near 
us,  that  life  and  death  await  his  word, 
and  that  death,  in  a service  which  he 
approves,  is  never  untimely,  and  is  never 
to  be  shunned.  Let  us  consider  that 
life  at  best  is  short,  and  its  blessings 
transitory,  that  its  great  end  is  to  train 
us  to  virtue  and  to  prepare  us  for  heaven, 
and  that  we  had  far  better  resign  it  at 
once  than  protract  it  by  baseness  or 
unmanly  fear.  Death  awaits  us  all, 
and  happy  he  who  meets  it  in  the  dis- 
charge of  duty.  Most  happy  and  most 
honored  of  men  is  the  martyr  to  religion, 
who  seals  with  his  blood  those  truths  on 
which  human  virtue,  consolation,  and 
hope  depend;  and,  next  to  him,  happy 
is  the  martyr  to  the  cause  of  his  coun- 
try, who,  in  obedience  to  God,  opposes 
his  breast  to  the  sword  of  her  invaders, 
and  repays  with  life  the  protection  she 
has  afforded. 

5.  I have  thus,  my  friends,  set  before 
you  your  duties  to  God  and  your  country 
in  this  period  of  danger.  Let  me  close 


688 


SLA  VERY. 


with  offering  a few  remarks  on  your  du- 
ties to  your  enemies.  You  will  remem- 
ber that  we  profess  a religion  which 
enjoins  benevolence  towards  all  man- 
kind, even  towards  our  personal  and 
national  foes.  Let  not  our  patriotism  be 
sullied  with  malignant  passions.  Whilst 
we  defend  our  shores  with  courage,  let 
us  not  cherish  hatred  towards  our  in- 
vaders. We  should  not  open  our  ear  to 
every  idle  tale  of  their  outrages,  nor 
heap  calumnies  on  their  heads  because 
they  are  enemies.  The  brave  are  gen- 
erous. True  courage  needs  not  malig- 
nity to  feed  and  inflame  it.  Especially 
when  our  foe  is  an  illustrious  nation, 
which  for  ages  has  defended  and  nurt- 
ured the  interests  of  religion,  science, 
and  humanity,  — a nation  to  which  grate- 
ful Europe  is  now  offering  acknowledg- 
ments for  the  protection  which  she  has 
extended  over  the  oppressed,  and  for 
the  vigor  with  which  she  has  co-oper- 
ated in  prostrating  the  bloody  and  ap- 
palling power  of  the  usurper,  — when 
such  a nation  is  our  foe,  we  should  feel 
it  unworthy  and  debasing  to  encourage 
a rancorous  and  vindictive  spirit.  True, 
she  is  sending  her  armies  to  our  shores  ; 
but  let  us  not  forge-t  that  our  own  gov- 
ernment first  sent  slaughter  and  confla- 
gration into  her  unoffending  provinces. 
Let  not  approaching  danger  disturb  rec- 
ollections, or  unsettle  our  principles. 
If  we  are  to  meet  her  armies  in  bat- 


tle,— which  God  in  his  mercy  forbid!  — 
let  us  meet  them  with  that  magnanimity 
which  is  candid  and  just  even  to  its 
foes.  Let  us  fight,  not  like  beasts  of 
prey  to  glut  revenge,  but  to  maintain 
our  rights,  to  obtain  an  honorable  peace, 
and  to  obtain  a victory  which  shall  be 
signalized  by  clemency  as  well  as  by 
valor.  God  forbid  that  our  conflicts 
should  add  fury  to  those  bad  passions 
and  national  antipathies  which  have 
helped  to  bring  this  country  to  its  pres- 
ent degraded  and  endangered  condi- 
tion ! 

I have  placed  before  you  your  duties. 
God  give  you  grace  to  perform  them  ! 
In  this  day  of  danger,  we  know  not 
what  is  before  us  ; but  this  we  know, 
that  the  path  of  piety,  of  virtue,  of  pa- 
triotism, and  manly  courage,  leads  to 
glory  and  to  immortality.  No  enemy 
can  finally  injure  us  if  we  are  true  to 
God,  to  our  country,  to  mankind.  In 
such  a case  as  ours,  I trust  prosperity' 
and  victory  will  be  granted  us  by  the 
almighty  Disposer.  But  whether  suc- 
cess or  disaster  await  us,  we  know  that 
the  world  is  passing  away,  and  that  all 
of  us  will  soon  be  placed  beyond  the 
reach  of  its  changes.  Let  us  not,  then, 
be  elated  or  depressed ; but,  with  af- 
firm and  equal  mind,  let  us  acquit  our- 
selves as  men  and  Christians  in  our  sev- 
eral spheres,  looking  upward  to  heaven 
as  our  rest  and  reward,  i 


SLAVERY. 


Introduction. 

The  first  question  to  be  proposed  by 
a rational  being  is,  not  what  is  profit- 
able, but  what  is  right.  Duty  must  be 
primary,  prominent,  most  conspicuous 
among  the  objects  of  human  thought 
and  pursuit.  If  we  cast  it  down  from 
its  supremacy,  if  we  inquire  first  for 
our  interests,  and  then  for  our  duties, 
we  shall  certainly  err.  We  can  never 
see  the  right  clearly  and  fully  but  by 
making  it  our  first  concern.  No  judg- 
ment can  be  just  or  wise  but  that 
which  is  built  on  the  conviction  of  the 
paramount  worth  and  importance  of 
duty.  This  is  the  fundamental  truth, 


the  supreme  law  of  reason ; and  the  mind 
which  does  not  start  from  this,  in  its  in- 
quiries into  human  affairs,  is  doomed  to 
great,  perhaps  fatal,  error. 

The  right  is  the  supreme  good,  and 
includes  all  other  goods.  In  seeking 
and  adhering  to  it  we  secure  our  true 
and  only  happiness.  All  prosperity,  not 
foundea  on  it,  is  built  on  sand.  If  hu- 
man affairs  are  controlled,  as  we  be- 
lieve, by  almighty  rectitude  and  impar- 
tial goodness,  then  to  hope  for  hap- 
piness from  wrong-doing  is  as  insane  as 
to  seek  health  and  prosperity  by  rebelling 
against  the  laws  of  nature,  by  sowing 
our  seed  on  the  ocean,  or  making  poison 
our  common  food.  There  is  but  one  un- 


SLA  VERY. 


689 


failing  good  ; and  that  is,  fidelity  to  the 
everlasting  law  written  on  the  heart, 
and  rewritten  and  republished  in  God’s 
word. 

Whoever  places  this  faith  in  the  ever- 
lasting law  of  rectitude  must,  of  course, 
regard  the  question  of  slavery  first  and 
chiefly  as  a moral  question.  All  other 
considerations  will  weigh  little  with  him, 
compared  with  its  moral  character  and 
moral  influences.  The  following  re- 
marks, therefore,  are  designed  to  aid 
the  reader  in  forming  a just  moral  judg- 
ment of  slavery.  Great  truths,  inalien- 
able rights,  everlasting  duties,  these  will 
form  the  chief  subjects  of  this  discus- 
sion. There  are  times  when  the  asser- 
tion of  great  principles  is  the  best  service 
a man  can  render  society.  The  present 
is  a moment  of  bewildering  excitement, 
when  men’s  minds  are  stormed  and 
darkened  by  strong  passions  and  fierce 
conflicts  ; and  also  a moment  of  absorb- 
ing worldliness,  when  the  moral  law  is 
made  to  bow  to  expediency,  and  its  high 
and  strict  requirements  are  denied,  or 
dismissed  as  metaphysical  abstractions 
or  impracticable  theories.  At  such  a 
season,  to  utter  great  principles  without 
passion,  and  in  the  spirit  of  unfeigned 
and  universal  good-will,  and  to  engrave 
them  deeply  and  durably  on  men’s 
minds,  is  to  do  more  for  the  world  than 
to  open  mines  of  wealth,  or  to  frame  the 
most  successful  schemes  of  policy. 

Of  late  our  country  has  been  con- 
vulsed by  the  question  of  slavery ; and 
the  people,  in  proportion  as  they  have 
felt  vehemently,  have  thought  super- 
ficially, or  hardly  thought  at  all ; and  we 
see  the  results  in  a singular  want  of 
well-defined  principles,  in  a strange 
vagueness  and  inconsistency  of  opinion, 
and  in  the  proneness  to  excess  which 
belongs  to  unsettled  minds.  The  mul- 
titude have  been  called,  now  to  contem- 
plate the  horrors  of  slavery,  and  now 
to  shudder  at  the  ruin  and  bloodshed 
which  must  follow  emancipation.  The 
word  massacre  has  resounded  through 
the  land,  striking  terror  into  strong  as 
well  as  tender  hearts,  and  awakening 
indignation  against  whatever  may  seem 
to  threaten  such  a consummation.  The 
consequence  is,  that  not  a few  dread  all 
discussion  of  the  subject,  and,  if  not 
reconciled  to  the  continuance  of  slavery, 
at  least  believe  that  they  have  no  duty 
to  perform,  no  testimony  to  bear,  no  in- 


fluence to  exert,  no  sentiments  to  cher- 
ish and  spread,  in  relation  to  this  evil. 
What  is  still  worse,  opinions  either  fa- 
voring or  extenuating  it  are  heard  with 
little  or  no  disapprobation.  Concessions 
are  made  to  it  which  would  once  have 
shocked  the  community ; whilst  to  assail 
it  is  pronounced  unwise  and  perilous. 
No  stronger  reason  for  a calm  exposition 
of  its  true  character  can  be  given  than 
this  very  state  of  the  public  mind.  A 
community  can  suffer  no  greater  calam- 
ity than  the  loss  of  its  principles.  Lofty 
and  pure  sentiment  is  the  life  and  hope 
of  a people.  There  was  never  such  an 
obligation  to  discuss  slavery  as  at  this 
moment,  when  recent  events  have  done 
much  to  unsettle  and  obscure  men’s 
minds  in  regard  to  it.  This  result  is  to 
be  ascribed  in  part  to  the  injudicious 
vehemence  of  those  who  have  taken 
into  their  hands  the  cause  of  the  slave. 
Such  ought  to  remember,  that  to  espouse 
a good  cause  is  not  enough.  We  must 
maintain  it  in  a spirit  answering  to  its 
dignity.  Let  no  man  touch  the  great 
interests  of  humanity  who  does  not 
strive  to  sanctify  himself  for  the  work 
by  cleansing  his  heart  of  all  wrath  and 
uncharitableness,  who  cannot  hope  that 
he  is  in  a measure  baptized  into  the 
spirit  of  universal  love.  Even  sympathy 
with  the  injured  and  oppressed  may  do 
harm,  by  being  partial,  exclusive,  and 
bitterly  indignant.  How  far  the  declen- 
sion of  the  spirit  of  freedom  is  to  be 
ascribed  to  the  cause  now  suggested,  I 
do  not  say.  The  effect  is  plain,  and 
whoever  sees  and  laments  the  evil 
should  strive  to  arrest  it. 

Slavery  ought  to  be  discussed.  We 
ought  to  think,  feel,  speak,  and  write 
about  it.  But  whatever  we  do  in  regard 
to  it  should  be  done  with  a deep  feeling 
of  responsibility,  and  so  done  as  not  to 
put  in  jeopardy  the  peace  of  the  slave- 
holding States.  On  this  point  public 
opinion  has  not  been  and  cannot  be  too 
strongly  pronounced.  Slavery,  indeed, 
from  its  very  nature,  must  be  a ground 
of  alarm  wherever  it  exists.  Slavery 
and  security  can  by  no  device  be  joined 
together.  But  we  may  not,  must  not, 
by  rashness  and  passion  increase  the 
peril.  To  instigate  the  slave  to  insur- 
rection is  a crime  for  which  no  rebuke 
and  no  punishment  can  be  too  severe. 
This  would  be  to  involve  slave  and  mas- 
ter in  common  ruin.  It  is  not  enough 


SLA  VERY. 


690 

to  say  that  the  Constitution  is  violated 
by  any  action  endangering  the  slave- 
holding portion  of  our  country.  A 
higher  law  than  the  Constitution  forbids 
this  unholy  interference.  Were  our 
national  union  dissolved,  we  ought  to 
reprobate,  as  sternly  as  we  now  do,  the 
slightest  manifestation  of  a disposition 
to  stir  up  a servile  war.  Still  more, 
were  the  free  and  the  slave-holding 
States  not  only  separated,  but  engaged 
in  the  fiercest  hostilities,  the  former 
would  deserve  the  abhorrence  of  the 
world  and  the  indignation  of  heaven, 
were  they  to  resort  to  insurrection  and 
massacre  as  means  of  victory.  Better 
were  it  for  us  to  bare  our  own  breasts  to 
the  knife  of  the  slave,  than  to  arm  him 
with  it  against  his  master. 

It  is  not  by  personal,  direct  action  on 
the  mind  of  the  slave  that  we  can  do  him 
good.  Our  concern  is  with  the  free. 
With  the  free  we  are  to  plead  his  cause. 
And  this  is  peculiarly  our  duty,  because 
we  have  bound  ourselves  to  resist  his 
own  efforts  for  his  emancipation.  We 
suffer  him  to  do  nothing  for  himself. 
The  more,  then,  should  be  done  for  him. 
Our  physical  power  is  pledged  against 
him  in  case  of  revolt.  Then  our  moral 
power  should  be  exerted  for  his  relief. 
His  weakness,  which  we  increase,  gives 
him  a claim  to  the  only  aid  we  can  af- 
ford, to  our  moral  sympathy,  to  the  free 
and  faithful  exposition  of  his  wrongs. 
As  men,  as  Christians,  as  citizens,  we 
have  duties  to  the  slave,  as  well  as  to 
every  other  member  of  the  community. 
On  this  point  we  have  no  liberty.  The 
eternal  law  binds  us  to  take  the  side  of 
the  injured  ; and  this  law  is  peculiarly 
obligatory  when  we  forbid  him  to  lift  an 
arm  in  his  own  defence. 

Let  it  not  be  said  we  can  do  nothing  for 
the  slave.  We  can  do  much.  We  have 
a power  mightier  than  armies,  — the 
power  of  truth,  of  principle,  of  virtue,  of 
right,  of  religion,  of  love.  We  have  a 
power  which  is  growing  with  every  ad- 
vance of  civilization,  before  which  the 
slave-trade  has  fallen,  which  is  mitigat- 
ing the  sternest  despotisms,  which  is 
spreading  education  through  all  ranks 
of  society,  which  is  bearing  Christianity 
to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  which  carries 
in  itself  the  pledge  of  destruction  to 
every  institution  which  debases  human- 
ity. Who  can  measure  the  power  of 
Christian  philanthropy,  of  enlightened 


goodness,  pouring  itself  forth  in  prayers 
and  persuasions,  from  the  press  and  pul- 
pit, from  the  lips  and  hearts  of  devoted 
men,  and  more  and  more  binding  to- 
gether the  wise  and  good  in  the  cause 
of  their  race  ? All  other  powers  may 
fail.  This  must  triumph.  It  is  leagued 
with  God’s  omnipotence.  It  is  God 
himself  acting  in  the  hearts  of  his  chil- 
dren. It  has  an  ally  in  every  conscience, 
in  every  human  breast,  in  the  wrong- 
doer himself.  This  spirit  has  but  begun 
its  work  on  earth.  It  is  breathing  itself 
more  and  more  through  literature,  edu- 
cation, institutions,  and  opinion.  Slav- 
ery cannot  stand  before  it.  Great  moral 
principles,  pure  and  generous  senti- 
ments, cannot  be  confined  to  this  or 
that  spot.  They  cannot  be  shut  out  by 
territorial  lines,  or  local  legislation. 
They  are  divine  inspirations,  and  par- 
take of  the  omnipresence  of  their 
Author.  The  deliberate,  solemn  con- 
viction of  good  men  through  the  world, 
that  slavery  is  a grievous  wrong  to  hu- 
man nature,  will  make  itself  felt.  To 
increase  this  moral  power  is  every  man’s 
duty.  To  embody  and  express  this 
great  truth  is  in  every  man’s  power; 
and  thus  every  man  can  do  something 
to  break  the  chain  of  the  slave. 

There  are  not  a few  persons  who, 
from  vulgar  modes  of  thinking,  cannot 
be  interested  in  this  subject.  Because 
the  slave  is  a degraded  being,  they  think 
slavery  a low  topic,  and  wonder  how  it 
can  excite  the  attention  and  sympathy 
of  those  who  can  discuss  or  feel  for 
any  thing  else.  Now  the  truth  is,  that 
slavery,  regarded  only  in  a philosophical 
•light,  is  a theme  worthy  of  the  highest 
minds.  It  involves  the  gravest  ques- 
tions about  human  nature  and  society. 
It  carries  us  into  the  problems  which 
have  exercised  for  ages  the  highest  un- 
derstandings. It  calls  us  to  inquire* 
into  the  foundation,  nature,  and  extent 
of  human  rights,  into  the  distinction 
between  a person  and  a thing,  into  the 
true  relations  of  man  to  man,  into  the 
obligations  of  the  community  to  each  of 
its  members,  into  the  ground  and  laws 
of  property,  and,  above  all,  into  the 
true  dignity  and  indestructible  claims 
of  a moral  being.  I venture  to  say 
there  is  no  subject  now  agitated  by  the 
community  which  can  compare  in  philo- 
sophical dignity  with  slavery  ; and  yet 
to  multitudes  the  question  falls  under 


SLAVERY. 


the  same  contempt  with  the  slave  him- 
self. To  many,  a writer  seems  to  lower 
himself  who  touches  it.  The  falsely 
refined,  who  want  intellectual  force  to 
grasp  it,  pronounce  it  unworthy  of  their 
notice. 

But  this  subject  has  more  than  philo- 
sophical dignity.  It  has  an  important 
bearing  on  character.  Our  interest  in 
it  is  one  test  by  which  our  comprehen- 
sion of  the  distinctive  spirit  of  Chris- 
tianity must  be  judged.  Christianity  is 
the  manifestation  and  inculcation  of  uni- 
versal love.  The  great  teaching  of 
Christianity  is,  that  we  must  recognize 
and  respect  human  nature  in  all  its  forms 
in  the  poorest,  most  ignorant,  most 
fallen.  We  must  look  beneath  “ the 
flesh”  to  the  “spirit.”  The  spiritual 
principle  in  man  is  what  entitles  him  to 
our  brotherly  regard.  To  be  just  to  this 
is  the  great  injunction  of  our  religion. 
To  overlook  this,  on  account  of  con- 
dition or  color,  is  to  violate  the  great 
Christian  law.  We  have  reason  to  think 
that  it  is  one  design  of  God,  in  appoint- 
ing the  vast  diversities  of  human  con- 
dition, to  put  to  the  test,  and  to  bring  out 
most  distinctly,  the  principle  of  spiritual 
love.  It  is  wisely  ordered  that  human 
nature  is  not  set  before  us  in  a few 
forms  of  beauty,  magnificence,  and  out- 
ward glory.  To  be  dazzled  and  attracted 
by  these  would  be  no  sign  of  reverence 
for  what  is  interior  and  spiritual  in  hu- 
man nature.  To  lead  us  to  discern  and 
love  this,  we  are  brought  into  connection 
with  fellow-creatures  whose  outward  cir- 
cumstances are  repulsive.  To  recog- 
nize our  own  spiritual  nature  and  God’s 
image  in  these  humble  forms,  to  recog- 
nize as  brethren  those  who  want  all 
outward  distinctions,  is  the  chief  way  in 
which  we  are  to  manifest  the  spirit  of 
him  who  came  to  raise  the  fallen  and  to 
^>ave  the  lost.  We  see,  then,  the  moral 
importance  of  the  question  of  slavery. 
According  to  our  decision  of  it,  we 
determine  our  comprehension  of  the 
Christian  law.  He  who  cannot  see  a 
brother,  a child  of  God,  a man  possess- 
ing all  the  rights  of  humanity,  under  a 
skin  darker  than  his  own,  wants  the 
vision  of  a Christian.  He  worships  the 
outward.  The  spirit  is  not  yet  revealed 
to  him.  To  look  unmoved  on  the  deg- 
radation and  wrongs  of  a fellow-creat- 
ure, because  burned  by  a fiercer  sun, 
proves  us  strangers  to  justice  and  love 


691 

in  those  universal  forms  which  charac- 
terize Christianity.  The  greatest  of  all 
distinctions,  the  only  enduring  one,  is 
moral  goodness,  virtue,  religion.  Out- 
ward distinctions  cannot  add  to  the  dig- 
nity of  this.  The  wealth  of  worlds  is 
“ not  sufficient  for  a burnt-offering  ” on 
its  altar.  A being  capable  of  this  is  in- 
vested by  God  with  solemn  claims  on 
his  fellow-creatures.  To  exclude  millions 
of  such  beings  from  our  sympathy,  be- 
cause of  outward  disadvantages,  proves 
that,  in  whatever  else  we  surpass  them, 
we  are  not  their  superiors  in  Christian 
virtue. 

The  spirit  of  Christianity,  I have  said, 
is  distinguished  by  universality.  It  is 
universal  justice.  It  respects  all  the 
rights  of  all  beings.  It  suffers  no*  being, 
however  obscure,  to  be  wronged,  with- 
out condemning  the  wrong-doer.  Impar- 
tial, uncompromising,  fearless,  it  screens 
no  favorites,  is  dazzled  by  no  power, 
spreads  its  shield  over  the  weakest, 
summons  the  mightiest  to  its  bar,  and 
speaks  to  the  conscience  in  tones  under 
which  the  mightiest  have  quailed.  It  is 
also  universal  love,  comprehending  those 
that  are  near  and  those  that  are  far  off, 
the  high  and  the  low,  the  rich  and  poor, 
descending  to  the  fallen,  and  especially 
binding  itself  to  those  in  whom  human 
nature  is  trampled  under  foot.  Such  is 
the  spirit  of  Christianity  ; and  nothing 
but  the  illumination  of  this  spirit  can 
prepare  us  to  pass  judgment  on  slavery. 

These  remarks  are  intended  to  show 
the  spirit  in  which  slavery  ought  to  be 
approached,  and  the  point  of  view  from 
which  it  will  be  regarded  in  the  present 
discussion.  My  plan  may  be  briefly 
sketched  : — 

1.  I shall  show  that  man  cannot  be 
justly  held  and  used  as  property. 

2.  I shall  show  that  man  has  sacred 
rights,  the  gifts  of  God,  and  inseparable 
from  human  nature,  of  which  slavery  is 
the  infraction. 

3.  I shall  offer  some  explanations,  to 
prevent  misapplication  of  these  princi- 
ples. 

4.  I shall  unfold  the  evils  of  slavery. 

5.  I shall  consider  the  argument  which 
the  Scriptures  are  thought  to  furnish  in 
favor  of  slavery. 

6.  I shall  offer  some  remarks  on  the 
means  of  removing  it. 

7.  I shall  offer  some  remarks  on  abo- 
litionism. 


SLA  VERY, ; 


692 

8.  I shall  conclude  with  a few  reflec- 
tions on  the  duties  belonging  to  the 
times. 

In  the  first  twQ  sections  I propose  to 
show  that  slavery  is  a great  wrong ; but 
I do  not  intend  to  pass  sentence  on  the 
character  of  the  slave-holder.  These 
two  subjects  are  distinct.  Men  are  not 
always  to  be  interpreted  by  their  acts 
or  institutions.  The  same  acts  in  dif- 
ferent circumstances  admit,  and  even 
require,  very  different  constructions.  I 
offer  this  remark  that  the  subject  may 
be  approached  without  prejudice  or  per- 
sonal reference.  The  single  object  is  to 
settle  great  principles.  Their  bearing 
on  individuals  will  be  a subject  of  dis- 
tinct consideration. 


Chapter  I. 

Property. 

The  slave-holder  claims  the  slave  as 
his  property.  The  very  idea  of  a slave 
is,  that  he  belongs  to  another,  that  he  is 
bound  to  live  and  labor  for  another,  to 
be  another’s  instrument,  and  to  make 
another’s  will  his  habitual  law,  however 
adverse  to  his  own.  Another  owns  him, 
and  of  course  has  a right  to  his  time 
and  strength,  a right  to  the  fruits  of  his 
labor,  a right  to  task  him  without  his 
consent,  and  to  determine  the  kind  and 
duration  of  his  toil,  a right  to  confine 
him  to  any  bounds,  a right  to  extort  the 
required  work  by  stripes,  — a right,  in  a 
word,  to  use  him  as  a tool,  without  con- 
tract, against  his  will,  and  in  denial  of 
his  right  to  dispose  of  himself,  or  to  use 
his  power  for  his  own  good.  “ A slave, ” 
says  the  Louisiana  code,  “ is  in  the  pow- 
er of  the  master  to  whom  he  belongs. 
The  master  may  sell  him,  dispose  of  his 
person,  his  industry,  his  labor ; he  can 
do  nothing,  possess  nothing,  nor  acquire 
any  thing,  but  which  must  belong  to 
his  master.”  “ Slaves  shall  be  deemed, 
taken,  reputed,  and  adjudged,”  say  the 
South  Carolina  laws,  “ to  be  chattels  per- 
sonal in  the  hands  of  their  masters,  and 
possessions  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
whatsoever.”  Such  is  slavery,  — a claim 
to  man  as  property. 

Now  this  claim  of  property  in  a human 
being  is  altogether  false,  groundless. 
No  such  right  of  man  in  man  can  exist. 
A human  being  cannot  be  justly  owned. 
To  hold  and  treat  him  as  property  is  to 


inflict  a great  wrong,  to  incur  the  guilt 
of  oppression. 

This  position  there  is  a difficulty  in 
maintaining,  on  account  of  its  exceeding 
obviousness.  It  is  too  plain  for  proof. 
To  defend  it  is  like  trying  to  confirm  a 
self-evident  truth.  To  find  arguments  is 
not  easy,  because  an  argument  is  some- 
thing clearer  than  the  proposition  to  be 
sustained.  The  man.  who,  on  hearing  the 
claim  to  property  in  man,  does  not  see 
and  feel  distinctly  that  it  is  a cruel 
usurpation,  is  hardly  to  be  reached  by 
reasoning,  for  it  is  hard  to  find  any 
plainer  principles  than  what  he  begins 
with  denying.  I will  endeavor,  however, 
to  illustrate  the  truth  which  I have 
stated. 

1.  It  is  plain  that  if  one  man  may 
be  held  as  property,  then  every  other 
man  may  be  so  held.  If  there  be  noth- 
ing in  human  nature,  in  our  common 
nature,  which  excludes  and  forbids  the 
conversion  of  him  who  possesses  it  into 
an  article  of  property  ; if  the  right  of 
the  free  to  liberty  is  founded,  not  on 
their  essential  attributes  as  rational  and 
moral  beings,  but  on  certain  adventitious, 
accidental  circumstances,  into  which 
they  have  been  thrown ; then  every 
human  being,  by  a change  of  circum- 
stances, may  justly  be  held  and  treated 
by  another  as  property.  If  one  man  may 
be  rightfully  reduced  to  slavery,  then 
there  is  not  a human  being  on  whom 
the  same  chain  may  not  be  imposed. 
Now,  let  every  reader  ask  himself  this 
plain  question  : Could  I,  can  I,  be  right- 
fully seized,  and  made  an  article  of 
property  ; be  made  a passive  instrument 
of  another’s  will  and  pleasure  ; be  sub- 
jected to  another’s  irresponsible  power  ; 
be  subjected  to  stripes  at  another’s  will ; 
be  denied  the  control  and  use  of  my  own 
limbs  and  faculties  for  my  own  good? 
Does  any  man,  so  questioned,  doubt, 
waver,  look  about  him  for  an  answer? 
Is  not  the  reply  given  immediately,  in- 
tuitively, by  his  whole  inward  being  ? 
Does  not  an  unhesitating,  unerring  con- 
viction spring  up  in  my  breast,  that  no 
other  man  can  acquire  such  a right  in 
myself?  Do  we  not  repel,  indignantly 
and  with  horror,  the  thought  of  being 
reduced  to  the  condition  of  tools  and 
chattels  to  a fellow-creature  ? Is  there 
any  moral  truth  more  deeply  rooted  in 
us,  than  that  such  a degradation  would 
be  an  infinite  wrong  ? And,  if  this  im- 


SLAVERY. 


pression  be  a delusion,  on  what  single 
moral  conviction  can  we  rely  ? This 
deep  assurance,  that  we  cannot  be  right- 
fully made  another’s  property,  does  not 
rest  on  the  hue  of  our  skins,  or  the  place 
of  our  birth,  or  our  strength,  or  wealth. 
These  things  do  not  enter  our  thoughts. 
• The  consciousness  of  indestructible 
rights  is  a part  of  our  moral  being.  The 
consciousness  of  our  humanity  involves 
the  persuasion  that  we  cannot  be  owned 
as  a tree  or  a brute.  As  men,  we  cannot 
justly  be  made  slaves.  Then  no  man 
can  be  rightfully  enslaved.  In  casting 
the  yoke  from  ourselves  as  an  unspeak- 
able wrong,  we  condemn  ourselves  as 
wrong-doers  and  oppressors  in  laying  it 
on  any  who  share  our  nature.  It  is  not 
necessary  to  inquire  whether  a man,  by 
extreme  guilt,  may  not  forfeit  the  rights 
of  his  nature,  and  be  justly  punished 
with  slavery.  On  this  point  crude  no- 
tions prevail.  But  the  discussion  would 
be  foreign  to  the  present  subject.  We 
are  now  not  speaking  of  criminals.  We 
speak  of  innocent  men,  who  have  given 
us  no  hold  on  them  by  guilt ; and  our 
own  consciousness  is  a proof  that  such 
cannot  rightfully  be  seized  as  property 
by  a fellow-creature. 

2.  A man  cannot  be  seized  and  held 
as  property,  because  he  has  rights. 
What  these  rights  are,  whether  few  or 
many,  or  whether  all  men  have  the  same, 
are  questions  for  future  discussion.  All 
that  is  assumed  now  is,  that  every  human 
being  has  some  rights.  This  truth  can- 
not be  denied,  but  by  denying  to  a por- 
tion of  the  race  that  moral  nature  which 
is  the  sure  and  only  foundation  of  rights. 
This  truth  has  never,  I believe,  been 
disputed.  It  is  even  recognized  in  the 
very  codes  of  slave  legislation,  which, 
while  they  strip  a man  of  liberty,  affirm 
his  right  to  life,  and  threaten  his  mur- 
.derer  with  punishment.  Now,  I say,  a 
being  having  rights  cannot  justly  be 
made  property  \ for  this  claim  over  him 
virtually  annuls  all  his  rights.  It  strips 
him  of  all  power  to  assert  them.  It 
makes  it  a crime  to  assert  them.  The 
very  essence  of  slavery  is,  to  put  a man 
defenceless  into  the  hands  of  another. 
The  right  claimed  by  the  master  to  task, 
to  force,  to  imprison,  to  whip,  and  to 
punish  the  slave,  at  discretion,  and  espe- 
cially to  prevent  the  least  resistance  to 
his  will,  is  a virtual  denial  and  subver- 
sion of  all  the  rights  of  the  victim  of  his 


693 

power.  The  two  cannot  stand  together. 
Can  we  doubt  which  of  them  ought  to 
fall? 

3.  Another  argument  against  property 
is  to  be  found  in  the  essential  equality 
of  men.  I know  that  this  doctrine,  so 
venerable  in  the  eyes  of  our  fathers,  has 
lately  been  denied.  Verbal  logicians 
have  told  us  that  men  are  “ born  equal  ” 
only  in  the  sense  of  being  equally  born. 
They  have  asked  whether  all  are  equally 
tall,  strong,  or  beautiful ; or  whether 
nature,  Procrustes-like,  reduces  all  her 
children  to  one  standard  of  intellect  and 
virtue.  By  such  arguments  it  is  at- 
tempted to  set  aside  the  principle  of 
equality,  on  which  the  soundest  moral- 
ists have  reared  the  structure  of  social 
duty ; and  in  these  ways  the  old  foun- 
dations of  despotic  power,  which  our 
fathers  in  their  simplicity  thought  they 
had  subverted,  are  laid  again  by  their 
sons. 

It  is  freely  granted  that  there  are  in- 
numerable diversities  among  men  ; but 
be  it  remembered,  they  are  ordained  to 
bind  men  together,  and  not  to  subdue 
one  to  the  other ; ordained  to  give  means 
and  occasions  of  mutual  aid,  and  to  carry 
forward  each  and  all,  so  that  the  good 
of  all  is  equally  intended  in  this  distri- 
bution of  various  gifts.  Be  it  also  re- 
membered, that  these  diversities  among 
men  are  as  nothing  in  comparison  with 
the  attributes  in  which  they  agree  ; and 
it  is  this  which  constitutes  their  essen- 
tial equality.  All  men  have  the  same 
rational  nature  and  the  same  power  of 
conscience,  and  all  are  equally  made  for 
indefinite  improvement  of  these  divine 
faculties,  and  for  the  happiness  to  be 
found  in  their  virtuous  use.  Who,  that 
comprehends  these  gifts,  does  not  see 
that  the  diversities  of  the  race  vanish 
before  them  ? Let  it  be  added,  that  the 
natural  advantages  which  distinguish 
one  man  from  another,  are  so  bestowed 
as  to  counterbalance  one  another,  and 
bestowed  without  regard  to  rank  or  con- 
dition in  life.  Whoever  surpasses  in 
one  endowment  is  inferior  in  others. 
Even  genius,  the  greatest  gift,  is  found 
in  union  with  strange  infirmities,  and 
often  places  its  possessors  below  ordi- 
nary men  in  the  conduct  of  life.  Great 
learning  is  often  put  to  shame  by  the 
mother-wit  and  keen  good  sense  of  un- 
educated men.  Nature,  indeed,  pays  no 
heed  to  birth  or  condition  in  bestowing 


SLAVERY. 


6 94 

her  favors.  The  noblest  spirits  some- 
times grow  up  in  the  obscurest  spheres. 
Thus  equal  are  men  ; and  among  these 
equals,  who  can  substantiate , his  claim 
to  make  others  his  property,  his  tools, 
the  mere  instruments  of  his  private  in- 
terest and  gratification  ? Let  this  claim 
begin,  and  where  will  it  stop  ? If  one 
may  assert  it,  why  not  all?  Among 
these  partakers  of  the  same  rational  and 
moral  nature,  who  can  make  good  a 
right  over  others,  which  others  may  not 
establish  over  himself  ? Does  he  insist 
on  superior  strength  of  body  or  mind  ? 
Who  of  us  has  no  superior  in  one  or  the 
other  of  these  endowments  ? Is  it  sure 
that  the  slave  or  the  slave’s  child  may 
not  surpass  his  master  in  intellectual 
energy,  or  in  moral  worth  ? Has  nature 
conferred  distinctions  which  tell  us 
plainly  who  shall  be  owners  and  who  be 
owned  ? Who  of  us  can  unblushingly 
lift  his  head  and  say  that  God  has  writ- 
ten “ Master  ” there  ? or  who  can  show 
the  word  “ Slave  ” engraven  on  his 
brother’s  brow  ? The  equality  of  nature 
makes  slavery  a wrong,  Nature’s  seal 
is  affixed  to  no  instrument  by  which 
property  in  a single  human  being  is  con- 
veyed. 

4.  That  a human  being  cannot  be 
justly  held  and  used  as  property,  is  ap- 
parent from  the  very  nature  of  property. 
Property  is  an  exclusive  right.  It  shuts 
out  all  claim  but  that  of  the  possessor. 
What  one  man  owns  cannot  belong  to 
another.  What,  then,  is  the  consequence 
of  holding  a human  being  as  property  ? 
Plainly  this.  He  can  have  no  right  to 
himself.  His  limbs  are,  in  truth,  not 
morally  his  own.  He  has  not  a right  to 
his  own  strength.  It  belongs  to  another. 
His  will,  intellect,  and  muscles,  all  the 
powers  of  body  and  mind  which  are  ex- 
ercised in  labor,  he  is  bound  to  regard 
as  another’s.  Now,  if  there  be  property 
in  any  thing,  it  is  that  of  a man  in  his 
own  person,  mind,  and  strength.  All 
other  rights  are  weak,  unmeaning,  com- 
pared with  this,  and  in  denying  this  all 
right  is  denied.  It  is  true  that  an  indi- 
vidual may  forfeit  by  crime  his  right  to 
the  use  of  his  limbs,  perhaps  to  his 
limbs,  and  even  to  life.  But  the  very 
idea  of  forfeiture  implies  that  the  right 
was  originally  possessed.  It  is  true  that 
a man  may  by  contract  give  to  another  a 
limited  right  to  his  strength.  But  he 
gives  only  because  he  possesses  it,  and 


gives  it  for  considerations  which  he 
deems  beneficial  to  himself ; and  the 
right  conferred  ceases  at  once  on  viola- 
tion of  the  conditions  on  which  it  was 
bestowed.  To  deny  the  right  of  a hu- 
man being  to  himself,  to  his  own  limbs 
and  faculties,  to  his  energy  of  body  and 
mind,  is  an  absurdity  too  gross  to  be 
confuted  by  any  thing  but  a simple 
statement.  Yet  this  absurdity  is  in- 
volved in  the  idea  of  his  belonging  to 
another. 

5.  We  have  a plain  recognition  of  the 
principle  now  laid  down,  in  the  universal 
indignation  excited  towards  a man  who 
makes  another  his  slave.  Our  laws 
know  no  higher  crime  than  that  of  re- 
ducing a man  to  slavery.  To  steal  or  to 
buy  an  African  on  his  own.  shores  is 
piracy.  In  this  act  the  greatest  wrong 
is  inflicted,  the  most  sacred  right  vio- 
lated. fBut  if  a human  being  cannot 
without  infinite  injustice  be  seized  as 
property,  then  he  cannot  without  equal 
wrong  be  held  and  used  as  such.  The 
wrong  in  the  first  seizure  lies  in  the  des- 
tination of  a human  being  to  future 
bondage,  to  the  criminal  use  of  him  as  a 
chattel  or  brute.  Can  that  very  use, 
which  makes  the  original  seizure  an 
enormous  wrong,  become  gradually  in- 
nocent ? If  the  slave  receive  injury 
without  measure  at  the  first  moment  of 
the  outrage,  is  he  less  injured  by  being 
held  fast  the  second  or  the  third  ? Does 
the  duration  of  wrong,  the  increase  of  it 
by  continuance,  convert  it  into  right  ? 
It  is  true,  in  many  cases,  that  length  of 
possession  is  considered  as  giving  a 
right,  where  the  goods  were  acquired  by 
unlawful  means.  But  in  these  cases  the 
goods  were  such  as  might  justly  be  ap- 
propriated to  individual  use.  They  were 
intended  by  the  Creator  to  be  owned. 
They  fulfil  their  purpose  by  passing 
into  the  hands  of  an  exclusive  possessor. 
' It  is  essential  to  rightful  property  in  a 
thing,  that  the  thing  from  its  nature  may 
be  rightfully  appropriated.  If  it  cannot 
originally  be  made  one’s  own  without 
crime,  it  certainly  cannot  be  continued  as 
such  without  guilt.  Now,  the  ground  on 
which  the  seizure  of  the  African  on  his  own 
shore  is  condemned  is,  that  he  is  a man 
who  has  by  his  nature  a right  to  be  free. 
Ought  not,  then,  the  same  condemnation 
to  light  on  the  continuance  of  his  yoke  ? 
Still  more.  Whence  is  it  that  length  of 
possession  is  considered  by  the  laws  as 


SLAVERY. 


conferring  a right  ? I answer,  from  the 
difficulty  of  determining  the  original 
proprietor,  and  from  the  apprehension  of 
unsettling  all  property  by  carrying  back 
inquiry  beyond  a certain  time.  Suppose, 
however,  an  article  of  property  to  be  of 
such  a nature  that  it  could  bear  the 
name  of  the  true  original  owner  stamped 
on  it  in  bright  and  indelible  characters. 
In.  this  case,  the  whole  ground  on  which 
length  of  possession  bars  other  claims 
would  fail.  The  proprietor  would  not  be 
concealed,  or  rendered  doubtful  by  the 
lapse  of  time.  Would  not  he,  who 
should  receive  such  an  article  from  a 
robber,  or  a succession  of  robbers,  be 
involved  in  their  guilt  ? Now  the  true 
owner  of  a human  being  is  made  manifest 
to  all.  It  is  himself.  No  brand  on  the 
slave  was  ever  so  conspicuous  as  the 
mark  of  property  which  God  has  set  on 
him.  God,  in  making  him  a rational 
and  moral  being,  has  put  a glorious 
stamp  on  him,  which  all  the  slave  legis- 
lation and  slave  markets  of  worlds  can- 
not efface.  Hence  no  right  accrues  to 
the  master  from  the  length  of  the  wrong 
which  has  been  done  to  the  slave. 

6.  Another  argument  against  the  right 
of  property  in  man  may  be  drawn  from 
a very  obvious  principle  of  moral  science. 
It  is  a plain  truth,  universally  received, 
that  every  right  supposes  or  involves  a 
corresponding  obligation.  If,  then,  a 
man  has  a right  to  another’s  person  or 
powers,  the  latter  is  under  obligation  to 
give  himself  up  as  a chattel  to  the  for- 
mer. This  is  his  duty.  He  is  bound  to 
be  a slave  ; and  bound  not  merely  by 
the  Christian  law,  which  enjoins  sub- 
mission to  injury,  not  merely  by  pru- 
dential considerations,  or  by  the  claims 
of  public  order  and  peace  ; but  bound 
because  another  has  a right  of  owner- 
ship, has  a moral  claim  to  him,  so  that 
he  would  be  guilty  of  dishonesty,  of 
robbery,  in  withdrawing  himself  from 
this  other’s  service.  It  is  his  duty  to 
work  for  his  master,  though  all  compul- 
sion were  withdrawn  ; and  in  deserting 
him  he  would  commit  the  crime  of  tak- 
ing away  another  man’s  property  as 
truly  as  if  he  were  to  carry  off  his  own- 
er’s purse.  Now,  do  we  not  instantly 
feel,  can  we  help  feeling,  that  this  is 
false?  Is  the  slave  thus  morally  bound ? 
When  the  African  was  first  brought  to 
these  shores,  would  he  have  violated  a 
solemn  obligation  by  slipping  his  chain, 


695 

and  flying  back  to  his  native  home  ? 
Would  he  not  have  been  bound  to  seize 
the  precious  opportunity  of  escape?  Is 
the  slave  under  a moral  obligation  to 
confine  himself,  his  wife,  and  children, 
to  a spot  where  their  union  in  a moment 
may  be  forcibly  dissolved  ? Ought  he 
not,  if  he  can,  to  place  himself  and  his 
family  under  the  guardianship  of  equal 
laws  ? Should  we  blame  him  for  leav- 
ing his  yoke  ? Do  we  not  feel  that, 
in  the  same  condition,  a sense  of  duty 
would  quicken  our  flying  steps  ? Where,  # 
then,  is  the  obligation- which  would  nec- 
essarily be  imposed,  if  the  right  ex- 
isted which  the  master  claims  ? The 
absence  of  obligation  proves  the  want 
of  the  right.  The  claim  is  groundless. 
It  is  a cruel  wrong. 

7.  I come  now  to  what  is  to  my  own 
mind  the  great  argument  against  seizing 
and  using  a man  as  property.  He  can- 
not be  property  in  the  sight  of  God  and 
justice,  because  he  is  a rational,  moral, 
immortal  being : because  created  in 
God’s  image,  and  therefore  in  the  high- 
est sense  his  child  ; because  created  to 
unfold  godlike  faculties,  and  to  govern 
himself  by  a divine  law  written  on  his 
heart,  and  republished  in  God’s  word. 
His  whole  nature  forbids  that  he  should 
be  seized  as  property.  From  his  very 
nature  it  follows  that  so  to  seize  him  is 
to  offer  an  insult  to  his  Maker,  and  to 
inflict  aggravated  social  wrong.  Into 
every  human  being  God  has  breathed 
an  immortal  spirit,  more  precious  than 
the  whole  outward  creation.  No  earthly 
or  celestial  language  can  exaggerate  the 
worth  of  a human  being.  No  matter 
how  obscure  his  condition.  Thought, 
reason,  conscience,  the  capacity  of 
virtue,  the  capacity  of  Christian  love,  an 
immortal  destiny,  an  intimate  moral  con- 
nection with  God,  — here  are  attributes 
of  our  common  humanity  which  reduce 
to  insignificance  all  outward  distinctions, 
and  make  every  human  being  unspeak- 
ably dear  to  his  Maker.  No  matter  how 
ignorant  he  may  be.  The  capacity  of 
improvement  allies  him  to  the  more  in- 
structed of  his  race,  and  places  within 
his  reach  the  knowledge  and  happiness 
of  higher  worlds.  Every  human  being 
has  in  him  the  germ  of  the  greatest  idea 
in  the  uuiverse,  the  idea  of  God  ; and 
to  unfold  this  is  the  end  of  his  existence. 
Every  human  being  has  in  his  breast  the 
elements  of  that  divine,  everlasting  law, 


SLAVERY. 


696 


which  the  highest  orders  of  the  creation 
obey.  He  has  the  idea  of  duty  ; and  to 
unfold,  revere,  obey  this,  is  the  very  pur- 
pose for  which  life  was  given.  Every 
human  being  has  the  idea  of  what  is 
meant  by  that  word,  truth  ; that  is,  he 
sees,  however  dimly,  the  great  object  of 
divine  and  created  intelligence,  and  is 
capable  of  ever-enlarging  perceptions  of 
truth.  Every  human  being  has  affec- 
tions, which  may  be  purified  and  ex- 
panded into  a sublime  love.  He  has, 
too,  the  idea  of  happiness,  and  a thirst 
for  it  which  cannot  be  appeased.  Such 
is  our  nature.  Wherever  we  see  a man, 
we  see  the  possessor  of  these  great  ca- 
pacities. Did  God  make  such  a being 
to  be  owned  as  a tree  or  a brute  ? How 
plainly  was  he  made  to  exercise,  unfold, 
improve  his  highest  powers,  made  for  a 
moral,  spiritual  good  ! and  how  is  he 
wronged,  and  his  Creator  opposed,  when 
he  is  forced  and  broken  into  a tool  to 
another’s  physical  enjoyment ! 

Such  a being  was  plainly  made  for  an 
end  in  himself.  He  is  a person,  not  a 
thing.  He  is  an  end,  not  a mere  instru- 
ment or  means.  He  was  made  for  his 
own  virtue  and  happiness.  Is  this  end 
reconcilable  with  his  being  held  and 
used  as  a chattel  ? The  sacrifice  of 
such  a being  to  another's  will,  to  anoth- 
er's present,  outward,  ill-comprehended 

food,  is  the  greatest  violence  which  can 
e offered  to  any  creature  of  God.  It 
is  to  degrade  him  from  his  rank  in  the 
universe,  to  make  him  a means,  not  an 
end,  to  cast  him  out  from  God’s  spirit- 
ual family  into  the  brutal  herd. 

Such  a being  was  plainly  made  to  obey 
a law  within  himself.  This  is  the  es- 
sence of  a moral  being.  He  possesses, 
as  a part  of  his  nature,  and  the  most  es- 
sential part,  a sense  of  duty,  which  he  is 
to  reverence  and  follow,  in  opposition  to 
all  pleasure  or  pain,  to  all  interfering 
human  wills.  The  great  purpose  of  all 
good  education  and  discipline  is,  to 
make  a man  master  of  himself,  to  excite 
him  to  act  from  a principle  in  his  owry 
mind,  to  lead  him  to  propose  his  own 
perfection  as  his  supreme  law  and  end. 
And  is  this  highest  purpose  of  man’s 
nature  to  be  reconciled  with  entire  sub- 
jection to  a foreign  will,  to  an  outward, 
overwhelming  force,  which  is  satisfied 
with  nothing  but  complete  submission  ? 

The  end  of  such  a being  as  we  have 
described  is,  manifestly,  improvement. 


Now,  it  is  the  fundamental  law  of  our 
nature  that  all  our  powers  are  to  im- 
prove by  free  exertion.  Action  is  the 
indispensable  condition  of  progress  to 
the  intellect,  conscience,  and  heart.  Is 
it  not  plain,  then,  that  a human  being 
cannot,  without  wrong,  be  owned  by 
another,  who  claims,  as  proprietor,  the 
right  to  repress  the  powers  of  his  slaves, 
to  withhold  from  them  the  means  of  de- 
velopment, to  keep  them  within  the  lim- 
its which  are  necessary  to  contentment 
in  chains,  to  shut  out  every  ray  of  light 
and  every  generous  sentiment  which  may 
interfere  with  entire  subjection  to  his  will  ? 

No  man  who  seriously  considers  what 
human  nature  is,  and  what  it  was  made 
for,  can  think  of  setting  up  a claim  to 
a fellow-creature.  What ! own  a spirit- 
ual being,  a being  made  to  know  and 
adore  God,  and  who  is  to  outlive  the 
sun  and  stars ! What ! chain  to  our 
lowest  uses  a being  made  for  truth  and 
virtue  ! convert  into  a brute  instrument 
that  intelligent  nature  on  which  the 
idea  of  duty  has  dawned,  and  which  is 
a nobler  type  of  God  than  all  outward 
creation ! Should  we  not  deem  it  a 
wrong  which  no  punishment  could  ex- 
piate, were  one  of  our  children  seized 
as  property  and  driven  by  the  whip  to 
toil  ? And  shall  God’s  child,  dearer  to 
him  than  an  only  son  to  a human  parent, 
be  thus  degraded  ? Every  thing  else 
may  be  owned  in  the  universe  ; but  a 
moral,  rational  being  cannot  be  prop- 
erty. Suns  and  stars  may  be  owned, 
but  not  the  lowest  spirit.  Touch  any 
thing  but  this.  Lay  not  your  hand  on 
God’s  rational  offspring.  The  whole 
spiritual  world  cries  out,  Forbear  ! The 
highest  intelligences  recognize  their  own 
nature,  their  own  rights,  in  the  humblest 
human  being.  By  that  priceless,  im- 
mortal spirit  which  dwells  in  him,  by 
that  likeness  of  God  which  he  wears, 
tread  him  not  in  the  dust,  confound  him 
not  with  the  brute. 

We  have  thus  seen  that  a human  be- 
ing cannot  rightfully  be  held  and  used 
as  property.  No  legislation,  not  that 
of  all  countries  or  worlds,  could  make 
him  so.  Let  this  be  laid  down  as  a first, 
fundamental  truth.  Let  us  hold  it  fast 
as  a most  sacred,  precious  truth.  Let 
us  hold  it  fast  against  all  customs,  all 
laws,  all  rank,  wealth,  and  power.  Let 
it  be  armed  with  the  whole  authority 
of  the  civilized  and  Christian  world. 


SLA  VERY. 


I have  taken  it  for  granted  that  no 
reader  would  be  so  wanting  in  moral 
discrimination  and  moral  feeling  as  to 
urge  that  men  may  rightfully  be  seized 
and  held  as  property,  because  various 
governments  have  so  ordained.  What ! 
is  human  legislation  the  measure  of 
right  ? Are  God’s  laws  to  be  repealed 
by  man’s  ? Can  government  do  no 
wrong?  To  what  a mournful  extent 
is  the  history  of  human  governments 
a record  of  wrongs  ! How  much  does 
the  progress  of  civilization  consist  in 
the  substitution  of  just  and  humane  for 
barbarous  and  oppressive  laws  ! The 
individual,  indeed,  is  never  authorized 
to  oppose  physical  force  to  unrighteous 
ordinances  of  government,  as  long  as 
the  community  choose  to  sustain  them. 
But  criminal  legislation  ought  to  be 
freely  and  earnestly  exposed.  Injustice 
is  never  so  terrible,  and  never  so  cor- 
rupting, as  when  armed  with  the  sanc- 
tions of  law.  The  authority  of  govern- 
ment, instead  of  being  a reason  for 
silence  under  wrongs,  is  a reason  for 
protesting  against  wrong  with  the  un- 
divided energy  of  argument,  entreaty, 
and  solemn  admonition. 


Chapter  II. 

Rights. 

I now  proceed  to  the  second  division 
of  the  subject.  I am  to  show  that  man 
has  sacred  rights,  the  gifts  of  God,  and 
inseparable  from  human  nature,  which 
are  violated  by  slavery.  Some  important 
principles,  which  belong  to  this  head, 
were  necessarily  anticipated  under  the 
preceding  ; but  they  need  a fuller  expo- 
sition. The  whole  subject  of  rights 
needs  to  be  reconsidered.  Speculations 
and  reasonings  about  it  have  lately  been 
given  to  the  public,  not  only  false,  but 
dangerous  to  freedom,  and  there  is  a 
strong  tendency  to  injurious  views. 
Rights  are  made  to  depend  on  circum- 
stances, so  that  pretences  may  easily  be 
made  or  created  for  violating  them  suc- 
cessively, till  none  shall  remain.  Human 
rights  have  been  represented  as  so  mod- 
ified and  circumscribed  by  men’s  en- 
trance into  the  social  state,  that  only 
the  shadows  of  them  are  left.  They 
have  been  spoken  of  as  absorbed  in 
the  public  good  ; so  that  a man  may 
be  innocently  enslaved,  if  the  public 


6 97 

good  shall  so  require.  To  meet  fully 
all  these  errors  — for  such  I hold  them 
— a larger  work  than  the  present  is  re- 
quired. The  nature  of  man,  his  relations 
to  the  state,  the  limits  of  civil  govern- 
ment, the  elements  of  the  public  good, 
and  the  degree  to  which  the  individual 
must  be  surrendered  to  this  good,  these 
are  the  topics  which  the  present  subject 
involves.  I cannot  enter  into  them  par- 
ticularly, but  shall  lay  down  what  seem 
to  me  the  great  and  true  principles  in 
regard  to  them.  I shall  show  that  man 
has  rights  from  his  very  nature,  not  the 
gifts  of  society,  but  of  God  ; that  they 
are  not  surrendered  on  entering  the  social 
state  ; that  they  must  not  be  taken  away 
under  the  plea  of  public  good  ; that  the 
individual  is  never  to  be  sacrificed  to  the 
community  ; that  the  idea  of  rights  is  to 
prevail  above  all  the  interests  of  the 
state. 

Man  has  rights  by  nature.  The  dis- 
position of  some  to  deride  abstract  rights, 
as  if  all  rights  were  uncertain,  mutable, 
and  conceded  by  society,  shows  a lam- 
entable ignorance  of  human  nature-. 
Whoever  understands  this  must  see 
in  it  an  immovable  foundation  of  rights. 
These  are  gifts  of  the  Creator,  bound 
up  indissolubly  with  our  moral  constitu- 
tion. In  the  order  of  things,  they  pre- 
cede society,  lie  at  its  foundation,  con- 
stitute man’s  capacity  for  it,  and  are  the 
great  objects  of  social  institutions.  The 
consciousness  of  rights  is  not  a creation 
of  human  art,  a conventional  sentiment, 
but  essential  to  and  inseparable  from 
the  human  soul. 

Man’s  rights  belong  to  him  as  a moral 
being,  as  capable  of  perceiving  moral 
distinctions,  as  a subject  of  moral  obli- 
gation. As  soon  as  he  becomes  con- 
scious of  duty,  a kindred  consciousness 
springs  up  that  he  has  a right  to  do  what 
the  sense  of  duty  enjoins,  and  that  no 
foreign  will  or  power  can  obstruct  his 
moral  action  without  crime.  He  feels 
that  the  sense  of  duty  was  given  to  him 
as  a law,  that  it  makes  him  responsible 
for  himself,  that  to  exercise,  unfold,  and 
obey  it  is  the  end  of  his  being,  and  that 
he  has  a right  to  exercise  and  obey  it 
without  hindrance  or  opposition.  A 
consciousness  of  dignity,  however  ob- 
scure, belongs  also  to  this  divine  prin- 
ciple ; and  though  he  may  want  words 
to  do  justice  to  his  thoughts,  he  feels 
that  he  has  that  within  him  which 


SLA  VERY, ; 


698 

makes  him  essentially  equal  to  all 
around  him. 

The  sense  of  duty  is  the  fountain 
of  human  rights.  In  other  words,  the 
same  inward  principle  which  teaches 
the  former  bears  witness  to  the  latter. 
Duties  and  rights  must  stand  or  fall 
together.  It  has  been  too  common  to 
oppose  them  to  one  another  ; but  they 
are  indissolubly  joined  together.  That 
same  inward  principle  which  teaches  a 
man  what  he  is  bound  to  do  to  others, 
teaches  equally,  and  at  the  same  instant, 
what  others  are  bound  to  do  to  him. 
That  same  voice  which  forbids  him  to 
injure  a single  fellow-creature,  forbids 
every  fellow-creature  to  do  him  harm. 
His  conscience,  in  revealing  the  moral 
law,  does  not  reveal  a law  for  himself 
only,  but  speaks  as  a universal  legisla- 
tor. He  has  an  intuitive  conviction  that 
the  obligations  of  this  divine  code  press 
on  others  as  truly  as  on  himself.  That 
principle  which  teaches  him  that  he  sus- 
tains the  relation  of  brotherhood  to  all 
human  beings,  teaches  him  that  this 
relation  is  reciprocal,  that  it  gives  in- 
destructible claims,  as  well  as  imposes 
solemn  duties,  and  that  what  he  owes  to 
the  members  of  this  vast  family,  they 
owe  to  him  in  return.  Thus  the  moral 
nature  involves  rights.  These  enter 
into  its  very  essence.  They  are  taught 
by  the  very  voice  which  enjoins  duty. 
Accordingly  there  is  no  deeper  principle 
in  human  nature  than  the  consciousness 
of  rights.  So  profound,  so  ineradicable 
is  this  sentiment,  that  the  oppressions  of 
ages  have  nowhere  wholly  stifled  it. 

Having  shown  the  foundation  ol  hu- 
man rights  in  human  nature,  it  may  be 
asked  what  they  are.  Perhaps  they  do 
not  admit  very  accurate  definition,  any 
more  than  human  duties  ; for  the  spirit- 
ual cannot  be  weighed  and  measured 
like  the  material.  Perhaps  a minute 
criticism  may  find  fault  with  the  most 
guarded  exposition  of  them ; but  they 
may  easily  be  stated  in  language  which 
the  unsophisticated  mind  will  recognize 
as  the  truth.  Volumes  could  not  do  jus- 
tice to  them  ; and  yet,  perhaps,  they 
may  be  comprehended  in  one  sentence. 
They  may  all  be  comprised  in  the 
right  which  belongs  to  every  rational 
being,  to  exercise  his  powers  for  the 
promotion  of  his  own  and  others’  hap- 
piness and  virtue.  These  are  the  great 
purposes  of  his  existence.  For  these 


his  powers  were  given,  and  to  these  he 
is  bound  to  devote  them.  He  is  bound 
to  make  himself  and  others  better  and 
happier,  according  to  his  ability.  His 
ability  for  this  work  is  a sacred  trust 
from  God,  — the  greatest  of  all  trusts. 
He  must  answer  for  the  waste  or  abuse 
of  it.  He  consequently  suffers  an  un- 
speakable wrong  when  stripped  of  it  by 
others,  or  forbidden  to  employ  it  for  the 
ends  for  which  it  is  given ; when  the  pow- 
ers which  God  has  given  for  such  gen- 
erous uses  are  impaired  or  destroyed  by 
others,  or  the  means  for  their  action  and 
growth  are  forcibly  withheld.  As  every 
human  being  is  bound  to  employ  his 
faculties  for  his  own  and  others’  good, 
there  is  an  obligation  on  each  to  leave 
all  free  for  the  accomplishment  of  this 
end  ; and  whoever  respects  this  obliga- 
tion, whoever  uses  his  own,  without 
invading  otKers^powers,  or  obstructing 
others’  duties,  has  a sacred,  indefeasible 
right  to  be  unassailed,  unobstructed,  un- 
harmed by  all  with  whom  he  may  be 
connected.  Here  is  the  grand,  all- 
comprehending  right  of  human  nature. 
Every  man  should  revere  it,  should 
assert  it  for  himself  and  for  all,  and 
should  bear  solemn  testimony  against 
every  infraction  of  it,  by  whomsoever 
made  or  endured. 

Having  considered  the  great  funda- 
mental right  of  human  nature,  particular 
rights  may  easily  be  deduced.  Every 
man  has  a right  to  exercise  and  in- 
vigorate his  intellect  or  the  power  of 
knowledge,  for  knowledge  is  the  es- 
sential condition  of  successful  effort  for 
every  good ; and  whoever  obstructs  or 
quenches  the  intellectual  life  in  another, 
inflicts  a grievous  and  irreparable  wrong, 
Every  man  has  a right  to  inquire  into 
his  duty,  and  to  conform  himself  to  what 
he  learns  of  it.  Every  man  has  a right 
to  use  the  means  given  by  God  and 
sanctioned-  by  virtue  for  bettering  his 
condition.  He  has  a right  to  be  respected 
according  to  his  moral  worth  : a right 
to  be  regarded  as  a member  of  the  com- 
munity to  which  he  belongs,  and  to  be 
protected  by  impartial  laws  ; and  a right 
to  be  exempted  from  coercion,  stripes, 
and  punishment,  as  long  as  he  respects 
the  rights  of  others.  He  has  a right  to 
an  equivalent  for  his  labor.  He  has  a 
right  to  sustain  domestic  relations,  to 
discharge  their  duties,  and  to  enjoy  the 
happiness  which  flows  from  fidelity  in 


SLA  VERY. 


these  and  other  domestic  relations. 
Such  are  a few  of  human  rights  ; and  if 
so,  what  a grievous  wrong  is  slavery  ! 

Perhaps  nothing  has  done  more  to 
impair  the  sense  of  the  reality  and 
sacredness  of  human  rights,  and  to 
sanction  oppression,  than  loose  ideas  as 
to  the  change  made  in  man’s  natural 
rights  by  his  entrance  into  civil  society. 
It  is  commonly  said  that  men  part  with 
a portion  of  these  by  becoming  a com- 
munity, a body  politic  ; that  govern- 
ment consists  of  powers  surrendered 
by  the  individual ; and  it  is  said,  “ If 
certain  rights  and  powers  may^be  sur- 
rendered,, why  not  others  ? why  not  all  ? 
what  limit  is  to  be  set  ? The  good  of 
the  community,  to  which  a part  is  given 
up,  may  demand  the  whole  ; and  in  this 
good  all  private  rights  are  merged.” 
This  is  the  logic  of  despotism.  We  are 
grieved  that  it  finds  its  way  into  repub- 
lics, and  that  it  sets  down  the  great 
• principles  of  freedom  as  abstractions 
and  metaphysical  theories,  good  enough 
for  the  cloister,  but  too  refined  for  prac- 
tical and  real  life. 

Human  rights,  however,  are  not  to  be 
so  reasoned  away.  They  belong,  as  we 
have  seen,  to  man  as  a moral  being,  and 
nothing  can  divest  him  of  them  but  the 
destruction  of  his  nature.  They  are  not 
to  be  given  up  to  society  as  a prey.  On 
the  contrary,  the  great  end  of  civil  soci- 
ety  is  to  secure  them.  The  great  end 
of  government  is  to  repress  all  wrong. 
Its  highest  function  is  to  protect  the 
weak  against  the  powerful,  so  that  the 
obscurest  human  being  may  enjoy  his 
rights  in  peace.  Strange  that  an  insti- 
tution, built  on  the  idea  of  rights,  should 
be  used  to  unsettle  this  idea,  to  confuse 
our  moral  perceptions,  to  sanctify  wrongs 
as  means  of  general  good  ! 

It  is  said  that,  in  forming  civil  soci- 
ety, the  individual  surrenders  a part  of 
his  rights.  It  would  be  more  proper  to 
say  that  he  adopts  new  modes  of  secur- 
ing them.  He  consents,  for  example, 
to  desist  from  self-defence,  that  he  and 
all  may  be  more  effectually  defended  by 
the  public  force.  He  consents  to  submit 
his  cause  to  an  umpire  or  tribunal,  that 
justice  may  be  more  impartially  awarded, 
and  that  he  and  all  may  more  certainly 
receive  their  due.  He  consents  to  part 
with  a portion  of  his  property  in  taxa- 
tion, that  his  own  and  others’  property 
may  be  the  more  secure.  He  submits 


699 

to  certain  restraints,  that  he  and  others 
may  enjoy  more  enduring  freedom.  He 
expects  an  equivalent  for  what  he  relin- 
quishes,- and  insists  on  it  as  his  right. 
He  is  wronged  by  partial  laws,  which 
compel  him  to  contribute  to  the  state 
beyond  his  proportion,  his  ability,  and 
the  measure  of  benefits  which  he  re- 
ceives. How  absurd  is  it  to  suppose 
that,  by  consenting  to  be  protected  by 
the  state,  and  by  yielding  it  the  means, 
he  surrenders  the  very  rights  which 
were  the  objects  of  his  accession  to  the 
social  compact ! 

The  authority  of  the  state  to  impose 
laws  on  its  members  I cheerfully  allow  ; 
but  this  has  limits,  which  are  found  to 
be  more  and  more  narrow  in  proportion 
to  the  progress  of  moral  science.  The 
state  is  equally  restrained  with  individ- 
uals by  the  moral  law.  For  example, 
it  may  not,  must  not,  on  any  account, 
put  an  innocent  man  to  death,  or  require 
of  him  a dishonorable  or  criminal  ser- 
vice. It  may  demand  allegiance,  but 
only  on  the  ground  of  the  protection  it 
affords.  It  may  levy  taxes,  but  only 
because  it  takes  all  property  and  all 
interests  under  its  shield.  It  may  pass 
laws,  but  only  impartial  ones,  framed 
for  the  whole,  and  not  for  the  few.  It 
must  not  seize,  by  a special  act,  the 
property  of  the  humblest  individual, 
without  making  him  an  equivalent.  It 
must  regard  every  man,  over  whom  it 
extends  its  authority  as  a vital  part  of 
itself,  as  entitled  to  its  care  and  to  its 
provisions  for  liberty  and  happiness. 
If,  in  an  emergency,  its  safety,  which  is 
the  interest  of  each  and  all,  may  demand 
the  imposition  of  peculiar  restraints  on 
one  or  many,  it  is  bound  to  limit  these 
restrictions  to  the  precise  point  which 
its  safety  prescribes,  to  remove  the  nec- 
essity of  them  as  far  and  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible, to  compensate  by  peculiar  protec- 
tion such  as  it  deprives  of  the  ordinary 
means  of  protecting  themselves,  and,  in 
general,  to  respect  and  provide  for  lib- 
erty in  the  very  acts  which  for  a time 
restrain  it.  The  idea  of  rights  should  be 
fundamental  and  supreme  in  civil  insti- 
tutions. Government  becomes  a nui- 
sance and  scourge  in  proportion  as  it 
sacrifices  these  to  the  many  or  the  few. 
Government  — I repeat  it  — is  equally 
bound  with  the  individual  by  the  moral 
law.  The  ideas  of  justice  and  rectitude, 
of  what  is  due  to  man  from  his  fellow- 


700 


SLAVERY. 


creatures,  jf  the  claims  of  every  moral 
being,  are  far  deeper  and  more  primi- 
tive than  civil  polity.  Government,  far 
from  originating  them,  owes  to  them  its 
strength.  Right  is  older  than  human 
law.  Law  ought  to  be  its  voice.  It 
should  be  built  on,  and  should  corre- 
spond to,  the  principle  of  justice  in  the 
human  breast,  and  its  weakness  is  owing 
to  nothing  more  than  to  its  clashing  with 
our  indestructible  moral  convictions. 

That  government  is  most  perfect  in 
which  policy  is  most  entirely  subjected 
to  justice,  or  in  which  the  supreme  and 
constant  aim  is  to  secure  the  rights  of 
every  human  being.  This  is  the  beau- 
tiful idea  of  a free  government,  and  no 
government  is  free  but  in  proportion  as 
it  realizes  this.  Liberty  must  not  be 
confounded  with  popular  institutions. 
A representative  government  may  be  as 
despotic  as  an  absolute  monarchy.  In 
as  far  as  it  tramples  on  the  rights, 
whether  of  many  or  one,  it  is  a despot- 
ism. The  sovereign  power,  whether 
wielded  by  a single  hand  or  several 
hands,  by  a king  or  a congress,  which 
spoils  one  human  being  of  the  immuni- 
ties and  privileges  bestowed  on  him  by 
God,  is  so  far  a tyranny.  The  great 
argument  in  favor  of  representative  in- 
stitutions is,  that  a people’s  rights  are 
safest  in  their  own  hands,  and  should 
never  be  surrendered  to  an  irresponsible 
power.  Rights,  rights,  lie  at  the  foun- 
dation of  a popular  government ; and 
when  this  betrays  them,  the  wrong  is 
more  aggravated  than  when  they  are 
crushed  by  despotism. 

Still  the  question  will  be  asked,  “Is 
not  the  general  good  the  supreme  law 
of  the  state  ? Are  not  all  restraints  on 
the  individual  just,  which  this  demands  ? 
When  the  rights  of  the  individual  clash 
with  this,  must  they  not  yield  ? Do 
they  not,  indeed,  cease  to  be  rights  ? 
Must  not  every  thing  give  place  to  the 
general  good  ? ” I have  started  this 
question  in  various  forms,  because  I 
deem  it  worthy  of  particular  examina- 
tion. Public  and  private  morality,  the 
freedom  and  safety  of  our  national  in- 
stitutions, are  greatly  concerned  in  set- 
tling the  claims  of  the  “general  good.” 
In  monarchies,  the  divine  right  of  kings 
swallowed  up  all  others.  In  republics, 
the  general  good  threatens  the  same 
evil.  It  is  a shelter  for  the  abuses  and 
usurpations  of  government,  for  the 


profligacies  of  statesmen,  for  the  vices 
of  parties,  for  the  wrongs  of  slavery. 

In  considering  this  subject,  I take  the 
hazard  of  repeating  principles  already 
laid  down ; but  this  will  be  justified  by 
the  importance  of  reaching  and  deter- 
mining the  truth.  Is  the  general  good, 
then,  the  supreme  law,  to  which  every 
thing  must  bow  ? 

This  question  may  be  settled  at  once 
by  proposing  another.  Suppose  the 
public  good  to  require  that  a number 
of  the  members  of  a state,  no  matter 
hbw  few,  should  perjure  themselves,  or 
should  disclaim  their  faith  in  God  and 
virtue.  Would  their  right  to  follow  con- 
science and  God  be  annulled  ? Would 
they  be  bound  to  sin  ? Suppose  a con- 
queror to  menace  a state  with  ruin, 
unless  its  members  should  insult  their 
parents,  and  stain  themselves  with  crimes 
at  which  nature  revolts.  Must  the  pub- 
lic good  prevail  over  purity  and  our 
holiest  affections  ? Do  we  not  all  feel 
that  there  are  higher  goods  than  even 
the  safety  of  the  state  ? that  there 
is  a higher  law  than  that  of  mightiest 
empires  ? that  the  idea  of  rectitude  is 
deeper  in  human  nature  than  that  of 
private  or  public  interest  ? and  that  this 
is  to  bear  sway  over  all  private  and 
public  acts  ? 

The  supreme  law  of  a state  is  not  its 
safety,  its  power,  its  prosperity,  its  afflu- 
ence, the  flourishing  state  of  agriculture,  # 
commerce,  and  the  arts.  These  objects, 
constituting  what  is  commonly  called 
the  public  good,  are  indeed  proposed, 
and  ought  to  be  proposed,  in  the  con- 
stitution and  administration  of  states. 
But  there  is  a higher  law,  even  virtue, 
rectitude,  the  voice  of  conscience,  the 
will  of  God.  Justice  is  a greater  good 
than  property,  — not  greater  in  degree, 
but  in  kind.  Universal  benevolence  is 
infinitely  superior  to  prosperity.  Re- 
ligion, the  love  of  God,  is  worth  incom- 
parably more  than  all  his  outward  gifts. 

A community,  to  secure  or  aggrandize 
itself,  must  never  forsake  the  right,  the 
holy,  the  just. 

Moral  good,  rectitude  in  all  its 
branches,  is  the  supreme  good;  by 
which  I do  not  intend  that  it  is  the 
surest  means  to  the  security  and  pros- 
perity of  the  state.  Such,  indeed,  it  is, 
but  this  is  too  low  a view.  It  must 
not  be  looked  upon  as  a means,  an  in- 
strument. It  is  the  supreme  end,  and 


SLA  VERY. 


701 


states  are  bound  fo  subject  it  to  all  their 
legislation,  be  the  apparent  loss  of  pros- 
perity ever  so  great.  National  wealth 
is  not  the  end.  It  derives  all  its  worth 
from  national  virtue.  If  accumulated 
by  rapacity,  conquest,  or  any  degrading 
means,  or  if  concentrated  in  the  hands 
of  the  few,  whom  it  strengthens  to  crush 
the  many,  it  is  a curse.  National  wealth  is 
a blessing  only  when  it  springs  from  and 
represents  the  intelligence  and  virtue 
of  the  community  ; when  it  is  a fruit 
and  expression  of  good  habits,  of  respect 
for  the  rights  of  all,  of  impartial  and 
beneficent  legislation  ; when  it  gives  im- 
pulse to  the  higher  faculties,  and  occa- 
sion and  incitement  to  justice  and  be- 
neficence. No  greater  calamity  can 
befall  a people  than  to  prosper  by 
crime.  No  success  can  be  a compen- 
sation for  the  wound  inflicted  on  a na- 
tion’s mind  by  renouncing  right  as  its 
supreme  law. 

Let  a people  exalt  prosperity  above 
rectitude,  and  a more  dangerous  end 
cannot  be  proposed.  Public  prosperity, 
general  good,  regarded  by  itself,  or 
apart  from  the  moral  law,  is  something 
vague,  unsettled,  and  uncertain,  and 
will  infallibly  be  so  construed  by  the 
selfish  and  grasping  as  to  secure  their 
own  aggrandizement.  It  may  be  made 
to  wear  a thousand  forms,  according  to 
men’s  interests  and  passions.  This  is 
illustrated  by  every  day’s  history.  Not 
a party  springs  up  which  does  not  sanc- 
tify all  its  projects  for  monopolizing 
power  by  the  plea  of  general  good.  Not 
a measure,  however  ruinous,  can  be  pro- 
posed which  cannot  be  shown  to  favor 
one  or  another  national  interest.  The 
truth  is,  that  in  the  uncertainty  of  human 
affairs,  — an  uncertainty  growing  out  of 
the  infinite  and  very  subtile  causes  which 
are  acting  on  communities,  — the  con- 
sequences of  no  measure  can  be  fore- 
told with  certainty.  The  best  concerted 
schemes  of  policy  often  fail ; whilst  a 
rash  and  profligate  administration  may, 
by  unexpected  concurrences  of  events, 
seem  to  advance  a nation’s  glory.  In 
regard  to  the  means  of  national  pros- 
perity, the  wisest  are  weak  judges.  For 
example,  the  present  rapid  growth  of 
this  country,  carrying,  as  it  does,  vast 
multitudes  beyond  the  institutions  of 
religion  and  education,  may  be  working 
ruin,  whilst  the  people  exult  in  it  as  a 
pledge  of  greatness.  We  are  too  short- 


sighted to  find  our  law  in  outward  in- 
terests. To  states,  as  to  individuals, 
rectitude  is  the  supreme  law.  It  was 
never  designed  that  the  public  good,  as 
disjoined  from  this,  as  distinct  from  jus- 
tice and  reverence  for  all  rights,  should 
be  comprehended  and  made  our  end. 
Statesmen  work  in  the  dark  until  the 
idea  of  right  towers  above  expediency 
or  wealth.  Woe  to  that  people  which 
would  found  its  prosperity  in  wrong ! 
It  is  time  that  the  low  maxims  of  policy, 
which  have  ruled  for  ages,  should  fall. 
It  is  time  that  public  interest  should  no 
longer  hallow  injustice,  and  fortify  gov- 
ernment in  making  the  weak  their  prey. 

In  this  discussion  I have  used  the 
phrase,  public  or  general  good,  in  its 
common  acceptation,  as  signifying  the 
safety  and  prosperity  of  a state.  Why 
can  it  not  be  used  in  a larger  sense  ? 
Why  can  it  not  be  made  to  comprehend 
inward  and  moral,  as  well  as  outward 
good  ? And  why  cannot  the  former 
be  understood  to  be  incomparably  the 
most  important  element  of  the  public 
weal  ? Then,  indeed,  I should  assent 
to  the  proposition  that  the  general  good 
is  the  supreme  law.  So  construed,  it 
would  support  the  great  truths  which 
I have  maintained.  It  would  condemn 
the  infliction  of  wrong  on  the  humblest 
individual  as  a national  calamity.  It 
would  plead  with  us  to  extend  to  every 
individual  the  means  of  improving  his 
character  and  lot. 

If  the  remarks  under  this  head  be 
just,  it  will  follow  that  the  good  of 
the  individual  is  more  important  than 
the  outward  prosperity  of  the  state.  The 
former  is  not  vague  and  unsettled,  like 
the  latter,  and  it  belongs  to  a higher  or- 
der of  interests.  It  consists  in  the  free 
exertion  and  expansion  of  the  individ- 
ual’s powers,  especially  of  his  higher 
faculties  ; in  the  energy  of  his  intel- 
lect, conscience,  and  good  affections ; 
in  sound  judgment ; in  the  acquisi- 
tion of  truth  ; in  laboring  honestly 
for  himself  and  his  family ; in  loving 
his  Creator,  and  subjecting  his  own  will 
to  the  divine  ; in  loving  his  fellow-creat- 
ures, and  making  cheerful  sacrifices  to 
their  happiness  ; in  friendship  ; in  sensi- 
bility to  the  beautiful,  whether  in  nature 
or  art ; in  loyalty  to  his  principles ; in 
moral  courage  ; in  self-respect ; in  un- 
derstanding and  asserting  his  rights ; 
and  in  the  Christian  hope  of  immortality. 


702 


SLA  VERY. 


Such  is  the  good  of  the  individual,  — a 
more  sacred,  exalted,  enduring  interest 
than  any  accessions  of  wealth  or  power 
to  the  state.  Let  it  not  be  sacrificed  to 
these.  He  should  find,  in  his  connec- 
tion with  the  community,  aids  to  the 
accomplishment  of  these  purposes  of 
his  being,  and  not  be  chained  and  sub- 
dued by  it  to  the  inferior  interests  of 
any  fellow- creature. 

In  all  ages  the  individual  has,  in  one 
form  or  another,  been  trodden  in  the 
dust.  In  monarchies  and  aristocracies, 
he  has  been  sacrificed  to  one  or  to  the 
few  ; who,  regarding  government  as  an 
heirloom  in  their  families,  and  thinking 
of  the  people  as  made  only  to  live  and 
die  for  their  glory,  have  not  dreamed 
that  the  sovereign  power  was  designed 
to  shield  every  man,  without  exception, 
from  wrong.  In  the  ancient  republics, 
the  glory  of  the  state,  especially  con- 
quest, was  the  end  to  which  the  indi- 
vidual was  expected  to  offer  himself  a 
victim,  and  in  promoting  which  no  cruelty 
was  to  be  declined,  no  human  right  re- 
vered. He  was  merged  in  a great  whole, 
called  the  commonwealth,  to  which  his 
whole  nature  was  to  be  immolated.  It 
was  the  glory  of  the  American  people, 
that,  in  their  Declaration  of  Indepen- 
dence, they  took  the  ground  of  the  inde- 
structible rights  of  every  human  being. 
They  declared  all  men  to  be  essentially 
equal,  and  each  born  to  be  free.  They 
did  not,  like  the  Greek  or  Roman,  assert 
for  themselves  a liberty  which  they 
burned  to  wrest  from  other  states. 
They  spoke  in  the  name  of  humanity, 
as  the  representatives  of  the  rights  of  the 
feeblest  as  well  as  mightiest  of  their 
race.  They  published  universal,  ever- 
lasting principles,  which  are  to  work 
out  the  deliverance  of  every  human 
being.  Such  was  their  glory.  Let  not 
the  idea  of  rights  be  erased  from  their 
children’s  minds  by  false  ideas  of  public 
good.  Let  not  the  sacredness  of  indi- 
vidual man  be  forgotten  in  the  feverish 
pursuit  of  property.  It  is  more  impor- 
tant that  the  individual  should  respect 
himself,  and  be  respected  by  others, 
than  that  the  wealth  of  both  worlds 
should  be  accumulated  on  our  shores. 
National  wealth  is  not  the  end  of  society. 
It  may  exist  where  large  classes  are 
depressed  and  wronged.  It  may  under- 
mine a nation’s  spirit,  institutions,  and 
independence.  It  can  have  no  value 


and  no  sure  foundation,  until  the  su- 
premacy of  the  rights  of  the  individual 
is  the  first  article  of  a nation’s  faith,  and 
until  reverence  for  them  becomes  the 
spirit  of  public  men. 

• Perhaps  it  will  be  replied  to  all  which 
has  now  been  said,  that  there  is  an 
argument  from  experience  which  inval- 
idates the  doctrines  of  this  section.  It 
may  be  said  that  human  rights,  notwith- 
standing what  has  been  said  of  their 
sacredness,  do  and  must  yield  to  the 
exigencies  of  real  life  ; that  there  is 
often  a stern  necessity  in  human  affairs 
to  which  they  bow.  I may  be  asked 
whether,  in  the  history  of  nations,  cir- 
cumstances do  not  occur  in  which  the 
rigor  of  the  principles  now  laid  down 
must  be  relaxed ; whether,  in  seasons 
of  imminent  peril  to  the  state,  private 
rights  must  not  give  way.  I may  be 
asked  whether  the  establishment  of  mar- 
tial law  and  a dictator  has  not  some- 
times been  justified  and  demanded  by 
public  danger ; and  whether,  of  course, 
the  rights  and  liberties  of  the  individual 
are  not  held  at  the  discretion  of  the 
state.  I admit,  in  reply,  that  extreme 
cases  may  occur,  in  which  the  exercise 
of  rights  and  freedom  may  be  suspended ; 
but  suspended  only  for  their  ultimate 
and  permanent  security.  At  such  times, 
when  the  frantic  fury  of  the  many,  or 
the  usurpations  of  the  few,  interrupt  the 
administration  of  law,  and  menace  prop- 
erty and  life,  society,  threatened  with 
ruin,  puts  forth  instinctively  spasmodic 
efforts  for  its  own  preservation.  It  flies 
to  an  irresponsible  dictator  for  its  pro- 
tection. But  in  these  cases,  the  great 
idea  of  rights  predominates  amidst  their 
apparent  subversion.  A power  above 
all  laws  is  conferred,  only  that  the  em- 
pire of  law  may  be  restored.  Despotic 
restraints  are  imposed,  only  that  liberty 
may  be  rescued  from  ruin.  All  rights 
are  involved  in  the  safety  of  the  state  ; 
and  hence,  in  the  cases  referred  to,  the 
safety  of  the  state  becomes  the  supreme 
law.  The  individual  is  bound  for  a time 
to  forego  his  freedom,  for  the  salvation 
of  institutions  without  which  liberty  is 
but  a name.  To  argue  from  such  sacri- 
fices that  he  may  be  permanently  made 
a slave,  is  as  great  an  insult  to  reason 
as  to  humanity.  It  may  be  added,  that 
sacrifices  which  may  be  demanded  for 
the  safety  are  not  due  from  the  indi- 
vidual to  the  prosperity  of  the  state. 


SLA  VERY. 


703 


The  great  e^Hftuvil  society  is  to  secure 
rights,  not  ^^^Bilate  wealth  ; and  to 
merge  the  fo^^^^n  the  latter  is  to  turn 
political  union  into  degradation  and  a 
scourge.  The  community  is  bound  to 
take  thqpjghts  of  each  and  all  under  its 
guardianship.  It  must  substantiate  its 
claim  to  universal  obedience  by  redeem- 
ing its  pledge  of  universal  protection. 
It  must  immolate  no  man  to  the  pros- 
perity of  the  rest.  Its  laws  should  be 
made  for  all,  its  tribunals  opened  to  all. 
It  cannot  without  guilt  abandon  any  of 
its  members  to  private  oppression,  to 
irresponsible  power. 

We  have  thus  established  the  reality 
and  sacredness  of  human  rights  ; and  that 
slavery  is  an  infraction  of  these,  is  too 
plain  to  need  any  labored  proof.  Slavery 
violates,  not  one,  but  all ; and  violates 
them,  not  incidentally,  but  necessarily, 
systematically,  from  its  very  nature.  In 
starting  with  the  assumption  that  the 
slave  is  property,  it  sweeps  away  every 
defence  of  human  rights,  and  lays  them 
in  the  dust.  Were  it  necessary,  I might 
enumerate  them,  and  show  how  all  fall 
before  this  terrible  usurpation  ; but  a 
few  remarks  will  suffice. 

Slavery  strips  man  of  the  fundamental 
right  to  inquire  into,  consult,  and  seek 
his  own  hippiness.  His  powers  belong 
to  another,  and  for  another  they  must 
be  used.  He  must  form  no  plans,  en- 
gage in  no  enterprises,  for  bettering  his 
condition.  Whatever  be  his  capacities, 
however  equal  to  great  improvements  of 
his  lot,  he  is  chained  for  life,  by  another’s 
will,  to  the  same  unvaried  toil.  He  is 
forbidden  to  do,  for  himself  or  others, 
the  work  for  which  God  stamped  him 
with  his  own  image,  and  endowed  him 
with  his  own  best  gifts.  Again,  the 
slave  is  stripped  of  the  right  to  acquire 
property.  Being  himself  owned,  his 
earnings  belong  to  another.  He  can 
possess  nothing  but  by  favor.  That 
right,  on  which  the  development  of  men’s 
powers  so  much  depends,  — the  right  to 
make  accumulations,  to  gain  exclusive 
possessions  by  honest  industry,  — is 
withheld.  “The  slave  can  acquire  noth- 
ing,” says  one  of  the  slave  codes,  “but 
what  must  belong  to  his  master ; ” and 
however  this  definition,  which  moves 
the  indignation  of  the  free,  may  be  miti- 
gated by  favor,  the  spirit  of  it  enters 
into  the  very  essence  of  slavery.  Again, 
the  slave  is  stripped  of  his  right  to  his 


wife  and  children.  They  belong  to  an- 
other, and  may  be  torn  from  him,  one 
and  all,  at  any  moment,  at  his  master’s 
pleasure.  Again,  the  slave  is  stripped 
of  the  right  to  the  culture  of  his  rational 
powers.  He  is  in  some  cases  deprived 
by  law  of  instruction,  which  is  placed 
within  his  reach  by  the  improvements 
of  society  and  the  philanthropy  of  the 
age.  He  is  not  allowed  to  toil,  that  his 
children  may  enjoy  a better  education 
than  himself.  The  most  sacred  right  - 
of  human  nature,  that  of  developing  his 
best  faculties,  is  denied.  Even  should 
it  be  granted,  it  would  be  conceded  as  a 
favor,  and  might  at  any  moment  be  with- 
held by  the  capricious  will  of  another. 
Again,  the  slave  is  deprived  of  the  right 
of  self-defence.  No  injury  from  a white 
man  is  he  suffered  to  repel,  nor  can  he 
seek  redress  from  the  laws  of  his  coun- 
try. If  accumulated  insult  and  wrong 
provoke  him  to  the  slightest  retaliation, 
this  effort  for  self-protection,  allowed 
and  commended  to  others,  is  a crime, 
for  which  he  must  pay  a fearful  penalty. 
Again,  the  slave  is  stripped  of  the  right 
to  be  exempted  from  all  harm,  except 
for  wrong-doing.  He  is  subjected  to 
the  lash  by  those  whom  he  has  never 
consented  to  serve,  and  whose  claim  to 
him  as  property  we  have  seen  to  be  a 
usurpation  ; and  this  power  of  punish- 
ment, which,  if  justly  claimed,  should 
be  exercised  with  a fearful  care,  is  often 
delegated  to  men  in  whose  hands  there 
is  a moral  certainty  of  its  abuse. 

I will  add  but  one  more  example  of 
the  violation  of  human  rights  by  slav- 
ery. The  slave  virtually  suffers  the 
wrong  of  robbery,  though  with  utter 
unconsciousness  on  the  part  of  those 
who  inflict  it.  It  may,  indeed,  be  gen- 
erally thought  that,  as  he  is  suffered  to 
own  nothing,  he  cannot  fall,  at  least, 
under  this  kind  of  violence.  But  it  is 
not  true  that  he  owns  nothing.  What- 
ever he  may  be  denied  by  man,  he  holds 
from  nature  the  most  valuable  property, 
and  that  from  which  all  other  is  de- 
rived, — I mean  his  strength.  His  la- 
bor is  his  own,  by  the  gift  of  that  God 
who  nerved  his  arm,  and  gave  him  in- 
telligence and  conscience  to  direct  the 
use  of  it  to  his  own  and  others’  happi- 
ness. No  possession  is  so  precious  as 
a man’s  force  of  body  and  mind.  The 
exertion  of  this  in  labor  is  the  great 
foundation  and  source  of  property  in 


704 


SLA  VERY. 


outward  things. ' The  worth  of  articles 
of  traffic  is  measured  by  the  labor  ex- 
pended in  their  production.  To  the 
great  mass  of  men,  in  all  countries, 
their  strength  or  labor  is  their  whole 
fortune.  To  seize  on  this  would  be  to 
rob  them  of  their  all.  In  truth,  no 
robbery  is  so  great  as  that  to  which  the 
slave  is  habitually  subjected.  To  take 
by  force  a man’s  whole  estate,  the  fruit 
of  years  of  toil,  would,  by  universal 
consent,  be  denounced  as  a great  wrong  ; 
but  what  is  this  compared  with  seizing 
the  man  himself,  and  appropriating  to 
our  use  the  limbs,  faculties,  strength, 
and  labor  by  which  all  property  is  won 
and  held  fast  ? The  right  of  property 
in  outward  things  is  as  nothing  com- 
pared with  our  right  to  ourselves.  Were 
the  slave-holder  stripped  of  his  fortune, 
he  would  count  the  violence  slight,  com- 
pared with  what  he  would  suffer  were 
his  person  seized  and  devoted  as  a chat- 
tel to  another’s  use.  Let  it  not  be  said 
that  the  slave  receives  an  equivalent, 
that  he  is  fed  and  clothed,  and  is  not, 
therefore,  robbed.  Suppose  another  to 
wrest  from  us  a valued  possession,  and 
to  pay  us  his  own  price.  Should  we 
not  think  ourselves  robbed  ? Would 
not  the  laws  pronounce  the  invader  a 
robber  ? Is  it  consistent  with  the  right 
of  property  that  a man  should  determine 
the  equivalent  for  what  he  takes  from 
his  neighbor  ? Especially  is  it  to  be 
hoped  that  the  equivalent  due  to  the 
laborer  will  be  scrupulously  weighed, 
when  he  himself  is  held  as  property, 
and  all  his  earnings  are  declared  to  be 
his  master’s.  So  great  an  infraction  of 
human  right  is  slavery  ! 

In  reply  to  these  remarks,  it  may  be 
said  that  the  theory  and  practice  of 
slavery  differ ; that  the  rights  of  the 
slave  are  not  as  wantonly  sported  with 
as  the  claims  of  the  master  might  lead 
us  to  infer  ; that  some  of  his  posses- 
sions are  sacred  ; that  not  a few  slave- 
holders refuse  to  divorce  husband  and 
wife,  to  sever  parent  and  child ; and 
that,  in  many  cases,  the  power  of  pun- 
ishment is  used  so  reluctantly  as  to  en- 
courage insolence  and  insubordination. 
All  this  I have  no  disposition  to  deny. 
Indeed  it  must  be  so.  It  is  not  in  hu- 
man nature  to  wink  wholly  out  of  sight 
the  rights  of  a fellow-creature.  De- 
grade him  as  we  may,  we  cannot  alto- 
gether forget  his  claims.  In  every 


slave-country  there  .are,  ’undoubtedly, 
masters  who  desire  and  purpose  to  re- 
spect these  to  the  fullextent  which  the 
nature  of  the  relation  will  allow.  Still, 
human  rights  are  denied.  ^They  lie 
wholly  at  another’s  mercy  ;^md  we 
must  have  studied  history  in  vain,  if 
we  need  be  told  that  they  will  be  con- 
tinually the  prey  of  this  absolute  power. 
The  evils  involved  in  and  flowing  from 
the  denial  and  infraction  of  the  rights 
of  the  slave  will  form  the  subject  of  a 
subsequent  chapter. 


Chapter  III. 

Explanations. 

I have  endeavored  to  show,  in  the 
preceding  sections,  that  slavery  is  a vio- 
lation of  sacred  rights,  the  infliction  of 
a great  wrong.  And  here  a question 
arises.  It  may  be  asked  whether,  by 
this  language,  I intend  to  fasten  on  the 
slave-holder  the  charge  of  peculiar  guilt. 
On  this  point  great  explicitness  is 
a duty.  Sympathy  with  the  slave  has 
often  degenerated  into  injustice  towards 
the  master.  I wish,  then,  to  be  under- 
stood, that  in  ranking  slavery  among 
the  greatest  wrongs,  I speak  of  the  in- 
jury endured  by  the  slave,  and  not  of 
the  character  of  the  master.  These  are 
distinct  points.  The  former  does  not 
determine  the  latter.  The  wrong  is  the 
same  to  the  slave,  from  whatever  motive 
or  spirit  it  may  be  inflicted.  But  this 
motive  or  spirit  determines  wholly  the 
character  of  him  who  inflicts  it.  Be- 
cause a great  injury  is  done  to  another, 
it  does  not  follow  that  he  who  does  it  is 
a depraved  man  ; for  he  may  do  it  un- 
consciously, and,  still  more,  may  do  it 
in  the  belief  that  he  confers  a good. 
We  have  learned  little  of  moral  science 
and  of  human  nature,  if  we  do  not  know 
that  guilt  is  to  be  measured,  not  by  the 
outward  act,  but  by  unfaithfulness  to 
conscience  ; and  that  the  consciences  of 
men  are  often  darkened  by  education 
and  other  inauspicious  influences.  All 
men  have  partial  consciences,  or  want 
comprehension  of  some  duties.  All  par- 
take, in  a measure,  of  the  errors  of  the 
community  in  which  they  live.  Some 
are  betrayed  into  moral  mistakes  by  the 
very  force  with  which  conscience  acts  in 
regard  to  some  particular  duty.  As  the 
intellect,  in  grasping  one  truth,  often 


SLAVERY. 


705 


loses  its  hold  of  others,  and,  by  giving 
itself  up  to  one  idea,  falls  into  exaggera- 
tion, so  the  moral  sense,  in  seizing  on  a 
particular  exercise  of  philanthropy,  for- 
gets other  duties,  and  will  even  violate 
many  important  precepts,  in  its  passion- 
ate eagerness  to  carry  one  to  perfection. 
Innumerable  illustrations  may  be  given 
of  the  liableness  of  men  to  moral  error. 
The  practice  which  strikes  one  man  with 
horror  may  seem  to  another,  who  was 
born  and  brought  up  in  the  midst  of  it, 
not  only  innocent  but  meritorious.  We 
must  judge  others,  not  by  our  light,  but 
by  their  own.  We  must  take  their  place, 
and  consider  what  allowance  we  in  their 
position  might  justly  expect.  Our  an- 
cestors at  the  North  were  concerned  in 
the  slave-trade.  Some  of  us  can  recol- 
lect individuals  of  the  colored  race  who 
were  torn  from  Africa,  and  grew  old 
under  our  parental  roofs.  Our  ancestors 
committed  a deed  now  branded  as  piracy. 
Were  they,  therefore,  the  off  scouring  of 
the  earth  ? Were  not  some  of  them 
among  the  best  of  their  times  ? The 
administration  of  religion,  in  almost  all 
past  ages,  has  been  a violation  of  the 
sacred  rights  of  conscience.  How  many 
sects  have  persecuted  and  shed  blood  ! 
Were  their  members,  therefore,  mon- 
sters of  depravity  ? The  history  of  our 
race  is  made  up  of  wrongs,  many  of 
which  were  committed  without  a sus- 
picion of  their  true  character,  and  many 
from  an  urgent  sense  of  duty.  A man 
born  among  slaves,  accustomed  to  this 
relation  from  his  birth,  taught  its  neces- 
sity by  venerated  parents,  associating  it 
with  all  whom  he  reveres,  and  too  famil- 
iar with  its  evils  to  see  and  feel  their 
magnitude,  can  hardly  be  expected  to 
look  on  slavery  as  it  appears  to  more 
impartial  and  distant  observers.  Let  it 
not  be  said  that,  when  new  light  is 
offered  him,  he  is  criminal  in  rejecting 
it.  Are  we  all  willing  to  receive  new 
light  ? Can  we  wonder  that  such  a man 
should  be  slow  to  be  convinced  of  the 
criminality  of  an  abuse  sanctioned  by 
prescription,  and  which  has  so  inter- 
woven itself  with  all  the  habits,  employ- 
ments, and  economy  of  life,  that  he  can 
hardly  conceive  of  the  existence  of  soci- 
ety without  this  all-pervading  element  ? 
May  he  not  be  true  to  his  convictions  of 
duty  in  other  relations,  though  he  griev- 
ously err  in  this  ? If,  indeed,  through 
cupidity  and  selfishness,  he  stifle  the 


monitions  of  conscience,  warp  his  judg- 
ment, and  repel  the  light,  he  incurs  great 
guilt.  If  he  want  virtue  to  resolve  on 
doing  right,  though  at  the  loss  of  every 
slave,  he  incurs  great  guilt.  But  who  of 
us  can  look  into  his  heart  ? To  whom 
are  the  secret  workings  there  revealed  ? 

Still  more.  There  are  masters  who 
have  thrown  off  the  natural  prejudices 
of  their  position,  who  see  slavery  as  it 
is,  and  who  hold  the  slave  chiefly,  if  not 
wholly,  from  disinterested  considera- 
tions ; and  these '•deserve  great  praise. 
They  deplore  and  abhor  the  institution ; 
but  believing  that  partial  emancipation, 
in  the  present  condition  of  society, 
would  bring  unmixed  evil  on  bond  and 
free,  they  think  themselves  bound  to 
continue  the  relation,  until  it  shall  be 
dissolved  by  comprehensive  and  system- 
atic measures  of  the  state.  There  are 
many  of  them  who  would  shudder  as 
much  as  we  at  reducing  a freeman  to 
bondage,  but  who  are  appalled  by  what 
seem  to  them  the  perils  and  difficulties 
of  liberating  multitudes,  born  and  brought 
up  to  that  condition.  There  are  many 
who,  nominally  holding  the  slave  as 
property,  still  hold  him  for  his  own  good, 
and  for  the  public  order,  and  would 
blush  to  retain  him  on  other  grounds. 
Are  such  men  to  be  set  down  among  the 
unprincipled  ? Am  I told  that  by  these 
remarks  I extenuate  slavery  ? I reply, 
slavery  is  still  a heavy  yoke,  and  strips 
man  of  his  dearest  rights,  be  the  mas- 
ter’s character  what  it  may.  Slavery  is 
not  less  a curse  because  long  use  may 
have  blinded  most  who  support  it  to  its 
evils.  Its  influence  is  still  blighting, 
though  conscientiously  upheld.  Abso- 
lute monarchy  is  still  a scourge,  though 
among  despots  there  have  been  good 
men.  It  is  possible  to  abhor  and  oppose 
bad  institutions,  and  yet  to  abstain  from 
indiscriminate  condemnation  of  those 
who  cling  to  them,  and  even  to  see  in 
their  ranks  greater  virtue  than  in  our- 
selves. It  is  true,  and  ought  to  be 
cheerfully  acknowledged,  that  in  the 
slave-holding  States  may  be  found  some 
of  the  greatest  names  of  our  history,  and, 
what  is  still  more  important,  bright  ex- 
amples of  private  virtue  and  Christian 
love. 

There  is,  however,  there  must  be,  in 
slave-holding  communities,  a large  class 
which  cannot  be  too  severely  con- 
demned. There  are  many  — we  fear, 


SLA  VERY. 


706 

very  many  — who  hold  their  fellow- 
creatures  in  bondage  from  selfish,  base 
motives.  They  hold  the  slave  for  gain, 
whether  justly  or  unjustly,  they  neither 
ask  nor  care.  They  cling  to  him  as 
property,  and  have  no  faith  in  the  prin- 
ciples which  will  diminish  a man’s 
wealth.  They  hold  him,  not  for  his 
own  good,  or  the  safety  of  the  state,  but 
with  precisely  the  same  views  with  which 
they  hold  a laboring  horse,  that  is,  for 
the  profit  which  they  can  wring  from 
him.  They  will  not  hear  a word  of  his 
wrongs  ; for,  wronged  or  not,  they  will 
not  let  him  go.  He  is  their  property, 
and  they  mean  not  to  be  poor  for  right- 
eousness’ sake.  Such  a class  there  un- 
doubtedly is  among  slave-holders  ; how 
large,  their  own  consciences  must  deter- 
mine. We  are  sure  of  it ; for,  under 
such  circumstances,  human  nature  will 
and  must  come  to  this  mournful  result. 
Now,  to  men  of  this  spirit,  the  explana- 
tions we  have  made  do  in  no  degree 
apply.  Such  men  ought  to  tremble 
before  the  rebukes  of  outraged  human- 
ity and  indignant  virtue.  Slavery  upheld 
for  gain  is  a great  crime.  He  who  has 
nothing  to  urge  against  emancipation, 
but  that  it  will  make  him  poorer,  is 
bound  to  immediate  emancipation.  He 
has  no  excuse  for  wresting  from  his 
brethren  their  rights.  The  plea  of  ben- 
efit to  the  slave  and  the  state  avails  him 
nothing.  He  extorts  by  the  lash  that 
labor  to  which  he  has  no  claim,  through 
a base  selfishness.  Every  morsel  of 
food  thus  forced  from  the  injured  ought 
to  be  bitterer  than  gall.  His  gold  is 
cankered.  The  sweat  of  the  slave  taints 
the  luxuries  for  which  it  streams.  Bet- 
ter were  it  for  the  selfish  wrong-doer,  of 
whom  I speak,  to  live  as  the  slave,  to 
clothe  himself  in  the  slave’s  raiment,  to 
eat  the  slave’s  coarse  food,  to  till  his 
fields  with  his  own  hands,  than  to  pam- 
per himself  by  day,  and  pillow  his  head 
on  down  at  night,  at  the  cost  of  a wan- 
tonly injured  fellow-creature.  No  fel- 
low-creature can  be  so  injured  without 
taking  terrible  vengeance.  He  is  terribly 
avenged  even  now.  The  blight  which 
falls  on  the  soul  of  the  wrong-doer,  the 
desolation  of  his  moral  nature,  is  a more 
terrible  calamity  than  he  inflicts.  In 
deadening  his  moral  feelings,  he  dies  to 
the  proper  happiness  of  a man.  In 
hardening  his  heart  against  his  fellow- 
creatures,  he  sears  it  to  all  true  joy.  In 


shutting  his  ear  against  the  voice  of  jus- 
tice, he  shuts  out  all  the  harmonies  of 
the  universe,  and  turns  the  voice  of  God 
within  him  into  rebuke.  He  may  pros- 
per, indeed,  and  hold  faster  the  slave  by 
whom  he  prospers  ; but  he  rivets  heav- 
ier and  more  ignominious  chains  on  his 
own  soul  than  he  lays  on  others.  No 
punishment  is  so  terrible  as  prosperous 
guilt.  No  fiend,  exhausting  on  us  all 
his  power  of  torture,  is  so  fearful  as  an 
oppressed  fellow-creature.  The  cry  of 
the  oppressed,  unheard  on  earth,  is  heard 
in  heaven.  God  is  just ; and  if  justice 
reign,  then  the  unjust  must  terribly  suf- 
fer. Then  no  being  can  profit  by  evil- 
doing.  Then  all  the  laws  of  the  uni- 
verse are  ordinances  against  guilt. 
Then  every  enjoyment  gained  by  wrong- 
doing will  be  turned  into  a curse.  No 
laws  of  nature  are  so  irrepealable  as  that 
law  which  binds  guilt  and  misery.  God 
is  just.  Then  all  the  defences  which 
the  oppressor  rears  against  the  conse- 
quences of  wrong-doing  are  vain,  — as 
vain  as  would  be  his  strivings  to  arrest 
by  his  single  arm  the  ocean  or  whirl- 
wind. He  may  disarm  the  slave.  Can 
he  disarm  that  slave's  Creator  ? He  can 
crush  the  spirit  of  insurrection  in  a 
fellow-being.  Can  he  crush  the  awful 
spirit  of  justice  and  retribution  in  the 
Almighty  ? He  can  still  the  murmur  of 
discontent  in  his  victim.  Can  he  silence 
that  voice  which  speaks  in  thunder,  and 
is  to  break  the  sleep  of  the  grave  ? Can 
he  always  still  the  reproving,  avenging 
voice  in  his  own  breast  ? 

I know  it  will  be  said,  “You  would 
make  us  poor.”  Be  poor,  then,  and 
thank  God  for  your  honest  poverty. 
Better  be  poor  than  unjust.  Better  beg 
than  steal.  Better  live  in  an  almshouse 
— better  die  — than  trample  on  a fellow- 
creature  and  reduce  him  to  a brute  for 
selfish  gratification.  What!  Have  we 
yet  to  learn  that  “it  profits  us  nothing 
to  gain  the  whole  world,  and  lose  our 
souls  ? ” 

Let  it  not  be  replied,  in  scorn,  that 
we  of  the  North,  notorious  for  love  of 
money,  and  given  to  selfish  calculation, 
are  not  the  people  to  call  others  to  re- 
sign their  wealth.  I have  no  desire  to 
shield  the  North  ; though  I might  say, 
with  truth,  that  a community  more  gen- 
erally controlled  by  the  principles  of 
morality  and  religion  cannot  be  found. 
We  have,  without  doubt,  a great  multi- 


SLA  VERY. 


707 


tude  who,  were  they  slave-holders,  would 
sooner  die  than  relax  their  iron  grasp, 
than  yield  their  property  in  men  to  jus- 
tice and  the  commands  of  God.  We 
have  those  who  would  fight  against  abo- 
lition, if  by  this  measure  the  profit  of 
their  intercourse  with  the  South  should 
be  materially  impaired.  The  present 
excitement  among  us  is,  in  part,  the 
working  of  mercenary  principles.  But 
because  the  North  joins  hands  with  the 
South,  shall  iniquity  go  unpunished  or 
unrebuked  ? Can  the  league  of  the 
wicked,  the  revolt  of  worlds,  repeal  the 
everlasting  law  of  heaven  and  earth  ? 
Has  God’s  throne  fallen  before  Mam- 
mon’s ? Must  duty  find  no  voice,  no 
organ,  because  corruption  is  universally 
diffused  ? Is  not  this  a fresh  motive  to 
solemn  warning,  that,  everywhere,  north- 
ward and  southward,  the  rights  of  human 
beings  are  held  so  cheap,  in  comparison 
with  worldly  gain? 


Chapter  IV. 

The  Evils  of  Slavery. 

The  subject  of  this  section  is  painful 
and  repulsive.  We  must  not,  however, 
turn  away  from  the  contemplation  of 
human  sufferings  and  guilt.  Evil  is 
permitted  by  the  Creator  that  we  should 
strive  against  it,  in  faith,  and  hope,  and 
charity.  We  must  never  quail  before  it 
because  of  its  extent  and  duration,  never 
feel  as  if  its  power  were  greater  than 
that  of  goodness.  It  is  meant  to  call 
forth  deep  sympathy  with  human  nature, 
and  unwearied  sacrifices  for  human  re- 
demption. One  great  part  of  the  mission 
of  every  man  on  earth  is  to  contend  with 
evil  in  some  of  its  forms  ; and- there  are 
some  evils  so  dependent,  on  opinion,  that 
every  man,  in  judging  and  reproving 
them  faithfully,  does  something  towards 
their  removal.  Let  us  not,  then,  shrink 
from  the  contemplation  of  human  suffer- 
ings. Even  sympathy,  if  we  have  noth- 
ing more  to  offer,  is  a tribute  acceptable 
to  the  Universal  Father.  On  this  topic, 
exaggeration  should  be  conscientiously 
shunned  ; and,  at  the  same  time,  hu- 
manity requires  that  the  whole  truth 
should  be  honestly  spoken. 

In  treating  of  the  evils  of  slavery,  I, 
of  course,  speak  of  its  general,  not  uni- 
versal effects,  of  its  natural  tendencies, 
not  unfailing  results.  There  are  the 


same  natural  differences  among  the 
bond  as  the  free,  and  there  is  a great 
diversity  in  the  circumstances  in  which 
they  are  placed.  The  house-slave,  se- 
lected for  ability  and  faithfulness,  placed 
amidst  the  habits,  accommodations,  and 
improvements  of  civilized  life,  admitted 
to  a degree  of  confidence  and  familiarity, 
and  requiting  these  privileges  with  at- 
tachment, is  almost  necessarily  more 
enlightened  and  respectable  than  the 
field-slave,  who  is  confined  to  monoto- 
nous toils,  and  to  the  society  and  influ- 
ences of  beings  as  degraded  as  himself. 
The  mechanics  in  this  class  are  sensibly 
benefited  by  occupations  which  give  a 
higher  action  to  the  mind.  Among  the 
bond,  as  the  free,  will  be  found  those  to 
whom  nature  seems  partial,  and  who  are 
carried  almost  instinctively  towards  what 
is  good.  I speak  of  the  natural,  general 
influences  of  slavery.  Here,  as  every- 
where else,  there  are  exceptions  to  the 
rule,  and  exceptions  which  multiply  with 
the  moral  improvements  of  the  commu- 
nity in  which  the  slave  is  found.  But 
these  do  not  determine  the  general  char- 
acter of  the  institution.  It  has  general 
tendencies,  founded  in  its  very  nature, 
and  which  predominate  vastly  wherever 
it  exists.  These  tendencies  it  is  my 
present  purpose  to  unfold. 

1.  The  first  rank  among  the  evils  of 
slavery  must  be  given  to  its  moral  in- 
fluence. This  is  throughout  debasing. 
Common  language  teaches  this.  We  can 
say  nothing  more  insulting  of  another 
than  that  he  is  slavish.  To  possess  the 
spirit  of  a slave  is  to  have  sunk  to  the 
lowest  depths*  We  can  apply  to  slavery 
no  worse  name  than  its  own.  Men  have 
always  shrunk  instinctively  from  this 
state  as  the  most  degraded.  No  pun- 
ishment, save  death,  has  been  more 
dreaded,  and  to  avoid  it  death  has  often 
been  endured. 

In  expressing  the  moral  influence  of 
slavery,  the  first  and  most  obvious  re- 
mark is,  that  it  destroys  the  proper  con- 
sciousness and  spirit  of  a man.  The 
slave,  regarded  and  treated  as  property, 
bought  and  sold  like  a brute,  denied  the 
rights  of  humanity,  unprotected  against 
insult,  made  a tool,  and  systematically 
subdued,  that  he  may  be  a manageable, 
useful  tool,  how  can  he  help  regarding 
himself  as  fallen  below  his  race  ? How 
must  his  spirit  be  crushed  ! How  can 
he  respect  himself  ? He  becomes  bowed 


SLA  VERY. 


708 

to  servility.  This  word,  borrowed  from 
his  condition,  expresses  the  ruin  wrought 
by  slavery  within  him.  The  idea  that  he 
was  made  for  his  own  virtue  and  happi- 
ness, scarcely  dawns  on  his  mind.  To 
be  an  instrument  of  the  physical,  mate- 
rial good  of  another,  whose  will  is  his 
highest  law,  he  is  taught  to  regard  as 
the  great  purpose  of  his  being.  Here 
lies  the  evil  of  slavery.  Its  whips,  im- 
prisonments, and  even  the  horrors  of 
the  middle  passage  from  Africa  to 
America,  these  are  not  to  be  named 
in  comparison  with  this  extinction  of 
the  proper  consciousness  of  a human 
being,  with  the  degradation  of  a man 
into  a brute. 

It  may  be  said  that  the  slave  is  used 
to  his  yoke  ; that  his  sensibilities  are 
blunted ; that  he  receives,  without  a 
pang  or  a thought,  the  treatment  which 
would  sting  other  men  to  madness.  And 
to  what  does  this  apology  amount  ? It 
virtually  declares  that  slavery  has  done  its 
perfect  work,  has  quenched  the  spirit  of 
humanity,  that  the  man  is  dead  within  the 
slave.  Is  slavery,  therefore,  no  wrong? 
It  is  not,  however,  true  that  this  work 
of  debasement  is  ever  so  effectually 
done  as  to  extinguish  all  feeling.  Man 
is  too  great  a creature  to  be  wholly 
ruined  by  man.  When  he  seems  dead, 
he  only  sleeps.  There  are  occasionally 
some  sullen  murmurs  in  the  calm  of  sla- 
very, showing  that  life  still  beats  in  the 
soul,  that  the  idea  of  rights  cannot  be 
wholly  effaced  from  the  human  being. 

It  would  be  too  painful,  and  it  is  not 
needed,  to  detail  the  processes  by  which 
the  spirit  is  broken  in  slavery.  I refer 
to  one  only,  — the  selling  of  slaves.  The 
practice  of  exposing  fellow-creatures  for 
sale,  of  having  markets  for  men  as  for 
cattle,  of  examining  the  limbs  and  mus- 
cles of  a man  and  a woman  as  of  a brute, 
of  putting  human  beings  under  the  ham- 
mer of  an  auctioneer,  and  delivering 
them,  like  any  other  articles  of  merchan- 
dise, to  the  highest  bidder,  — all  this  is 
such  an  insult  to  our  common  nature, 
and  so  infinitely  degrading  to  the  poor 
victim,  that  it  is  hard  to  conceive  of  its 
existence,  except  in  a barbarous  coun- 
try. 

That  slavery  should  be  most  unpro- 
pitious  to  the  slave,  as  a moral  being, 
will  be  farther  apparent  if  we  consider 
that  his  condition  is,  throughout,  a wrong, 
and  that  consequently  it  must  tend  to 


unsettle  all  his  notions  of  duty.  The 
violation  of  his  own  rights,  to  which  he 
is  inured  from  birth,  must  throw  confu- 
sion over  his  ideas  of  all  human  rights. 
He  cannot  comprehend  them  ; or,  if  he 
does, ‘how  can  he  respect  them,  seeing 
them,  as  he  does,  perpetually  trampled 
on  in  his  own  person  ? The  injury  to  the 
character,  from  living  in  an  atmosphere 
of  wrong,  we  can  all  understand.  To  live 
in  a state  of  society  of  which  injustice  is 
the  chief  and  all-pervading  element,  is 
too  severe  a trial  for  human  nature,  es- 
pecially when  no  means  are  used  to 
counteract  its  influence. 

Accordingly,  the  most  common  dis^ 
tinctions  of  morality  are  faintly  ap- 
prehended by  the  slave.  Respect  for 
property,  that  fundamental  law  of  civil 
society,  can  hardly  be  instilled  into  him. 
His  dishonesty  is  proverbial.  Theft 
from  his  master  passes  with  him  for  no 
crime.  A system  of  force  is  generally 
found  to  drive  to  fraud.  How  necessa- 
rily will  this  be  the  result  of  a relation 
in  which  force  is  used  to  extort  from 
a man  his  labor,  his  natural  property, 
without  any  attempt  to  win  his  consent ! 
Can  we  wonder  that  the  uneducated  con- 
science of  the  man  who  is  daily  wronged 
should  allow  him  in  reprisals  to  the  ex- 
tent of  his  power  ? Thus  the  primary 
social  virtue,  justice,  is  undermined  in 
the  slave. 

That  the  slave  should  yield  himself 
to  intemperance,  licentiousness,  and,  in 
general,  to  sensual  excess,  we  must  also 
expect.  Doomed  to  live  for  the  physical 
indulgences,  of  others,  unused  to  any 
pleasures  but  those  of  sense,  stripped 
of  self-respect,  and  having  nothing  to 
gain  in  life,  how  can  he  be  expected  to 
govern  himself?  How  naturally,  I had 
almost  said  necessarily,  does  he  become 
the  creature  of  sensation,  of  passion,  of 
the  present  moment ! What  aid  does 
the  future  give  him  in  withstanding  de- 
sire ? That  better  condition,  for  which 
other  men  postpone  the  cravings  of  ap- 
petite, never  opens  before  him.  The 
sense  of  character,  the  power  of  opin- 
ion, another  restraint  on  the  free,  can 
do  little  or  nothing  to  rescue  so  abject 
a class  from  excess  and  debasement. 
In  truth,  power  over  himself  is  the  last 
virtue  we  should  expect  in  the  slave, 
when  we  think  of  him  as  subjected  to 
absolute  power,  and  made  to  move  pas- 
sively from  the  impulse  of  a foreign  will. 


SLAVERY. 


709 


He  is  trained  to  cowardice,  and  coward- 
ice links  itself  naturally  with  low  vices. 
Idleness,  to  his  apprehension,  is  para- 
dise, for  he  works  without  hope  of  re- 
ward. Thus  slavery  robs  him  of  moral 
force,  and  prepares  him  to  fall  a prey  to 
appetite  and  passion. 

That  the  slave  finds  in  his  condition 
little  nutriment  for  the  social  virtues  we 
shall  easily  understand,  if  we  consider 
that  his  chief  relations  are  to  an  abso- 
lute master,  and  to  the  companions  of 
his  degrading  bondage  ; that  is,  to  a 
being  who  wrongs  him,  and  to  associates 
whom  he  cannot  honor,  whom  he  sees 
debased.  His  dependence  on  his  owner 
loosens  his  ties  to  all  other  beings.  He 
has  no  country  to  love,  no  family  to  call 
his  own,  no  objects  of  public  utility  to 
espouse,  no  impulse  to  generous  exer- 
tion. The  relations,  dependences,  and 
responsibilities,  by  which  Providence 
forms  the  soul  to  a deep,  disinterested 
love,  are  almost  struck  out  of  his  lot. 
An  arbitrary  rule,  a foreign,  irresistible 
will,  taking  him  out  of  his  own  hands,  and 
placing  him  beyond  the  natural  influ- 
ences of  society,  extinguishes  in  a great 
degree  the  sense  of  what  is  due  to  him- 
self and  to  the  human  family  around 
him. 

The  effects  of  slavery  on  the  charac- 
ter are  so  various  that  this  part  of  the 
discussion  might  be  greatly  extended ; 
but  I will  touch  only  on  one  topic.  Let 
us  turn  for  a moment  to  the  great  mo- 
tive by  which  the  slave  is  made  to  labor. 
Labor,  in  one  form  or  another,  is  ap- 
pointed by  God  for  man’s  improvement 
and  happiness,  and  absorbs  the  chief 
part  of  human  life,  so  that  the  motive 
which  excites  to  it  has  immense  influ- 
ence on  character.  It  determines  very 
much  whether  life  shall  serve  or  fail  of 
its  end.  The  man  who  works  from  hon- 
orable motives,  from  domestic  affec- 
tions, from  desire  of  a condition  which 
will  open  to  him  greater  happiness  and 
usefulness,  finds  in  labor  an  exercise 
and  invigoration  of  virtue.  The  day- 
laborer,  who  earns,  with  horny  hand  and 
the  sweat  of  his  face,  coarse  food  for  a 
wife  and  children  whom  he  loves,  is 
raised,  by  this  generous  motive,  to  true 
dignity  ; and,  though  wanting  the  refine- 
ments of  life,  is  a nobler  being  than 
those  who  think  themselves  absolved  by 
wealth  from  serving  others.  Now,  the 
slave’s  labor  brings  no  dignity,  is  an  ex- 


ercise of  no  virtue,  but  throughout  a 
degradation ; so  that  one  of  God’s  chief 
provisions  for  human  improvement  be- 
comes a curse.  The  motive  from  which 
he  acts  debases  him.  It  is  the  whip. 
It  is  corporal  punishment.  It  is  phys- 
ical pain  inflicted  by  a fellow-creature. 
Undoubtedly  labor  is  mitigated  to  the 
slave,  as  to  ‘all  men,  by  habit.  But  this 
is  not  the  motive.  Take  away  the  whip, 
and  he  would  be  idle.  His  labor  brings 
no  new  comforts  to  wife  or  child.  The 
motive  which  spurs  him  is  one  by  which 
it  is  base  to  be  swayed.  Stripes  are, 
indeed,  resorted  to  by  civil  government, 
when  no  other  consideration  will  deter 
from  crime ; but  he  who  is  deterred 
from  wrong-doing  by  the  whipping-post 
is  among  the  most  fallen  of  his  race. 
To  work  in  sight  of  the  whip,  under 
menace  of  blows,  is  to  be  exposed  to 
perpetual  insult  and  degrading  influ- 
ences. Every  motion  of  the  limbs,  which 
such  a menace  urges,  is  a wound  to  the 
soul.  How  hard  must  it  be  for  a man 
who  lives  under  the  lash  to  respect  him- 
self ! When  this  motive  is  substituted 
for  all  the  nobler  ones  which  God  or- 
dains, is  it  not  almost  necessarily  death 
to  the  better  and  higher  sentiments  of 
our  nature  ? It  is  the  part  of  a man  to 
despise  pain  in  comparison  with  dis- 
grace, to  meet  it  fearlessly  in  well-doing, 
to  perform  the  work  of  life  from  other 
impulses.  It  is  the  part  of  a brute  to 
be  governed  by  the  whip.  Even  the 
brute  is  seen  to  act  from  more  generous 
incitements.  The  horse  of  a noble 
breed  will  not  endure  the  lash.  Shall 
we  sink  man  below  the  horse  ? 

Let  it  not  be  said  that  blows  are  sel- 
dom inflicted.  Be  it  so.  We  are  glad 
to  know  it.  But  this  is  not  the  point. 
The  complaint  now  urged  is  not  of  the 
amount  of  the  pain  inflicted,  but  of  its 
influence  on  the  character  when  made 
the  great  motive  to  human  labor.  It  is 
not  the  endurance,  but  the  dread  of  the 
whip,  — it  is  the  substitution  of  this  for 
natural  and  honorable  motives  to  action, 
which  we  abhor  and  condemn.  It  mat- 
ters not  whether  few  or  many  are 
whipped.  A blow  given  to  a single 
slave  is  a stripe  on  the  souls  of  all  who 
see  or  hear  it.  It  makes  all  abject,  ser- 
vile. It  is  not  the  wound  given  to  the 
flesh  of  which  we  now  complain.  Scar 
the  back,  and  you  have  done  nothing 
compared  with  the  wrong  done  to  the 


7io 


SLA  VERY, 


soul.  You  have  either  stung  that  soul 
with  infernal  passions,  with  thirst  for 
revenge,  or,  what  perhaps  is  more  dis- 
couraging, you  have  broken  and  brutal- 
ized it.  The  human  spirit  has  perished 
under  your  hands,  as  far  as  it  can  be 
destroyed  by  human  force. 

I know  it  is  sometimes  said,  in  reply 
to  these  remarks,  that  all  men,  as  well 
as  slaves,  act  from  necessity ; that  we 
have  masters  in  hunger  and  thirst ; that 
no  man  loves  labor  for  itself  ; that  the 
pains  which  are  inflicted  on  us  by  the 
laws  of  nature,  the  elements  and  sea- 
sons, are  so  many  lashes  driving  us  to 
our  daily  task.  Be  it  so.  Still  the  two 
cases  are  essentially  different.  The 
necessity  laid  on  us  by  natural  wants  is 
most  kindly  in  its  purpose.  It  is  meant 
to  awaken  all  our  faculties,  to  give  full 
play  to  body  and  mind,  and  thus  to 
give  us  a new  consciousness  of  the 
powers  derived  to  us  from  God.  We 
are,  indeed,  subjected  to  a stern  nature  ; 
we  are  placed  amidst  warring  elements, 
scorching  heat,  withering  cold,  storms, 
blights,  sickness,  death.  And  what  is 
the  design  ? To  call  forth  our  powers, 
to  lay  on  us  great  duties,  to  make  us 
nobler  beings.  We  are  placed  in  the 
midst  of  a warring  nature,  not  to  yield  to 
it,  not  to  be  its  slaves,  but  to  conquer  it, 
to  make  it  the  monument  of  our  skill 
and  strength,  to  arm  ourselves  with  its 
elements,  its  heat,  winds,  vapors,  and 
mineral  treasures,  to  find,  in  its  pain- 
ful changes,  occasions  and  incitements 
to  invention,  courage,  endurance,  mut- 
ual and  endearing  dependences,  and 
religious  trust.  The  development  of 
human  nature,  in  all  its  powers  and 
affections,  is  the  end  of  that  hard  neces- 
sity which  is  laid  on  us  by  nature.  Is 
this  one  and  the  same  thing  with  the 
whip  laid  on  the  slave  ? Still  more  ; it 
is  the  design  of  nature  that,  by  energy, 
skill,  and  self-denial,  we  should  so  far 
anticipate  our  wants,  or  accumulate 
supplies,  as  to  be  able  to  diminish  the 
toil  of  the  hands,  and  to  mix  with  it 
more  intellectual  and  liberal  occupa- 
tions. Nature  does  not  lay  on  us  an 
unchangeable  task,  but  one  which  we 
may  all  lighten  by  honest,  self-denying 
industry.  Thus  she  invites  us  to  throw 
off  her  yoke,  and  to  make  her  our  ser- 
vant. Is  this  the  invitation  which  the 
master  gives  his  slaves  ? Is  it  his  aim 
to  awaken  the  powers  of  those  on  whom 


he  lays  his  burdens,  and  to  give  them 
increasing  mastery  over  himself?  Is  it 
not  his  aim  to  curb  their  wills,  break 
their  spirits,  and  shut  them  up  for  ever 
in  the  same  narrow  and  degrading  work  ? 
Oh,  let  not  nature  be  profaned,  let  not 
her  parental  rule  be  blasphemed,  by 
comparing  with  her  the  slave-holder  ! 

2.  Having  considered  the  moral  influ- 
ence of  slavery,  I proceed  to  consider  its 
intellectual  influence,  — another  great 
topic.  God  gave  us  intellectual  power 
that  it  should  be  cultivated  ; and  a sys- 
tem which  degrades  it,  and  can  only  be 
upheld  by  its  depression,  opposes  one 
of  his  most  benevolent  designs.  Reason 
is  God’s  image  in  man,  and  the  capacity 
of  acquiring  truth  is  among  his  best 
aspirations.  To  call  forth  the  intellect 
is  a principal  purpose  of  the  circum- 
stances in  which  we  are  placed,  of  the 
child’s  connection  with  the  parent,  and 
of  the  necessity  laid  on  him  in  maturer 
life  to  provide  for  himself  and  others. 
The  education  of  the  intellect  is  not 
confined  to  youth  ; but  the  various  ex- 
perience of  later  years  does  vastly  more 
than  books  and  colleges  to  ripen  and 
invigorate  the  faculties. 

Now,  the  whole  lot  of  the  slave  is 
fitted  to  keep  his  mind  in  childhood 
and  bondage.  Though  living  in  a land 
of  light,  few  beams  find  their  way  to 
his  benighted  understanding.  No  par- 
ent feels  the  duty  of  instructing  him. 
No  teacher  is  provided  for  him  but  the 
driver,  who  breaks  him,  almost  in  child- 
hood, to  the  servile  tasks  which  are  to 
fill  up  his  life.  No  book  is  opened  to 
his  youthful  curiosity.  As  he  advances 
in  years,  no  new  excitements  supply  the 
place  of  teachers.  He  is  not  cast  on 
himself,  — made  to  depend  on  his  own 
energies.  No  stirring  prizes  in  life 
awaken  his  dormant  faculties.  Fed  and 
clothed  by  others  like  a child,  directed 
in  every  step,  doomed  for  life  to  a mo- 
notonous round  of  labor,  he  lives  and 
dies  without  a spring  to  his  powers, 
often  brutally  unconscious  of  his  spirit- 
ual nature.  Nor  is  this  all.  When  be- 
nevolence would  approach  him  with 
instruction,  it  is  repelled.  He  is  not 
allowed  to  be  taught.  The  light  is 
jealously  barred  out.  The  voice,  which 
would  speak  to  him  as  a man,  is  put  to 
silence.  He  must  not  even  be  enabled 
to  read  the  word  of  God.  His  immortal 
spirit  is  systematically  crushed. 


SLA  VERY. 


It  is  said,  I know,  that  the  ignorance 
of  the  slave  is  necessary  to  the  security 
of  the  master,  and  the  quiet  of  the 
state;  and  this  is  said  truly.  Slavery., 
and  knowledge  cannot  live  together. 
To  enlighten  the  slave  is  to  break  his 
chain.  To  make  him  harmless,  he  must 
be  kept  blind.  He  cannot  be  left  to 
read,  in  an  enlightened  age,  without  en- 
dangering his  master ; for  what  can  he 
read  which  will  not  give  at  least  some 
hint  of  his  wrongs  ? Should  his  eye 
chance  to  fall  on  the  “ Declaration  of 
Independence,”  how  would  the  truth 
glare  on  him  that  “ All  men  are  born 
free  and  equal ! ” All  knowledge  fur- 
nishes arguments  against  slavery.  From 
every  subject,  light  would  break  forth 
to  reveal  his  inalienable  and  outraged 
rights.  The  very  exercise  of  his  intel- 
lect would  give  him  the  consciousness 
of  being  made  for  something  more  than 
a slave.  I agree  to  the  necessity  laid 
on  his  master  to  keep  him  in  darkness. 
And  what  stronger  argument  against 
slavery  can  be  conceived?  It  compels 
the  master  to  degrade  systematically 
the  mind  of  the  slave  ; to  war  against 
human  intelligence  ; to  resist  that  im- 
provement which  is  the  end  of  the 
Creator.  “ Woe  to  him  that  taketh 
away  the  key  of  knowledge  ! ” To  kill 
the  body  is  a great  crime.  The  spirit 
we  cannot  kill,  but  we  can  bury  it  in 
death-like  lethargy  ; and  is  this  a light 
crime  in  the  sight  of  its  Maker  ? 

Let  it  not  be  said  that  almost  every- 
where the  laboring  classes  are  doomed 
to  ignorance,  deprived  of  the  means  of 
instruction.  The  intellectual  advan- 
tages of  the  laboring  freeman,  who  is 
intrusted  with  the  care  of  himself,  raise 
him  far  above  the  slave  ; and,  accord- 
ingly, superior  minds  are  constantly  seen 
to  issue  from  the  less  educated  classes. 
Besides,  in  free  communities,  philan- 
thropy is  not  forbidden  to  labor  for  the 
improvement  of  the  ignorant.  The  ob- 
ligation of  the  prosperous  and  instruct- 
ed to  elevate  their  less  favored  brethren 
is  taught,  and  not  taught  in  vain.  Be- 
nevolence is  making  perpetual  encroach- 
ments on  the  domain  of  ignorance  and 
crime.  In  communities,  on  the  other 
hand,  cursed  with  slavery,  half  the  pop- 
ulation, sometimes  more,  are  given  up, 
intentionally  and  systematically,  to  hope- 
less ignorance.  To  raise  this  mass  to 
intelligence  and  self-government  is  a 


7 ii 

crime.  The  sentence  of  perpetual  deg- 
radation is  passed  on  a large  portion  of 
the  human  race.  In  this  view,  how 
great  the  ill-desert  of  slavery ! 

3.  I proceed  now  to  the  domestic  in- 
fluences of  slavery  ; and  here  we  must 
look  for  a dark  picture.  Slavery  virtu- 
ally dissolves  the  domestic  relations. 
It  ruptures  the  most  sacred  ties  on 
earth.  It  violates  home.  It  lacerates 
the  best  affections.  The  domestic  rela- 
tions precede,  and,  in  our  present  exist- 
ence, are  worth  more  than  all  our  other 
social  ties.  They  give  the  first  throb  to 
the  heart,  and  unseal  the  deep  fountains 
of  its  love.  Home  is  the  chief  school  of 
human  virtue.  Its  responsibilities,  joys, 
sorrows,  smiles,  tears,  hopes,  and  solici- 
tudes, form  the  chief  interests  of  human 
life.  Go  where  a man  may,  home  is  the 
centre  to  which  his  heart  turns.  The 
thought  of  his  home  nerves  his  arm  and 
lightens  his  toil.  For  that  his  heart 
yearns,  when  he  is  far  off.  There  he 
garners  up  his  best  treasures.  God  has 
ordained  for  all  men  alike  the  highest 
earthly  happiness,  in  providing  for  all 
the  sanctuary  of  home.  But  the  slave’s 
home  does  not  merit  the  name.  To  him 
it  is  no  sanctuary.  It  is  open  to  viola- 
tion, insult,  outrage.  His  children  be- 
long to  another,  are  provided  for  by 
another,  are  disposed  of  by  another. 
The  most  precious  burden  with  which 
the  heart  can  be  charged — the  happi- 
ness of  his  child  — he  must  not  bear. 
He  lives  not  for  his  family,  but  for  a 
stranger.  He  cannot  improve  their  lot. 
His  wife  and  daughter  he  cannot  shield 
from  insult.  They  may  be  torn  from 
him  at  another’s  pleasure,  sold  as  beasts 
of  burden,  sent  he  knows  not  whither, 
sent  where  he  cannot  reach  them,  or 
even  interchange  inquiries  and  messages 
of  love.  To  the  slave,  marriage  has  no 
sanctity.  It  may  be  dissolved  in  a 
moment  at  another’s  will.  His  wife, 
son,  and  daughter  may  be  lashed  be- 
fore his  eyes,  and  not  a finger  must  be 
lifted  in  their  defence.  He  sees  the  scar 
of  the  lash  on  his  wife  and  child.  Thus 
the  slave’s  home  is  desecrated.  Thus 
the  tenderest  relations,  intended  by  God 
equally  for  all,  and  intended  to  be  the 
chief  springs  of  happiness  and  virtue, 
are  sported  with  wantonly  and  cruelly. 
What  outrage  so  great  as  to  enter  a 
man’s  house,  and  tear  from  his  side  the 
beings  whom  God  has  bound  to  him  by 


712 


SLA  VERY, 


the  holiest  ties  ? Every  man  can  make 
the  case  his  own.  Every  mother  can 
bring  it  home  to  her  own  heart. 

And  let  it  not  be  said  that  the  slave 
has  not  the  sensibilities  of  other  men. 
Nature  is  too  strong  even  for  slavery  to 
conquer.  Even  the  brute  has  the  yearn- 
ings of  parental  love.  But  suppose  that 
the  conjugal  and  parental  ties  of  the 
slave  may  be  severed  without  a pang. 
What  a curse  must  be  slavery,  if  it  can 
so  blight  the  heart  with  more  than  brutal 
insensibility,  if  it  can  sink  the  human 
mother  below  the  Polar  she-bear,  which 
“ howls  and  dies  for  her  sundered  cub  ! ” 
But  it  does  not  and  cannot  turn  the  slave 
to  stone.  It  leaves,  at  least,  feeling 
enough  to  make  these  domestic  wrongs 
occasions  of  frequent  and  deep  suffer- 
ing. Still  it  must  do  much  to  quench 
the  natural  affections.  Can  the  wife, 
who  has  been  brought  up  under  influ- 
ences most  unfriendly  to  female  purity 
and  honor,  who  is  exposed  to  the  whip, 
who  may  be  torn  away  at  her  master’s 
will,  and  whose  support  and  protection 
are  not  committed  to  a husband’s  faith- 
fulness, — can  such  a wife,  if  the  name 
may  be  given  her,  be  loved  and  honored 
as  a woman  should  be  ? Or  can  the  love 
which  should  bind  together  man  and  his 
offspring  be  expected  under  an  institu- 
tion which  subverts,  in  a great  degree, 
filial  dependence  and  parental  authority 
and  care  ? Slavery  withers  the  affec- 
tions and  happiness  of  home  at  their 
very  root,  by  tainting  female  purity. 
Woman,  brought  up  in  degradation, 
placed  under  another’s  power  and  at 
another’s  disposal,  and  never  taught  to 
look  forward  to  the  happiness  of  an  in- 
violate, honorable  marriage,  can  hardly 
possess  the  feelings  and  virtues  of  her 
sex.  A blight  falls  on  her  in  her  early 
years.  Those  who  have  daughters  can 
comprehend  her  lot.  In  truth,  licen- 
tiousness among  bond  and  free  is  the 
natural  issue  of  all-polluting  slavery. 
Domestic  happiness  perishes  under  its 
touch,  both  among  bond  and  free. 

How  wonderful  is  it  that,  in  civilized 
countries,  men  can  be  so  steeled  by  habit 
as  to  invade  without  remorse  the  peace, 
purity,  and  sacred  relations  of  domestic 
life,  as  to  put  asunder  those  whom  God 
has  joined  together,  as  to  break  up 
households  by  processes  more  painful 
than  death ! And  this  is  done  for  pe- 
cuniary profit ! What ! Can  men,  hav- 


ing human  feeling,  grow  rich  by  the 
desolation  of  families  ? We  hear  of 
some  of  the  Southern  States  enriching 
themselves  by  breeding  slaves  for  sale. 
Of  all  the  licensed  occupations  of  society 
this  is  the  most  detestable.  What!  grow 
men  like  cattle  ! Rear  human  families, 
like  herds  of  swine,  and  then  scatter 
them  to  the  four  winds  for  gain ! Among 
the  imprecations  uttered  by  man  on  man, 
is  there  one  more  fearful,  more  ominous, 
than  the  sighing  of  the  mother  bereft  of 
her  child  by  unfeeling  cupidity  ? If 
blood  cry  to  God,  surely  that  sigh  will 
be  heard  in  heaven. 

Let  it  not  be  said  that  members  of 
families  are  often  separated  in  all  con- 
ditions of  life.  Yes,  but  separated  under 
the  influence  of  love.  The  husband 
leaves  wife  and  children  that  he  may 
provide  for  their  support,  and  carries 
them  with  him  in  his  heart  and  hopes. 
The  sailor,  in  his  lonely  night-watch, 
looks  homeward,  and  well-known  voices 
come  to  him  amidst  the  roar  of  the 
waves.  The  parent  sends  away  his 
children,  but  sends  them  to  prosper, 
and  to  press  them  again  to  his  heart 
with  a joy  enhanced  by  separation.  Are 
such  the  separations  which  slavery 
makes  ? And  can  he  who  has  scattered 
other  families  ask  God  to  bless  his 
own  ? 

4.  I proceed  to  another  important 
view  of  the  evils  of  slavery.  Slavery 
produces  and  gives  license  to  cruelty. 
By  this  it  is  not  meant  that  cruelty  is 
the  universal,  habitual,  unfailing  result 
Thanks  to  God,  Christianity  has  not 
entered  the  world  in  vain.  Where  it 
has  not  cast  down,  it  has  mitigated  bad 
institutions.  Slavery  in  this  country 
differs  widely  from  that  of  ancient  times, 
and  from  that  which  the  Spaniards  im- 
posed on  the  aboriginals  of  South  Amer- 
ica. There  is  here  an  increasing  dispo- 
sition to  multiply  the  comforts  of  the 
slaves,  and  in#this  let  us  rejoice.  At 
the  same  time,  we  must  remember  that, 
under  the  light  of  the  present  day,  and 
in  a country  where  Christianity  and  the 
rights  of  men  are  understood,  ar  dimin- 
ished severity  may  contain  more  guilt 
than  the  ferocity  of  darker  ages.  Cru- 
elty in  its  lighter  forms  is  now  a greater 
crime  than  the  atrocious  usages  of  an- 
tiquity at  which  we  shudder.  “The 
times  of  that  ignorance  God  winked  at, 
but  now  he  calleth  men  everywhere  to 


SLA  VERY. 


71 3 


repent.”  It  should  also  be  considered, 
that  the  slightest  cruelty  to  the  slave  is 
an  aggravated  wrong,  because  he  is  un- 
justly held  in  bondage,  unjustly  held  as 
property.  We  condemn  the  man  who 
enforces  harshly  a righteous  claim. 
What,  then,  ought  we  to  think  of  lash- 
ing and  scarring  fellow-creatures,  for 
the  purpose  of  upholding  an  unright- 
eous, usurped  power,  of  extorting  labor 
which  is  not  our  due  ? 

I have  said  that  cruelty  is  not  the 
habit  of  the  slave  States  of  this  country. 
Still  that  it  is  frequent,  we  cannot  doubt. 
Reports,  which  harrow  up  our  souls, 
come  to  us  from  that  quarter ; and  we 
know  that  they  must  be  essentially  cor- 
rect, because  it  is  impossible  that  a large 
part,  perhaps  the  majority,  of  the  popu- 
lation of  a country  can  be  broken  to 
passive,  unlimited  submission,  without 
examples  of  terrible  severity. 

Let  it  not  be  said,  as  is  sometimes 
done,  that  cruel  deeds  are  perpetrated 
everywhere  else,  as  well  as  in  slave 
countries.  Be  it  so ; but  in  all  civilized 
nations  unscourged  by  slavery,  a prin- 
cipal object  of  legislation  is  to  protect 
every  man  from  cruelty,  and  to  bring 
every  man  to  punishment  who  wantonly 
tortures  or  wounds  another ; whilst  sla- 
very plucks  off  restraint  from  the  fero- 
cious, or  leaves  them  to  satiate  their 
rage  with  impunity.  Let  it  not  be  said 
that  these  barbarities  are  regarded  no- 
where with  more  horror  than  at  the  South. 
Be  it  so.  They  are  abhorred,  but  allowed. 
The  power  of  individuals  to  lacerate 
their  fellow-creatures  is  given  to  them 
by  the  community.  The  community 
abhors  the  abuse,  but  confers  the  power 
which  will  certainly  be  abused,  and  thus 
strips  itself  of  all  defence  before  the  bar 
of  almighty  justice.  It  must  answer 
for  the  crimes  which  are  shielded  by  its 
laws.  Let  it  not  be  said  that  these  cruel- 
ties are  checked  by  the  private  interest 
of  the  slave-holder.  Does  regard  to 
private  interest  save  from  brutal  treat- 
ment the  draught-horse  in  our  streets  ? 
And  may  not  a vast  amount  of  suffering 
be  inflicted  which  will  not  put  in  peril 
the  life  or  strength  of  the  slave  ? 

To  substantiate  the  charge  of  cruelty, 
I shall  not,  as  I have  said,  have  recourse 
to  current  reports,  however  well  estab- 
lished. I am  willing  to  dismiss  them 
all  as  false.  I stand  on  other  ground. 
Reports  may  lie,  but  our  daily  experi- 


ence of  human  nature  cannot  lie.  I 
summon  no  witnesses,  or  rather  I appeal 
to  a witness  everywhere  present,  — a 
witness  in  every  heart.  Who,  that  has 
watched  his  own  heart,  or  observed 
others,  does  not  feel  that  man  is  not  fit 
to  be  trusted  with  absolute,  irresponsible 
powTer  over  man  ? It  must  be  abused. 
The  selfish  passions  and  pride  of  out 
nature  will  as  surely  abuse  it  as  the 
storm  will  ravage,  or  the  ocean  swell 
and  roar  under  the  whirlwind.  A being 
so  ignorant,  so  headstrong,  so  passionate, 
as  man,  ought  not  to  be  trusted  with 
this  terrible  dominion.  He  ought  not 
to  desire  it.  He  ought  to  dread  it.  He 
ought  to  cast  it  from  him,  as  most  peril- 
ous to  himself  and  others. 

Absolute  power  was  not  meant  fof 
man.  There  is,  indeed,  an  exception  to 
this  rule.  There  is  one  case  in  which 
God  puts  a human  being  wholly  defence- 
less into  another’s  hands.  I refer  to  the 
child,  who  is  wholly  subjected  to  the 
parent’s  will.  But  observe  how  care-\ 
fully  — I might  almost  say  anxiously  — J 
God  has  provided  against  the  abuse  of  ( 
this  power.  He  has  raised  up  for  the 
child  in  the  heart  of  the  parent  a guar-  \ 
dian  whom  the  mightiest  on  earth  can-  \ 
not  resist.  He  has  fitted  the  parent  for  I 
this  trust,  by  teaching  him  to  love  his  I 
offspring  better  than  himself.  No  elo-  / 
quence  on  earth  is  so  subduing  as  the  / 
moaning  of  the  infant  when  in  pain.  / 
No  reward  is  sweeter  than  that  in-/ 
fant’s  smile.  We  say,  God  has  put  th£ 
infant  into  the  parent’s  hands.  Might 
we  not  more  truly  say,  that  he  has  put 
the  parent  into  the  child’s  power  ? That 
little  being  sends  forth  his  father  to  toil, 
and  makes  the  mother  watch  over  him 
by  day,  and  fix  on  him  her  sleepless  eyes 
by  night.  No  tyrant  lays  such  a yoke. 
Thus  God  has  fenced  and  secured  from 
abuse  the  power  of  the  parent ; and  yet 
even  the  parent  has  been  known,  in  a 
moment  of  passion,  to  be  cruel  to  his 
child.  Is  man,  then,  to  be  trusted  with 
absolute  power  over  a fellow-creature, 
who,  instead  of  being  commended  by 
nature  to  his  tenderest  love,  belongs  to 
a despised  race,  is  regarded  as  property, 
is  made  the  passive  instrument  of  his 
gratification  and  gain  ? I ask  no  docu- 
ments to  prove  the  abuses  of  this  power, 
nor  do  I care  what  is  said  to  disprove 
them.  Millions  may  rise  up  and  tell  me 
that  the  slave  suffers  little  from  cruelty. 


1 


7i4 


SLA  VERY, 


I know  too  much  of  human  nature,  hu- 
man history,  human  passion,  to  believe 
them.  I acquit  slave-holders  of  all  pe- 
culiar depravity.  I judge  them  by  my- 
self. I say  that  absolute  power  always 
^corrupts  human  nature  more  or  less.  I 
say  that  extraordinary,  almost  miracu- 
lous, self-control  is  necessary  to  secure 
the  slave-holder  from  provocation  and 
passion  ; and  is  self-control  the  virtue 
which,  above  all  others,  grows  up  amidst 
the  possession  of  irresponsible  domin- 
ion ? Even  when  the  slave-holder  hon- 
estly acquits  himself  of  cruelty,  he  may 
be  criminal.  His  own  consciousness  is 
to  be  distrusted.  Having  begun  with 
wronging  the  slave,  with  wresting  from 
him  sacred  rights,  he  may  be  expected 
to  multiply  wrongs  without  thought. 
The  degraded  state  of  the  slave  may 
induce  in  the  master  a mode  of  treat- 
ment essentially  inhuman  and  insulting, 
but  which  he  never  dreams  to  be  cruel. 
The  influence  of  slavery  in  indurating 
the  moral  feeling  and  blinding  men  to 
wrong,  is  one  of  its  worst  evils. 

But  suppose  the  master  to  be  ever  so 
humane.  Still,  he  is  not  always  watch- 
ing over  his  slave.  He  has  his  pleasures 
to  attend  to.  He  is  often  absent.  His 
terrible  power  must  be  delegated.  And 
to  whom  is  it  delegated  ? To  men  pre- 
pared to  govern  others,  by  having  learned 
to  govern  themselves  ? To  men  having 
a deep  interest  in  the  slaves  ? To  wise 
men,  instructed  in  human  nature  ? To 
Christians,  trained  to  purity  and  love  ? 
Who  does  not  know  that  the  office  of 
overseer  is  among  the  last  which  an  en- 
lightened, philanthropic,  self-respecting 
man  would  choose  ? Who  does  not 
know  how  often  the  overseer  pollutes 
the  plantation  by  his  licentiousness,  as 
well  as  scourges  it  by  his  severity  ? In 
the  hands  of  such  a man  the  lash  is 
placed.  To  such  a man  is  committed 
the  most  fearful  trust  on  earth  ! For 
his  cruelties  the  master  must  answer, 
as  truly  as  if  they  were  his  own.  Nor 
is  this  all.  The  master  does  more  than 
delegate  his  power  to  the  overseer.  How 
often  does  he  part  with  it  wholly  to  the 
slave-dealer  ! And  has  he  weighed  the 
responsibility  of  such  a transfer  ? Does 
he  not  know  that,  in  selling  his  slaves 
into  merciless  hands,  he  is  merciless 
himself,  and  must  give  an  account  to 
God  for  every  barbarity  of  which  they 
become  the  victims  ? The  notorious  i 


cruelty  of  the  slave-dealers  can  be  no 
false  report,  for  it  belongs  to  their  vo- 
cation. These  are  the  men  who  throng 
and  defile  our  seat  of  government,  whose 
slave  markets  and  slave-dungeons  turn 
to  mockery  the  language  of  freedom  in 
the  halls  of  Congress,  and  who  make  us 
justly  the  by-word  and  the  scorn  of  the 
nations.  Is  there  no  cruelty  in  putting 
slaves  under  the  bloody  lash  of  the  slave- 
dealers,  to  be  driven  like  herds  of  cattle 
to  distant  regions,  and  there  to  pass  into 
the  hands  of  strangers,  without  a pledge 
of  their  finding  justice  or  mercy  ? What 
heart,  not  seared  by  custom,  would  not 
recoil  from  such  barbarity  ? 

It  has  been  seen  that  I do  not  ground 
my  argument  at  all  on  cases  of  exces- 
sive cruelty.  I should  attach  less  im- 
portance to  these  than  do  most  persons, 
even  were  they  more  frequent.  They 
form  a very,  very  small  amount  of  suf- 
fering, compared  with  what  is  inflicted 
by  abuses  of  power  too  minute  for  notice. 
Blows,  insults,  privations,  which  make- 
no  noise,  and  leave  no  scar,  are  incom- 
parably more  destructive  of  happiness 
than  a few  brutal  violences,  which  move 
general  indignation.  A weak,  despised 
being,  having  no  means  of  defence  or 
redress,  living  in  a community  armed 
against  his  rights,  regarded  as  property, 
and  as  bound  to  entire,  unresisting  com- 
pliance with  another’s  will,  if  not  sub- 
jected to  inflictions  of  ferocious  cruelty, 
is  yet  exposed  to  less  striking  and  shock- 
ing forms  of  cruelty,  the  amount  of  which 
must  be  a fearful  mass  of  suffering. 

But  could  it  be  proved  that  there  are 
no  cruelties  in  slave-countries,  we  ought 
not  then  to  be  more  reconciled  to  slavery 
than  we  now  are.  For  what  would  this 
show  ? That  cruelty  is  not  needed. 
And  why  not  needed  ? Because  the 
slave  is  entirely  subdued  to  his  lot. 
No  man  will  be  wholly  unresisting  in 
bondage  but  he  who  is  thoroughly  im- 
bued with  the  spirit  of  a slave.  If  the 
colored  race  never  need  punishment,  it 
is  because  the  feelings  of  men  are  dead 
within  them,  because  they  have  no  con- 
sciousness of  rights,  because  they  are 
cowards,  without  respect  for  themselves, 
and  without  confidence  in  the  sharers  of 
their  degraded  lot.  The  quiet  of  slavery 
is  like  that  which  the  Roman  legions  left 
in  ancient  Britain,  — the  stillness  of 
death.  Why  were  the  Romans  accus- 
tomed to  work  their  slaves  in  chains 


SLA  VERY, 


715 


by  day,  and  confine  them  in  dungeons 
by  night  ? Not  because  they  loved 
cruelty  for  its  own  sake,  but  because 
their  slaves  were  stung  with  a con- 
sciousness of  degradation  ; because  they 
brought  from  the  forests  of  Dacia  some 
rude  ideas  of  human  dignity,  ‘or  from 
civilized  countries  some  experience  of 
social  improvements,  which  naturally 
issued  in  violence  and  exasperation. 
They  needed  cruelty,  for  their  own  wills 
were  not  broken  to  another’s,  and  the 
spirit  of  freemen  was  not  wholly  gone. 
The  slave  must  meet  cruel  treatment 
either  inwardly  or  outwardly.  Either 
the  soul  or  the  body  must  receive  the 
blow.  Either  the  flesh  must  be  tortured, 
or  the  spirit  be  struck  down.  Dreadful 
alternative  to  which  slavery  is  reduced  ! 

5.  I proceed  to  another  view  of  the 
evils  of  slavery.  I refer  to  its  influence 
on  the  master.  This  topic  cannot,  per- 
haps, be  so  handled  as  to  avoid  giving 
offence  ; but  without  it  an  imperfect 
view  of  the  subject  would  be  given. 
I will  pass  over  many  views.  I will  say 
nothing  of  the  tendency  of  slavery  to 
unsettle  the  ideas  of  right  in  the  slave- 
holder, to  impair  his  convictions  of  jus- 
tice and  benevolence  ; or  of  its  tendency 
to  associate  with  labor  ideas  of  degra- 
dation, and  to  recommend  idleness  as 
an  honorable  exemption.  I will  confine 
myself  to  two  considerations. 

The  first  is,  that  slavery,  above  all 
other  influences,  nourishes  the  passion 
for  power  and  its  kindred  vices.  There 
is  no  passion  which  needs  a stronger 
curb.  Men’s  worst  crimes  have  sprung 
from  the  desire  of  being  masters,  of 
bending  others  to  their  yoke.  And  the 
natural  tendency  of  bringing  others  into 
subjection  to  our  absolute  will,  is  to 
quicken  into  fearful  activity  the  impe- 
rious, haughty,  proud,  self-seeking  pro- 
pensities of  our  nature.  Man  cannot, 
without  imminent  peril  to  l^s  virtue,  own 
a fellow-creature,  or  use  the  word  of 
absolute  command  to  his  brethren.  God 
never  delegated  this  power.  It  is  a 
usurpation  of  the  divine  dominion,  and 
its  natural  influence  is  to  produce  a 
spirit  of  superiority  to  divine  as  well  as 
to  human  laws. 

Undoubtedly  this  tendency  is  in  a 
measure  counteracted  by  the  spirit  of 
the  age  and  the  genius  of  Christianity, 
and  in  conscientious  individuals  it  may 
be  wholly  overcome  ; but  we  see  its 


fruits  in  the  corruptions  of  moral  senti- 
ment which  prevail  among  slave-hold- 
ers. A quick  resentment  of  whatever 
is  thought  to  encroach  on  personal  dig- 
nity, a trembling  jealousy  of  reputation, 
vehemence  of  the  vindictive  passions, 
and  contempt  of  all  laws,  human  and 
divine,  in  retaliating  injury,  — these  take 
rank  among  the  virtues  of  men  whose 
self-estimation  has  been  fed  by  the  pos- 
session of  absolute  power. 

Of  consequence,  the  direct  tendency 
of  slavery  is  to  annihilate  the  control  of 
Christianity.  Humility  is  by  eminence 
the  spirit  of  Christianity.  No  vice  was 
so  severely  rebuked  by  our  Lord  as  the 
passion  for  ruling  over  others.  A def- 
erence towards  all  human  beings  as  our 
brethren,  a benevolence  which  disposes 
us  to  serve  rather  than  to  reign,  to  con- 
cede our  own  rather  than*  to  encroach 
on  others’  rights,  to  forgive,  not  avenge 
wrongs,  to  govern  our  own  spirits,  in- 
stead of  breaking  the  spirit  of  an  infe- 
rior or  foe,  — this  is  Christianity  ; a 
religion  too  high  and  pure  to  be  under- 
stood and  obeyed  anywhere  as  it  should 
be,  but  which  meets  singular  hostility 
in  the  habits  of  mind  generated  by 
slavery. 

The  slave-holder,  indeed,  values  him- 
self on  his  loftiness  of  spirit.  He  has  a 
consciousness  of  dignity,  which  imposes 
on  himself  and  others.  But  truth  .can- 
not stoop  to  this  lofty  mien.  Truth, 
moral  Christian  truth,  condemns  it,  and 
condemns  those  who  bow  to  it.  Self- 
respect,  founded  on  a consciousness  of 
our  moral  nature  and  immortal  destiny, 
is,  indeed,  a noble  principle  ; but  this 
sentiment  includes,  as  a part  of  itself, 
respect  for  all  who  partake  our  nature’. 
A consciousness  of  dignity,  founded  on 
the  subjection  of  others  to  our  absolute 
will,  is  inhuman  and  unjust.  It  is  time 
that  the  teachings  of  Christ  were  under- 
stood. In  proportion  as  a man  acquires 
a lofty  bearing  from  the  habit  of  com- 
mand over  wronged  and  depressed  fel- 
low-creatures, so  far  he  casts  away  true 
honor,  so  far  he  has  fallen  in  the  sight 
of  God  and  virtue. 

I approach  a more  delicate  subject, 
and  one  on  which  I shall  not  enlarge. 
To  own  the  persons  of  others,  to  hold 
females  in  slavery,  is  necessarily  fatal  to 
the  purity  of  a people.  That  unprotected 
females,  stripped  by  their  degraded  con- 
dition of  woman’s  self-respect,  should  be 


SLA  VERY. 


716 

used  to  minister  to  other  passions  in 
men  than  the  love  of  gain,  is  next  to 
inevitable.  Accordingly,  in  such  a com- 
munity, the  reins  are  given  to  youthful 
licentiousness.  Youth,  everywhere  in 
peril,  is  in  these  circumstances  urged  to 
vice  with  a terrible  power.  And  the  evil 
cannot  stop  at  youth.  Early  licentious- 
ness is  fruitful  of  crime  in  mature  life. 
How  far  the  obligation  to  conjugal  fidel- 
ity, the  sacredness  of  domestic  ties,  will 
be  revered  amidst  such  habits,  such 
temptations,  such  facilities  to  vice,  as 
are  involved  in  slavery,  needs  no  expo- 
sition. So  sure  and  terrible  is  retribu- 
tion even  in  this  life  ! Domestic  happi- 
ness is  not  blighted  in  the  slave’s  hut 
alone.  The  master’s  infidelity  sheds  a 
blight  ever  his  own  domestic  affections 
and  joys.  Home,  without  purity  and 
constancy,  is  spoiled  of  its  holiest  charm 
and  most  blessed  influences.  I need 
not  say,  after  the  preceding  explana- 
tions, that  this  corruption  is  far  from 
being  universal.  Still,  a slave-country 
reeks  with  licentiousness.  It  is  tainted 
with  a deadlier  pestilence  than  the 
plague. 

But  the  worst  is  not  told.  As  a con- 
sequence of  criminal  connections,  many 
a master  has  children  born  into  slavery. 
Of  these,  most,  I presume,  receive  pro- 
tection, perhaps  indulgence,  during  the 
life  of  the  fathers ; but,  at  their  death, 
not  a few  are  left  to  the  chances  of  a 
cruel  bondage.  These  cases  must  have 
increased,  since  the  difficulties  of  eman- 
cipation have  been  multiplied.  Still 
more  : it  is  to  be  feared  that  there  are 
cases  in  which  the  master  puts  his  own 
children  under  the  whip  of  the  overseer, 
or  else  sells  them  to  undergo  the  mis- 
eries of  bondage  among  strangers.  I 
should  rejoice  to  learn  that  my  impres- 
sions on  this  point  are  false.  If  they  be 
true,  then  our  own  country,  calling  itself 
enlightened  and  Christian,  is  defiled  with 
one  of  the  greatest  enormities  on  earth. 
We  send  missionaries  to  heathen  lands. 
Among  the  pollutions  of  heathenism  I 
know  nothing  worse  than  this.  The 
heathen,  who  feasts  on  his  country’s 
foe,  may  hold  up  his  head  by  the  side  of 
the  Christian  who  sells  his  child  for  gain, 
— sells  him  to  be  a slave.  God  forbid 
that  I should  charge  this  crime  on  a 
people  ! But  however  rarely  it  may 
occur,  it  is  a fruit  of  slavery,  an  exercise 
of  power  belonging  to  slavery,  and  no 


laws  restrain  or  punish  it.  Such  are  the 
evils  which  spring  naturally  from  the  li- 
centiousness generated  by  slavery. 

6.  I cannot  leave  the  subject  of  the 
evils  of  slavery  without  saying  a word  of 
its  political  influence.  Under  this  head, 
I shall  not  engage  in  discussions  which 
belong  to  the  economist.  I shall  not 
repeat,  what  has  been  often  proved,  that 
slave-labor  is  less  productive  than  free  ; 
nor  shall  I show  how  the  ability  of  a 
community  to  unfold  its  resources  in 
peace,  and  to  defend  itself  in  war,  must 
be  impaired  by  degrading  the  laboring 
population  to  a state  which  takes  from 
them  motives  to  toil,  and  renders  them 
objects  of  suspicion  or  dread.  I wish 
only  to  speak  of  the  influence  of  slavery 
on  free  institutions.  This  influence,  we 
are  gravely  told,  is  favorable,  and  there- 
fore I am  bound  to  give  it  a brief  notice. 
Political  liberty  is  said  to  find  strength 
and  security  in  domestic  servitude. 
Strange  mode,  indeed,  of  ensuring  free- 
dom to  ourselves,  to  violate  it  in  the 
persons  of  others  ! Among  the  new 
lights  of  the  age,  the  most  wonderful 
discovery  is,  that  to  spoil  others  of  their 
rights  is  the  way  to  assert  the  sacred- 
ness of  our  own. 

And  how  is  slavery  proved  to  support 
free  institutions  ? Slave-holding,  we  are 
told,  infuses  an  indomitable  spirit,  and 
this  is  a pledge  against  tyranny.  But 
do  we  not  know  that  Asia  and  Africa, 
slave-holding  countries  from  the  earliest 
date  of  history,  have  been  paralyzed  for 
ages  and  robbed  of  all  manly  force  by 
despotism  ? In  the  feudal  ages,  the 
baron,  surrounded  by  his  serfs,  had  un- 
doubtedly enough  of  a fiery  spirit  to  keep 
him  free,  if  this  were  the  true  defence  of 
freedom ; but  gradually  his  pride  was 
curbed,  his  power  broken ; a greater 
tyrant  swallowed  him  up ; and  the  de- 
scendants of  nobles,  who  would  have 
died  sooner  J^ian  brooks  a master,  were 
turned  into  courtiers,  as  pliant  as  their 
fathers  had  been  ferocious. 

But  “ the  free  states  of  antiquity,” 
we  are  told,  44  had  slaves.”  So  had  the 
monarchies  of  the*  same  periods.  With 
which  of  these  institutions  was  slavery 
most  congenial  ? To  which  did  it  most 
probably  give  support  ? Besides,  it  is 
only  by  courtesy  that  we  call  the  ancient 
republics  free.  Rome  in  her  best  days 
was  an  aristocracy;  nor  were  private 
rights,  which  it  is  the  chief  office  of 


SLA  VERY. 


717 


liberty  to  protect,  rendered  a whit  more 
secure  by  the  gradual  triumphs  of  the 
people  over  patrician  power.  Slavery 
was  at  all  periods  the  curse  of  Rome. 
The  great  mass  of  her  free  population, 
throwing  almost  every  laborious  occu- 
pation on  the  slaves,  became  an  idle, 
licentious  rabble  ; and  this  unprincipled 
populace,  together  with  the  slaves,  fur- 
nished ready  instruments  for  every  pri- 
vate and  public  crime.  When  Clodius 
prowled  the  streets  of  Rome  for  the 
murder  of  Cicero  and  the  best  citizens, 
his  train  was  composed  in  part  of  slaves, 
fit  bloodhounds  for  his  nefarious  work. 
The  republic  in  its  proudest  days  was 
desolated  and  convulsed  by  servile  wars. 
Imperial  Rome  was  overwhelmed  by 
savage  hordes,  for  this  among  other  rea- 
sons, that  her  whole  peasantry  consisted 
either  of  slaves,  or  of  nominal  freemen 
degraded  to  a servile  condition,  so  that 
the  legions  could  be  recruited  only  from 
tribes  of  barbarians  whom  she  had  for- 
merly subdued. 

But  the  great  argument  in  favor  of 
the  political  benefits  of  slavery  remains 
to  be  stated.  In  plain  language  it 
amounts  to  this,  that  slavery  excludes 
the  laboring  or  poorer  classes  from  the 
elective  franchise,  from  political  power  ; 
and  it  is  the  turbulence  of  these  classes 
which  is  supposed  to  constitute  the  chief 
peril  of  liberty.  But,  in  slave-holding 
communities,  are  there  no  distinctions 
of  condition  among  the  free  ? Are  none 
comparatively  poor?  Is  there  no  de- 
mocracy ? Was  not  Athens,  crowded 
as  she  was  with  slaves,  the  most  turbu- 
lent of  democracies  ? And  further,  do 
not  the  idleness  and  impatience  of 
restraint,  into  which  the  free  of  a 
slave-holding  community  naturally  fall, 
generate  an  intenser  party-spirit,  fiercer 
political  passions,  and  more  desperate 
instruments  of  ambition,  than  can  be 
found  among  the  laboring  classes  in  a 
community  where  slavery  is  unknown  ? 
In  which  of  the  two  great  divisions  of 
our  own  country  are  political  strifes 
most  likely  to  be  settled  by  the  sword  ? 
In  the  slave-holding  States,  or  the  free  ? 
The  laboring  classes,  when  brought  up 
under  free  institutions  and  equal  laws, 
are  not  necessarily  or  peculiarly  dis- 
posed to  abuse  the  elective  franchise. 
Their  daily  toil,  often  exhausting,  se- 
cures them  from  habitual  political  ex- 
citement. The  most  powerful  spirits 


among  them  are  continually  rising  to 
a prosperity  which  gives  them  an  inter- 
est in  public  order.  There  is  also  a 
general  diffusion  of  property,  the  result 
of  unfettered  industry,  which  forms  a 
general  motive  to  the  support  of  the 
laws.  It  should  be  added,  that  the  do- 
mestic virtues  and  religious  sentiments, 
which  in  a Christian  country  spread 
through  all  ranks,  and  spread  more 
widely  among  the  industrious  than  the 
idle,  are  powerful  checks  on  the  pas- 
sions, strong  barriers  against  civil  con- 
vulsion. Idleness,  rather  than  toil, 
makes  the  turbulent  partisan.  Who- 
ever knows  the  state  of  society  in  the 
free  States,  can  testify  that  the  love  of 
liberty,  pride  in  our  free  institutions, 
and  jealousy  of  rights,  are  nowhere 
more  active  than  in  those  very  classes 
which  in  a slave-holding  country  are  re- 
duced to  servitude.  Undoubtedly,  the 
jealousies,  passions,  and  prejudices  of 
the  laboring  portion  of  the  community 
may  work  evil,  and  even  ruin  to  the 
state  ; and  so  may  the  luxury,  the  polit- 
ical venality,  the  gambling  spirit  of 
trade,  and  the  cupidity,  to  be  found  in 
other  ranks  or  conditions.  If  freedom 
must  be  denied  wherever  it  will  be  en- 
dangered, then  every  class  in  society 
must  be  reduced  to  slavery. 

Free  institutions  rest  on  two  great 
political  virtues,  — the  love  of  liberty 
and  the  love  of  order.  The  slave-holder 
(I  mean  the  slave-holder  by  choice)  is  of 
necessity  more  or  less  wanting  in  both. 
How  plain  is  it  that  no  man  can  love 
liberty  with  a true  love  who  has  the 
heart  to  wrest  it  from  others  ? Attach- 
ment to  freedom  does  not  consist  in 
spurning  indignantly  a yoke  prepared 
for  our  own  necks  ; for  this  is  done  even 
by  the  savage  and  the  beast  of  prey.  It 
is  a moral  sentiment,  an  impartial  desire 
and  choice,  that  others  as  well  as  our- 
selves may  be  protected  from  every 
wrong,  may  be  exempted  from  every 
unjust  restraint.  Slave-holding,  when 
perpetuated  selfishly  and  from  choice, 
is  at  an  open  war  with  this  generous 
principle.  It  is  a plain,  habitual  contempt 
of  human  rights,  and  of  course  impairs 
that  sense  of  their  sanctity  which  is 
their  best  protection.  It  offers,  every 
day  and  hour,  a precedent  of  usurpation 
to  the  ambitious.  It  creates  a caste 
with  despotic  powers  ; and  under  such 
guardians  is  liberty  peculiarly  secure  ? 


SLA  VERY. 


718 

It  creates  a burning  zeal  for  the  rights 
of  a privileged  class,  but  not  for  the 
rights  of  men.  These  the  voluntary- 
slave-holder  casts  down  by  force  ; and, 
in  the  changes  of  human  affairs,  the 
time  may  not  be  distant  when  he  will 
learn  that  force,  accustomed  to  triumph 
over  right,  is  prone  to  leap  every  bound, 
and  to  make  the  proud  as  well  as  ab- 
ject stoop  to  its  sway. 

Slavery  is  also  hostile  to  the  love  of 
order,  which,  in  union  with  the  love  of 
liberty,  is  the  great  support  of  free  in- 
stitutions. Slave-holding  in  a republic 
tends  directly  to  lawlessness.  It  gives 
the  habit  of  command,  not  of  obedience. 
The  absolute  master  is  not  likely  to  dis- 
tinguish himself  by  subjection  to  the 
civil  power.  The  substitution  of  pas- 
sion and  self-will  for  law  is  nowhere  so 
common  as  in  the  slave-holding  States. 
In  these  it  is  thought  honorable  to  rely 
on  one's  own  arm,  rather  than  on  the 
magistrate,  for  the  defence  of  many 
rights.  In  some,  perhaps  many,  dis- 
tricts, the  chief  peace-officer  seems  to 
be  the  weapon  worn  as  part  of  the  com- 
mon dress  ; and  the  multitude  seem  to 
be  more  awed  by  one  another’s  passions 
than  by  the  authority  of  the  State.  Such 
communities  have  no  pledge  of  stable 
liberty.  Reverence  for  the  laws,  as 
manifestations  of  the  public  will,  is  the 
very  spirit  of  free  institutions.  Does 
this  spirit  find  its  best  nutriment  in  the 
habits  and  feelings  generated  by  sla- 
very ? 

Slavery  is  a strange  element  to  mix 
up  with  free  institutions.  It  cannot  but 
endanger  them.  It  is  a pattern  for 
every  kind  of  wrong.  The  slave  brings 
insecurity  on  the  free.  Whoever  holds 
one  human  being  in  bondage  invites 
others  to  plant  the  foot  on  his  own 
neck.  Thanks  to  God,  not  one  human 
being  can  be  wronged  with  impunity. 
The  liberties  of  a people  ought  to  trem- 
ble until  every  man  is  free.  Tremble 
they  will.  Their  true  foundation  is  sap- 
ped by  the  legalized  degradation  of  a 
single  innocent  man  to  slavery.  That 
foundation  is  impartial  justice,  is  re- 
spect for  human  nature,  is  respect  for 
the  rights  of  every  human  being. 

I have  endeavored  in  these  remarks 
to  show  the  hostility  between  slavery 
and  free  institutions.  If,  however,  I 
err,  if  these  institutions  cannot  stand 
without  slavery  for  their  foundation, 


then  I say,  Let  them  fall.  Then  they 
ought  to  be  buried  in  perpetual  ruins. 
Then  the  name  of  republicanism  ought 
to  become  a by-word  and  reproach 
among  the  nations.  Then  monarchy, 
limited  as  it  is  in  England,  is  incom- 
parably better  and  happier  than  our 
more  popular  forms.  Then  despotism, 
as  it  exists  in  Prussia,  where  equal  laws 
are  in  the  main  administered  with  im- 
partiality, ought  to  be  preferred.  A 
republican  government,  bought  by  the 
sacrifice  of  half  or  more  than  half  of  a 
people,  by  stripping  them  of  their  most 
sacred  rights,  by  degrading  them  to  a 
brutal  condition,  would  cost  too  much. 
A freedom  so  tainted  with  wrong  ought 
to  be  our  abhorrence.  They  who  tell 
us  that  slavery  is  a necessary  condition 
of  a republic,  do  not  justify  the  former, 
but  pronounce  a sentence  of  reproba- 
tion on  the  latter.  If  they  speak  truth, 
we  are  bound  as  a people  to  seek  more 
just  and  generous  institutions,  under 
which  the  rights  of  all  will  be  secure. 

I have  now  placed  before  the  reader 
the  chief  evils  of  slavery.  We  are 
told,  however,  that  these  are  not  with- 
out mitigation,  that  slavery  has  advan- 
tages which  do  much  to  counterbalance 
its  wrongs  and  pains.  Not  a few  are 
partially  reconciled  to  the  institution  by 
the  language  of  confidence  in  which  its 
benefits  are  sometimes  announced.  I 
shall  therefore  close  this  chapter  with 
a very  brief  consideration  of  what  are 
thought  to  be  the  advantages  of  slavery. 

It  is  often  said  that  the  slave  does 
less  work  than  the  free  laborer ; he 
bears  a lighter  burden  than  liberty 
would  lay  on  him.  Perhaps  this  is 
generally  true  ; yet,  when  circumstances 
promise  profit  to  the  master  from  the 
imposition  of  excessive  labor,  the  slave 
is  not  spared.  In  the  West  Indies,  the 
terrible  waste  of  life  among  the  over- 
worked cultivators  required  large  sup- 
plies from  Africa  to  keep  up  the  failing 
population.  In  this  country,  it  is  prob- 
ably true  that  the  slave  works  less  than 
the" free  laborer  ; but  it  does  not  there- 
fore follow  that  his  work  is  lighter.  For 
what  is  it  that  lightens  toil  ? It  is  hope  ; 
it  is  love  ; it  is  strong  motive.  That 
labor  is  light  which  we  do  from  the 
heart,  to  which  a great  good  quickens 
us,  which  is  to  better  our  lot.  That  la- 
bor is  light  which  is  to  comfort,  adorn, 
and  cheer  our  homes,  to  give  instruc- 


SLA  VERY. 


7 19 


tion  to  our  children,  to  solace  the  de- 
clining years  of  a parent,  to  give  to  our 
grateful  and  generous  sentiments  the 
means  of  exertion.  Great  effort  from 
great  motives  is  the  best  definition  of 
a happy  life.  The  easiest  labor  is  a 
burden  to  him  who  has  no  motive  for 
performing  it.  How  wearisome  is  the 
task  imposed  by  another,  and  wrong- 
fully imposed  ! The  slave  cannot  easily 
be  made  to  do  a freeman’s  work  ; and 
why  ? Because  he  wants  a freeman’s 
spirit,  because  the  spring  of  labor  is 
impaired  within  him,  because  he  works 
as  a machine,  not  a free  agent.  The 
compulsion  under  which  he  toils  for 
another  takes  from  labor  its  sweetness, 
makes  the  daily  round  of  life  arid  and 
dull,  makes  escape  from  toil  the  chief 
interest  of  life. 

We  are  further  told,  that  the  slave  is 
freed  from  all  care,  that  he  is  sure  of 
future  support,  that  when  old  he  is  not 
dismissed  to  the  poor-house,  but  fed  and 
sheltered  in  his  own  hut.  This  is  true  ; 
but  it  is  also  true  that  nothing  can  be 
gained  by  violating  the  great  laws  and 
essential  rights  of  our  nature.  The 
slave,  we  are  told,  has  no  care,  his  fut- 
ure is  provided  for.  Yet  God  created 
him  to  provide  for  the  future,  to  take 
care  of  his  own  happiness  ; and  he  can- 
not be  freed  from  this  care  without  in- 
jury to  his  moral  and  intellectual  life. 
Why  has  God  given  foresight  and  power 
over  the  future,  but  to  be  used  ? Is  it 
a blessing  to  a rational  creature  to  be 
placed  in  a condition  which  chains  his 
faculties  to  the  present  moment,  which 
leaves  nothing  before  him  to  rouse  the 
intellect  or  touch  the  heart  ? Be  it  also 
remembered,  that  the  same  provision 
which  relieves  the  slave  from  anxiety 
cuts  him  off  from  hope.  The  future  is 
not,  indeed,  haunted  by  spectres  of 
poverty,  nor  is  it  brightened  by  images 
of  joy.  It  stretches  before  him  sterile, 
monotonous,  expanding  into  no  refresh- 
ing verdure,  and  sending  no  cheering 
whisper  of  a better  lot. 

It  is  true  that  the  free  laborer  may  be- 
come a pauper  ; and  so  may  the  free  rich 
man,  both  of  the  North  and  the  South. 
Still,  our  capitalists  never  dream  of  fly- 
ing to  slavery  as  a security  against  the 
almshouse.  Freedom  undoubtedly  has 
its  perils.  It  offers  nothing  to  the  sloth- 
ful and  dissolute.  Among  a people  left  to 
seek  their  own  good  in  their  own  way, 


some  of  all  classes  fail  from  vice,  some 
from  incapacity,  some  from  misfortune. 
All  classes  will  furnish  members  to  the 
body  of  the  poor.  But  in  this  country 
the  number  is  small,  and  ought  con- 
stantly to  decrease.  The  evil,  however 
lamentable,  is  not  so  remediless  and 
spreading  as  to  furnish  a motive  for  re- 
ducing half  the  population  to  chains. 
Benevolence1  does  much  to  mitigate  it. 
The  best  minds  are  inquiring  how  it 
may  be  prevented,  diminished,  removed. 
It  is  giving  excitement  to  a philan- 
thropy which  creates  out  of  misfortune 
new  bonds  of  union  between  man  and 
man. 

Our  slave-holding  brethren,  who  tell 
us  that  the  condition  of  the  slave  is 
better  than  that  of  the  free  laborer  at 
the  North,  talk  ignorantly  and  rashly. 
They  do  not,  cannot  know,  what  to  us 
is  matter  of  daily  observation,  that  from 
the  families  of  our  farmers  and  me- 
chanics have  sprung  our  most  distin- 
guished men,  — men  who  have  done  most 
for  science,  arts,  letters,  religion,  and 
freedom ; and  that  the  noblest  spirits 
among  us  would  have  been  lost  to  their 
country  and  mankind  had  the  laboring 
class  here  been  doomed  to  slavery. 
They  do  not  know  — what  we  rejoice 
to  tell  them  — that  this  class  partakes 
largely  of  the  impulse  given  to  the 
whole  community ; that  the  means  of 
intellectual  improvement  are  multiply- 
ing to  the  laborious  as  fast  as  to  the 
opulent ; that  our  most  distinguished 
citizens  meet  them  as  brethren,  and 
communicate  to  them  in  public  dis- 
courses their  own  most  important  ac- 
quisitions. Undoubtedly,  the  Christian, 
republican  spirit  is  not  working,  even 
here,  as  it  should.  The  more  improved 
and  prosperous  classes  have  not  yet 
learned  that  it  is  their  great  mission  to 
elevate  morally  and  intellectually  the 
less  advanced  classes  of  the  commu- 
nity ; but  the  great  truth  is  more  and 
more  recognized,  and  accordingly  a new 
era  may  be  said  to  be  opening  on  so- 
ciety. 

It  is  said,  however,  that  the  slave,  if 
not  to  be  compared  to  the  free  laborer 
at  the  North,  is  in  a happier  condition 
than  the  Irish  peasantry.  Let  this  be 
granted.  Let  the  security  of  the  peas- 
ant’s domestic  relations,  let  his  church 
and  his  school-house,  and  his  faint  hope 
of  a better  lot,  pass  for  nothing.  Be- 


720 


SLA  VERY. 


cause  Ireland  is  suffering  from  the  mis- 
government  and  oppression  of  ages, 
does  it  follow  that  a less  grinding  op- 
pression is  a good  ? Besides,  are  not 
the  wrongs  of  Ireland  acknowledged  ? 
Is  not  British  legislation  laboring  to  re- 
store her  prosperity  ? Is  it  not  true 
that,  whilst  the  slave’s  lot  admits  no  im- 
portant change,  the  most  enlightened 
minds  are  at  work  to  confer  on  the  Irish 
peasant  the  blessings  of  education,  of 
equal  laws,  of  new  springs  to  exertion, 
of  new  sources  of  wealth  ? Other 
men,  however  fallen,  may  be  lifted 
up.  An  immovable  weight  presses  on 
the  slave. 

But  still,  we  are  told,  the  slave  is  gay. 
He  is  not  as  wretched  as  our  theories 
teach.  After  his  toil  he  sings,  he 
dances,  he  gives  no  signs  of  an  ex- 
hausted frame  or  gloomy  spirit.  The 
slave  happy  ! Why,  then,  contend  for 
rights  ? Why  follow  with  beating  hearts 
the  struggles  of  the  patriot  for  freedom  ? 
Why  canonize  the  martyr  to  freedom  ? 
The  slave  happy ! Then  happiness  is 
to  be  found  in  giving  up  the  distinctive 
attributes  of  a man  ; in  darkening  intel- 
lect and  conscience  ; in  quenching  gen- 
erous sentiments  ; in  servility  of  spirit ; 
in  living  under  a whip  ; in  having  neither 
property  nor  rights  ; in  holding  wife  and 
child  at  another’s  1 pleasure  ; in  toiling 
without  hope  ; in  living  without  an  end  ! 
The  slave,  indeed,  has  his  pleasures. 
His  animal  nature  survives  the  injury 
to  his  rational  and  moral  powers  ; and 
every  animal  has  its  enjoyments.  The 
kindness  of  Providence  allows  no  hu- 
man being  to  be  wholly  divorced  from 
good.  The  lamb  frolics  ; the  dog  leaps 
for  joy  ; the  bird  fills  the  air  with  cheer- 
ful harmony ; and  the  slave  spends  his 
holiday  in  laughter  and  the  dance. 
Thanks  to  Him  who  never  leaves  him- 
self without  witness  ; who  cheers  even 
the  desert  with  spots  of  verdure,  and 
opens  a fountain  of  joys  in  the  most 
withered  heart ! It  is  not  possible,  how- 
ever, to  contemplate  the  occasional  gay- 
ety  of  the  slave  without  some  mixture 
of  painful  thought.  He  is  gay,  because 
he  has  not  learned  to  think  ; because 
he  is  too  fallen  to  feel  his  wrongs  ; be- 
cause he  wants  just  self-respect.  We 
are  grieved  by  the  gayety  of  the  insane. 
There  is  a sadness  in  the  gayety  of  him 
whose  lightness  of  heart  would  be  turned 
to  bitterness  and  indignation,  were  one 


ray  of  light  to  awaken  in  him  the  spirit 
of  a man. 

That  there  are  those  among  the  free 
who  are  more  wretched  than  slaves  is 
undoubtedly  true  ; just  as  there  is  in- 
comparably greater  misery  among  men 
than  among  brutes.  The  brute  never 
knows  the  agony  of  a human  spirit 
torn  by  remorse,  or  wounded  in  its 
love.  But  would  we  cease  to  be  human 
because  our  capacity  for  suffering  in- 
creases with  the  elevation  of  our  nat- 
ure ? All  blessings  may  be  perverted, 
and  the  greatest  perverted  most.  Were 
we  to  visit  a slave-country,  undoubtedly 
the  most  miserable  human  beings  would 
be  found  among  the  free  ; for  among 
them  the  passions  have  wider  sweep, 
and  the  power  they  possess  may  be 
used  to  their  own  ruin.  Liberty  is  not 
a necessity  of  happiness.  It  is  only  a 
means  of  good.  It  is  a trust  which  may 
be  abused.  Are  all  such  trusts  to  be 
cast  away  ? Are  they  not  the  greatest 
gifts  of  heaven  ? 

But  the  slave,  we  are  told,  often  mani- 
fests affection  to  his  master,  grieves  at 
his  departure,  and  welcomes  his  return. 
I will  not  endeavor  to  explain  this  by 
saying  that  the  master’s  absence  places 
the  slave  under  the  overseer  ; nor  will  I 
object  that  the  slave’s  propensity  to  steal 
from  his  master,  his  need  of  the  whip  to 
urge  him  to  toil,  and  the  dread  of  insur- 
rection which  he  inspires,  are  signs  of 
any  thing  but  love.  There  is,  undoubt- 
edly, much  more  affection  in  this  rela- 
tion than  could  be  expected.  Of  all 
races  of  men,  the  African  is  the  mildest 
and  most  susceptible  of  attachment. 
He  loves,  where  the  European  would 
hate.  He  watches  the  life  of  a master 
whom  the  North  American  Indian,  in 
like  circumstances,  would  stab  to  the 
heart.  The  African  is  affectionate.  Is 
this  a reason  for  holding  him  in  chains  ? 
We  cannot,  however,  think  of  this  most 
interesting  feature  of  slavery  with  un- 
mixed pleasure.  It  is  the  curse  of  sla- 
very that  it  can  touch  nothing  which  it 
does  not  debase  Even  love,  that  senti- 
ment given  us  by  God  to  be  the  germ  of 
a divine  virtue,  becomes  in  the  slave  a 
weakness,  almost  a degradation.  His 
affections  lose  much  of  their  beauty 
and  dignity.  He  ought,  indeed,  to  feel 
benevolence  toward  his  master  ; but  to 
attach  himself  to  a man  who  keeps  him 
in  the  dust  and  denies  him  the  rights  of 


SLA  VERY. 


721 


a man ; to  be  grateful  and  devoted  to 
one  who  extorts  his  toil  and  debases 
him  into  a chattel ; this  has  a taint  of 
servility,  which  makes  us  grieve  whilst 
we  admire.  However,  we  would  not  di- 
minish the  attachment  of  the  slave.  He 
is  the  happier  for  his  generosity.  Let 
him  love  his  master,  and  let  the  master 
win  love  by  kindness.  We  only  say, 
Let  not  this  manifestation  of  a gen- 
erous nature  in  the  slave  be  turned 
against  him.  Let  it  not  be  made  an 
answer  to  an  exposition  of  his  wrongs. 
Let  it  not  be  used  as  a weapon  for  his 
perpetual  degradation. 

But  the  slave;  we  are  told,  is  taught 
religion.  This  is  the  most  cheering 
sound  which  comes  to  us  from  the  land 
of  bondage.  We  are  rejoiced  to  learn 
that  any  portion  of  the  slaves  are  in- 
structed in  that  truth  which  gives  in- 
ward freedom.  They  hear,  at  least,  one 
voice  of  deep,  genuine  love,  — the  voice 
of  Christ ; and  read  in  his  cross  what 
all  other  things  hide  from  them,  the 
unutterable  worth  of  their  spiritual  nat- 
ure. This  portion,  however,  is  small. 
The  greater  part  are  still  buried  in 
heathen  ignorance.  Besides,  religion, 
though  a great  good,  can  hardly  exert 
its  full  power  on  the  slave.  Will  it  not 
be  taught  to  make  him  obedient  to  his 
master,  rather  than  to  raise  him  to  the 
dignity  of  a man  ? Is  slavery,  which 
tends  so  proverbially  to  debase  the  mind, 
the  preparation  for  spiritual  truth  ? Can 
the  slave  comprehend  the  principle  of 
love,  the  essential  principle  of  Chris- 
tianity, when  he  hears  it  from  the  lips 
of  those  whose  relations  to  him  express 
injustice  and  selfishness  ? But  suppose 
him  to  receive  Christianity  in  its  purity, 
and  to  feel  all  its  power.  Is  this  to 
reconcile  us  to  slavery?  Is  a being, 
who  can  understand  the  sublimest  truth 
which  has  ever  entered  the  human  mind, 
who  can  love  and  adore  God,  who  can 
conform  himself  to  the  celestial  virtue 
of  the  Saviour,  for  whom  that  Saviour 
died,  to  whom  heaven  is  opened,  whose 
repentance  now  gives  joy  in  heaven,  — 
is  such  a being  to  be  held  as  property, 
driven  by  force  as  the  brute,  and  denied 
the  rights  of  man  by  a fellow-creature, 
by  a professed  disciple  of  the  just  and 
merciful  Saviour  ? Has  he  a religious 
nature,  and  dares  any  one  hold  him  as 
a slave  ? 

I have  now  completed  my  views  of 


the  evils  of  slavery,  and  have  shown 
how  little  they  are  mitigated  by  what  are 
thought  its  advantages.  In  this  whole 
discussion  I have  cautiously  avoided 
quoting  particular  examples  of  its  bane- 
ful influences.  I have  not  brought  to- 
gether accounts  of  horrible  cruelty  which 
come  to  us  from  the  South.  I have 
confined  myself  to  the  natural  ten- 
dencies of  slavery,  to  evils  bound  up 
in  its  very  nature,  which,  as  long  as 
man  is  man,  cannot  be  separated  from 
it.  That  these  evils  are  unmixed,  I do 
not  say.  More  or  less  of  good  may 
often  be  found  in  connection  with  them. 
No  institution,  be  it  what  it  may,  can 
make  the  life  of  a human  being  wholly 
evil,  or  cut  off  every  means  of  improve- 
ment. God's  benevolence  triumphs  over 
all  the  perverseness  and  folly  of  man’s 
devices.  He  sends  a cheering  beam 
into  the  darkest  abode.  The  slave  has 
his  hours  of  exhilaration.  His  hut  oc- 
casionally rings  with  thoughtless  mirth. 
Among  this  class,  too,  there  are,  and 
must  be,  occasionally,  higher  pleasures. 
God  is  no  respecter  of  persons  ; and  in 
some  slaves  there  is  a happy  nature 
which  no  condition  can  destroy,  just  as 
among  children  we  find  some  whom 
the  worst  education  cannot  spoil.  The 
African  is  so  affectionate,  imitative,  and 
docile,  that  in  favorable  circumstances 
he  catches  much  that  is  good  ; and  ac- 
cordingly the  influence  of  a wise  and 
kind  master  will  be  seen  in  the  very 
countenance  and  bearing  of  his  slaves. 
Among  this  degraded  people,  there 
are,  occasionally,  examples  of  superior 
intelligence  and  virtue,  showing  the 
groundlessness  of  the  opinion  that  they 
are  incapable  of  filling  a higher  rank 
than  slavery,  and  showing  that  human 
nature  is  too  generous  and  hardy  to  be 
wholly  destroyed  in  the  most  unpro- 
pitious  state.  We  also  witness  in  this 
class,  and  very  often,  a superior  physi- 
cal development,  a grace  of  form  and 
motion,  which  almost  extorts  a feeling 
approaching  respect.  I mean  not  to 
affirm  that  slavery  excludes  all  good, 
for  human  life  cannot  long  endure  under 
the  privation  of  every  thing  happy  and 
improving.  I have  spoken  of  its  nat- 
ural tendencies  and  results.  These  are 
wholly  and  only  evil. 

I am  aware  that  it  will  be  replied  to 
the  views  now  given  of  slavery,  that 
persons  living  at  a distance  from  it  can- 
46 


J22 


SLAVERY. 


not  comprehend  it,  that  its  true  char- 
acter can  be  learned  only  from  those 
who  know  it  practically,  and  are  familiar 
with  its  operations.  To  this  I will  not 
reply,  that  I have  seen  it  near  at  hand. 
It  is  sufficient  to  reply,  that  men  may 
lose  the  power  of  seeing  an  object  fairly 
by  being  too  near  as  well  as  by  being 
too  remote.  The  slave-holder  is  too 
familiar  with  slavery  to  understand  it. 
To  be  educated  in  injustice  is  almost 
necessarily  to  be  blinded  by  it  more  or 
less.  To  exercise  Usurped  power  from 
birth  is  the  surest  way  to  look  upon 
it  as  a right  and  a good.  The  slave- 
holder tells  us  that  he  only  can  instruct 
us  about  slavery.  But  suppose  that  we 
wished  to  learn  the  true  character  of 
despotism  ; should  we  go  to  the  palace 
and  take  the  despot  as  our  teacher  ? 
Should  we  pay  much  heed  to  his  assur- 
ance that  he  alone  could  understand 
the  character  of  absolute  power,  and 
that  we  in  a republic  could  know  noth- 
ing of  the  condition  of  men  subjected 
to  irresponsible  will  ? The  sad  influ- 
ence of  slavery  in  darkening  the  mind 
which  is  perpetually  conversant  with  it, 
is  disclosed  to  us  in  the  recent  attempts 
made  at  the  South  to  represent  this  in- 
stitution as  a good.  Freemen,  who 
would  sooner  die  than  resign  their 
rights,  talk  of  the  happiness  of  those 
from  whom  every  right  is  wrested. 
They  talk  of  the  slave  as  “ property,” 
with  the  same  confidence  as  if  this  were 
the  holiest  claim.  This  is  one  of  the 
mournful  effects  of  slavery.  It  darkens 
the  moral  sense  of  the  master.  And 
can  men,  whose  position  is  so  unfavor- 
able to  just,  impartial  judgment,  expect 
us  to  acquiesce  in  their  views  ? 

There  is  another  reply.  If  the  slave- 
holding States  expect  us  to  admit  their 
views  of  this  institution,  they  must  allow 
it  to  be  freely  discussed  among  them- 
selves. Of  what  avail  is  their  testimony 
in  favor  of  slavery,  when  not  a tongue 
is  allowed  to  say  a word  in  its  condem- 
nation ? Of  what  use  is  the  press,  when 
it  can  publish  only  on  one  side  ? In 
large  portions  of  the  slave-holding 
States,  freedom  of  speech  on  this  sub- 
ject is  at  an  end.  Whoever  should 
publish  among  them  the  sentiments 
respecting  slavery  which  are  universally 
adopted  through  the  civilized  world, 
would  put  his  life  in  jeopardy,  would 
probably  be  flayed  or  hung.  On  this 


great  subject,  which  affects  vitally  their 
peace  and  prosperity,  their  moral  and 
political  interests,  no  philanthropist, 
who  has  come  to  the  truth,  can  speak 
his  mind.  Even  the  minister  of  religion, 
who  feels  the  hostility  between  slavery 
and  Christianity,  dares  not  speak.  His 
calling  might  not  save  him  from  popular 
rage.  Thus  slavery  avenges  itself.  It 
brings  the  masters  under  despotism.  It 
takes  away  that  liberty  which  a freeman 
prizes  as  life, —liberty  of  speech.  All 
this,  we  are  told,  is  necessary,  and  so  it 
may  be  ; but  an  institution  imposing 
such  a necessity  cannot  be  a good  : and 
one  thing  is  plain,  — the  testimony  of 
men  placed  under  such  restraints  can- 
not be  too  cautiously  received.  We 
have  better  sources  of  knowledge.  We 
have  the  testimony  of  ages,  and  the  tes- 
timony of  the  unchangeable  principles 
of  human  nature.  These  assure  us  that 
slavery  is  “ evil,  and  evil  continually.” 

I ought  not  to  close  this  head  without 
acknowledging  (what  I cheerfully  do) 
that  in  many  cases  the  kindness  of  mas- 
ters does  much  for  the  mitigation  of 
slavery.  Could  it  be  rendered  harmless, 
the  efforts  of  many  would  not  be  spared 
to  make  it  so.  It  is  evil,  not  through 
any  singular  corruption  in  the  slave- 
holder, but  from  its  own  nature,  and  in 
spite  of  all  efforts  to  make  it  a good.  It 
is  evil,  not  because  it  exists  on  this  or 
that  spot.  Were  it  planted  at  the  North, 
it  might  become  a greater  curse,  more 
hardening  and  depraving  than  it  now 
proves  under  a milder  sky.  It  is  not  of 
the  particular  form  of  slavery  in  this 
country  that  I complain.  I am  willing 
to  allow  that  it  is  here  comparatively 
mild ; that  on  many  plantations  no 
abuses  exist,  but  such  as  are  insepara- 
ble from  its  very  nature.  The  mischief 
lies  in  its  very  nature.  “Men  do  not 
gather  grapes  of  thorns,  or  figs  of  this- 
tles.” An  institution  so  founded  in 
wrong,  so  imbued  with  injustice,  cannot 
be  made  a good.  It  cannot,  like  other 
institutions,  be  perpetuated  by  being 
improved.  To  improve  it  is  to  prepare 
the  way  for  its  subversion.  Every  mel- 
ioration of  the  slave’s  lot  is  a step 
toward  freedom.  Slavery  is  thus  radi- 
cally, essentially  evil.  Every  good  man 
should  earnestly  pray,  and  use  every 
virtuous  influence,  that  an  institution 
so  blighting  to  human  nature  may  be 
brought  to  an  end. 


723 


W 

SLA  VERY. 


Chapter  V. 

Scripture. 

Attempts  are  often  made  to  support 
slavery  by  the  authority  of  revelation. 
“ Slavery,”  it  is  said,  “ is  allowed  in  the 
Old  Testament,  and  not  condemned  in 
the  New.  Paul  commands  slaves  to 
obey.  He  commands  masters,  not  to 
release  their  slaves,  but  to  treat  them 
justly.  Therefore  slavery  is  right,  is 
sanctified  by  God's  word.”  In  this  age 
of  the  world,  and  amidst  the  light  which 
has  been  thrown  on  the  true  interpreta- 
tion of  the  Scriptures,  such  reasoning 
hardly  deserves  notice.  A few  words 
only  will  be  offered  in  reply. 

This  reasoning  proves  too  much.  If 
usages,  sanctioned  in  the  Old  Testa- 
ment and  not  forbidden  in  the  New,  are 
right,  then  our  moral  code  will  undergo 
a sad  deterioration.  Polygamy  was  al- 
lowed to  the  Israelites,  was  the  practice 
of  the  holiest  men,  and  was  common 
and  licensed  in  the  age  of  the  Apostles. 
But  the  Apostles  nowhere  condemn  it, 
nor  was  the  renunciation  of  it  made  an 
essential  condition  of  admission  into  the 
Christian  church.  It  is  true  that  in  one 
passage  Christ  has  condemned  it  by 
implication.  But  is  not  slavery  con- 
demned by  stronger  implication,  in  the 
many  passages  which  make  the  new 
religion  to  consist  in  serving  one  an- 
other, and  in  doing  to  others  what  we 
would  that  they  should  do  to  ourselves  ? 
Why  may  not  Scripture  be  used  to  stock 
our  houses  with  wives  as  well  as  with 
slaves  ? 

Again.  Paul  is  said  to  sanction  sla- 
very. Let  us  now  ask,  What  was  slavery 
in  the  age  of  Paul  ? It  was  the  slavery, 
not  so  much  of  black  as  of  white  men, 
not  merely  of  barbarians,  but  of  Greeks, 
not  merely  of  the  ignorant  and  debased, 
but  of  the  virtuous,  educated,  and  re- 
fined. Piracy  and  conquest  were  the 
chief  means  of  supplying  the  slave- 
market,  and  they  heeded  neither  char- 
acter nor  condition.  Sometimes  the 
greater  part  of  the  population  of  a capt- 
ured city  was  sold  into  bondage,  some- 
times the  whole,  as  in  the  case  of  Jeru- 
salem. Noble  and  royal  families,  the 
rich  and  great,  the  learned  and  power- 
ful, the  philosopher  and  poet,  the  wisest 
and  best  men,  were  condemned  to  the 
chain.  Such  was  ancient  slavery.  And 


this,  we  are  told,  is  allowed  and  con- 
firmed by  the  word  of  God!  Had  Na- 
poleon, on  capturing  Berlin  or  Vienna, 
doomed  most  or  the  whole  of  their  in- 
habitants to  bondage  ; had  he  seized  on 
venerable  matrons,  the  mothers  of  illus- 
trious men,  who  were  reposing,  after 
virtuous  lives,  in  the  bosom  of  grateful 
families  ; had  he  seized  on  the  delicate, 
refined,  beautiful  young  woman,  whose 
education  had  prepared  her  to  grace  the 
sphere  in  which  God  had  placed  her, 
and  over  all  whose  prospects  the  fresh- 
est hopes  and  most  glowing  imaginations 
of  early  life  were  breathed ; had  he 
seized  on  the  miqister  of  religion,  the 
man  of  science,  the  man  of  genius,  the 
sage,  the  guides  of  the  world  ; had  he 
scattered  these  through  the  slave-mar- 
kets of  the  world,  and  transferred  them 
to  the  highest  bidders  at  public  auction, 
the  men  to  be  converted  into  instru- 
ments of  slavish  toil,  the  women  into 
instruments  of  lust,  and  both  to  endure 
whatever  indignities  and  tortures  abso- 
lute power  can  inflict,  — we  should  then 
have  had  a picture,  in  the  present  age,  of 
slavery  as  it  existed  in  the  time  of  Paul. 
Such  slavery,  we  are  told,  was  sanctioned 
by  the  Apostle  !’  Such,  we  are  told,  he 
pronounced  to  be  morally  right ! Had 
Napoleon  sent  some  cargoes  of  these 
victims  to  these  shores,  we  might  nave 
bought  them,  and  degraded  the  noblest 
beings  to  our  lowest  uses,  and  might 
have  cited  Paul  to  testify  to  our  inno- 
cence ! Were  an  infidel  to  bring  this 
charge  against  the  Apostle,  we  should 
say  that  he  was  laboring  in  his  vocation ; 
but  that  a professed  Christian  should  so 
insult  this  sainted  philanthropist,  this 
martyr  to  truth  and  benevolence,  is  a 
sad  proof  of  the  power  of  slavery  to 
blind  its  supporters  to  the  plainest 
truth. 

Slavery,  in  the  age  of  the  Apostle, 
had  so  penetrated  society,  was  so  in- 
timately interwoven  with  it,  and  the 
materials  of  servile  war  were  so  abun- 
dant, that  a religion  preaching  freedom 
to  the  slave  would  have  shaken  the  so- 
cial fabric  to  its  foundation,  and  would 
have  armed  against  itself  the  whole 
power  of  the  state.  Paul  did  not  then 
assail  the  institution.  He  satisfied  him- 
self with  spreading  principles  which, 
however  slowly,  could  not  but  work  its 
destruction.  He  commanded  Philemon 
to  receive  his  fugitive  slave,  Onesimus, 


724 


SLA  VERY. 


“ not  as  a slave,  but  above  a slave,  as  a 
brother  beloved  ;”  and  he  commanded 
masters  to  give  to  their  slaves  that 
which  was  “ just  and  equal;  ” thus  as- 
serting for  the  slave  the  rights  of  a 
Christian  and  a man  ; and  how,  in  his 
circumstances,  he  could  have  done  more 
for  the  subversion  of  slavery,  I do  not 
see. 

Let  me  offer  another  remark.  The 
perversion  of  Scripture  to  the  support 
of  slavery  is  singularly  inexcusable  in 
this  country.  Paul  not  only  commanded 
slaves  to  obey  their  masters.  He  de- 
livered these  precepts  : “ Let  every  soul 
be  subject  unto  the  higher  powers.  For 
there  is  no  power  but  of  God  ; the  pow- 
ers that  be  are  ordained  of  God.  Who- 
soever, therefore,  resisteth  the  power, 
resisteth  the  ordinance  of  God ; and 
they  that  resist  shall  receive  to  them- 
selves damnation.”  This  passage  was 
written  in  the  time  of  Nero.  It  teaches 
passive  obedience  to  despotism  more 
strongly  than  any  text  teaches  the  law- 
fulness of  slavery.  Accordingly  it  has 
been  quoted  for  ages  by  the  supporters 
of  arbitrary  power,  and  made  the  strong- 
hold of  tyranny.  Did  our  fathers  ac- 
quiesce in  the  most  obvious  interpreta- 
tion of  this  text  ? Because  the  first 
Christians  were  taught  to  obey  despotic 
rule,  did  our  fathers  feel  as  if  Christi- 
anity had  stripped  men  of  their  rights  ? 
Did  they  argue  that  tyranny  was  to  be 
excused  because  forcible  opposition  to 
it  is  in  most  cases  wrong  ? Did  they 
argue  that  absolute  power  ceases  to  be 
unjust  because,  as  a general  rule,  it  is 
the  duty  of  subjects  to  obey  ? Did  they 
infer  that  bad  institutions  ought  to  be 
perpetual  because  the  subversion  of 
them  by  force  will  almost  always  inflict 
greater  evil  than  it  removes  ? No ; they 
were  wiser  interpreters  of  God’s  word. 
They  believed  that  despotism  was  a 
wrong,  notwithstanding  the  general  ob- 
ligation upon  its  subjects  to  obey ; and 
that  whenever  a whole  people  should  so 
feel  the  wrong  as  to  demand  its  re- 
moval, the  time  for  removing  it  had  fully 
come.  Such  is  the  school  in  which  we 
here  have  been  brought  up.  To  us,  it 
is  no  mean  proof  of  the  divine  original 
of  Christianity,  that  it  teaches  human 
brotherhood  and  favors  human  rights  ; 
and  yet,  on  the  ground  of  two  or  three 
passages,  which  admit  different  con- 
structions, we  make  Christianity  the 


minister  of  slavery,  the  forger  of  chains 
for  those  whom  it  came  to  make  free. 

It  is  a plain  rule  of  scriptural  criti- 
cism, that  particular  texts  should  be 
interpreted  according  to  the  general 
tenor  and  spirit  of  Christianity.  And 
what  is  the  general,  the  perpetual  teach- 
ing of  Christianity  in  regard  to  social 
duty  ? “ All  things  whatsoever  ye  would 
that  men  should  do  to  you,  do  ye  even 
so  to  them  ; for  this  is  the  law  and  the 
prophets.”  Now,  does  not  every  man 
feel  that  nothing,  nothing  could  induce 
him  to  consent  to  be  a slave  ? Does 
he  not  feel  that,  if  reduced  to  this  ab- 
ject lot,  his  whole  nature,  his  reason, 
conscience,  affections,  would  cry  out 
against  it  as  the  greatest  of  calamities 
and  wrongs  ? Can  he  pretend,  then, 
that,  in  holding  others  in  bondage,  he 
does  to  his  neighbor  what  he  would  that 
his  neighbor  should  do  to  him  ? Of 
what  avail  are  a few  texts,  which  were 
designed  for  local  and  temporary  use, 
when  urged  against  the  vital,  essential 
spirit,  and  the  plainest  precepts  of  our 
religion  ? 

I close  this  section  with  a few  ex- 
tracts from  a recent  work  of  one  of  our 
most  distinguished  writers  ; not  that  I 
think  additional  arguments  necessary, 
but  because  the  authority  of  Script- 
ure is  more  successfully  used  than  any 
thing  else  to  reconcile  good  minds  to 
slavery : — 

“ This  very  course,  which  the  gospel 
takes  on  this  subject,  seems  to  have  been 
the  only  one  that  could  have  been  taken  in 
order  to  effect  the  universal  abolition  of 
slavery.  The  gospel  was  designed,  not  for 
one  race  or  for  one  time,  but  for  all  races 
and  for  all  times.  It  looked,  not  at  the 
abolition  of  this  form  of  evil  for  that 
age  alone,  but  for  its  universal  abolition. 
Hence  the  important  object  of  its  Author 
was  to  gain  it  a lodgment  in  every  part  of 
the  known  world  ; so  that,  by  its  universal 
diffusion  among  all  classes  of  society,  it 
might  quietly  and  peacefully  modify  and 
subdue  the  evil  passions  of  men  ; and  thus, 
without  violence,  work  a revolution  in  the 
whole  mass  of  mankind.  In  this  manner 
alone  could  its  object  — a universal  moral 
revolution  — have  been  accomplished.  For 
if  it  had  forbidden  the  evil , instead  of  sub- 
verting the  principle,  if  it  had  proclaimed 
the  unlawfulness  of  slavery,  and  taught 
slaves  to  resist  the  oppression  of  their  mas- 
ters, it  would  instantly  have  arrayed  the 
two  parties  in  deadly  hostility  throughout 
the  civilized  world ; its  announcement  would 


SLA  VERY. 


72  5 


have  been  the  signal  of  servile  war  ; and 
the  very  name  of  the  Christian  religion 
would  have  been  forgotten  amidst  the  agi- 
tations of  universal  bloodshed.  The  fact, 
under  these  circumstances,  that  the  gospel 
does  not  forbid  slavery,  affords  no  reason 
to  suppose  that  it  does  not  mean  to  pro- 
hibit it ; much  less  does  it  afford  ground 
for  belief  that  Jesus  Christ  intended  to 
authorize  it. 

“ It  is  important  to  remember,  that  two 
grounds  of  moral  obligation  are  distinctly 
recognized  in  the  gospel.  The  first  is  our 
duty  to  man  as  man  ; that  is,  on  the  ground 
of  the  relation  which  men  sustain  to  each 
other ; the  second  is  our  duty  to  man  as  a 
creature  of  God ; that  is,  on  the  ground  of 
the  relation  which  we  all  sustain  to  God. 
Now,  it  is  to  be  observed  that  it  is  pre- 
cisely upon  this  latter  ground  that  the  slave 
is  commanded  to  obey  his  master.  It  is 
never  urged,  like  the  duty  of  obedience  to 
parents,  because  it  is  right , but  because  the 
cultivation  of  meekness  and  forbearance 
under  injury  will  be  well-pleasing  unto 
God.  The  manner  in  which  the  duty  of 
servants  or  slaves  is  inculcated,  therefore, 
affords  no  ground  for  the  assertion  that  the 
gospel  authorizes  one  man  to  hold  another 
in  bondage,  any  more  than  the  command  to 
honor  the  king,  when  that  king  was  Nero, 
authorized  the  tyranny  of  the  emperor ; or 
than  the  command  to  turn  the  other  cheek, 
when  one  is  smitten,  justifies  the  infliction 
of  violence  by  an  injurious  man.”  * 


Chapter  VI. 

Means  of  Removing  Slavery . ' 

How  slavery  shall  be  removed  is  a 
question  for  the  slave-holder,  and  one 
which  he  alone  can  fully  answer.  He 
alone  has  an  intimate  knowledge  of  the 
character  and  habits  of  the  slaves,  to 
which  the  means  of  emancipation  should 
be  carefully  adapted.  General  views 
and  principles  may  and  should  be  sug- 
gested at  a distance  ; but  the  mode  of 
applying  them  can  be  understood  only 
by  those  who  dwell  on  the  spot  where 
the  evil  exists.  To  the  slave-holder 
belongs  the  duty  of  settling  and  em- 
ploying the  best  methods  of  liberation, 
and  to  no  other.  We  have  no  right  of 
interference,  nor  do  we  desire  it.  We 
hold  that  the  dangers  of  emancipation, 
if  such  there  are,  would  be  indefinitely 
increased  were  the  boon  to  come  to  the 

* Wayland’s  “ Elements  of  Moral  Science,”  pages 
225  and  226.  The  discussion  of  Slavery,  in  the  chap- 
ter from  which  these  extracts  are  made,  is  well  worthy 
attention. 


slave  from  a foreign  hand,  — were  he  to 
see  it  forced  on  the  master  by  a foreign 
power.  It  is  of  the  highest  importance 
that  slavery  should  be  succeeded  by  a 
friendly  relation  between  master  and 
slave  ; and,  to  produce  this,  the  latter 
must  see  in  the  former  his  benefactor 
and  deliverer.  His  liberty  must  seem 
to  him  an  expression  of  benevolence 
and  regard  for  his  rights.  He  must  put 
confidence  in  his  superiors,  and  look 
to  them  cheerfully  and  gratefully  for 
counsel  and  aid.  Let  him  feel  that 
liberty  has  been  wrung  from  an  unwill- 
ing master,  who  would  willingly  replace 
the  chain,  and  jealousy,  vindictiveness, 
and  hatred  would  spring  up  to  blight 
the  innocence  and  happiness  of  his  new 
freedom,  and  to  make  it  a peril  to  him- 
self and  all  around  him.  I believe, 
indeed,  that  emancipation,  though  so 
bestowed,  would  be  better  than  ever- 
lasting bondage  ; but  the  responsibility 
of  so  conferring  it  is  one  that  none  of 
us  are  anxious  to  assume. 

We  cannot  but  fear  much  from  the 
experiment  now  in  progress  in  the  West 
Indies,  on  account  of  its  being  the  work 
of  a foreign  hand.  The  planters,  es- 
pecially of  Jamaica,  have  opposed  the 
mother  country  with  a pertinaciousness 
bordering  on  insanity  ; have  done  much 
to  exasperate  the  slaves,  whose  freedom 
they  could  not  prevent ; have  done  noth- 
ing to  prepare  them  for  liberty  ; have  met 
them  with  gloom  on  their  countenances, 
and  with  evil  auguries  on  their  lips  ; have 
taught  them  to  look  abroad  for  relief, 
and  to  see  in  their  masters  only  obstruc- 
tions to  the  amelioration  of  their  lot. 
It  is  possible  that,  under  all  these  ob- 
stacles, emancipation  may  succeed.  God 
grant  it  success  ! If  it  fail,  the  planter 
will  have  brought  the  ruin  very  much 
on  himself.  Policy,  as  well  as  duty,  so 
plainly  taught  him  to  take  into  his  own 
hands  the  work  which  a superior  power 
had  begun,  to  spare  no  effort,  no  ex- 
pense, for  binding  to  him  by  new  ties 
those  who  were  to  throw  off  their 
former  chains,  that  we  know  not  how 
to  account  for  his  conduct,  but  by  sup- 
posing that  his  unhappy  position  as  a 
slave-holder  had  robbed  him  of  his 
reason,  as  well  as  blunted  his  moral 
sense. 

In  this  country,  no  power  but  that 
of  the  slave-holding  States  can  remove 
the  evil,  and  none  of  us  are  anxious  to 


SLA  VERY. 


726 

take  the  office  from  their  hands.  They 
alone  can  do  it  safely.  They  alone  can 
determine  and  apply  the  true  and  sure 
means  of  emancipation.  That  such 
means  exist,  I cannot  doubt ; for  eman- 
cipation has  already  been  carried  through 
successfully  in  other  countries  ; and  even 
were  there  no  precedent,  I should  be 
sure  that,  under  God’s  benevolent  and 
righteous  government,  there  could  not 
be  a necessity  for  holding  human  beings 
in  perpetual  bondage.  This  faith,  how- 
ever, is  not  universal.  Many,  when 
they  hear  of  the  evils  of  slavery,  say, 
“ It  is  bad,  but  remediless.  There  are 
no  means  of  relief.”  They  say,  in  a 
despairing  tone,  “ Give  us  your  plan  ; ” 
and  justify  their  indifference  to  eman- 
cipation by  what  they  call  its  hopeless- 
ness. This  state  of  mind  has  induced 
me  to  offer  a few  remarks  on  the  means 
of  removing  slavery  ; not  that  I think 
of  drawing  up  a plan  ; for  to  this  I am 
necessarily  unequal.  No  individual  so 
distant  can  do  the  work,  to  which  the 
whole  intellect  and  benevolence  of  the 
South  should  be  summoned.  I wish 
only  to  suggest  a few  principles,  which 
I think  would  ensure  a happy  result  to 
the  benevolent  enterprise,  and  which 
may  help  to  remove  the  incredulity  of 
which  I have  complained. 

What,  then,  is  to  be  done  for  the  re- 
moval of  slavery  ? In  the  first  place, 
the  great  principle,  that  man  cannot 
rightfully  be  held  as  property,  should 
be  admitted  by  the  slave-holder.  As  to 
any  public  forms  of  setting  forth  this 
principle,  they  are  of  little  or  no  moment, 
provided  it  be  received  into  the  mind 
and  heart.  The  slave  should  be  ac- 
knowledged as  a partaker  of  a common 
nature,  as  having  the  essential  rights  of 
humanity.  This  great  truth  lies  at  the 
foundation  of  every  wise  plan  for  his 
relief.  The  cordial  admission  of  it 
would  give  a consciousness  of  dignity, 
of  grandeur,  to  efforts  for  emancipation. 
There  is,  indeed,  a grandeur  in' the  idea 
of  raising  more  than  two  millions  of 
human  beings  to  the  enjoyment  of  hu- 
man rights,  to  the  blessings  of  Chris- 
tian civilization,  to  the  means  of  indefi- 
nite improvement.  The  slave-holding 
States  are  called  to  a nobler  work  of 
benevolence  than  is  committed  to  any 
other  communities.  They  should  com- 
prehend its  dignity.  This  they  cannot 
do  till  the  slave  is  truly,  sincerely,  with 


the  mind  and  heart,  recognized  as  a 
man,  — till  he  ceases  to  be  regarded  as 
property. 

It  may  be  asked  whether  I intend 
that  the  slave  should  be  immediately  set 
free  from  all  his  present  restraints.  By 
no  means.  Nothing  is  farther  from  my 
thoughts.  The  slave  cannot  rightfully, 
and  should  not,  be  owned  by  the  indi- 
vidual. But,  like  every  other  citizen, 
he  is  subject  to  the  community,  and  the 
community  has  a right  and  is  bound  to 
continue  all  such  restraints  as  its  own 
safety  and  the  well-being  of  the  slave 
demand.  It  would  be  cruelty,  not  kind- 
ness, to  the  latter  to  give  him  a freedom 
which  he  is  unprepared  to  understand 
or  enjoy.  It  would  be  cruelty  to  strike 
the  fetters  from  a man  whose  first  steps 
would  infallibly  lead  him  to  a precipice. 
The  slave  should  not  have  an  owner, 
but  he  should  have  a guardian.  He 
needs  authority,  to  supply  the  lack  of 
that  discretion  which  he  has  not  yet 
attained  ; but  it  should  be  the  authority 
of  a friend  ; an  official  authority,  con- 
ferred by  the  state,  and  for  which  there 
should  be  responsibleness  to  the  state  ; 
an  authority  especially  designed  to  pre- 
pare its  subjects  for  personal  freedom. 
The  slave  should  not,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, be  allowed  to  wander  at  his  will 
beyond  the  plantation  on  which  he  toils  ; 
and  if  he  cannot  be  induced  to  work  by 
rational  and  natural  motives,  he  should 
b6  obliged  to  labor,  on  the  same  princi- 
ples on  which  the  vagrant  in  other  com- 
munities is  confined  and  compelled  to 
earn  his  bread.  The  gift  of  liberty 
would  be  a mere  name,  and  worse  than 
nominal,  were  he  to  be  let  loose  on 
society,  under  circumstances  driving 
him  to  crimes,  for  which  he  would  be 
condemned  to  severer  bondage  than  he 
had  escaped.  Many  restraints  must  be 
continued ; but  continued,  not  because 
the  colored  race  are  property,  not  be- 
cause they  are  bound  to  live  and  toil 
for  an  owner,  but  solely  and  wholly 
because  their  own  innocence,  security, 
and  education,  and  the  public  order  and 
peace,  require  them,  during  the  present 
incapacity,  to  be  restrained.  It  should 
be  remembered  that  this  incapacity  is 
not  their  fault,  but  their  misfortune ; 
that  not  they,  but  the  community,  are 
responsible  for  it ; and  that  the  com- 
munity, without  crime,  profit  by  its  own 
wrong.  If  the  government  should  make 


SLA  VERY. 


727 


any  distinction  among  the  citizens,  it 
should  be  in  behalf  of  the  injured.  In- 
stead of  urging  the  past  existence  of 
slavery,  and  the  incapacity  which  it 
has  induced,  as  apologies  -or  reasons 
for  continuing  the  yoke,  the  com- 
munity should  find  in  these  very  cir- 
cumstances new  obligations  to  effort  for 
the  wronged. 

There  is  but  one  weighty  argument 
against  immediate  emancipation  ; name- 
ly, that  the  slave  would  not  support  him- 
self and  his  children  by  honest  industry  ; 
that,  having  always  worked  on  compul- 
sion, he  will  not  work  without  it ; that, 
having  always  labored  from  another’s 
will,  he  will  not  labor  from,  his  own  ; 
that  there  is  no  spring  of  exertion  in  his 
own  mind  ; that  he  is  unused  to  fore- 
thought, providence,  and  self-denial, 
and  the  responsibilities  of  domestic  life  ; 
that  freedom  would  produce  idleness  ; 
idleness,  want;  want,  crime;  and  that 
crime,  when  it  should  become  the  habit 
of  numbers,  would  bring  misery,  perhaps 
ruin,  not  only  on  the  offenders,  but  the 
state.  Here  lies  the  strength  of  the 
argument  for  continuing  present  re- 
straint. Give  the  slaves  disposition  and 
power  to  support  themselves  and  their 
families  by  honest  industry,  and  com- 
plete emancipation  should  not  be  de- 
layed one  hour. 

The  great  step,  then,  towards  the  re- 
moval of  slavery,  is  to  prepare  the  slaves 
for  self-support.  And  this  work  seems 
attended  with  no  peculiar  difficulty.  The 
colored  man  is  not  a savage,  to  whom 
toil  is  torture,  who  has  centred  every 
idea  of  happiness  and  dignity  in  a wild 
freedom,  who  must  exchange  the  bound- 
less forest  for  a narrow  plantation*  and 
bend  his  proud  neck  to  an  unknown 
yoke.  Labor  was  his  first  lesson,  and  he 
has  been  repeating  it  all  his  life.  Can  it 
be  a hard  task  to  teach  him  to  labor  for 
himself,  — to  work  from  impulses  in  his 
own  breast  ? 

Much  may  be  done  at  once  to  throw 
the  slave  on  himself,  to  accustom  him 
to  work  for  his  own  and  his  family’s 
support,  to  awaken  forethought,  and 
strengthen  the  habit  of  providing  for 
the  future.  On  every  plantation  there 
are  slaves  who  would  do  more  for  wages 
than  from  fear  of  punishment.  There 
are  those  who,  if  intrusted  with  a piece 
of  ground,  would  support  themselves 
and  pay  a rent  in  kind.  There  are  those 


who,  if  moderate  task-work  were  given 
them,  would  gain  their  whole  subsist- 
ence in  their  own  time.  Now,  every 
such  man  ought  to  be  committed  very 
much  to  himself.  It  is  a crime  to  sub- 
ject to  the  whip  a man  who  can  be  made 
to  toil  from  rational  and  honorable  mo- 
tives. This  partial  introduction  of  free- 
dom would  form  a superior  class  among 
the  slaves,  whose  example  would  have 
immense  moral  power  on  those  who 
needed  compulsion.  The  industrious 
and  thriving  would  give  an  impulse  to 
the  whole  race.  It  is  important  that 
the  property  thus  earned  by  the  slave 
should  be  made  as  sacred  as  that  of  any 
other  member  of  the  community,  and 
for  this  end  he  should  be  enabled  to 
obtain  redress  of  wrongs.  In  case  of 
being  injured  by  his  master  in  this  or  in 
any  respect,  he  should  either  be  set  free, 
or,  if  unprepared  for  liberty,  should  be 
transferred  to  another  guardian.  This 
system  may  seem  to  many  to  be  attended 
with  insuperable  difficulties  ; but  if  es- 
tablished and  watched  over  by  a com- 
munity sincerely  desirous  of  emancipa- 
tion (and  no  other  influence  can  establish 
it  here),  it  would  find  in  public  sentiment, 
even  more  than  in  law,  the  means  of  ex- 
ecution. 

As  another  means  of  raising  the  slave 
and  fitting  him  to  act  from  higher  mo- 
tives than  compulsion,  a system  of  boun- 
ties and  rewards  should  be  introduced. 
New  privileges,  increased  indulgences, 
honorable  distinctions,  expressions  of 
respect,  should  be  awarded  to  the  hon- 
est and  industrious.  No  people  are 
more  alive  to  commendation  and  hon- 
orable distinction  than  the  golored  race. 
Prizes  for  good  conduct,  adapted  to 
their  tastes  and  character,  might  in  a 
good  degree  supersede  the  lash.  The 
object  is  to  bring  the  slave  to  labor 
from  other  motives  than  brutal  com- 
pulsion. Such  motives  may  easily  be 
found,  if  the  end  be  conscientiously 
proposed. 

One  of  the  great  means  of  elevating 
the  slave,  and  calling  forth  his  energies, 
is  to  place  his  domestic  relations  on  new 
ground.  This  is  essential.  We  wish 
him  to  labor  for  his  family.  Then  he 
must  have  a family  to  labor  for.  Then 
his  wife  and  children  must  be  truly  his 
own.  Then  his  home  must  be  inviolate. 
Then  the  responsibilities  of  a husband 
and  father  must  be  laid  on  him.  It  is 


SLA  VERY. 


728 

agreed  that  he  will  be  fit  for  freedom  as 
soon  as  the  support  of  his  family  shall 
become  his  habit  and  his  happiness ; 
and  how  can  he  be  brought  to  this  con- 
dition, as  long  as  he  shall  see  no  sanctity 
in  the  marriage  bond,  as  long  as  he  shall 
see  his  wife  and  his  children  exposed  to 
indignity  and  to  sale,  as  long  as  their 
support  shall  not  be  intrusted  to  his 
care  ? No  measure  for  preparing  the 
slave  for  liberty  can  be  so  effectual  as 
the  improvement  of  his  domestic  lot. 
The  whole  power  of  religion  should  be 
employed  to  impress  him  with  the  sa- 
credness and  duties  of  marriage.  The 
chaste  and  the  faithful  in  this  connec- 
tion should  receive  open  and  strong 
marks  of  respect.  They  should  be 
treated  as  at  the  head  of  their  race. 
The  husband  and  wife,  who  prove  false 
to  each  other,  and  who  will  not  labor 
for  their  children,  should  be  visited  with 
the  severest  rebuke.  To  create  a sense 
of  domestic  obligation,  to  awaken  do- 
mestic affections,  to  give  the  means  of 
domestic  happiness,  to  fix  deeply  a con- 
viction of  the  indissolubleness  of  mar- 
riage, and  of  the  solemnity  of  the  par- 
ental relation, — these  are  the  essential 
means  of  raising  the  slave  to  a virtuous 
and  happy  freedom.  All  other  men  la- 
bor for  their  families  ; and  so  will  the 
slave,  if  the  sentiments  of  a man  be 
cherished  in  his  breast.  We  keep  him 
in  bondage,  because,  if  free,  he  will 
leave  his  wife  and  children  to  want ; 
and  this  bondage  breaks  down  all  the 
feelings  and  habits  which  would  incite 
him  to  toil  for  their  support.  Not  a step 
will  be  taken  towards  the  preparation  of 
the  slave  for  voluntary  labor  till  his  do- 
mestic rights  be  respected.  The  viola- 
tion of  these  cries  to  God  more  than 
any  other  evil  of  his  lot. 

To  carry  this  and  all  other  means  of 
improvement  into  effect,  it  is  essential 
that  the  slave  should  no  longer  -be 
bought  and  sold.  As  long  as  he  is 
made  an  article  of  merchandise,  he  can- 
not be  fitted  for  the  offices  of  a man. 
He  will  have  little  motive  to  accumulate 
comforts  and  ornaments  in  his  hut,  if 
at  any  moment  he  may  be  torn  from  it. 
While  treated  as  property,  he  will  have 
little  encouragement  to  accumulate  prop- 
erty, for  it  cannot  be  secure.  While  his 
wife  and  children  may  be  exposed  at 
auction,  and  carried  he  knows  not  where, 
can  he  be  expected  to  feel  and  act  as  a 


husband  and  father  ? It  is  time  that 
this  Christian  and  civilized  country 
should  no  longer  be  dishonored  by 
one  of  the  worst  usages  of  barbarism. 
Break  up  the  slave-market,  and  one  of 
the  chief  obstructions  to  emancipation 
will  be  removed. 

Let  me  only  add,  that  religious  in- 
struction should  go  hand-in-hand  with 
all  other  means  for  preparing  the  slave 
for  freedom.  The  colored  race  are  said 
to  be  peculiarly  susceptible  of  the  relig- 
ious sentiment.  If  this  be  addressed 
wisely  and  powerfully,  if  the  slave  be 
brought  to  feel  his  relation  and  account- 
ableness to  God,  and  $0  comprehend  the 
spirit  of  Christianity,  he  is  fit  for  free- 
dom. To  accomplish  this  work,  per- 
haps preaching  should  not  be  the  only 
or  chief  instrument.  Were  the  colored 
population  to  be  assembled  into  Sunday- 
schools,  and  were  the  whites  to  become 
their  teachers,  a new  and  interesting  re- 
lation would  be  formed  between  the 
races,  and  an  influence  be  exerted  which 
would  do  much  to  insure  safety  to  the 
gift  of  freedom. 

In  these  remarks,  I have  not  intended 
to  say  that  emancipation  is  an  easy  work, 
the  work  of  a day,  a good  to  be  accom- 
plished without  sacrifices  and  toil.  The 
colored  man  is,  indeed,  singularly  sus- 
ceptible of  improvement,  in  consequence 
of  the  strength  of  his  propensities  to 
imitation  and  sympathy.  But  all  great 
changes  in  society  have  their  difficulties 
and  inconveniences,  and  demand  patient 
labor.  I ask  for  no  precipitate  meas- 
ures, no  violent  changes.  What  is 
needed  is,  that  the  slave-holding  States 
should  resolve  conscientiously  and  in 
good*  faith  to  remove  this  greatest  of 
moral  evils  and  wrongs,  and  should 
bring  immediately  to  the  work  their  in- 
telligence, virtue,  and  power.  That  its 
difficulties  would  yield  before  such  ener- 
gies, who  can  doubt  ? Our  weakness 
for  holy  enterprises  lies  generally  in  our 
own  reluctant  wills.  Breathe  into  men 
a fervent  purpose,  and  you  awaken  pow- 
ers before  unknown.  How  soon  would 
slavery  disappear  were  the  obligation  to 
remove  it  thoroughly  understood  and 
deeply  felt ! We  are  told  that  the  slave- 
holding States  have  recently  prospered 
beyond  all  precedent.  This  accession 
to  their  wealth  should  be  consecrated  to 
the  work  of  liberating  their  fellow- creat- 
ures. Not  one  indulgence  should  be 


SLA  VERY. 


729 


added  to  their  modes  of  life  until  the 
cry  of  the  oppressed  has  ceased  from 
their  fields,  until  the  rights  of  every 
human  being  are  restored.  Government 
should  devote  itself  to  this  as  its  great 
object.  Legislatures  should  meet  to 
free  the  slave.  The  church  should  rest 
not,  day  or  night,  till  this  stain  be  wiped 
away.  Let  the  deliberations  of  the  wise, 
the  energies  of  the  active,  the  wealth  of 
the  prosperous,  the  prayers  and  toils 
of  the  good,  have  emancipation  for  their 
great  end.  Let  this  be  discussed  habit- 
ually in  the  family  circle,  in  the  confer- 
ence of  Christians,  in  the  halls  of  legis- 
lation. Let  it  mingle  with  the  first 
thoughts  of  the  slave-holder  in  the 
morning  and  the  last  at  night.  Who 
can  doubt  that  to  such  a spirit  God 
would  reveal  the  means  of  wise  and 
powerful  action  ? There  is  but  one  ob- 
stacle to  emancipation,  and  that  is,  the 
want  of  that  spirit  in  which  Christians 
and  freemen  should  resolve  to  extermi- 
nate slavery. 

I have  said  nothing  of  colonization 
among  the  means  of  removing  slavery, 
because  I believe  that  to  rely  on  it  for 
this  object  would  be  equivalent  to  a 
resolution  to  perpetuate  the  evil  without 
end.  Whatever  good  it  may  do  abroad, 
— and  I trust  it  will  do  much,  — it  prom- 
ises little  at  home.  If  the  slave-hclding 
States,  however,  should  engage  in  colo- 
nization with  a firm  faith  in  its  practi- 
cableness, with  an  energy  proportionate 
to  its  greatness,  and  with  a sincere  re- 
gard to  the  welfare  of  the  colored  race, 
I am  confident  it  will  not  fail  from  want 
of  sympathy  and  aid  on  the  part  of  the 
other  States.  In  truth,  these  States  will 
not  withhold  their  hearts  or  hands  or 
wealth  from  any  well-considered  plan 
for  the  removal  of  slavery. 

I have  said  nothing  of  the  inconven- 
iences and  sufferings  which,  it  is  urged, 
will  follow  emancipation,  be  it  ever  so 
safe  ; for  these,  if  real,  weigh  nothing 
against  the  claims  of  justice.  The  most 
common  objection  is,  that  a mixture  of 
the  two  races  will  be  the  result.  Can 
this  objection  be  urged  in  good  faith  ? 
Can  this  mixture  go  on  faster  or  more 
criminally  than  at  the  present  moment  ? 
Can  the  slave-holder  use  the  word 
u Amalgamation  ” without  a blush  ? 
Nothing,  nothing  can  arrest  this  evil 
but  the  raising  of  the  colored  woman  to 
a new  sense  of  character,  to  a new  self- 


respect ; and  this  she  cannot  gain  but 
by  being  made  free.  That  emancipation 
will  have  its  evils,  we  know ; for  all 
great  changes,  however  beneficial,  in 
the  social  condition  of  a people,  must 
interfere  with  some  interests,  must  bring 
loss  or  hardship  to  one  class  or  another  ; 
but  the  evils  of  slavery  exceed  beyond 
measure  the  greatest  which  can  attend 
its  removal.  Let  the  slave-holder  desire 
earnestly,  and  in  the  spirit  of  self-sacri- 
fice, to  restore  freedom,  to  secure  the 
rights  and  the  happiness  of  the  slave, 
and  a new  light  will  break  upon  his  path. 
“ Every  mountain  of  difficulty  will  be 
brought  low,  and  the  rough  places  be 
made  smooth  ; ” the  means  of  duty  will 
become  clear.  But,  without  this  spirit, 
no  eloquence  of  man  or  angel  can  per- 
suade the  slave-holder  of  the  safety  of 
emancipation. 

Some  readers  may  perhaps  be  disap- 
pointed that,  in  speaking  of  the  means 
of  removing  slavery,  I have  suggested 
nothing  which  may  be  done  for  the  cause 
by  the  friends  of  emancipation  in  the 
free  States.  On  this  point  my  opinions 
may  easily  be  gathered  from  what  has 
been  already  said.  Our  proper,  and  only 
means  of  action  is,  to  spread  the  truth 
on  the  subject  of  slavery  ; and  let  none 
contemn  this  means  because  of  its  grad- 
ual influence.  It  is  not  therefore  less 
sure.  No  state,  unless  cut  off  like  Para- 
guay from  the  communion  of  nations, 
can  at  the  present  day  escape  the  power 
of  strong,  deep,  enlightened  opinion. 
Every  state,  acknowledging  Christianity, 
encouraging  education,  and  holding  in- 
tercourse with  the  civilized  world,  must 
be  pervaded  by  great  and  universally 
acknowledged  truths,  especially  when 
these,  as  in  the  present  case,  coincide 
with  its  prosperity  as  well  as  with  its 
honor.  Let,  then,  the  friends  of  free- 
dom and  humanity  be  true  to  their  prin- 
ciples, and  commend  them  by  wise  in- 
culcation to  all  within  their  influence. 
From  this  work  let  it  be  their  constant 
care  to  exclude  the  evil  passions  which 
so  often  bring  reproach  and  failure  on  a 
good  cause.  It  is  by  calm,  firm  asser- 
tion of  great  principles,  and  not  by  per- 
sonalities and  vituperations,  that  strength 
is  to  be  given  to  the  constantly  increas- 
ing reprobation  of  slavery  through  the 
civilized  world. 

Objections,  however,  are  made  to  this 
mode  of  acting  on  slavery.  We  are 


730 


SLA  VERY. 


told  that,  in  declaring  slavery  to  be  one 
of  the  greatest  wrongs,  we  violate  the 
Constitution.  What ! Can  it  be  that  a 
free  constitution,  intended  to  guard  all 
rights,  and  especially  to  preserve  invio- 
late the  liberty  of  the  press,  has  in  any 
way  foreclosed  the  discussion  of  a great 
moral  and  religious  question^?  Nothing 
but  express  language,  too  plain  to  be 
escaped,  can  justify  us  in  fastening  on 
this  venerable  instrument  so  palpable 
an  inconsistency.  But,  instead  of  being 
embodied  in  plain  words,  the  doctrine 
in  question  is  at  best  a matter  of  uncer- 
tain inference.  Admit  such  licentious- 
ness of  construction,  and  there  is  no 
power  which  may  not  be  grafted  on  the 
Constitution ; the  mercenary  and  ambi- 
tious may  warp  it  into  any  shape  to  suit 
their  designs.  But  on  this  point  no 
labored  reasoning  is  necessary.  It  is 
settled  for  us  by  the  fathers  of  our 
freedom  and  the  framers  of  our  present 
government.  In  the  period  immediately 
succeeding  the  adoption  of  the  Consti- 
tution, Franklin,  the  calm  and  sagacious, 
and  Jay,  the  inflexibly  just,  were  presi- 
dents of  societies  for  the  abolition  of 
slavery.  , Societies  of  this  description 
were  spread . over  a large  part  of  the 
country,  and  were  established  even  in 
Maryland  and  Virginia.  We  have  the 
records  of  their  annual  conventions,  and 
among  their  delegates  we  find  some  of 
the  most  honored  names  in  our  country. 
Those  of  us  whose  recollections  go  back 
to  that  period,  can  bear  witness  to  the 
freedom  with  which  slavery  was  then 
discussed  in  conversation  and  by  the 
press.  The  servile  doctrine  which  some 
would  now  fasten  on  the  Constitution 
would  have  been  rejected  with  indigna- 
tion by  our  fathers.  That  manly  gen- 
eration had  not  been  enervated  by  long 
prosperity.  The  calculations  of  com- 
merce and  the  spirit  of  gain  had  not 
then  prescribed  bounds  to  speech  and 
the  press. 

It  is  further  objected  to  the  discussion 
of  slavery,  that  it  will  incite  the  slaves 
to  revolt.  This  objection  is  founded  on 
ignorance.  A book,  addressed  to  the 
intelligent  of  this  country  and  the  world, 
and  designed  to  operate  on  public  opin- 
ion, could  no  more  influence  the  slave 
than  a speech  in  an  unknown  tongue. 
Unlettered,  confined  to  daily  toil,  and 
watched  by  the  overseer,  he  is  in  little 
danger  of  catching  the  fever  of  liberty 


from  discussions  intended  to  act  on  the 
minds  of  the  free.  This  objection,  if 
fairly  carried  out,  is  disproved  by  its 
absurdity.  The  amount  of  it  is,  that 
nothing  must  be  published  against  sla- 
very. Then  the  noblest  and  most  popular 
works  of  literature  must  be  proscribed. 
Then  the  writings  of  the  sainted  Cowper 
must  undergo  purgation ; for,  among 
the  witnesses  against  slavery,  he  is,  per- 
haps, the  most  awakening.  Then  the 
history  of  the  American  Revolution 
must  be  blotted  out.  Then  the  news- 
papers must  beware  of  speaking  of  hu- 
man rights.  In  truth,  our  liberty  must 
be  kept  a secret ; for  the  great  danger 
of  the  slave-holder  arises  from  the  infu- 
sion of  liberty  into  the  whole  of  our 
social  system.  A grave  book  is  a dead 
letter  to  the  slave  ; but,  in  our  free  in- 
stitutions and  manners,  there  is  a living 
spirit,  which  he  can  comprehend  and 
feel.  Slavery,  under  a free  government, 
is  a jarring  element,  a startling  contrast ; 
and  the  most  effectual  means  of  prevent- 
ing disaffection  among  the  enslaved 
would  be,  to  keep  all  signs  of  liberty 
out  of  their  sight,  to  cast  society  in  a 
servile  mould,  to  make  it  a consistent 
despotism. 

A good  book,  expounding  at  once  the 
rights  and  duties  of  the  slave,  if  it  could 
be  brought  down  to  his  comprehension, 
would  rather  quiet  than  disturb  him  ; for 
it  would  teach  him  that  submission  to 
wrong  is  often  a duty,  and  that,  in  his 
particular  case,  revolt  would  be  an  in- 
fraction of  divine  as  well  as  human  laws. 
There  are,  indeed,  some  persons  among 
us  so  uninstructed  in  the  established 
principles  of  moral  and  political  science 
as  to  imagine  that,  when  a writer  pro- 
nounces slavery  an  aggravated  wrong, 
he  necessarily  and  of  course  summons 
the  slave  to  insurrection.  Such  ought 
to  know,  what  is  so  generally  under- 
stood, that  insurrection  against  the  civil 
power  is  never  authorized  but  in  cases 
which  exclude  all  other  modes  of  relief, 
and  which  give  the  hope  of  better  insti- 
tutions. A book,  written  under  the  in- 
fluence of  this  truth,  were  it,  against 
all  probabilities,  to  reach  the  slave, 
would  teach  him  patience,  not  exas- 
peration. 

It  may  be  added,  that  if  we  must 
cease  to  write  against  slavery,  lest  we 
stir  up  revolt,  then  we  must  cease  to 
speak  against  it,  for  both  must  have  the 


SLAVERY 


731 


same  tendency.  Speech  has  wings  as 
well  as  the  printed  word.  Sometimes 
the  living  voice  is  more  quickening  than 
the  press.  According  to  the  objection 
under  consideration,  we  must,  then,  shut 
our  lips  on  this  great  subject.  The  con- 
demning whisper  must  not  be  heard,  lest 
some  rash  hearer  should  echo  and  spread 
the  fatal  truth.  And  is  it  come  to  this, 
that  freemen  must  not  give  utterance 
to  their  deepest  moral  convictions  ? Is 
slavery  not  only  to  darken  the  South, 
but  to  spread  a prison-gloom  over  the 
North  ? Are  the  free  States  to  re- 
nounce one  of  their  dearest  rights, 
because,  if  they  speak  the  language  of 
freemen,  some  dangerous  word  may 
chance  to  stray  beyond  their  borders, 
and  may  possibly  find  its  way  to  the  hut 
of  the  slave  ? If  so,  all  rights  must  be 
renounced,  as  far  and  as  fast  as  the 
fears,  passions,  and  menaces  of  other 
parts  of  the  country  shall  require  the 
surrender. 

Undoubtedly,  if  slavery  be  discussed, 
some  will  write  about  it  petulantly,  pas- 
sionately, so  as  to  stir  up  among  the 
masters  much  unnecessary  irritation. 
This  evil  must  be  expected  and  borne, 
unless  we  are  prepared  for  a censorship 
of  the  press.  There  is  no  subject  from 
which  the  rash  can  be  debarred.  Even 
the  first  principles  of  morals  and  relig- 
ion, on  which  the  order,  safety,  and 
happiness  of  society  mainly  rest,  are 
sometimes  covertly,  sometimes  directly 
impugned.  But  must  nothing  be  written 
on  morals  and  religion,  must  the  wise 
and  good  be  put  to  silence,  because, 
under  a system  of  freedom,  the  mis- 
guided and  depraved  will  labor  to  ob- 
scure or  subvert  the  truth  ? Would  not 
the  whole  activity  of  life  be  arrested, 
if  every  power  which  may  be  abused 
should  be  renounced  ? Besides,  is  there 
any  portion  of  our  country  so  wanting  in 
wisdom,  self-respect,  and  common  self- 
control,  as  to  be  driven  to  rash  and  ruin- 
ous measures  by  coarse  invectives,  which 
in  a great  degree  defeat  themselves  by 
their  very  violence  ? The  declamations 
of  the  passionate  on  the  subject  of  slavery 
pass  by  us  at  the  North  as  “the  idle 
wind,  which  we  regard  not.”  Liberty 
naturally  runs  into  these  extravagances, 
and  they  who  would  tame  it  by  laws  to 
such  propriety  of  expression  as  never  to 
give  offence,  would  leave  us  only  the 
name  of  freemen. 


Chapter  VII. 

A bolitionism. 

The  word  Abolitionist,  in  its  true 
meaning,  comprehends  every  man  who 
feels  himself  bound  to  exert  his  influ- 
ence for  removing  slavery.  It  is  a name 
of  honorable  import,  and  was  worn  not 
long  ago  by  such  men  as  Franklin  and 
Jay.  Events,  however,  continually  mod- 
ify terms  ; and,  of  late,  the  word  abo- 
litionist has  been  narrowed  from  its 
original  import,  and  restricted  to  the 
members  of  associations  formed  among 
us  to  promote  immediate  emancipation. 
It  is  not  without  reluctance  that  I give 
up  to  a small  body  a name  which  every 
good  man  ought  to  bear.  But,  to  make 
myself  intelligible,  and  to  avoid  circum- 
locution, I shall  use  the  word  in  what 
is  now  its  common  acceptation. 

1 approach  this  subject  unwillingly, 
because  it  will  be  my  duty  to  censure 
those  whom’  at  this  moment  I would  on 
no  account  hold  up  to  public  displeasure. 
The  persecutions  which  the  abolitionists 
have  suffered,  and  still  suffer,  awaken 
only  my  grief  and  indignation,  and  in- 
cline me  to  defend  them  to  the  full 
extent  which  truth  and  justice  will  ad- 
mit. To  the  persecuted,  of  whatever 
name,  my  sympathies  are  pledged,  and 
especially  to  those  who  are  persecuted 
in  a cause  substantially  good.  I would 
not  for  worlds  utter  a word  to  justify 
the  violence  recently  offered  to  a party, 
composed  very  much  of  men  blameless 
in  life,  and  holding  the  doctrine  of  non- 
resistance  to  injuries  ; and  of  women, 
exemplary  in  their  various  relations, 
and  acting,  however  mistakenly,  from 
benevolent  and  pious  impulses. 

Of  the  abolitionists  I know  very  few  ; 
but  I am  bound  to  say  of  these,  that  I 
honor  them  for  their  strength  of  prin- 
ciple, their  sympathy  with  their  fellow- 
creatures,  and  their  active  goodness. 
As  a party,  they  are  singularly  free 
from  political  and  religious  sectarianism, 
and  have  been  distinguished  by  the  ab- 
sence of  management,  calculation,  and 
worldly  wisdom.  That  they  have  ever 
proposed  or  desired  insurrection  or  vio- 
lence among  the  slaves,  there  is  no  rea- 
son to  believe.  All  their  principles 
repel  the  supposition.  It  is  a remark- 
able fact,  that  though  the  South  and  the 
North  have  been  leagued  to  crush  them, 


732 


SLA  VERY. 


•though  they  have  been  watched  by  a i 
million  of  eyes,  and  though  prejudice 
has  been  prepared  to  detect  the  slight- 
est sign  of  corrupt  communication  with 
the  slave,  yet  this  crime  has  not  been 
fastened  on  a single  member  of  this 
body.  A few  individuals  at  the  South 
have,  indeed,  been  tortured  or  murdered 
by  enraged  multitudes  on  the  charge  of 
stirring  up  revolt ; but  their  guilt  and 
their  connection  with  the  abolitionists 
were  not,  and,  from  the  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case,  could  not  be, 
established  by  those  deliberate  and 
regular  modes  of  investigation  which 
are  necessary  to  an  impartial  judgment. 
Crimes,  detected  and  hastily  punished 
by  the  multitude  in  a moment  of  fever- 
ish suspicion  and  wild  alarm,  are  gen- 
erally creatures  of  fear  and  passion. 
The  act  which  caused  the  present  ex- 
plosion of  popular  feeling  was  the  send- 
ing of  pamphlets  by  the  abolitionists  into 
the  slave-holding  States.  In  so  doing, 
they  acted  with  great  inconsideration  ; 
but  they  must  have  been  insane  had  they 
intended  to  stir  up  a servile  war  ; for  the 
pamphlets  were  sent,  not  by  stealth,  but 
by  the  public  mail ; and  not  to  the  slaves, 
but  to  the  masters  ; to  men  in  public 
life,  to  men  of  the  greatest  influence 
and  distinction.  Strange  incendiaries 
these  ! They  flourished  their  firebrands 
about  at  noon-day ; and,  still  more,  put 
them  into  the  hands  of  the  very  men 
whom  it  is  said  they  wished  to  destroy. 
They  are  accused,  indeed,  of  having  sent 
some  of  the  pamphlets  to  the  free  colored 
people,  and  if  so,  they  acted  with  great 
and  culpable  rashness.  But  the  publicity 
of  the  whole  transaction  absolves  them 
of  corrupt  design. 

The  charge  of  corrupt  design,  so  vehe- 
mently brought  against  the  abolitionists, 
is  groundless.  The  charge  of  fanaticism 
I have  no  desire  to  repel.  But  in  the 
present  age  it  will  not  do  to  deal  harshly 
with  the  characters  of  fanatics.  They 
form  the  mass  of  the  people.  Religion 
and  politics,  philanthropy  and  temper- 
ance, nullification  and  antimasonry,  the 
levelling  spirit  of  the  working  man,  and 
the  spirit  of  speculation  in  the  man  of 
business,  all  run  into  fanaticism.  This 
is  the  type  of  all  our  epidemics.  A 
sober  man  who  can  find  ? The  aboli- 
tionists have  but  caught  the  fever  of 
the  day.  That  they  should  have  escaped 
would  have  been  a moral  miracle.  I 


offer  these  remarks  simply  from  a sense 
of  justice.  Had  not  a persecution,  with- 
out parallel  in  our  country,  broken  forth 
against  this  society,  I should  not  have 
spoken  a word  in  their  defence.  But 
whilst  I have  power,  I owe  it  to  the 
persecuted.  If  they  have  laid  them- 
selves open  to  the  laws,  let  them  suffer. 
For  all  their  errors  and  sins  let  the  tri- 
bunal of  public  opinion  inflict  the  full 
measure  of  rebuke  which  they  deserve. 
I ask  no  favor  for  them.  But  they  shall 
not  be  stripped  of  the  rights  of  man,  of 
rights  guarantied  by  the  laws  and  Con- 
stitution, without  one  voice,  at  least, 
being  raised  in  their  defence. 

The  abolitionists  have  done  wrong, 
I believe;  nor  is  their  wrong  to  be 
winked  at,  because  done  fanatically,  or 
with  good  intention  ; for  how  much  mis- 
chief may  be  wrought  with  good  design  ! 
They  have  fallen  into  the  common  error 
of  enthusiasts,  that  of  taking  too  narrow 
views,  of  feeling  as  if  no  evil  existed  but 
that  which  they  opposed,  and  as  if  no 
guilt  could  be  compared  with  that  of 
countenancing  or  upholding  it.  The 
tone  of  their  newspapers,  as  far  as  I 
have  seen  them,  has  often  been  fierce, 
bitter,  exasperating.  Their  imaginations 
have  fed  too  much  on  pictures  of  the 
cruelty  to  which  the  slave  is  exposed, 
till  not  a few  have  probably  conceived 
of  his  abode  as  perpetually  resounding 
with  the  lash,  and  ringing  with  shrieks 
of  agony.  I know  that  many  of  their 
publications  have  been  calm,  well  con- 
sidered, abounding  in  strong  reasoning, 
and  imbued  with  an  enlightened  love  of 
freedom.  But  some,  winch  have  been 
most  widely  scattered,  and  are  most 
adapted  to  act  on  the  common  mind, 
have  had  a tone  unfriendly  both  to  man- 
ners and  to  the  spirit  of  our  religion. 
I doubt  not  that  the  majority  of  the 
abolitionists  condemn  the  coarseness 
and  violence  of  which  I complain.  But 
in  this,  as  in  most  associations,  the  many 
are  represented  and  controlled  by  the 
few,  and  are  made  to  sanction  and  be- 
come responsible  for  what  they  disap- 
prove. 

One  of  their  errors  has  been  the 
adoption  of  “ Immediate  Emancipation” 
as  their  motto.  To  this  they  owe  not  a 
little  of  their  unpopularity.  This  phrase 
has  contributed  much  to  spread  far  and 
wide  the  belief  that  they  wished  imme- 
diately to  free  the  slave  from  all  his  re- 


SLAVERY. 


733 


straints.  They  made  explanations  ; but 
thousands  heard  the  motto  who  never 
saw  the  explanation  ; and  it  is  certainly 
unwise  for  a party  to  choose  a watch- 
word which  can  be  rescued  from  misap- 
prehension only  by  labored  explication. 
It  may  also  be  doubted  whether  they 
ever  removed  the  objection  which  their 
language  so  universally  raised,  whether 
they  have  not  always  recommended  a 
precipitate  action,  inconsistent  with  the 
well-being  of  the  slave  and  the  order  of 
the  state. 

Another  objection  to  their  movements 
is,  that  they  have  sought  to  accomplish 
their  objects  by  a system  of  agitation  ; 
that  is,  by  a system  of  affiliated  societies, 
gathered  and  held  together  and  extended 
by  passionate  eloquence.  This,  in  truth, 
is  the  common  mode  by  which  all  pro- 
jects are  now  accomplished.  The  age 
of  individual  action  is  gone.  Truth  can 
hardly  be  heard  unless  shouted  by  a 
crowd.  The  weightiest  argument  for  a 
doctrine  is  the  number  which  adopts  it. 
Accordingly,  to  gather  and  organize 
multitudes  is  the  first  care  of  him  who 
would  remove  an  abuse  or  spread  a re- 
form. That  the  expedient  is  in  some 
cases  useful,  is  not  denied.  But  gen- 
erally it  is  a showy,  noisy  mode  of  action, 
appealing  to  the  passions,  and  driving 
men  into  exaggeration ; and  there  are 
special  reasons  why  such  a mode  should 
not  be  employed  in  regard  to  slavery ; 
for  slavery  is  so  to  be  opposed  as  not 
to  exasperate  the  slave,  or  endanger  the 
community  in  which  he  lives.  The  ab- 
olitionists might  have  formed  an  as- 
sociation ; but  it  should  have  been  an 
elective  one.  Men  of  strong  moral 
principle,  judiciousness,  sobriety,  should 
have  been  carefully  sought  as  members. 
Much  good  might  have  been  accom- 
plished by  the  co-operation  of  such 
philanthropists.  Instead  of  this,  the 
abolitionists  sent  forth  their  orators, 
some  of  them  transported  with  fiery 
zeal,  to  sound  the  alarm  against  slavery 
through  the  land,  to  gather  together 
young  and  old,  pupils  from  schools, 
females  hardly  arrived  at  years  of  dis- 
cretion, the  ignorant,  the  excitable,  the 
impetuous,  and  to  organize  these  into 
associations  for  the  battle  against  op- 
pression. They  preached  their  doctrine 
to  the  colored  people,  and  collected  these 
into  their  societies.  To  this  mixed  and 
excitable  multitude,  appeals  were  made 


in  the  piercing  tones  of  passion ; and 
slave-holders  were  held  up  as  monsters 
of  cruelty  and  crime.  Now  to  this  pro- 
cedure 1 must  object,  as  unwise,  as  un- 
friendly to  the  spirit  of  Christianity, 
and  as  increasing,  in  a degree,  the  perils 
of  the  slave-holding  States.  Among  the 
unenlightened,  whom  they  so  power- 
fully addressed,  was  there  no  reason  to 
fear  that  some  might  feel  themselves 
called  to  subvert  this  system  of  wrong, 
by  whatever  means  ? From  the  free 
colored  people  this  danger  was  particu- 
larly to  be  apprehended.  It  is  easy  for 
us  to  place  ourselves  in  their  situation. 
Suppose  that  millions  of  white  men 
were  enslaved,  robbed  of  all  their  rights, 
in  a neighboring  country,  and  enslaved 
by  a black  race,  who  had  torn  their  an- 
cestors from  the  shores  on  which  our 
fathers  had  lived.  How  deeply  should 
we  feel  their  wrongs  ! And  would  it  be 
wonderful  if,  in  a moment  of  passionate 
excitement,  some  enthusiast  should  think 
it  his  duty  to  use  his  communication 
with  his  injured  brethren  for  stirring 
them  up  to  revolt  ? 

Such  is  the  danger  from  abolitionism 
to  the  slave-holding  States.  I know  no 
other.  It  is  but  justice  to  add,  that  the 
principle  of  non-resistance,  which  the 
abolitionists  have  connected  with  their 
passionate  appeals,  seems  to  have  coun- 
teracted the  peril.  1 know  not  a case 
in  which  a member  of  an  anti-slavery 
society  has  been  proved  by  legal  in- 
vestigation to  have  tampered  with  the 
slaves  ; and,  after  the  strongly  pro- 
nounced and  unanimous  opinion  of  the  \ 
free  States  on  the  subject,  this  danger 
may  be  considered  as  having  passed 
away.  Still  a mode  of  action  requir- 
ing these  checks  is  open  to  strong  ob- 
jections, and  ought  to  be  abandoned. 
Happy  will  it  be  if  the  disapprobation 
of  friends,  as  well  as  of  foes,  should 
give  to  abolitionists  a caution  and  mod- 
eration which  would  secure  the  acqui- 
escence of  the  judicious,  and  the  sym- 
pathies of  the  friends  of  mankind  ! Let 
not  a good  cause  find  its  chief  obstruc- 
tion in  its  defenders.  Let  the  truth, 
and  the  whole  truth,  be  spoken  without 
paltering  or  fear  ; but  so  spoken  as  to 
convince,  not  inflame,  as  to  give  no 
alarm  to  the  wise,  and  no*  needless  ex- 
asperation to  the  selfish  and  passionate. 

I know  it  is  said  that  nothing  can  be 
done  but  by  excitement  and  vehemence  ; 


734 


SLA  VERY. 


that  the  zeal  which  dares  every  thing  is 
the  only  power  to  oppose  to  long-rooted 
abuses.  But  it  is  not  true  that  God  has 
committed  the  great  work  of  reforming 
the  world  to  passion.  Love  is  a minis- 
ter of  good  only  when  it  gives  energy 
to  the  intellect,  and  allies  itself  with 
wisdom.  The  abolitionists  often  speak 
of  Luther’s  vehemence  as  a model  to 
future  reformers.  But  who  that  has 
read  history  does  not  know  that  Luther’s 
reformation  was  accompanied  by  tre- 
mendous miseries  and  crimes,  and  that 
its  progress  was  soon  arrested  ? And 
is  there  not  reason  to  fear  that  the 
fierce,  bitter,  persecuting  spirit  which  he 
breathed  into  the  work  not  only  tar- 
nished its  glory,  but  limited  its  power  ? 
One  great  principle,  which  we  should 
lay  down  as  immovably  true,  is,  that  if 
a good  work  cannot  be  carried  on 
by  the  calm,  self-controlled,  benevolent 
spirit  of  Christianity,  then  the  time  for 
doing  it  has  not  come.  God  asks  not 
the  aid  of  our  vices.  He  can  overrule 
them  for  good,  but  they  are  not  the 
chosen  instruments  of  human  happi- 
ness. 

We,  indeed,  need  zeal,  — fervent  zeal, 
— such  as  will  fear  no  man’s  power,  and 
shrink  before  no  man’s  frown,  — such 
as  will  sacrifice  life  to  truth  and  free- 
dom. But  this  energy  of  will  ought  to 
be  joined  with  deliberate  wisdom  and 
universal  charity.  It  ought  to  regard 
the  whole  in  its  strenuous  efforts  for  a 
part.  Above  all,  it  ought  to  ask,  first, 
not  what  means  are  most  effectual,  but 
what  means  are  sanctioned  by  the  moral 
law  and  by  Christian  love.  We  ought 
to  think  much  more  of  walking  in  the 
right  path  than  of  reaching  our  end. 
We  should  desire  virtue  more  than  suc- 
cess. If  by  one  wrong  deed  we  could 
accomplish  the  liberation  of  millions, 
and  in  no  other  way,  we  ought  to  feel 
that  this  good,  for  which,  perhaps,  we 
had  prayed  with  an  agony  of  desire, 
was  denied  us  by  God,  was  reserved  for 
other  times  and  other  hands.  The  first 
object  of  a true  zeal  is,  not  that  we  may 
prosper,  but  that  we  may  do  right,  that 
we  may  keep  ourselves  unspotted  from 
every  evil  thought,  word,  and  deed. 
Under  the  inspiration  of  such  a zeal,  we 
shall  not  find  in  the  greatness  of  an 
enterprise  an  apology  for  intrigue  or  for 
violence.  We  shall  not  need  immediate 
success  to  spur  us  to  exertion.  We 


shall  not  distrust  God  because  he  does 
not  yield  to  the  cry  of  human  impa- 
tience. We  shall  not  forsake  a good 
work  because  it  does  not  advance  with 
a rapid  step.  Faith  in  truth,  virtue,  and 
Almighty  Goodness,  will  save  us  alike 
from  rashness  and  despair. 

In  lamenting  the  adoption  by  the 
abolitionists  of  the  system  of  agitation 
or  extensive  excitement,  I do  not  mean 
to  condemn  this  mode  of  action  as  only 
evil.  There  are  cases  to  which  it  is 
adapted  ; and,  in  general,  the  impulse 
which  it  gives  is  better  than  the  self- 
ish, sluggish  indifference  to  good  objects 
into  which  the  multitude  so  generally 
fall.  But  it  must  not  supersede  or  be 
compared  with  individual  action.  The 
enthusiasm  of  the  individual  in  a good 
cause  is  a mighty  power.  The  forced, 
artificially  excited  enthusiasm  of  a mul- 
titude, kept  together  by  an  organization 
which  makes  them  the  instruments  of  a 
few  leading  minds,  works  superficially, 
and  often  injuriously.  I fear  that  the 
native,  noble-minded  enthusiast  often 
loses  that  single-heartedness  which  is 
his  greatest  power,  when  once  he  strives 
to  avail  himself  of  the  machinery  of 
associations.  The  chief  strength  of  a 
reformer  lies  in  speaking  truth  purely 
from  his  own  soul,  without  changing 
one  tone  for  the  purpose  of  managing 
or  enlarging  a party.  Truth,  to  be  pow- 
erful, must  speak  in  her  own  words, 
and  in  no  other’s  ; must  come  forth, 
with  the  authority  and  spontaneous 
energy  of  inspiration,  from  the  depths 
of  the  soul.  It  is  the  voice  of  the  in- 
dividual giving  utterance  to  the  irrepres- 
sible convictions  of  his  own  thoroughly 
moved  spirit,  and  not  the  shout  of  a 
crowd,  which  carries  truth  far  into  other 
souls,  and  insures  it  a stable  empire  on 
earth.  For  want  of  this,  most  which 
is  now  done  is  done  superficially.  The 
progress  of  society  depends  chiefly  on 
the  honest  inquiry  of  the  individual  into 
the  particular  work  ordained  him  by 
God,  and  on  his  simplicity  in  following 
out  his  convictions.  This  moral  inde- 
pendence is  mightier,  as  well  as  holier, 
than  the  practice  of  getting  warm  in 
crowds,  and  of  waiting  for  an  impulse 
from  multitudes.  The  moment  a man 
parts  with  moral  independence  : the  mo- 
ment he  judges  of  duty,  not  from  the 
inward  voice,  but  from  the  interests  and 
will  of  a party  ; the  moment  he  com- 


SLA  VERY. 


735 


rriits  himself  to  a leader  or  a body,  and 
winks  at  evil,  because  division  would 
hurt  the  cause  ; the  moment  he  shakes 
off  his  particular  responsibility,  because 
he  is  but  one  of  a thousand  or  million 
by  whom  the  evil  is  done,  — that  moment 
he  parts  with  his  moral  power.  He  is 
shorn  of  the  energy  of  single-hearted 
faith  in  the  right  and  the  true.  He 
hopes  from  man’s  policy  what  nothing 
but  loyalty  to  God  can  accomplish.  He 
substitutes  coarse  weapons  forged  by 
man's  wisdom  for  celestial  power. 

The  adoption  of  the  common  system 
of  agitation  by  the  abolitionists  has  not 
been  justified  by  success.  From  the 
beginning  it  created  alarm  in  the  con-, 
siderate,  and  strengthened  the  sympa- 
thies of  the  free  States  with  the  slave- 
holder. It  made  converts  of  a few 
individuals,  but  alienated  multitudes. 
Its  influence  at  the  South  has  been  al- 
most wholly  evil.  It  has  stirred  up 
bitter  passions  and  a fierce  fanaticism, 
which  have  shut  every  ear  and  every 
heart  against  its  arguments  and  persua- 
sions. These  effects  are  more  to  be 
deplored,  because  the  hope  of  freedom 
to  the  slave  lies  chiefly  in  the  disposi- 
tions of  his  master.  The  abolitionist 
proposed,  indeed,  to  convert  the  slave- 
holders ; and  for  this  end  he  approached 
them  with  vituperation,  and  exhausted 
on  them  the  vocabulary  of  reproach. 
And  he  has  reaped  as  he  sowed.  His 
vehement  pleadings  for  the  slaves  have 
been  answered  by  wilder  tones  from  the 
slave-holder  ; and,  what  is  worse,  delib- 
erate defences  of  slavery  have  been 
sent  forth,  in  the  spirit  of  the  dark 
ages,  and  in  defiance  of  the  moral  con- 
victions and  feelings  of  the  Christian 
and  civilized  world.  Thus,  with  good 
purposes,  nothing  seems  to  have  been 
gained.  Perhaps  (though  I am  anxious 
to  repel  the  thought)  something  has 
been  lost  to  the  cause  of  freedom  and 
humanity. 

I earnestly  desire  that  abolitionism 
may  lay  aside  the  form  of  public  agita- 
tion, and  seek  its  end  by  wiser  and 
milder  means.  I desire  as  earnestly, 
and  more  earnestly,  that  it  may  not  be 
put  down  by  lawless  force.  There  is  a 
worse  evil  than  abolitionism,  and  that  is 
the  suppression  of  it  by  lawless  force. 
No  evil  greater  than  this  can  exist  in 
the  state,  and  this  is  never  needed.  Be 
it  granted  that  it  is  the  design,  or  direct, 


palpable  tendency  of  abolitionism  to 
stir  up  insurrection  at  the  South,  and 
that  no  existing  laws  can  meet  the  exi- 
gency. It  is  the  solemn  duty  of  the- 
chief  magistrate  of  the  state  to  assemble 
immediately  the  legislative  bodies,  and 
their  duty  immediately  to  apply  the  rem- 
edy of  law.  Let  every  friend  of  free- 
dom, let  every  good  man,  lift  up  his 
voice  against  mobs.  Through  these  lies 
our  road  to  tyranny.  It  is  these  which 
have  spread  the  opinion,  so  common  at 
the  South,  that  the  free  States  cannot 
long  sustain  republican  institutions.  N o 
man  seems  awake  to  their  inconsistency 
with  liberty.  Our  whole  phraseology  is 
in  fault.  Mobs  call  themselves,  and  are 
called,  the  people,  when  in  truth  they 
assail  immediately  the  sovereignty  of 
the  people,  when  they  involve  the  guilt 
of  usurpation  and  rebellion  against  the 
people.  It  is  the  fundamental  principle 
of  our  institutions,  that  the  people  is 
sovereign.  But  by  the  people  we  mean 
not  an  individual  here  and  there,  not  a 
knot  of  twenty  or  a hundred  or  a thou- 
sand individuals  in  this  or  that  spot, 
but  the  community  formed  into  a body 
politic,  and  expressing  and  executing 
its  will  through  regularly  appointed  or- 
gans. There  is  but  one  expression  of 
the  will  or  sovereignty  of  the  people, 
and  that  is  law.  Law  is  the  voice,  the 
living  act,  of  the  people.  It  has  no 
other.  When  an  individual  suspends 
the  operation  of  law,  resists  its  estab- 
lished ministers,  and  forcibly  substitutes 
for  it  his  own  will,  he  is  a usurper  and 
rebel.  The  same  guilt  attaches  to  a 
combination  of  individuals.  These, 
whether  many  or  few,  in  forcibly  super- 
seding public  law  and  establishing  their 
own,  rise  up  against  the  people  as  truly 
as  a single  usurper.  The  people  should 
assert  its  insulted  majesty,  its  menaced 
sovereignty,  in  one  case  as  decidedly  as 
in  the  other.  The  difference  between 
the  mob  and  the  individual  is,  that  the 
usurpation  of  the  latter  has  a perma- 
nence not  easily  given  to  the  tumultuary 
movements  of  the  former.  The  dis- 
tinction is  a weighty  one.  Little  im- 
portance is  due  to  sudden  bursts  of  the 
populace,  because  they  so  soon  pass 
away.  But  wdien  mobs  are  organized, 
as  in  the  French  Revolution,  or  when\ 
they  are  deliberately  resolved  on  and  ^ 
systematically  resorted  to,  as  the  means  \ 
of  putting  down  an  odious  party,  they  \ 


SLAVERY. 


736 

lose  this  apology.  A conspiracy  exists 
against  the  sovereignty  of  the  people, 
and  ought  to  be  suppressed,  as  among 
the  chief  evils  of  the  state. 

In  this  part  of  the  country  our  abhor- 
rence of  mobs  is  lessened  by  the  fact 
that  they  were  thought  to  do  good  ser- 
vice in  the  beginning  of  the  Revolution. 
They  probably  were  useful  then  ; and 
why  ? The  work  of  that  day  was  revo- 
lution. To  subvert  a government  was 
the  fearful  task  to  which  our  fathers 
thought  themselves  summoned.  Their 
duty,  they  believed,  was  insurrection. 
In  such  a work  mobs  had  their  place. 
The  government  of  the  state  was  in  the 
hands  of  its  foes.  The  people  could 
not  use  the  regular  organs  of  adminis- 
tration, for  these  were  held  and  employed 
by  the  power  which  they  wished  to  crush. 
Violent,  irregular  efforts  belonged  to  that 
day  of  convulsion.  To  resist  and  sub- 
vert institutions  is  the  very  work  of 
mobs  ; and  when  these  institutions  are 
popular,  when  their  sole  end  is  to  ex- 
press and  execute  the  will  of  the  people, 
then  mobs  are  rebellion  against  the  peo- 
ple, and  as  such  should  be  understood 
and  suppressed.  A people  is  never  more 
insulted  than  when  a mob  takes  its  name. 
Abolition  must  not  be  put  down  by  law- 
less force.  The  attempt  so  to  destroy 
it  ought  to  fail.  Such  attempts  place 
abolitionism  on  a new  ground.  They 
make  it,  not  the  cause  of  a few  enthu- 
siasts, but  the  cause  of  freedom.  They 
identify  it  with  all  our  rights  and  popu- 
lar institutions.  If  the  Constitution  and 
the  laws  cannot  put  it  down,  it  must 
stand  ; and  he  who  attempts  its  over- 
throw by  lawless  force  is  a rebel  and 
usurper.  The  supremacy  of  law  and  the 
sovereignty  of  the  people  are  one  and 
indivisible.  To  touch  the  one  is  to  vio- 
late the  other.  This  should  be  laid  down 
as  a first  principle,  an  axiom,  a funda- 
mental article  of  faith  which  it  must  be 
heresy  to  question.  A newspaper  which, 
openly  or  by  innuendoes,  excites  a mob, 
should  be  regarded  as  sounding  the 
tocsin  of  insurrection.  On  this  subject 
the  public  mind  slumbers,  and  needs  to 
be  awakened,  lest  it  sleep  the  sleep  of 
death. 

How  obvious  is  it  that  pretexts  for 
mobs  will  never  be  wanting  if  this  dis- 
organizing mode  of  redressing  evils  be 
in  any  case  allowed!  We  all  recollect 
that  when  a recent  attempt  was  made 


on  the  life  of  the  President  of  the  United 
States,  the  cry  broke  forth  from  his 
friends  ‘‘that  the  assassin  was  insti- 
gated by  the  continual  abuse  poured 
forth  on  this  distinguished  man,  and 
especially  by  the  violent  speeches  ut- 
tered daily  in  the  Senate  of  the  United 
States.”  Suppose,  now,  that  his  adhe- 
rents, to  save  the  Chief  Magistrate  from 
murder,  and  to  guard  his  constitutional 
advisers,  had  formed  themselves  into 
mobs,  to  scatter  the  meetings  of  his 
opponents.  And  suppose  that  they  had 
resolved  to  put  to  silence  the  legislators 
who,  it  was  said,  had  abused  their  free- 
dom of  speech  to  blacken  the  character 
and  put  in  peril  the  life  of  the  Chief 
Magistrate.  Would  they  not  have  had 
a better  pretext  than  mobs  against  aboli- 
tion ? Was  not  assassination  attempted  ? 
Had  not  the  President  received  letters 
threatening  his  life  unless  his  measures 
were  changed  ? Can  a year  or  a month 
pass  which  will  not  afford  equally  grave 
reasons  for  insurrections  of  the  popu- 
lace ? A system  of  mobs  and  a free 
government  cannot  stand  together.  The 
men  who  incite  the  former,  and  especially 
those  who  organize  them,  are  among  the 
worst  enemies  of  the  state.  Of  their 
motives  I do  not  speak.  They  may 
think  themselves  doing  service  to  their 
country,  for  there  is  no  limit  to  the 
delusions  of  the  times.  I speak  only  of 
the  nature  and  tendency  of  their  actions. 
They  should  be  put  down  at  once  by 
law,  and  by  the  moral  sentiment  of  an 
insulted  people. 

In  addition  to  all  other  reasons,  the 
honor  of  our  nation  and  the  cause  of 
free  institutions  should  plead  with  us 
to  defend  the  laws  from  insult,  and 
social  order  from  subversion.  The 
moral  influence  and  reputation  of  our 
country  are  fast  declining  abroad.  A 
letter,  recently  received  from  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  men  of  the  continent 
of  Europe,  expresses  the  universal  feel- 
ino-  on  the  other  side  of  the  ocean. 
After  speaking  of  the  late  encroach- 
ments on  liberty  in  France,  he  says  : 
“ On  your  side  of  the  Atlantic  you  con- 
tribute, also,  to  put  in  peril  the  cause  of 
liberty.  We  did  take  pleasure  in  think- 
ing that  there  was,  at  least  in  the  New 
World,  a country  where  liberty  was  well 
understood,  where  all  rights  were  guar- 
antied, where  the  people  was  proving 
itself  wise  and  virtuous.  For  some  time 


SLA  VERY. 


737 


past  the  news  we  receive  from  America 
is  discouraging.  In  all  your  large  cities 
we  see  mobs  after  mobs,  and  all  directed 
to  an  odious  purpose.  When  we  speak 
of  liberty,  its  enemies  reply  to  us  by 
pointing  to  America.”  The  persecuted 
abolitionists  have  the  sympathies  of  the 
civilized  world.  The  country  which  per- 
secutes them  is  covering  itself  with  dis- 
grace, and  filling  the  hearts  of  the  friends 
of  freedom  with  fear  and  gloom.  Al- 
ready despotism  is  beginning  to  rejoice 
in  the  fulfilment  of  its  prophecies,  in 
our  prostrated  laws  and  dying  liberties. 
Liberty  is,  indeed,  threatened  with  death 
in  a country  where  any  class  of  men  are 
stripped  with  impunity  of  their  consti- 
tutional rights.  All  rights  feel  the  blow. 
A community  giving  up  any  of  its  citi- 
zens to  oppression  and  violence  is  pre- 
paring for  itself  the  same  fate.  It  invites 
chains  for  itself,  in  suffering  them  to  be 
imposed  on  any  whom  it  is  bound  to 
protect. 


Chapter  VIII. 

Duties. 

A few  words  remain  to  be  spoken  in 
relation  to  the  duties  of  the  free  States. 
These  need  to  feel  the  responsibilities 
and  dangers  of  their  present  position. 
The  country  is  approaching  a crisis  on 
the  greatest  question  which  can  be  pro- 
posed to  it,  — a question  not  of  profit  or 
loss,  of  tariffs  or  banks,  or  any  temporary 
interests,  but  a question  involving  the 
first  principles  of  freedom,  morals,  and 
religion.  Yet  who  seems  to  be  awake  to 
the  solemnity  of  the  present  moment  ? 
Who  seems  to  be  settling  for  himself  the 
great  fundamental  truths  by  which  pri- 
vate efforts  and  public  measures  are  to 
be  determined  ? 

The  North  has  duties  to  perform 
towards  the  South  and  towards  itself. 
Let  it  resolve  to  perform  them  faithfully, 
impartially ; asking  first  for  the  right, 
and  putting  entire  confidence  in  well- 
doing. The  North  is  bound  to  frown 
on  all  attempts  of  its  citizens,  should 
such  be  threatened,  to  excite  insurrec- 
tion at  the  South,  on  all  attempts  to 
tamper  with  and  to  dispose  to  violence 
the  minds  of  the  slaves.  The  severest 
laws  which  the  constitutions  of  the  dif- 
ferent States  admit  may  justly  be  re- 
sorted to  for  this  end,  and  they  should 


be  strictly  enforced.  I believe,  indeed, 
that  there  is  no  special  need  for  new 
legislation  on  the  subject.  I believe 
that  there  was  never  a moment  when  the 
slave-holding  States  had  so  little  to  ap- 
prehend from  the  free,  when  the  moral 
feeling  of  the  community  in  regard  to 
the  crime  of  instigating  revolt  was  so 
universal,  thorough,  and  inflexible,  as  at 
the  present  moment.  Still,  if  the  South 
needs  other  demonstrations  than  it  now 
has  of  the  moral  and  friendly  spirit  which 
in  this  respect  pervades  the  North,  let 
them  be  given  to  the  full  extent  which 
the  spirit  and  provisions  of  our  respec- 
tive constitutions  allow.  Still  more  ; it 
is  the  duty  of  the  free  States  to  act  by 
opinion,  where  they  cannot  act  by  law, 
to  discountenance  a system  of  agitation 
on  the  subject  of  slavery,  to  frown  on 
passionate  appeals  to  the  ignorant,  and 
on  indiscriminate  and  inflammatory  vitu- 
peration of  the  slave-holder.  This  obli- 
gation also  has  been  and  will  be  fulfilled. 
There  was  never  a stronger  feeling  of 
responsibility  in  this  particular  than  at 
the  present  moment. 

There  are,  however,  other  duties  of 
the  free  States,  to  which  they  may  prove 
false,  and  which  they  are  too  willing  to 
forget.  They  are  bound,  not  in  their 
public,  but  individual  capacities,  to  use 
every  virtuous  influence  for  the  abolition 
of  slavery.  They  are  bound  to  encourage 
that  manly,  moral,  religious  discussion 
of  it,  through  which  strength  will  be  given 
to  the  continually  increasing  opinion  of 
the  civilized  and  Christian  world  in  favor 
of  personal  freedom.  They  are  bound 
to  seek  and  hold  the  truth  in  regard  to 
human  rights,  to  be  faithful  to  their  prin- 
ciples in  conversation  and  conduct, 
never,  never  to  surrender  them  to  private 
interest,  convenience,  flattery,  or  fear. 

The  duty  of  being  true  to  our  princi- 
ples is  not  easily  to  be  performed.  At 
this  moment  an  immense  pressure  is 
driving  the  North  from  its  true  ground. 
God  save  it  from  imbecility,  from  treach- 
ery to  freedom  and  virtue  ! I have  cer- 
tainly no  feelings  but  those  of  good-will 
towards  the  South  ; but  I speak  the 
universal  sentiment  of  this  part  of  the 
country,  when  I say  that  the  tone  which 
the  South  has  often  assumed  towards 
the  North  has  been  that  of  a superior, — 
a tone  unconsciously  borrowed  from  the 
habit  of  command  to  which  it  is  unhap- 
pily accustomed  by  the  form  of  its  soci- 


SLA  VERY. 


7 38 

ety.  I mast  add,  that  this  high  bearing 
of  the  South  has  not  always  been  met 
by  a just  consciousness  of  equality,  a 
just  self-respect  at  the  North.  The 
causes  I will  not  try  to  explain.  The 
effect,  I fear,  is  not  to  be  denied.  It  is 
said  that  some  who  have  represented  the 
North  in  Congress  have  not  always  rep- 
resented its  dignity,  its  honor  ; that  they 
have  not  always  stood  erect  before  the 
lofty  bearing  of  the  South.  Here  lies 
our  danger.  The  North  will  undoubt- 
edly be  just  to  the  South.  It  must  also 
be  just  to  itself.  This  is  not  the  time 
for  sycophancy,  for  servility,  for  compro- 
mise of  principle,  for  forgetfulness  of 
our  rights.  It  is  the  time  to  manifest 
the  spirit  of  men, — a spirit  which  prizes, 
more  than  life,  the  principles  of  liberty, 
of  justice,  of  humanity,  of  pure  morals, 
of  pure  religion. 

Let  it  not  be  thought  that  I would 
recommend  to  the  North,  what  in  some 
parts  of  our  country  is  called  “ Chiv- 
alry,” — a spirit  of  which  the  duelling 
pistol  is  the  best  emblem,  and  which 
settles  controversies  with  blood.  A 
Christian  and  civilized  man  cannot  but 
be  struck  with  the  approach  to  barbar- 
ism, with  the  insensibility  to  true  great- 
ness, with  the  incapacity  of  comprehend- 
ing the  divine  virtues  of  Jesus  Christ, 
which  mark  what  is  called  “ chivalry.” 
I ask  not  the  man  of  the  North  to  borrow 
it  from  any  part  of  the  country.  But  I 
do  ask  him  to  stand  in  the  presence  of 
this  “ chivalry  ” with  the  dignity  of  moral 
courage  and  moral  independence.  Let 
him,  at  the  same  moment,  remember  the 
courtesy  and  deference  due  to  the  differ- 
ing opinions  of  others,  and  the  sincerity 
and  firmness  due  to  his  own.  Let  him 
understand  the  lofty  position  which  he 
holds  on  the  subject  of  slavery,  and 
never  descend  from  it  for  the  purpose  of 
soothing  prejudice  or  disarming  passion. 
Let  him  respect  the  safety  of  the  South, 
and  still  manifest  his  inflexible  adhe- 
rence to  the  cause  of  human  rights  and 
personal  freedom. 

On  this  point  I must  insist,  because  I 
see  the  North  giving  way  to  the  vehe- 
mence of  the  South.  In  some,  perhaps 
many,  of  our  recent  “Resolutions,”  a 
spirit  has  been  manifested  at  which,  if 
not  we,  our  children  will  blush.  Not 
long  ago  there  were  rumors  that  some 
of  our  citizens  wished  to  suppress  by 
law  all  discussion,  all  expression  of 


opinion  on  slavery,  and  to  send  to  the 
South  such  members  of  our  community 
as  might  be  claimed  as  instigators  of 
insurrection.  Such  encroachments  on 
rights  could  not,  of  course,  be  endured. 
We  are  not  yet  so  fallen.  Some  gen- 
erous inspirations,  some  echoes  of  the 
old  eloquence  of  liberty,  still  come  down 
to  us  from  our  fathers.  Could  such  en- 
croachments be  borne,  would  not  the 
soil  of  New  England,  so  long  trodden 
by  freemen,  quake  under  the  steps  of 
her  degenerate  sons  ? We  are  not  pre- 
pared for  these.  But  a weak,  yielding 
tone,  for  which  we  seem  to  be  prepared, 
may  be  the  beginning  of  concessions 
which  we  shall  one  day  bitterly  rue. 

The  means  used  at  the  South  to  bring 
the  North  to  compliance  seem  to  demand 
particular  attention.  I will  not  record 
the  contemptuous  language  which  has 
been  thrown  on  the  money-getting  hab- 
its of  New  England,  or  the  menaces 
which  have  been  addressed  to  our  cu- 
pidity, for  the  purpose  of  putting  11s  to 
silence  on  the  subject  of  slavery.  Such 
language  does  in  no  degree  move  me. 
I only  ask  that  we  may  give  no  ground 
for  its  application.  We  can  easily  bear 
it  if  we  do  not  deserve  it.  Our  mother 
country  has  been  called  a nation  of 
shopkeepers,  and  New  England  ought 
not  to  be  provoked  by  the  name.  Only 
let  us  give  no  sanction  to  the  opinion 
that  our  spirit  is  narrowed  to  our  shops  ; 
that  we  place  the  art  of  bargaining  above 
all  arts,  all  sciences,  accomplishments, 
and  virtues  ; that,  rather  than  lose  the 
fruits  of  the  slave's  labor,  we  would 
rivet  his  chains ; that,  sooner  than  lose 
a market,  we  would  make  shipwreck  of 
honor  ; that,  sooner  than  sacrifice  pres- 
ent gain,  we  would  break  our  faith  to 
our  fathers  and  our  children,  to  our 
principles  and  our  God.  To  resent  or 
retaliate  reproaches  would  be  unwise 
and  unchristian.  The  only  revenge 
worthy  of  a good  man  is  to  turn 
reproaches  into  admonitions  against 
baseness,  into  incitements  to  a more 
generous  virtue.  New  England  has 
long  suffered  the  imputation  of  a sor- 
did, calculating  spirit,  of  supreme  de- 
votion to  gain.  Let  us  show  that  we 
have  principles,  compared  with  which 
the  wealth  of  the  world  is  light  as  air. 
It  is  a common  remark  here,  that  there 
is  not  a community  under  heaven  through 
which  there  is  so  general  a diffusion  of 


SLA  VERY. 


7 39 


intelligence  and  healthful  moral  senti- 
ment as  in  New  England.  Let  not  the 
just  influence  of  such  a society  be  im- 
paired by  any  act  which  would  give  to 
prejudice  the  aspect  of  truth. 

The  free  States,  it  is  to  be  feared, 
must  pass  through  a struggle.  May 
they  sustain  it  as  becomes  their  free- 
dom ! The  present  excitement  at  the 
South  can  hardly  be  expected  to  pass 
away  without  attempts  to  wrest  from 
them  unworthy  concessions.  The  tone 
in  regard  to  slavery  in  that  part  of  our 
country  is  changed.  It  is  not  only  more 
vehement,  but  more  false  than  formerly. 
Once  slavery  was  acknowledged  as  an 
evil.  Now  it  is  proclaimed  to  be  a good. 
We  have  even  been  told,  not  by  a hand- 
ful of  enthusiasts  in  private  life,  but  by 
men  in  the  highest  station  and  of  widest 
iufluence  at  the  South,  that  slavery  is 
the  soil  into  which  political  freedom 
strikes  its  deepest  roots,  and  that  repub- 
lican institutions  are  never  so  secure  as 
when  the  laboring  class  is  reduced  to 
servitude.  Certainly,  no  assertion  of  the 
wildest  abolitionist  could  give  such  a 
shock  to  the  slave-holder  as  this  new 
doctrine  is  fitted  to  give  to  the  people 
of  the  North.  Liberty,  with  a slave  for 
her  pedestal  and  a chain  in  her  hand, 
is  an  image  from  which  our  understand- 
ings and  hearts  alike  recoil.  A doctrine 
more  wounding  or  insulting  to  the  me- 
chanics, farmers,  laborers  of  the  North 
than  this  strange  heresy,  cannot  well 
be  conceived.  A doctrine  more  irrev- 
erent, more  fatal  to  republican  insti- 
tutions, was  never  fabricated  in  the 
councils  of  despotism.  It  does  not, 
however,  provoke  us.  I recall  it  only 
to  show  the  spirit  in  which  slavery  is 
upheld,  and  to  remind  the  free  States 
of  the  calm  energy  which  they  will  need 
to  keep  themselves  true  to  their  own 
principles  of  liberty. 

There  is  a great  dread  in  this  part  of 
the  country  that  the  union  of  the  States 
m\y  be  dissolved  by  the  conflict  about 
slavery.  To  avert  this  evil,  every  sac- 
rifice should  be  made  but  that  of  honor, 
free  iom,  and  principle.  No  one  prizes 
the  Union  more  than  myself.  Perhaps 
I may  be  allowed  to  say  that  I am  at- 
tached to  it  by  no  common  love.  Most 
men  value  the  Union  as  a means  ; to 
me  it  is  an  end.  Most  would  preserve 
it  for  the  prosperity  of  which  it  is  the 
instrument ; I love  and  would  preserve 


it  for  its  own  sake.  Some  value  it  as 
favoring  public  improvements,  facilities 
of  commercial  exchange,  &c.  ; I value 
these  improvements  and  exchanges 
chiefly  as  favoring  union.  I ask  of 
the  General  Government  to  unite  us, 
to  hold  us  together  as  brethren  in  peace  ; 
and  I care  little  whether  it  does  any 
thing  else.  So  dear  to  me  is  union. 
Next  to  liberty,  it  is  our  highest  na- 
tional interest.  All  the  pecuniary  sac- 
rifices which  it  can  possibly  demand 
should  be  made  for  it.  The  politicians 
in  some  parts  of  our  country,  who  are 
calculating  its  value,  and  are  willing  to 
surrender  it  because  they  may  grow 
richer  by  separation,  seem  to  me  bereft 
of  reason.  Still,  if  the  Union  can  be 
preserved  only  by  the  imposition  of 
chains  on  speech  and  the  press,  by 
prohibition  of  discussion  on  a subject 
involving  the  most  sacred  rights  and 
dearest  interests  of  humanity,  then 
union  would  be  bought  at  too  dear  a 
rate  ; then  it  would  be  changed  from 
a virtuous  bond  into  a league  of  crime 
and  shame.  Language  cannot  easily  do 
justice  to  our  attachment  to  the  Union. 
We  Will  yield  every  thing  to  it  but  truth, 
honor,  and  liberty.  These  we  can  never 
yield. 

Let  the  free  States  be  firm,  but  also 
patient,  forbearing,  and  calm.  From 
the  slave-holder  they  cannot  look  for 
perfect  self-control.  From  his  position 
he  would  be  more  than  man  were  he  to 
observe  the  bounds  of  moderation.  The 
consciousness  which  tranquillizes  the 
mind  can  hardly  be  his.  On  this  sub- 
ject he  has  always  been  sensitive  to 
excess.  Much  exasperation  is  to  be 
expected.  Much  should  be  borne. 
Every  thing  may  be  surrendered  but 
our  principles  and  our  rights. 


The  work  which  I proposed  to  myself 
is  now  completed.  I ask  and  hope  for 
it  the  Divine  blessing,  as  far  as  it  ex- 
presses truth,  and  breathes  the  spirit  of 
justice  and  humanity.  If  I have  written 
any  thing  under  the  influence  of  prej- 
udice, prission,  or  unkindness  to  any 
human  being,  I ask  forgiveness  of  God 
and  man.  I have  spoken  strongly,  not 
to  offend  or  give  pain,  but  to  produce  in 
others  deep  convictions  corresponding 
to  my  own.  Nothing  could  have  in- 
duced me  to  fix  my  thoughts  on  this 


740 


SLA  VERY. 


painful  subject,  but  a conviction,  which 
pressed  on  me  with  increasing  weight, 
that  the  times  demanded  a plain  and 
free  exposition  of  the  truth.  The  few 
last  months  have  increased  my  solici- 
tude for  the  country.  Public  sentiment 
has  seemed  to  me  to  be  losing  its  health- 
fulness and  vigor.  I have  seen  symp- 
toms of  the  decline  of  the  old  spirit  of 
liberty.  Servile  opinions  have  seemed 
to  gain  ground  among  us.  The  faith  of 
our  fathers  in  free  institutions  has  waxed 
faint,  and  is  giving  place  to  despair  of 
human  improvement.  I have  perceived 
a disposition  to  deride  abstract  rights, 
to  speak  of  freedom  as  a dream,  and  of 
republican  governments  as  built  on  sand. 
I have  perceived  a faintheartedness  in 
the  cause  of  human  rights.  The  con- 
demnation which  has  been  passed  on 
abolitionists  has  seemed  to  be  settling 
into  acquiescence  in  slavery.  The  sym- 
pathies of  the  community  have  been 
turned  from  the  slave  to  the  master. 
The  impious  doctrine,  that  human  laws 
can  repeal  the  divine,  can  convert  unjust 
and  oppressive  power  into  a moral  right, 
has  more  and  more  tinctured  the  style 
of  conversation  and  the  press.  With 
these  sad  and  solemn  views  of  society, 
I could  not  be  silent ; and  I thank  God, 
amidst  the  consciousness  of  great  weak- 
ness and  imperfection,  that  I have  been 
able  to  offer  this  humble  tribute,  this 
sincere  though  feeble  testimony,  this  ex- 
pression of  heart-felt  allegiance,  to  the 
cause  of  freedom,  justice,  and  humanity. 

Having  stated  the  circumstances  which 
have  moved  me  to  write,  I ought  to  say 
that  they  do  not  discourage  me.  Were 
darker  omens  to  gather  round  us,  I 
should  not  despair.  With  a faith  like 
his  who  came  to  prepare  the  way  for  the 
Great  Deliverer,  I feel  and  can  say, 
“The  kingdom  of  heaven,”  the  reign  of 
justice  and  disinterested  love,  “is  at 
hand,  and  all  flesh  shall  see  the  salva- 
tion of  God.”  I know,  and  rejoice  to 
know,  that  a power,  mightier  than  the 
prejudices  and  oppression  of  ages,  is 
working  on  earth  for  the  world’s  re- 
demption, — the  power  of  Christian 
truth  and  goodness.  It  descended  from 
heaven  in  the  person  of  Christ.  It  was 
manifest  in  his  life  and  death.  From 
his  cross  it  went  forth  conquering  and 
to  conquer.  Its  mission  is  “to  preach 
deliverence  to  the  captive,  and  to  set  at 
liberty  them  that  are  bound.”  It  has 


opened  many  a prison-door.  It  is  or- 
dained to  break  every  chain.  I have 
faith  in  its  triumphs.  I do  not,  cannot 
despair. 


Note.  — It  was  my  purpose  to  address 
a chapter  to  the  South,  but  I have  thought 
fit  to  omit  it.  I beg,  however,  to  say, 
that  nothing  which  I have  written  can 
have  proceeded  from  unkind  feeling 
towards  the  South  ; for  in  no  other  part 
of  the  country  have  my  writings  found  a 
more  gratifying  reception ; from  no  other 
part  have  I received  stronger  expres- 
sions of  sympathy.  To  these  I am  cer- 
tainly not  insensible.  My  own  feelings, 
had  I consulted  them,  would  have  led 
me  to  stifle  every  expression  which  could 
give  pain  to  those  from  whom  I have 
received  nothing  but  good-will. 

I wished  to  suggest  to  the  slave- 
holders that  the  excitement  now  preva- 
lent among  themselves  is  incomparably 
more  perilous,  more  fitted  to  stir  up 
insurrection,  than  all  the  efforts  of  abo- 
litionists, allowing  these  to  be  ever  so 
corrupt.  I also  wished  to  remind  the 
men  of  principle  and  influence  in  that 
part  of  the  country  of  the  necessity  of 
laying  a check  on  lawless  procedures,  in 
regard  to  the  citizens  of  the  North.  We 
have  heard  of  large  subscriptions  at  the 
South  for  the  apprehension  of  some  of 
the  abolitionists  in  the  free  States,  and 
for  the  transportation  of  them  to  parts 
of  the  country  where  they  would  meet 
the  fate  which,  it  is  said,  they  deserve. 
Undoubtedly,  the  respectable  portion  of 
the  slave-holding  communities  are  not 
answerable  for  these  measures.  But 
does  not  policy,  as  well  as  principle, 
require  such  men  steadily  to  discounte- 
nance them  ? At  present,  the  free 
States  have  stronger  sympathies  with 
the  South  than  ever  before.  But  can  it 
be  supposed  that  they  will  suffer  their 
citizens  to  be  stolen,  exposed  to  violence, 
and  murdered  by  other  States  ? Would 
not  such  an  outrage  rouse  them  to  feel 
and  act  as  one  man?  Would  it  not 
identify  the  abolitionists  with  our  most 
sacred  rights  ? One  kidnapped,  mur- 
dered abolitionist  would  do  more  for  the 
violent  destruction  of  slavery  than  a 
thousand  societies.  His  name  would  be 
sainted.  The  day  of  his  death  would  be 
set  apart  for  solemn,  heart-stirring  com- 
memoration. His  blood  wouid  cry 


SLA  VERY, ; 


741 


through  the  land  with  a thrilling  voice, 
would  pierce  every  dwelling,  and  find  a 
response  in  every  heart  Do  men,  under 
the  light  of  the  present  day,  need  to  be 
told  that  enthusiasm  is  not  a flame  to  be 
quenched  with  blood  ? On  this  point, 
good  and  wise  men,  and  the  friends  of 
the  country  at  the  North  and  South,  can 
^iold  but  one  opinion  ; and  if  the  press, 
which,  I grieve  to  say,  has  kept  an  omi- 
nous silence  amidst  the  violations  of  law 
and  rights,  would  but  speak  plainly  and 
strongly,  the  danger  would  be  past. 

The  views  and  principles  supported 
in  this  short  work  will,  of  course,  pro- 
voke much  opposition,  and  — what  I 
greatly  lament  — they  will  excite  the 
displeasure  not  only  of  the  selfish  and 
violent,  but  of  good  and  honorable  men, 
whose  unfavorable  position  hardly  admits 
an  impartial  judgment  of  slavery,  and 
renders  them  excessively  sensitive  to 
every  exposition  of  it.  I shall  not,  how- 
ever, be  anxious  to  defend  what  I have 
written.  The  principles  here  laid  down, 
if  true,  will  stand.  I should  anticipate 
little  good  from  engaging  in  controver- 
sies with  individuals.  The  selfish  pas- 
sions, awakened  by  such  collisions,  too 
often  prevail  over  the  love  of  truth  ; and 
without  this,  the  truth  cannot  be  wor- 
thily maintained.  In  regard  to  slavery, 
it  is  peculiarly  important  that  discussion 
should  be  calm,  general,  unmixed  with 
personalities.  In  this  way,  I trust  that 
the  subject  will  be  better  understood  by 
all  parties.  I should  rejoice  to  be  con- 
vinced that  slavery  is  a less  debasing 
influence  than  I have  affirmed.  How 
welcome  would  be  brighter  views  of  life 
and  of  mankind  ! Still,  we  must  see 
things  as  they  are,  and  not  turn  away 
from  the  most  painful  truth. 

I have  only  to  add,  that  I alone  am 
responsible  for  what  I have  now  written. 
I represent  no  society,  no  body  of  men, 
no  part  of  the  country.  I have  written 
by  no  one’s  instigation,  and  with  no 
one’s  encouragement,  but  solely  from 
my  own  convictions.  If  cause  of  offence 
is  given,  the  blame  ought  to  fall  on  me 
alone. 

Note  for  the  Fourth  Edition. — 
In  commencing  the  chapter  on  Aboli- 
tionism, I have  expressed  my  respect 
for  the  few  abolitionists  whom  I have 
known.  I am  bound  to  say  that,  in  con- 
sequence of  hearing  and  seeing  more  of 
this  body,  I have  an  increasing  persua- 


sion of  the  purity  of  purpose  and  the 
moral  worth  of  its  members  generally. 
I have  spoken  freely  of  their  errors  ; 
but  these  ought  not  to  blind  us  to  their 
virtues  and  sacrifices,  and  especially 
ought  not  to  prejudice  us  against  the 
truths  which  they  contend  for.  We 
must  not  abandon  great  principles 
because  asserted  unwisely.  We  must 
not  grow  cold  to  a good  cause  because 
reproach  is  brought  on  it  by  defenders 
who  have  more  zeal  than  discretion. 
Its  dangers  should  attach  us  to  it  more 
closely,  and  we  should  do  what  we  can 
to  lead  its  friends  to  the  use  of  means 
corresponding  to  its  dignity,  and  fitted 
to  insure  its  success. 

In  the  chapter  on  the  Means  of  Re- 
moving Slavery,  I have  expressed  my 
fears  as  to  the  result  of  the  experiment 
now  going  on  in  the  English  West 
Indies.  I rejoice  to  say  that  recent 
accounts  from  those  islands  have  dimin- 
ished my  apprehensions.  It  is  stated 
that  in  some  of  the  islands  real  estate 
has  risen  in  value  since  the  emancipa- 
tion, and  that  imports  are  considerably 
increased.  I have  just  heard  that  a 
West  Indian  planter  residing  in  this 
country,  who  was  strenuously  opposed 
to  the  Act  of  Emancipation,  speaks  now 
of  his  estate  as  more  productive  than 
formerly.  That  no  disturbance  of  the 
peace  has  followed  this  great  change  is 
well  understood,  and  this  is  the  essen- 
tial point.  Undoubtedly  the  experi- 
ment is  not  yet  decided,  and  reports  are 
to  be  received  with  caution ; but  the 
success  of  the  measure  has  as  yet  sur- 
passed the  expectations  of  all  except 
the  abolitionists.  As  yet  they  have 
proved  the  truest  prophets.  May 
events  set  the  seal  of  truth  on  all  their 
predictions  ! This  country  is  interested 
in  nothing  more  than  in  the  success  of 
emancipation  in  the  West  Indies.  With 
this  example  before  us,  the  destruction 
of  slavery  would  be  as  speedy  as  it  is 
sure. 

No  part  of  my  book  on  Slavery  seems 
to  have  given  so  much  offence  as  that 
in  which  I have  spoken  of  conjugal  in- 
fidelity on  the  part  of  the  master  as 
increased  by  slavery.  Of  the  abuse 
heaped  on  me  for  this  opinion  I shall, 
of  course,  say  nothing.  Had  I received 
nothing  but  abuse,  the  remarks  now  to 
be  made  would  not  be  offered  to  the 
public  ; but  a gentleman  of  high  char' 


742 


SLA  VERY. 


acter,  Mr.  Leigh,  of  Virginia,  has  sol- 
emnly protested  against  my  statement 
in  the  senate  of  the  United  States,  and 
I should  do  him  great  wrong  were  I to 
confound  him  with  the  vulgar  politi- 
cians, too  common  in  Congress  as  well 
as  out  of  it,  who  are  ready  to  say  any 
thing  and  every  thing  which,  may  serve 
their  cause.  Mr.  Leigh  expresses  his 
deliberate  conviction  that  conjugal  fidel- 
ity is  not  more  respected  in  any  part  of 
the  country  than  in  the  slave-holding 
States.  It  will  be  observed,  in  recur- 
ring to  my  book,  that  I said  nothing  of 
the  slave-holding  States,  but  of  slave 
countries  generally,  and  that  I argued 
not  from  reports  or  documents,  but  from 
the  principles  of  human  nature  and  from 
the  very  nature  of  slavery.  I feel  as  if 
such  reasoning  could  not  deceive  me  ; 
but  I will  now  say  — what  I forbore  to 
say  in  the  first  instance  — that  I should 
not  have  brought  this  charge  against 
slavery,  had  not  the  general  argument 
drawn  from  human  nature  been  cor- 
roborated by  all  the  evidence  which  the 
case  will  well  admit.  In  that  part  of 
my  work,  I expressed  not  my  own  opin- 
ion alone,  but  the  common,  and  perhaps 
I should  say  the  universal,  opinion  of 
the  North,  and,  still  more,  the  public 
opinion  of  the  civilized  world.  During 
my  whole  life,  I have  not  met  an  indi- 
vidual who  has  questioned  whether 
slavery  exerts  a disastrous  influence  on 
the  domestic  relations.  I do  not  believe 
that,  among  the  well-informed  at  the 
North,  an  individual  is  to  be  found  who 
supposes  that  the  obligations  of  mar- 
riage are  as  much  respected  in  the  slave- 
holding States  as  in  the  free.  On  read- 
ing Mr.  Leigh’s  speech,  I determined  to 
make  inquiries,  with  the  purpose  of 
retracting  my  error  in  the  face  of  the 
world,  if  I should  find  reason  to  charge 
myself  with  rashness.  I have  obtained 
the  opinions  of  those  whose  authority  in 
such  a case  seems  to  me  most  worthy  of 
confidence,  and  in  every  instance  I have 
been  assured  that  I have  uttered  only 
the  truth.  I know  not  how  many  have 
spoken  to  me  on  this  point  in  the  most 
undoubting  tone.  In  my  book,  I have 
only  given  expression  to  the  public  sen- 
timent of  the  North,  and  I as  little  ex- 
pected to  hear  my  correctness  questioned 
as  to  hear  the  existence  of  slavery  de- 
nied. I do  not,  of  course,  intend  to 
impute  the  least  unfairness  to  Mr. 


Leigh,  who  is  known  among  us  only  as 
a virtuous  man,  who  does  honor  to  his 
country.  I presume  that,  in  the  com- 
parison which  he  made  between  the 
slave-holding  States  and  other  parts  of 
the  country,  he  spoke  without  a suffi- 
cient knowledge  of  the  latter.  I cannot, 
therefore,  I dare  not,  expunge  from  my 
book  the  offensive  passage,  though  in 
the  revised  edition  I have  somewhat 
changed  its  form.  If  I know  my  own 
heart,  I should  rejoice  to  be  able  to  ex- 
punge it. 

I have  regretted  that  a passage  which 
I prepared  for  this  work  at  the  time  of 
its  composition  was  not  inserted.  In 
the  chapter  of  Explanations,  after  speak- 
ing of  the  examples  of  moral  and  relig- 
ious excellence  to  be  found  in  the  slave- 
holding States,  I expressed,  in  a few 
sentences,  my  deep  sense  of  the  virtues 
as  well  as  the  accomplishments  of  the 
women  of  the  South.  I wrote  this  pas- 
sage with  a fervent  heart,  because  it  was 
dictated,  in  a measure,  by  the  grateful 
recollection  of  unwearied  kindnesses 
received  from  woman  during  a residence 
in  that  part  of  the  country  in  my  youth. 
I should  be  glad  to  publish  it  now,  had 
it  not  been  destroyed  with  the  manu- 
script of  which  it  formed  a part,  for  it 
expressed  feelings  which  time  has  only 
strengthened.  After  much  deliberation 
I omitted  it  in  the  first  edition,  and  did 
so  from  considerations  which  I cannot 
now  approve.  I feared  that  what  I had 
written  would  be  set  down  by  strangers 
as  a commonplace  of  flattery.  I feared 
that  I might  seem  desirous  to  expiate 
by  this  praise  the  censures  contained  in 
other  parts  of  the  book,  — desirous  to 
shield  myself  from  the  obloquy  to  which 
I was  exposing  myself  in  publishing  un- 
popular truth.  I did  on  this  occasion 
what  I have  too  often  done.  In  shrink- 
ing from  the  appearance  of  vices  which 
I abhor,  I was  unjust  to  my  convictions 
and  affections.  The  reader  will  excuse 
this  reference  to  myself,  when  he  learns 
that  I have  been  shamelessly  accused  of 
casting  reproach  on  the  purity  of  the 
women  at  the  South.  I should  not, 
however,  have  noticed  this  calumny,  had 
not  the  preceding  part  of  this  note  almost 
compelled  me  to  refer  to  it.  I feel  too 
much  about  the  great  subject  on  which 
I have  written  to  be  very  solicitous  about 
what  is  said  of  myself.  I feel  that  I am 
nothing,  that  my  reputation  is  nothing, 


THE  ABOLITIONISTS. 


743 


in  comparison  with  the  fearful  wrong 
and  evil  which  I have  labored  to  expose  ; 
and  I should  count  myself  unworthy  the 
name  of  a man  or  a Christian,  if  the 
calumnies  of  the  bad,  or  even  the  dis- 


approbation of  the  good,  could  fasten 
my  thoughts  on  myself  and  turn  me 
aside  from  a cause  which,  as  I believe, 
truth,  humanity,  and  God  call  me  to  main- 
tain. 


THE  ABOLITIONISTS: 

A Letter  to  James  G.  Birney . 

[The  following  letter  was  prepared  for  the  “ Philanthropist,”  an  antislavery  paper,  published  at  Cin- 
cinnati, and  edited  by  James  G.  Birney,  a gentleman  highly  respected  for  his  intellectual  and  moral 
endowments.  It  was  occasioned  by  the  attempt  made  in  that  city  to  suppress  the  antislavery  party 
by  force.  Mr.  Birney  was  driven  from  Cincinnati,  and  the  press  at  which  the  “Philanthropist” 
was  printed  was  broken  up.  A particular  account  of  this  disgraceful  affair  may  be  found  in  the 
“ Narrative  of  the  late  Riotous  Proceedings  against  the  Liberty  of  the  Press  at  Cincinnati,”  pre- 
pared by  Mr.  Birney  and  his  associates.  The  following  letter,  besides  appearing  in  the  “ Philan- 
thropist,” has  been  published  as  a pamphlet  for  distribution  at  the  West,  and  the  author  now 
submits  it  to  the  community  here  in  the  same  form,  with  a few  slight  changes  and  with  some  new 
matter  in  a note.  — Boston,  December  20,  1836.] 


Boston,  Nov.  i,  1836. 

My  dear  Sir,  — I have  not  the  pleas- 
ure of  knowing  you  personally ; but 
your  history  and  writings  have  given  me 
an  interest  in  you,  which  induces  and 
encourages  me  to  address  you  with 
something  of  the  freedom  of  acquaint- 
ance. I feel  myself  attracted  to  the 
friends  of  humanity  and  freedom,  how- 
ever distant  ; and  when  such  are  ex- 
posed by  their  principles  to  peril  and 
loss,  and  stand  firm  in  the  evil  day,  I 
take  pleasure  in  expressing  to  them  my 
sympathy  and  admiration.  The  first  ac- 
counts which  reached  me  of  the  vio- 
lence which  drove  you  from  Cincinnati, 
inclined  me  to  write  to  you  ; but  your 
“ Narrative  of  those  Riotous  Proceed- 
ings,” which  I have  lately  received  and 
read,  does  not  permit  me  to  remain 
longer  silent.  The  subject  weighs  much 
on  my  mind.  I feel  that  I have  a duty 
to  perform  in  relation  to  it,  and  I cannot 
rest  till  I yield  to  this  conviction,  — till 
I obey  what  seems  to  me  the  voice  of 
God.  I think  it  best,  however,  not  to 
confine  myself  to  the  outrage  at  Cin- 
cinnati, but  to  extend  my  remarks  to 
the  spirit  of  violence  and  persecution 
which  has  broken  out  against  the  abo- 
litionists through  the  whole  country. 
This,  I know,  will  be  more  acceptable 
to  you  than  any  expression  of  sympathy 
with  you  as  an  individual.  You  look 


beyond  yourself  to  the  cause  which  you 
have  adopted,  and  to  the  much-injured 
body  of  men  with  whom  you  are  as- 
sociated. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  speak  of  the 
abolitionists  as  abolitionists.  They  now 
stand  before  the  world  in  another  char- 
acter, and  to  this  I shall  give  my  present 
attention.  Of  their  merits  and  demerits 
as  abolitionists,  I have  formerly  spoken. 
In  my  short  work  on  Slavery,  I have 
expressed  my  fervent  attachment  to  the 
great  end  to  which  they  are  pledged, 
and  at  the  same  time  my  disapproba- 
tion, to  a certain  extent,  of  their  spirit 
and  measures.  I have  no  disposition  to 
travel  over  this  ground  again.  Had  the 
abolitionists  been  left  to  pursue  their 
object  with  the  freedom  which  is  guar- 
antied to  them  by  our  civil  institutions  ; 
had  they  been  resisted  only  by  those 
weapons  of  reason,  rebuke,  reproba- 
tion, which  the  laws  allow,  I should 
have  no  inducement  to  speak  of  them 
again  either  in  praise  or  censure.  But 
the  violence  of  their  adversaries  has 
driven  them  to  a new  position.  Abo- 
litionism forms  an  era  in  our  history,  if 
we  consider  the  means  by  which  it  has 
been  opposed.  Deliberate,  systematic 
efforts  have  been  made,  not  here  or 
there,  but  far  and  wide,  to  wrest  from 
its  adherents  that  liberty  of  speech  and 
the  press,  which  our  fathers  asserted 


744 


THE  ABOLITIONISTS. 


unto  blood,  and  which  our  national  and 
state  goverments  are  pledged  to  protect 
as  our  most  sacred  right.  Its  most  con- 
spicuous advocates  have  been  hunted 
and  stoned,  its  meetings  scattered,  its 
presses  broken  up,  and  nothing  but  the 
patience,  constancy,  and  intrepidity  of 
its  members  has  saved  it  from  extinc- 
tion. The  abolitionists  then  not  only 
appear  in  the  character  of  champions  of 
the  colored  race.  In  their  persons  the 
most  sacred  rights  of  the  white  man 
and  the  free  man  have  been  assailed. 
They  are  sufferers  for  the  liberty  of 
thought,  speech,  and  the  press  ; and,  in 
maintaining  this  liberty  amidst  insult 
and  violence,  they  deserve  a place  among 
its  most  honored  defenders.  In  this 
character  I shall  now  speak  of  them. 

In  regard  to  the  methods  adopted  by 
the  abolitionists  of  promoting  emanci- 
pation, I might  find  much  to  censure ; 
but  when  I regard  their  firm,  fearless 
assertion  of  the  rights  of  free  discus- 
sion, of  speech  and  the  press,  I look 
on  them  with  unmixed  respect.  I see 
nothing  to  blame,  and  much  to  admire. 
To  them  has  been  committed  the  most 
important  bulwark  of  liberty,  and  they 
have  acquitted  themselves  of  the  trust 
like  men  and  Christians.  No  violence 
has  driven  them  from  their  post.  Whilst, 
in  obedience  to  conscience,  they  have 
refrained  from  opposing  force  to  force, 
they  have  still  persevered,  amidst  men- 
ace and  insult,  in  bearing  their  testi- 
mony against  wrong,  in  giving  utterance 
to  their  deep  convictions.  Of  such  men 
I do  not  hesitate  to  say,  that  they  have 
rendered  to  freedom  a more  essential 
service  than  any  body  of  men  among 
us.  The  defenders  of  freedom  are  not 
those  who  claim  and  exercise  rights 
which  no  one  assails,  or  who  win 
shouts  of  applause  by  well-turned  com- 
pliments to  liberty  in  the  days  of  her 
triumph.  They  are  those  who  stand  up 
for  rights  which  mobs,  conspiracies,  or 
single  tyrants  put  in  jeopardy ; who 
contend  for  liberty  in  that  particular 
form  which  is  threatened  at  the  moment 
by  the  many  or  the  few.  To  the  abo- 
litionists this  honor  belongs.  The  first 
systematic  effort  to  strip  the  citizen  of 
freedom  of  speech  they  have  met  with 
invincible  resolution.  From  my  heart 
I thank  them.  I am  myself  their  debtor. 
I am  not  sure  that  I should  this  mo- 
ment write  in  safety  had  they  shrunk 


from  the  conflict,  had  they  shut  their 
lips,  imposed  silence  on  their  presses, 
and  hid  themselves  before  their  fero- 
cious assailants.  I know  not  where 
these  outrages  would  have  stopped,  had 
they  not  met  resistance  from  their  first 
destined  victims.  The  newspaper  press, 
with  a few  exceptions,  uttered  no  genuine 
indignant  rebuke  of  the  wrong-doers, 
but  rather  countenanced,  by  its  gentle 
censures,  the  reign  of  force.  The  mass 
of  the  people  looked  supinely  on  this 
new  tyranny,  under  which  a portion  of 
their  fellow-citizens  seemed  to  be  sink- 
ing. A tone  of  denunciation  was  be- 
ginning to  proscribe  all  discussion  of 
slavery ; and  had  the  spirit  of  violence, 
which  selected  associations  as  its  first 
objects,  succeeded  in  this  preparatory 
enterprise,  it  might  have  been  easily 
turned  against  any  and  every  individual 
who  might  presume  to  agitate  the  un- 
welcome subject.  It  is  hard  to  say  to 
what  outrage  the  fettered  press  of  the 
country  might  not  have  been  reconciled. 

I thank  the  abolitionists  that,  in  this 
evil  day,  they  were  true  to  the  rights 
which  the  multitude  were  ready  to  be- 
tray. Their  purpose  to  suffer,  to  die, 
rather  than  surrender  their  dearest  lib- 
erties, taught  the  lawless  that  they  had 
a foe  to  contend  with  whom  it  was  not 
safe  to  press,  whilst,  like  all  manly  ap- 
peals, it  called  forth  reflection  and  sym- 
pathy in  the  better  portion  of  the  com- 
munity. In  the  name  of  freedom  and 
humanity,  I thank  them.  Through  their 
courage,  the  violence,  which  might  have 
furnished  a precedent  fatal  to  freedom, 
is  to  become,  I trust,  a warning  to  the 
lawless  of  the  folly  as  well  as  crime  of 
attempting  to  crush  opinion  by  force. 

Of  all  powers,  the  last  to  be  intrusted 
to  the  multitude  of  men  is  that  of  de- 
termining what  questions  shall  be  dis- 
cussed. The  greatest  truths  are  often 
the  most  unpopular  and  exasperating ; 
and  were  they  to  be  denied  discussion 
till  the  many  should  be  ready  to  accept 
them,  they  would  never  establish  them- 
selves in  the  general  mind.  The  prog- 
ress of  society  depends  on  nothing  more 
than  on  the  exposure  of  time-sanctioned 
abuses,  which  cannot  be  touched  with- 
out offending  multitudes,  than  on  the 
promulgation  of  principles  which  are  in 
advance  of  public  sentiment  and  prac- 
tice, and. which  are  consequently  at  war 
with  the  habits,  prejudices,  and  imme- 


THE  ABOLITIONISTS. 


745 


diate  interests  of  large  classes  of  the 
community.  Of  consequence,  the  mul- 
titude, if  once  allowed  to  dictate  or 
proscribe  subjects  of  discussion,  would 
strike  society  with  spiritual  blindness 
and  death.  The  world  is  to  be  carried 
forward  by  truth,  which  at  first  offends, 
which  wins  its  way  by  degrees,  which 
the  many  hate  and  would  rejoice  to 
crush.  The  right  of  free  discussion  is 
therefore  to  be  guarded  by  the  friends 
of  mankind  with  peculiar  jealousy.  It 
is  at  once  the  most  sacred  and  most 
endangered  of  all  our  rights.  He  who 
would  rob  his  neighbor  of  it,  should 
have  a mark  set  on  him  as  the  worst 
enemy  of  freedom. 

I do  not  know  that  our  history  con- 
tains a page  more  disgraceful  to  us  as 
freemen  than  that  which  records  the 
violences  against  the  abolitionists.  As 
a people,  we  are  chargeable  with  other 
and  worse  misdeeds,  but  none  so  fla- 
grantly opposed  to  the  spirit  of  liberty, 
the  very  spirit  of  our  institutions,  and 
of  which  we  make  our  chief  boast. 
Who,  let  me  ask,  are  the  men  whose 
offences  are  so  aggravated,  that  they 
must  be  denied  the  protection  of  the 
laws,  and  be  given  up  to  the  worst 
passions  of  the  multitude  ? Are  they 
profligate  in  principle  and  life,  teachers 
of  impious  or  servile  doctrines,  the  ene- 
mies of  God  and  their  race  ? I speak 
not  from  vague  rumor,  but  from  better 
means  of  knowledge,  when  I say,  that  a 
body  of  men  and  women  more  blame- 
less than  the  abolitionists  in  their  vari- 
ous relations,  or  more  disposed  to  adopt 
a rigid  construction  of  the  Christian 
precepts,  cannot  be  found  among  us. 
Of  their  judiciousness  and  wisdom  I do 
not  speak ; but  I believe  they  yield  to 
no  party  in  moral  worth.  Their  great 
crime,  and  one  which  in  this  land  of  lib- 
erty is  to  be  punished  above  all  crimes, 
is  this,  that  they  carry  the  doctrine  of 
human  equality  to  its  full  extent,  that 
they  plead  vehemently  for  the  oppressed, 
that  they  assail  wrong-doing  however 
sanctioned  by  opinion  or  intrenched  be- 
hind wealth  and  power,  that  their  zeal 
for  human  rights  is  without  measure, 
that  they  associate  themselves  fervently 
with  the  Christians  and  philanthropists 
of  other  countries  against  the  worst  relic 
of  barbarous  times.  Such  is  the  offence 
against  which  mobs  are  arrayed,  and 
which  is  counted  so  flagrant,  that  a sum- 


mary justice,  too  indignant  to  wait  for 
the  tardy  progress  of  tribunals,  must 
take  the  punishment  into  its  own  hands. 

How  strange  in  a free  country,  that 
the  men  from  whom  the  liberty  of  speech 
is  to  be  torn  are  those  who  use  it  in 
pleading  for  freedom,  who  devote  them- 
selves to  the  vindication  of  human 
rights  ! What  a spectacle  is  presented 
to  the  world  by  a republic,  in  which 
sentence  of  proscription  is  passed  on 
citizens  who  labor,  by  addressing  men’s 
consciences,  to  enforce  the  truth  that 
slavery  is  the  greatest  of  wrongs  ! 
Through  the  civilized  world,  the  best 
and  greatest  men  are  bearing  joint  wit- 
ness against  slavery.  Christians  of  all 
denominations  and  conditions,  rich  and 
poor,  learned  and  ignorant,  are  bound 
in  a holy  league  against  this  most  de- 
grading form  of  oppression.  But,  in 
free  America,  the  language  which  des- 
pots tolerate  must  not  be  heard.  One 
would  think  that  freemen  might  be  par- 
doned, if  the  view  of  fellow-creatures 
stripped  of  all  human  rights  should  move 
them  to  vehemence  of  speech.  But, 
whilst  on  all  other  subjects  the  deeply 
stirred  feelings  may  overflow  in  earnest 
remonstrance,  on  slavery  the  freemen 
must  speak  in  whispers,  or  pay  the  pen- 
alty of  persecution  for  the  natural  utter- 
ance of  strong  emotion. 

I am  aware  that  the  outrages  on  the 
abolitionists  are  justified  or  palliated  by 
various  considerations  ; nor  is  this  sur- 
prising ; for  when  did  violence  ever  want 
excuse  ? It  is  said  that  abolitionism 
tends  to  stir  up  insurrection  at  the 
South,  and  to  dissolve  the  Union.  Of 
all  pretences  for  resorting  to  lawless 
force,  the  most  dangerous  is  the  tendeiicy 
of  measures  or  opinions.  Almost  all 
men  see  ruinous  tendencies  in  whatever 
opposes  their  particular  interests  or 
views.  All  the  political  parties  which 
have  convulsed  our  country  have  seen 
tendencies  to  national  destruction  in  the 
principles  of  their  opponents.  So  in- 
finite are  the  connections  and  conse- 
quences of  human  affairs,  that  nothing 
can  be  done  in  which  some  dangerous 
tendency  may  not  be  detected.  There 
is  a tendency  in  arguments  against  any 
old  establishment  to  unsettle  all  institu- 
tions, because  all  hang  together.  There 
is  a tendency  in  the  laying  bare  of  deep- 
rooted  abuses  to  throw  a community 
into  a storm.  Liberty  tends  to  licen- 


THE  ABOLITIONISTS. 


746 


tiousness,  government  to  despotism. 
Exclude  all  enterprises  which  may  have 
evil  results,  and  human  life  will  stagnate. 
Wise  men  are  not  easily  deterred  by 
difficulties  and  perils  from  a course  of 
action  which  promises  great  good.  Es- 
pecially when  justice  and  humanity  cry 
aloud  for  the  removal  of  an  enormous 
social  evil,  it  is  unworthy  of  men  and 
Christians  to  let  the  imagination  run 
riot  among  possible  dangers,  instead  of 
rousing  every  energy  of  mind  to  study 
how  the  evil  may  be  taken  away,  and 
the  perils  which  accompany  beneficial 
changes  may  be  escaped. 

As  to  the  charge  brought  against  the 
abolitionists,  of  stirring  up  insurrection 
at  the  South,  I have  never  met  the 
shadow  of  a proof  that  this  nefarious 
project  was  meditated  by  a single  mem- 
ber of  their  body.  The  accusation  is 
repelled  by  their  characters  and  princi- 
ples as  well  as  by  facts  ; nor  can  I easily 
conceive  of  a sane  man  giving  it  belief. 
As  to  the  “ tendency”  of  their  measures 
to  this  result,  it  is  such  only  as  we  have 
seen  to  belong  to  all  human  affairs,  and 
such  as  may  easily  be  guarded  against. 
The  truth  is,  that  any  exposition  of 
slavery,  no  matter  from  whom  it  may 
come,  may  chance  to  favor  revolt.  It 
may  chance  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  a 
fanatic,  who  may  think  himself  sum- 
moned by  heaven  to  remove  violently 
this  great  wrong ; or  it  may  happen  to 
reach  the  hut  of  some  intelligent,  daring 
slave,  who  may  think  himself  called  to 
be  the  avenger  of  his  race.  All  things 
are  possible.  A casual,  innocent  remark 
in  conversation,  may  put  wild  projects 
into  the  unbalanced  or  disordered  mind 
of  some  hearer.  Must  we,  then,  live  in 
perpetual  silence  ? Do  such  chances 
make  it  our  duty  to  shut  our  lips  on  the 
subject  of  an  enormous  wrong,  and  never 
to  send  from  the  press  a reprobation  of 
the  evil  ? The  truth  is,  that  the  great 
danger  to  the  slave-holder  comes  from 
slavery  itself,  from  the  silent  innovations 
of  time,  from  political  conflicts  and  con- 
vulsions, and  not  from  the  writings  of 
strangers.  I readily  grant  that  the  abo- 
litionists, in  consequence  of  their  num- 
ber and  their  systematic  and  public 
efforts,  are  more  likely  to  be  heard  of 
by  the  slave  than  a solitary  individual 
who  espouses  his  cause.  But  when  I 
consider  "how  steadily  they  have  con- 
demned the  resort  to  force  on  the  part 


of  the  oppressed  ; when  I consider  what 
power  the  master  possesses  of  excluding 
incendiary  influences,  if  such  are  threat- 
ened from  abroad ; when  I remember 
that,  during  the  late  unparalleled  excite- 
ment at  the  South,  not  a symptom  of 
revolt  appeared  ; and  when  to  all  this  I 
add  the  strongly  manifested  purpose  of 
the  free  States  to  put  forth  their  power, 
if  required,  for  the  suppression  of  insur- 
rection, it  seems  to  me  that  none  but 
the  most  delicate  nerves  can  be  dis- 
turbed by  the  movements  of  the  aboli- 
tionists. Can  any  man,  who  has  a sense 
of  character,  affect  to  believe  that  the 
tendency  of  abolitionism  to  stir  up  a 
servile  war  is  so  palpable  and  resistless 
as  to  require  the  immediate  application 
of  force  for  its  suppression,  as  to  demand 
the  substitution  of  mobs  for  the  action 
of  law,  as  to  justify  the  violation  of  the 
most  sacred  right  of  the  citizen  ? 

-U  As  to  the  other  charge,  that  the  meas- 
ures of  the  abolitionists  endanger  our 
National  Union,  and  must  therefore  be 
put  down  by  any  and  every  means,  it  is 
weaker  than  the  former.  Against  whom 
has  not  this  charge  been  hurled  ? What 
party  among  us  has  not  been  loaded  with 
this  reproach  ? Do  not  we  at  the  North 
almost  unanimously  believe  that  the 
spirit  and  measures  of  nullification  have 
a direct  and  immediate  tendency  to  dis- 
solve the  Union  ? But  are  we  therefore 
authorized  to  silence  the  nullifier  by 
violence  ? Should  a leader  of  that  party 
travel  among  us,  is  he  to  be  mobbed  ? 
Let  me  further  ask,  how  is  it  that  the 
abolitionists  endanger  the  Union  ? The 
only  reply  which  I have  heard  is,  that 
they  exasperate  the  South.  And  is  it  a 
crime  to  exasperate  men  ? Who  then 
so  criminal  as  the  Founder  and  primitive 
teachers  of  our  faith  ? Have  we  yet  to 
learn  that,  in  cases  of  exasperation,  the 
blame  is  as  apt  to  lie  with  those  who  take, 
as  with  those  who  occasion,  offence  ? 
How  strange  the  doctrine,  that  men  are 
to  be  proscribed  for  uttering  language 
which  gives  offence,  are  to  be  outlawed 
for  putting  their  neighbors  into  a pas- 
sion ! Let  it  also  be  considered  that  the 
abolitionists  are  not  the  only  people  who 
exasperate  the  South.  Can  the  calmest 
book  be  written  on  slavery  without  pro- 
ducing the  same  effect  ? Can  the  Chief 
Justice  of  Massachusetts  expound  the 
constitution  and  laws  of  that  Common- 
wealth according  to  their  free  spirit,  and 


THE  ABOLITIONISTS . 


of  course  in  opposition  to  slavery,  with- 
out awakening  indignation  ? Is  not  the 
doctrine,  that  Congress  has  the  right  of 
putting  an  end  to  slavery  in  the  District 
of  Columbia,  denounced  as  fiercely  as 
the  writings  and  harangues  of  abolition- 
ists ? Where,  then,  shall  mobs  stop,  if 
the  crime  of  exasperating  the  South 
is  so  heinous  as  to  deserve  their  ven- 
geance ? If  the  philanthropist  and 
Christian  must  be  silenced  on  the  sub- 
ject of  slavery,  lest  they  wound  the  sen- 
sitive ears  of  the  South,  ought  the  judge 
and  legislator  to  be  spared  ? Who  does 
not  see  that  these  apologies  for  law- 
less force,  if  they  have  any  validity, 
will  bring  every  good  man  under  its 
iron  sway  ? 

In  these  remarks  you  learn  my  abhor- 
rence of  the  violence  offered  to  the 
abolitionists,  and  my  admiration  of  the 
spirit  they  have  opposed  to  it.  May 
they  vindicate  to  the  end  the  rights 
which  in  their  persons  have  been  out- 
raged ! Allow  me  now  to  express  my 
earnest  desire  and  hope  that  the  abo- 
litionists will  maintain  the  liberty  of 
speech  and  the  press,  not  only  by  assert- 
ing it  firmly,  but  by  using  it  wisely,  de- 
liberately, generously,  and  under  the 
control  of  the  severest  moral  principle. 
It  is  my  earnest  desire  that  they  will 
exercise  it  in  the  spirit  of  Christians  and 
philanthropists,  with  a supreme  love  of 
truth,  without  passion  or  bitterness,  and 
without  that  fanaticism  which  cannot 
discern  the  true  proportions  of  things, 
which  exaggerates  or  distorts  whatever 
favors  or  conflicts  with  its  end,  which 
sees  no  goodness  except  in  its  own 
ranks,  which  shuts  itself  up  in  one 
object,  and  is  blind  to  all  besides.  Lib- 
erty suffers  from  nothing  more  than 
from  licentiousness,  and  I fear  that  abo- 
litionists are  not  to  be  absolved  from  this 
abuse  of  it.  It  seems  to  me  that  they 
are  particularly  open  to  one  reproach. 
Their  writings  have  been  blemished  by 
a spirit  of  intolerance,  sweeping  censure, 
and  rash,  injurious  judgment.  I do  not 
mean  to  bring  this  charge  against  all 
their  publications.  Yours,  as  far  as  I 
have  seen  them,  are  an  honorable  excep- 
tion ; and  others,  I know,  deserve  the 
same  praise.  But  abolitionism,  in  the 
main,  has  spoken  in  an  intolerant  tone, 
and  in  this  way  has  repelled  many  good 
minds,  given  great  advantage  to  its  oppo- 
nents, and  diminished  the  energy  and 


747 

effect  of  its  appeals.  I should  rejoice 
to  see  it  purified  from  this  stain. 

Abolitionism  seems  to  me  to  have 
been  intolerant  towards  the  slave- 
holders, and  towards  those  in  the  free 
States  who  oppose  them,  or  who  refuse 
to  take  part  in  their  measures.  I say, 
first,  towards  the  slave-holder.  The 
abolitionist  has  not  spoken,  and  cannot 
speak,  against  slavery  too  strongly.  No 
language  can  exceed  the  enormity  of  the 
wrong.  But  the  whole  class  of  slave- 
holders often  meets  a treatment  in  anti- 
slavery publications  which  is  felt  to  be 
unjust,  and  is  certainly  unwise.  We 
always  injure  ourselves  in  placing  our 
adversary  on  the  footing  of  an  injured 
man.  One  groundless  charge  helps  him 
to  repel  many  which  are  true.  There 
is,  indeed,  a portion  of  slave-holders 
who  deserve  the  severest  reprobation. 
In  every  such  community  there  are 
many  who  hold  their  fellow-creatures  in 
bondage  for  gain,  — for  mere  gain. 
They  perpetuate  this  odious  system  not 
reluctantly,  but  from  choice ; not  be- 
cause the  public  safety  compels  them, 
as  they  think,  to  act  the  part  of  despots, 
but  because  they  love  despotism,  and 
count  money  their  supreme  good.  Pro- 
vided they  can  be  supported  in  ease  and 
indulgence,  can  be  pampered  and  en- 
riched, they  care  not  for  the  means. 
They  care  not  what  wrongs  or  stripes 
are  inflicted,  what  sweat  is  extorted, 
what  powers  of  the  immortal  soul  are 
crushed.  For  such  men  no  rebuke  can 
be  too  severe.  If  any  vehemence  of 
language  can  pierce  their  consciences, 
let  it  be  used.  The  man  who  holds 
slaves  for  gain  is,  in  effect,  though  un- 
consciously, the  worst  of  robbers  ; for 
he  selfishly  robs  his  fellow-creatures  not 
only  of  their  property,  but  of  themselves. 
He  is  the  worst  of  tyrants,  for,  whilst 
absolute  governments  spoil  men  of  civil, 
he  strips  them  of  personal  rights.  But 
I do  not,  cannot  believe  that  the  major- 
ity of  slave-holders  are  of  the  character 
now  described.  I believe  that  the  ma- 
jority, could  they  be  persuaded  of  the 
consistency  of  emancipation  with  the 
well-being  of  the  colored  race  and  with 
social  order,  would  relinquish  their  hold 
on  the  slave,  and  sacrifice  their  imagined 
property  in  him  to  the  claims  of  justice 
and  humanity.  They  shrink  from  eman- 
cipation, because  it  seems  to  them  a 
precipice.  Having  seen  the  colored 


THE  ABOLITIONISTS. 


748 

man  continually  dependent  on  foreign 
guidance  and  control,  they  think  him 
incapable  of  providing  for  himself. 
Having  seen  the  laboring  class  kept 
down  by  force,  they  feel  as  if  the  re- 
moval of  this  restraint  would  be  a signal 
to  universal  lawlessness  and  crime.  That 
such  opinions  absolve  from  all  blame 
those  who  perpetuate  slavery,  I do  not 
say.  That  they  are  often  strengthened 
by  the  self-interest  of  the  master,  I can- 
not doubt ; for  we  see  men  everywhere 
grasping  and  defending  doctrines  which 
confirm  their  property  and  power.  I 
acknowledge,  too,  that  the  ready,  unhes- 
itating acquiescence  of  the  slave-holder 
in  such  loose  notions,  especially  at  the 
present  moment,  is  a bad  symptom.  In 
the  present  age,  when  a flood  of  light  has 
been  thrown  on  the  evils  of  slavery,  and 
when  the  whole  civilized  world  cries 
out  against  it  as  the  greatest  of  wrongs, 
and  in  this  country,  where  the  doctrine 
of  human  rights  has  been  expounded  by 
the  profoundest  minds,  and  sealed  with 
the  best  blood,  a fearful  responsibility  is 
assumed  by  masters,  who,  pronouncing 
emancipation  hopeless,  make  no  serious, 
anxious  inquiry  after  the  means  of 
accomplishing  it,  and  no  serious  effort 
to  remove  the  supposed  unfitness  of  the 
slave  for  freedom.  Still,  while  there  is 
much  to  be  condemned  in  the  prevalent 
opinions  and  feelings  at  the  South,  we 
have  no  warrant  for  denying  to  all  slave- 
holders moral  and  religious  excellence. 
The  whole  history  of  the  world  shows 
us  that  a culpable  blindness  in  regard 
to  one  class  of  obligations  may  consist 
with  a sincere  reverence  for  religious 
and  moral  principles,  as  far  as  they  are 
understood.  In  estimating  men’s  char- 
acters, we  must  never  forget  the  disad- 
vantages under  which  they  labor.  Sla- 
very, upheld,  as  it  is  at  the  South,  by 
the  deepest  prejudices  of  education,  by 
the  sanction  of  laws,  by  the  prescription 
of  ages,  and  by  real  difficulties  attending 
emancipation,  cannot  easily  be  viewed 
in  that  region  as  it  appears  to  more  dis- 
tant and  impartial  observers.  The  hate- 
fulness of  the  system  ought  to  be 
strongly  exposed,  and  it  cannot  be  ex- 
posed too  strongly ; but  this  hatefulness 
must  not  be  attached  to  all  who  sustain 
slavery.  There  are  pure  and  generous 
spirits  at  the  South,  and  they  are  to  be 
honored  the  more  for  the  sore  trials 
amidst  which  their  virtues  have  gained 


strength.  The  abolitionists,  in  their 
zeal,  seem  to  have  overlooked  these 
truths  in  a great  degree,  and  by  their 
intolerance  towards  the  slave-holder 
have  awakened  towards  him  sympathy 
rather  than  indignation,  and  weakened 
the  effect  of  their  just  invectives  against 
the  system  which  he  upholds. 

I think,  too,  that  they  are  chargeable 
with  a like  intolerance  towards  those  in 
the  free  States  who  oppose  them,  or 
who  refuse  to  participate  in  their  opera- 
tions. They  have  been  apt  to  set  down 
opposition  to  themselves  as  equivalent 
to  attachment  to  slavery.  Regarding 
their  own  dogmas  as  the  only  true  faith, 
and  making  their  own  zeal  the  standard 
of  a true  interest  in  the  oppressed,  they 
have  been  apt  to  cast  scornful  looks 
and  reproaches  on  those  who  have 
spoken  in  doubt  or  displeasure  of  their 
movements.  This  has  made  them  many 
foes.  They  have  been  too  belligerent 
to  make  friends.  I do  not  mean,  in 
these  remarks,  that  the  abolitionists 
have  had  nothing  to  blame  in  their  op- 
ponents. Among  these  are  not  a few 
deserving  severe  reprehension,  and  I 
have  no  desire  to  shield  them  from  it. 
But  the  great  mass  who  have  refused  to 
take  part  in  the  antislavery  movement 
have  been  governed  by  pure  motives. 
If  they  have  erred,  they  have  not  erred 
willingly,  or  from  the  influence  of  low 
and  servile  passions.  They  have  conse- 
quently been  wronged  by  the  treatment 
they  have  received  at  the  hands  of  the 
abolitionists,  and  men  are  not  brought 
over  by  wrongs  to  a good  cause. 

I have  said  that  I have  no  desire  to 
shield  the  unworthy  among  ourselves. 
We  have  those  whose  opposition  to  abo- 
litionism has  been  wicked,  and  merits 
reprobation.  Such  are  to  be  found  in 
all  classes  ; forming,  indeed,  a minority 
in  each,  yet  numerous  enough  to  deserve 
attention  and  to  do  much  harm.-  Such 
are  to  be  found  in  what  is  called  the 
highest  class  of  society,  that  is,  among 
the  rich  and  fashionable  ; and  the  cause 
is  obvious.  The  rich  and  fashionable 
belong  to  the  same  caste  with  the  slave- 
holder ; and  men  are  apt  to  sympathize 
with  their  own  caste  more  readily  than 
with  those  beneath  them.  The  slave 
is  too  low,  too  vulgar,  to  awaken  inter- 
est in  those  who  abhor  vulgarity  more 
than  oppression  and  crime,  and  who 
found  all  their  self-admiration  on  the 


THE  ABOLITIONISTS . 


rank  they  occupy  in  the  social  scale. 
Far  be  it  from  me  to  charge  on  the  rich 
or  fashionable,  as  a class,  this  moral 
degradation ; but  among  them  are  the 
worshippers  of  high  degree,  who  would 
think  their  dignity  soiled  by  touching 
the  cause  of  a menial,  degraded  race, 
and  who  load  its  advocates  with  ridicule 
and  scorn. 

Then,  in  the  commercial  class,  there 
are  unworthy  opposers  of  abolitionism. 
There  are  those  whose  interests  rouse 
them  to  withstand  every  movement 
which  may  offend  the  South.  They 
have  profitable  connections  with  the 
slave-holder,  which  must  not  be  en- 
dangered by  expressions  of  sympathy 
with  the  slave.  Gain  is  their  god,  and 
they  sacrifice  on  this  altar  without  com- 
punction the  rights  and  happiness  of 
their  fellow-creatures.  To  such,  the 
philanthropy  which  would  break  every 
chain  is  fanaticism,  or  a pretence. 
Nothing  in  their  own  souls  helps  them 
to  comprehend  the  fervor  of  men  who 
feel  for  the  wronged,  and  who  hazard 
property  and  life  in  exposing  the  wrong. 
Your  “ Narrative  of  the  Riotous  Pro- 
ceedings at  Cincinnati 19  shows  to  what 
a fearful  extent  the  spirit  of  humanity, 
justice,  and  freedom  may  be  supplanted 
by  the  accursed  lust  of  gain.  This, 
however,  cannot  surprise  us.  Our  pres- 
ent civilization  is  characterized  and 
tainted  by  a devouring  greediness  of 
wealth ; and  a cause  which  asserts 
right  against  wealth  must  stir  up  bitter 
opposition,  especially  in  cities  where 
this  divinity  is  most  adored.  Every 
large  city  will  furnish  those  who  would 
sooner  rivet  the  chain  on  the  slave  than 
lose  a commission  or  retrench  an  ex- 
penditure. I would  on  no  account  in- 
timate that  such  men  constitute  the 
majority  of  the  commercial  class.  I 
rejoice  to  know  that  a more  honorable 
spirit  prevails  in  the  community  which 
falls  more  immediately  under  my  notice. 
Still,  the  passion  for  gain  is  everywhere 
sapping  pure  and  generous  feeling,  and 
everywhere  raises  up  bitter  foes  against 
any  reform  which  may  threaten  to  turn 
aside  a stream  of  wealth.  I sometimes 
feel  as  if  a great  social  revolution  were 
necessary  to  break  up  our  present  mer- 
cenary civilization,  in  order  that  Chris- 
tianity, now  repelled  by  the  almost  uni- 
versal worldliness,  may  come  into  new 
contact  with  the  soul,  and  may  recon- 


749 

struct  society  after  its  own  pure  and 
disinterested  principles. 

In  another  class,  which  contains  many 
excellent  people,  may  also  be  found  un- 
worthy opposers  of  all  antislavery  move- 
ments. I refer  to  the  conservative  class, 
to  those  who  are  tremblingly  alive  to  the 
spirit  of  innovation  now  abroad  in  the 
world,  who  have  little  or  no  faith  in 
human  progress,  who  are  anxious  to 
secure  what  is  now  gained  rather  than 
to  gain  more,  to  whom  that  watchword 
of  the  times,  Reform,  sounds  like  a knell. 
Among  these  are  to  be  found  individuals 
who,  from  no  benevolent  interest  in  soci- 
ety, but  simply  because  they  have  drawn 
high  prizes  in  the  lottery  of  life,  are  un- 
willing that  the  most  enormous  abuses 
should  be  touched,  lest  the  established 
order  of  things,  so  propitious  to  them- 
selves, should  be  disturbed.  A palsy- 
ing, petrifying  order,  keeping  things  as 
they  are,  seems  to  them  the  ideal  of  a 
perfect  community,  and  they  have  no 
patience  with  the  rude  cry  of  reformers 
for  the  restoration  of  human  beings  to 
their  long-lost  rights. 

I will  only  add  the  politicians,  as  an- 
other class,  which  has  furnished  selfish 
assailants  of  abolitionism.  Among  our 
politicians  are  men  who  regard  public 
life  as  a charmed  circle  into  which  moral 
principle  must  not  enter,  who  know  no 
law  but  expediency,  who  are  prepared 
to  kiss  the  feet  of  the  South  for  South- 
ern votes,  and  who  stand  ready  to  echo 
all  the  vituperations  of  the  slave-holder 
against  the  active  enemies  of  slavery  in 
the  free  States. 

For  these  various  descriptions  of  sel- 
fish opponents  of  abolitionism,  I make 
no  apology.  Let  them  be  visited  with 
just  rebuke.  But  they,  after  all,  form 
but  a small  part  of  that  great  body  in 
the  free  States  who  look  on  the  present 
antislavery  movement  with  distrust  and 
disapprobation.  The  vast  majority  in 
the  free  States,  who  refuse  communion 
with  you,  are  not  actuated  by  base  con- 
siderations. The  fear  of  a servile  war, 
the  fear  of  political  convulsions,  a per- 
ception of  the  difficulties  of  great  social 
changes,  self-distrust,  a dread  of  rash- 
ness, these  and  the  like  motives  have 
great  influence  in  deterring  multitudes 
from  giving  their  countenance  to  what 
seem  to  them  violent  movements  for  the 
abolition  of  slavery.  That  a culpable 
insensibility  to  the  evils  and  wrongs  of 


7So 


THE  ABOLITIONISTS, 


this  nefarious  institution  is  too  common 
in  the  class  of  which  I now  speak,  I do 
not  mean  to  deny.  Still,  how  vast  a 
proportion  of  the  intelligence,  virtue, 
and  piety  of  the  country  is  to  be  found 
in  their  ranks!  To  speak  of  them 
slightly,  contemptuously,  bitterly,  is  to 
do  great  wrong,  and  such  speaking,  I 
fear,  has  brought  much  reproach  on 
abolitionism. 

The  motives  which  have  induced  me 
to  make  this  long  communication  to  you 
will  not,  I trust,  be  misunderstood.  I 
earnestly  desire,  my  dear  Sir,  that  you 
and  your  associates  will  hold  fast  the 
right  of  free  discussion  by  speech  and 
the  press,  and,  at  the  same  time,  that 
you  will  exercise  it  as  Christians,  and 
as  friends  of  your  race.  That  you,  Sir, 
will  not  fail  in  these  duties,  I rejoice 
to  believe.  Accept  my  humble  tribute 
of  respect  and  admiration  for  your  dis- 
interestedness, for  your  faithfulness  to 
your  convictions,  under  the  peculiar 
sacrifices  to  which  you  have  been  called. 
It  is  my  prayer  that,  by  calm,  fearless 
perseverance  in  well-doing,  you  may 
guide  and  incite  many  to  a like  virtue. 

It  may  be  said  that  it  is  easy  for  one 
living,  as  I do,  at  a distance  from  dan- 
ger, living  in  prosperity  and  ease,  to 
preach  exposure  and  suffering  to  you 
and  your  friends.  I can  only  say  in 
reply,  that  I lay  down  no  rule  for  others 
which  I do  not  feel  to  be  binding  on 
myself.  What  I should  do  in  the  hour 
of  peril  may  be  uncertain  ; but  what  I 
ought  to  do  is  plain.  What  I desire  to 
do  is  known  to  the  Searcher  of  all 
hearts.  It  is  my  earnest  desire  that 
prosperity  may  not  unnerve  me,  that  no 
suffering  may  shake  my  constancy  in 
a cause  which  my  heart  approves.  I 
sometimes  indeed  fear  for  myself,  when 
I think  of  untried  persecutions.  I know 
not  what  weaknesses  the  presence  of 
great  danger  may  call  forth.  But,  in 
my  most  deliberate  moments,  1 see 
nothing  worth  living  for  but  the  divine 
virtue  which  endures  and  surrenders  all 
things  for  truth,  duty,  and  mankind.  I 
look  on  reproach,  poverty,  persecution, 
and  death,  as  light  evils  compared  with 
unfaithfulness  to  pure  and  generous 
principles,  to  the  spirit  of  Christ,  and 
to  the  will  of  God.  With  these  impres- 
sions, I ought  not  to  be  deterred  by 
self  distrust,  or  by  my  distance  from 
danger,  from  summoning  and  cheering 


others  to  conflict  with  evil.  Christian- 
ity, as  I regard  it,  is  designed  through- 
out to  fortify  us  for  this  warfare.  Its 
great  lesson  is  self-sacrifice.  Its  dis- 
tinguishing spirit  is  divine  philanthropy 
suffering  on  the  cross.  The  cross,  the 
cross,  this  is  the  badge  and  standard  of 
our  religion.  I honor  all  who  bear  it. 
I look  with  scorn  on  the  selfish  great- 
ness of  this  world,  and  with  pity  on  the 
most  gifted  and  prosperous  in  the  strug- 
gle for  office  and  power  ; but  I look 
with  reverence  on  the  obscurest  man 
who  suffers  for  the  right,  who  is  true  to 
a good  but  persecuted  cause. 

With  these  sentiments,  I subscribe 
myself  your  sincere  friend, 

William  E.  Channing. 

Boston,  Nov,  i,  1836. 


Note.  — As  the  preceding  letter  was 
prepared  for  a newspaper,  I was  obliged, 
by  the  narrowness  of  my  limits,  to  pass 
over  some  topics  on  which  I should 
have  been  glad  to  offer  a few  remarks. 
In  expressing  my  conviction  of  the 
moral  worth  of  the  abolitionists,  I 
wished  to  say  that  they  are  in  danger, 
as  a body,  of  forfeiting  this  praise. 
Let  them  gather  numbers  and  strength, 
and  they  may  be  expected  to  degenerate. 
The  danger  is  greater  now  that  they 
have  begun  to  add  the  ballot-box,  or 
political  action,  to  their  other  modes  of 
operation.  It  is  one  of  the  evils  attending 
associations,  and  an  argument  against 
them,  that,  by  growing  popular,  they  at- 
tract to  themselves  unworthy  members, 
lose  their  original  simplicity  of  purpose, 
become  aspiring,  and  fall  more  and 
more  under  the  control  of  popular  lead- 
ers. Intriguers  will  never  be  wanting 
to  press  them,  if  possible,  into  the  ser- 
vice of  one  or  another  of  the  great  parties 
which  divide  the  country,  and  by  be- 
coming political  machines  they  only  in- 
crease the  confusion  of  public  affairs. 

I have  spoken  in  the  letter  of  “the 
fettered  press  ” of  the  country,  — a sub- 
ject of  much  moral  interest.  The  news- 
paper press  is  fettered  among  us  by  its 
dependence  on  subscribers,  among  whom 
there  are  not  a few  intolerant  enough  to 
withdraw  their  patronage  if  an  editor 
give  publicity  to  articles  which  contra- 
dict their  cherished  opinions,  or  shock 
their  party  prejudices,  or  seem  to  clash 
with  their  interests.  In  such  a state  of 


THE  ABOLITIONISTS. 


7 5i 


things,  few  newspapers  can  be  expected 
to  afford  to  an  unpopular  individual 
or  party,  however  philanthropic  or  irre- 
proachable, an  opportunity  of  being 
heard  by  the  public.  Editors  engage  in 
their  vocation  like  other  men,  for  a 
support  ; and  communications  which 
will  thin  their  subscription-lists  will,  of 
course,  find  little  favor  at  their  hands. 
Much  reproach  is  sometimes  thrown  on 
them  for  their  want  of  moral  indepen- 
dence ; but  the  root  of  the  evil  lies  in 
the  intolerance  of  the  community.  One 
result  of  this  state  of  things  is,  that 
the  newspaper  press  fails  of  one  of  its 
chief  duties,  which  is  to  stem  corrupt 
opinion,  to  stay  the  excesses  of  popular 
passions.  It  generally  swells,  seldom 
arrests,  the  violence  of  the  multitude. 
The  very  subjects  on  which  the  public 
mind  may  most  need  to  be  reformed  are 
most  likely  to  be  excluded  from  its  col- 
umns. Another  evil  result  is,  the  in- 
crease of  the  number  and  violence  of 
parlies.  Conscientious  men,  who  cannot 
obtain  a hearing  through  the  common 
newspapers,  are  compelled  to  league  for 
the  support  of  papers  of  their  own,  and, 
in  speaking  through  these  organs,  they 
are  tempted  to  an  extravagance  and  bit- 
terness which  they  would  have  shunned 
had  they  used  other  vehicles.  It  may 
be  doubted  whether  abolitionism  would 
have  taken  the  form  of  organized  and 
affiliated  societies  if  the  subject  of  sla- 
very could  have  been  discussed  in  the 
common  papers  with  the  same  freedom 
as  other  topics.  That  abolitionism  has 
owed  not  a little  of  its  asperity  to  its 
having  been  proscribed  from  the  begin- 
ning, and  to  its  having  been  denied  the 
common  modes  of  addressing  the  public 
mind,  I cannot  doubt.  Toleration  seems 
to  be  the  last  virtue  which  individuals 
or  communities  learn.  One  would  think 
that  experience  had  sufficiently  taught 
men  that  persecution  is  not  the  way  to 
put  down  opinions.  The  selfish  may, 
indeed,  be  disheartened  by  opposition ; 
but  conscientious  men  are  strengthened 
by  it  in  their  convictions.  Persecution 
drives  and  knits  them  together ; and 
when  formed  into  a party  by  this  bond, 
their  zeal  becomes  more  intense,  their 
prejudices  more  inveterate,  their  opin- 
ions more  extravagant,  their  means  more 
violent,  than  if  they  had  continued  to 
be  scattered  through  the  community. 
If  abolitionism  should  convulse  the 


country,  as  some  seem  to  fear,  a large 
share  of  the  blame  will  belong  to  that 
intolerance  which  has  heaped  on  the 
most  respectable  men  every  epithet  of 
scorn  and  vituperation,  and  has  driven 
them  to  assume  a separate  and  belliger- 
ent attitude  in  the  community. 

I cannot  easily  conceive  of  a greater 
good  to  a city  than  the  establishment  of 
a newspaper  by  men  of  superior  ability 
and  moral  independence,  who  should 
judge  all  parties  and  public  measures 
by  the  standard  of  the  Christian  law, 
who  should  uncompromisingly  speak  the 
truth,  and  adhere  to  the  right,  who  should 
make  it  their  steady  aim  to  form  a just 
and  lofty  public  sentiment,  and  who 
should  at  the  same  time  give  to  upright 
and  honorable  men  an  opportunity  of 
making  known  their  opinions  on  mat- 
ters of  general  interest,  however  op- 
posed to  the  opinions  and  passions  of 
the  day.  In  the  present  stage  of  soci- 
ety, when  newspapers  form  the  reading 
of  all  classes,  and  the  chief  reading  of 
multitudes,  the  importance  of  the  daily 
press  cannot  be  overrated.  It  is  one  of 
the  mightiest  instruments  at  work  among 
us.  It  may  and  should  take  rank  among 
the  most  effectual  means  of  social  order 
and  improvement.  It  is  a power  which 
should  be  wielded  by  the  best  minds  in 
the  community.  The  office  of  editor  is 
one  of  solemn  responsibility,  and  the 
community  should  encourage  the  most 
gifted  and  virtuous  men  to  assume  it,  by 
liberally  recompensing  their  labor,  and 
by  according  to  them  that  freedom  of 
thought  and  speech  without  which  no 
mind  puts  forth  all  its  vigor,  and  which 
the  highest  minds  rank  among  their 
dearest  rights  and  blessings. 

In  speaking  of  the  unworthy  oppo- 
nents of  abolitionism  in  the  preceding 
letter,  I proposed  to  say  something  of 
those  unhappy  men  who,  in  one  part  of 
our  country,  have  proclaimed  slavery  to 
be  a good,  a domestic  blessing,  and  an 
essential  support  or  condition  of  free 
institutions.  But  I felt  that  I could  not 
easily  speak  on  this  point  in  measured 
terms  ; and  in  such  cases  I prefer  si- 
lence, unless  a clear  conviction  of  duty 
forbids  it.  Happily,  this  detestable  doc- 
trine needs  no  effort  to  expose  it ; for  it 
carries  its  refutation  in  its  own  absurdity, 
and  in  its  repugnance  to  all  moral  and 
religious  feeling.  The  Southern  States 
would  be  grievously  wronged  by  being 


752 


ON  THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS 


made  responsible  for  this  insane  esti- 
mate of  slavery.  It  is  confined,  I trust, 
to  a small  number,  who  have  been  hardy 
enough  to  set  at  defiance  the  judgment 
of  the  Christian  and  civilized  world,  and 


whom  nothing  but  oblivion  can  screen 
from  that  condemning  sentence  which 
future  times  will  pass  more  and  more 
sternly  on  the  advocates  of  oppression, 
on  the  foes  of  freedom  and  human  rights. 


A LETTER  TO  THE  HON.  HENRY  CLAY, 

On  the  Annexation  of  Texas  to  the  United  States . 


My  dear  Sir,  — I trust  that  you  will 
excuse  the  liberty  which  I take  in  thus 
publicly  addressing  you.  If  you  could 
look  into  my  heart,  I am  sure  you  would 
not  condemn  me.  You  would  discover 
the  motives  of  this  act  in  my  respect  for 
your  eminent  powers,  and  in  my  confi- 
dence that  you  are  disposed  to  use  them 
for  the  honor  and  happiness  of  your 
country.  Were  you  less  distinguished 
or  less  worthy  of  distinction,  I should 
not  trouble  you  with  this  letter.  I write 
you  because  I am  persuaded  that  your 
great  influence,  if  exerted  in  promoting 
just  views  on  the  subject  of  this  commu- 
nication, would  accomplish  a good,  to 
which,  perhaps,  no  other  man  in  the 
country  is  equal.  I am  bound,  in  frank- 
ness, to  add  another  reason  for  address- 
ing you.  I hope  that  your  name,  prefixed 
to  this  letter,  may  secure  to  it  an  access 
to  some,  perhaps  to  many,  who  would 
turn  away  were  its  thoughts  presented 
in  a more  general  form.  Perhaps  by 
this  aid  it  may  scale  the  barrier  which 
now  excludes  from  the  South  a certain 
class  of  the  writings  of  the  North.  I 
am  sure  your  hospitality  would  welcome 
me  to  Kentucky  ; and  your  well-known 
generosity,.  I believe,  will  consent  that  I 
should  use  your  name  to  gain  a hearing 
in  that  and  the  neighboring  States. 

It  is  with  great  reluctance  that  I enter 
on  the  topic  of  this  letter.  My  tastes 
and  habits  incline  me  to  very  different 
objects  of  thought  and  exertion.  I had 
hoped  that  I should  never  again  feel 
myself  called  to  take  part  in  the  agita- 
tions and  exciting  discussions  of  the 
day,  especially  in  those  of  a political 
character.  I desire  nothing  so  much  as 
to  devote  what  remains  of  life  to  the 
study  and  exposition  of  great  principles 
and  universal  truths.  But  the  subject 


of  Texas  weighs  heavily  on  my  mind, 
and  I cannot  shake  it  off.  To  me,  it  is 
more  than  a political  question.  It  be- 
longs eminently  to  morals  and  religion. 
I have  hoped  that  the  attention  of  the 
public  would  be  called  to  it  by  some 
more  powerful  voice.  I have  postponed 
writing  until  the  national  legislature  is 
about  to  commence  the  important  ses- 
sion in  which,  it  is  thought,  this  subject 
may  be  decided.  But  no  one  speaks, 
and  therefore  I cannot  be  silent.  Should 
Texas  be  annexed  to  our  country,  I feel 
that  I could  not  forgive  myself  if,  with 
my  deep,  solemn  impressions,  I should 
do  nothing  to  avert  the  evil.  I cannot 
easily  believe  that  this  disastrous  meas- 
ure is  to  be  adopted,  especially  at  the 
present  moment.  The  annexation  of 
Texas,  under  existing  circumstances, 
would  be  more  than  rashness  ; it  would 
be  madness.  That  opposition  to  it  must 
exist  at  the  South,  as  well  as  at  the 
North,  I cannot  doubt.  Still  there  is  a 
general  impression  that  great  efforts 
will  be  made  to  accomplish  this  object 
at  the  approaching  session  of  Congress, 
and  that  nothing  but  strenuous  resistance 
can  prevent  their  success.  I must  write, 
therefore,  as  if  the  danger  were  real  and 
imminent ; and  if  any  should  think  that 
I am  betrayed  into  undue  earnestness  by 
a false  alarm,  they  will  remember  that 
there  are  circumstances  in  which  excess 
of  vigilance  is  a virtue. 

In  the  course  of  this  discussion,  I shall 
be  forced  to  speak  on  one  topic  which 
can  hardly  be  treated  so  as  to  give  no 
offence.  I am  satisfied  that  in  this,  as 
in  all  cases,  it  is  best,  safest,  as  well  as 
most  right  and  honorable,  to  speak  freely 
and  plainly.  Nothing  is  to  be  gained 
by  caution,  circumlocution,  plausible 
softenings  of  language,  and  other  arts, 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


7 53 


which,  in  destroying  confidence,  defeat 
their  own  end.  In  discussions  of  an 
irritating  nature,  the  true  way  of  doing 
good  is,  to  purify  ourselves  from  all  un- 
worthy motives,  to  cherish  disinterested 
sentiments  and  unaffected  good-will  tow- 
ards those  from  whom  we  differ,  and 
then  to  leave  the  mind  to  utter  itself 
naturally  and  spontaneously.  How  far 
I have  prepared  myself  for  my  work 
by  this  self-purification,  it  becomes  not 
me  to  say ; but  this  I may  say,  that  I 
am  not  conscious  of  the  slightest  as- 
perity of  feeling  towards  any  party  or 
any  individual.  I have  no  private  in- 
terests to  serve,  no  private  passions  to 
gratify.  The  strength  of  my  conviction 
may  be  expressed  in  strong,  perhaps 
unguarded  language  ; but  this  want  of 
caution  is  the  result  of  the  conscious- 
ness that  I have  no  purpose  or  feeling 
which  I need  conceal. 

I shall  in  one  respect  depart  from  the 
freedom  of  a letter.  I shall  arrange  my 
thoughts  under  distinct  heads  ; and  I 
shall  do  this  because  I wish  to  put  my 
reader  in  full  possession  of  my  views. 
I wish  to  use  no  vague  declamation,  to 
spread  no  vague  alarm,  but  to  bring  out 
as  clearly  as  possible  the  precise  points 
of  objection  to  the  measure  I oppose.* 

I.  We  have  a strong  argument  against 
annexing  Texas  to  the  United  States 
in  the  criminality  of  the  revolt  which 
threatens  to  sever  that  country  from 

* It  may  be  well  to  state  the  principal  authorities 
on  which  I rely  for  the  statements  in  this  letter. 
I am  most  indebted,  perhaps,  to  an  article  on  Mexico 
and  Texas,  in  the  July  number  of  the  “ North  Ameri- 
can Review”  for  the  year  1836.  This  article,  as 
I understood  at  the  time,  was  written  by  an  enlight- 
ened and  respected  citizen  of  the  South.  The  quota- 
tions in  the  first  head  of  this  letter,  without  a marginal 
reference,  are  taken  from  this  tract,  with  a few  unim- 
portant exceptions.  I have  also  made  use  of  a pam- 
phlet, bearing  the  title  of  the  “ War  in  Texas,”  written 
by  Mr.  Benjamin  Lundy,  a man  of  unimpeachable 
character,  and  who  professes  to  have  given  particular 
attention  to  the  subject.  With  his  reasonings  and 
opinions  I have  nothing  to  do ; but  his  statement  of 
facts  has  been  represented  to  me  as  worthy  of  full 
credit.  I have  also  consulted  a “ History  of  Texas,  by 
David  B.  Edwards.”  I know  not  that  this  has  fur- 
nished me  any  thing  of  importance.  But,  by  its  un- 
designed coincidence,  it  corroborates  the  preceding 
articles.  My  chief  reliance,  however,  is  not  on  books, 
but  on  the  notoriety  of  the  facts  here  given,  which  may 
be  considered  as  a testimony  borne  to  them  by  the 
whole  people.  This  is  a singularly  unexceptionable 
testimony  in  the  present  case  ; because  it  is  well  known 
that  the  advocates  of  the  Texan  revolt  have  had  pos- 
session, to  a great  degree,  of  the  press  of  the  country, 
and  unfavorable  accounts  could  not  have  obtained 
general  currency  without  a foundation  in  truth.  Let 
me  add  that,  by  “ the  North,”  I understand  in  this 
letter  all  the  free  States,  and  by  “the  .South,”  all  the 
slave-holding  States  except  where  the  terms  are  plainly 
restricted  by  the  connection. 


Mexico.  On  this  point  our  citizens 
need  light.  The  Texan  insurrection  is 
seriously  regarded  by  many  among  us 
as  a struggle  of  the  oppressed  for  free- 
dom. The  Texan  revolution  is  thought 
to  resemble  our  own.  Our  own  is  con- 
taminated by  being  brought  into  such 
relationship,  and  we  owe  to  our  fathers 
and  ourselves  a disclaimer  of  affinity 
with  this  new  republic.  The  Texan 
revolt,  if  regarded  in  its  causes  and  its 
means  of  success,  is  criminal ; and  we 
ought  in  no  way  to  become  partakers  in 
its  guilt.  You,  I doubt  not,  are  familiar 
with  its  history  ; but  for  the  benefit  of 
some,  into  whose  hands  this  letter  may 
fall,  I will  give  the  leading  facts. 

The  first  grant  of  land  in  Texas  to 
our  citizens  was  made  under  the  Royal 
Government ; and,  in  accepting  it,  the 
obligation  was  expressly  incurred  of 
submission  to  the  civil  and.  religious 
despotism  which  then  crushed  the  coun- 
try. It  was  understood  that  the  settlers 
were  to  adopt  the  Catholic  faith,  and  to 
conform  in  all  other  respects  to  the  in- 
stitutions of  Mexico.  Under  the  revo- 
lutionary governments,  which  succeeded 
the  fall  of  the  Spanish  power,  the  origi- 
nal grant  was  confirmed,  and  new  ones 
made,  on  condition  of  subjection  to  the 
laws  of  the  land.  The  terms  were  very 
liberal,  except  that  adherence  to  the 
Catholic  religion  was  required  as  the 
condition  of  settlement.  These  facts 
will  help  us  to  understand  the  reason- 
ableness of  some  of  the  complaints 
under  which  the  colonists  seek  to  shel- 
ter their  revolt. 

Mexico,  on  declaring  her  indepen- 
dence on  the  mother  country,  estab- 
lished a republican  government,  and 
was  unfortunately  betrayed  by  her  ad- 
miration of  this  country  into  the  adoption 
of  a federal  system,  for  which  no  foun- 
dation had  been  laid  in  her  previous 
history.  From  this  cause,  added  to  her 
inexperience  in  self-government,  and  to 
the  want  of  intelligence  among  the  mass 
of  her  population,  her  institutions  have 
yielded  very  imperfectly  the  fruits  of 
freedom.  The  country  has  been  rent 
by  factions,  the  capital  convulsed  by 
revolutions,  and  the  chief  office  of  the 
state  been  secured  by  the  military  to1 
popular  chieftains.  The  emigrants  from 
this  country  to  Texas  went  with  open 
eyes,  with  full  knowledge  of  the  un- 
settled state  of  affairs,  into  this  region 


Oft  THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS 


754 

of  misrule  and  agitation.  Happily,  their  | 
distance  from  the  seat  of  government 
prevented  their  being  drawn  into  the 
whirlpool  of  civil  contests,  which  threat- 
ened at  times  the  destruction  of  the 
metropolis.  Whilst  the  city  of  Mexico 
was  pillaged  or  laid  under  martial  law, 
Texas  found  security  in  her  remoteness  ; 
and,  had  her  colonists  proved  loyal 
citizens,  this  security  might  have  been 
undisturbed. 

Complaints  of  one  another  soon  sprung 
up  between  the  general  government 
and  Texas.  Mexico  complained  of  the 
gross  infraction  of  her  laws,  and  Texas 
of  the  violence  of  the  means  by  which 
it  was  attempted  to  enforce  them.  That 
both  parties  had  ground  of  reproach, 
we  cannot  doubt  ; nor  is  it  easy  to  strike 
the  balance  between  them,  or  to  say 
where  the  chief  blame  lies.  The  pre- 
sumption is  strong,  that  the  fault  began 
with  the  colonists.  We  of  this  coun- 
try, receiving  our  accounts  of  the  con- 
troversy from  Texans,  are  in  danger  of 
being  warped  in  our  judgments.  But 
we  have  for  our  guidance  our  knowledge 
of  human  nature,  which  helps  us  to 
construe  the  testimony  of  interested 
witnesses,  and  which,  in  the  present 
case,  cannot  easily  deceive  us.  If  we 
consider  the  distance  of  Texas  from 
the  seat  of  government,  her  scattered 
population,  her  vicinity  to  a slave  coun- 
try, the  general  character  of  the  first 
settlers  in  a wilderness,  and  the  diffi- 
culty of  subjecting  them  to  regular  tri- 
bunals ; can  we  doubt,  for  a moment, 
that  Mexico  had  cause  for  the  com- 
plaints, which  she  urged,  of  the  gross 
infractions  and  evasions  of  her  laws  in 
Texas,  especially  of  the  laws  relating  to 
revenue,  and  to  the  exclusion  of  slaves  ? 
On  the  other  hand,  if  we  consider  the 
circumstances  of  Mexico,  can  we  doubt 
that  the  military  force  sent  by  her  to 
Texas,  and  needed  there  to  enforce  the 
laws,  abused  its  power  more  or  less  ? 
That  lawless  men  should  be  put  down 
by  lawless  means,  especially  in  a coun- 
try swept  by  the  spirit  of  revolution,  is 
an  effect  too  common  and  natural  to 
excite  wonder.  The  wonder  is,  that 
Texas  escaped  with  so  little  injury. 
Whether  she  would  have  suffered  at 
all,  had  she  submitted  in  good  faith  to 
the  laws  which  she  had  pledged  her- 
self to  obey,  may  be  fairly  questioned. 
I ask  you,  Sir,  whether  it  is  not  your 


deliberate  conviction,  that  Mexico,  from 
the  beginning  of  her  connection  with 
the  colonists,  has  been  more  sinned 
against  than  sinning.  But  allowing  that 
the  violent  means  used  by  Mexico  for 
enforcing  her  authority  were  less  pro- 
voked than  we  believe  them  to  have 
been,  did  not  the  Texans  enter  the 
country  with  a full  knowledge  of  its 
condition  ? Did  they  not  become  citi- 
zens of  a state  just  escaped  from  a 
grinding  despotism,  just  entered  into 
the  school  of  freedom,  which  had  been 
inured  for  ages  to  abuses  of  military 
power,  and  whose  short  republican  his- 
tory had  been  made  up  of  civil  agita- 
tion ? In  swearing  allegiance  to  such  a 
state,  did  they  not  consent  to  take  their 
chance  of  the  evils  through  which  it 
must  have  been  expected  to  pass  in  its 
way  to  firm  and  free  institutions  ? Was 
there,  or  could  there  be  in  so  unsettled 
a society,  that  deliberate,  settled,  in- 
flexible purpose  of  spoiling  the  colo- 
nists of  their  rights,  which  alone  ab- 
solves a violation  of  allegiance  from 
the  guilt  of  treason  ? 

Some  of  the  grounds  on  which  the 
Texans  justify  their  conflict  for  inde- 
pendence are  so  glaringly  deficient  in  \> 
truth  and  reason,  that  it  is  hard  to  avoid 
suspicion*  of  every  defence  set  up  for 
their  revolt.  They  complain  of  being 
denied  the  right  of  worshipping  God 
according  to  the  dictates  of  their  con- 
sciences ; and  this  they  do,  though  they 
entered  the  country  and  swore  allegiance 
to  its  government,  with  full  knowledge 
that  the  Catholic  religion  was  the  relig- 
ion of  the  state,  and  alone  tolerated  by 
the  constitution.  What  increases  the 
hollowness  and  criminality  of  the  pre- 
tence is,  that  notwithstanding  the  provi- 
sion of  the  constitution,  Protestant  sects 
had  held  their  meetings  undisturbed  in 
Texas,  and  no  persecution  had  ever 
taken  place  on  account  of  difference  of 
creed. 

Another  grievance  by  which  they  jus- 
tify  their  revolt  is,  that  the  trial  by  jury  v 
had  been  withheld  ; and  this  complaint 
they  have  the  courage  to  make,  although 
they  were  fully  aware,  before  becoming 
the  adopted  citizens  of  the  country,  that 
this  mode  of  trial  was  utterly  unknown 
to  its  jurisprudence,  and  though,  in  the 
constitution  of  the  State  of  Coahuila  and 
Texas,  the  following  article  had  been 
introduced  : “ One  of  the  principal  sub- 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


7 55 


jects  for  the  attention  of  Congress  [State 
Legislature]  shall  be  to  establish  in 
criminal  cases  the  trial  by  jury,  extend- 
ing it  gradually,  and  even  adopting  it  in 
civil  cases,  in  proportion  as  the  advan- 
tages of  this  precious  institution  may  be 
practically  developed.” 

One  of  the  greatest  grievances  in  the 
eyes  of  Texas  was  the  change  of  the 
Mexican  government  from  a federal  to 
--a  central  or  consolidated  form.  But 
'this  change,  however  violently  brought 
about,  was  ratified  by  the  national  Con- 
gress according  to  the  rules  prescribed 
by  the  constitution,  and  was  sanctioned 
by  the  Mexican  people.  The  decree  of 
Congress,  introducing  this  “ reform  ” of 
the  national  institutions,  declares  the 
system  of  government  “ republican,  pop- 
ular, and  representative,”  and  provides 
all  the  organs  by  which  such  a govern- 
ment is  characterized.  What  also  de- 
serves our  consideration,  in  estimating 
this  measure,  is,  that  the  whole  history 
of  Mexico  has  proved  the  necessity 
of  substituting  a central  for  a federal 
government.  Liberty  and  order  can  be 
reconciled  and  preserved  to  that  country 
by  no  process  but  by  the  introduction 
of  more  simple  and  efficient  institutions. 
And  yet  the  Texans,  a handful  of  stran- 
gers, raised  the  standard  of  revolt, 
because  the  government  was  changed 
by  a nation  of  nine  millions  without 
their  consent. 

I have  spoken  of  the  Texans  as  a 
handful  of  people.  At  the  breaking  out 
of  the  insurrection  they  were  about 
twenty  thousand,  including  women  and 
children.  They  were,  of  course,  wholly 
unable  to  achieve  or  maintain  national 
independence  ; so  that  one  condition 
which  is  required  to  authorize  revolu- 
tion, namely,  the  ability  to  sustain  a 
government,  to  perform  the  duties  of 
sovereignty,  they  could  not  pretend  to 
fulfil.  Twenty  thousand  men,  women, 
and  children,  raising  the  standard  of 
war,  and  proposing  to  dismember  a 
mighty  empire  ! It  is  very  possible 
that  there  are  suburbs  of  London  con- 
taining an  equal  number  of  discontented 
people,  who  suffer  under  and  have  rea- 
son to  complain  of  municipal  or  national 
injustice.  And  may  these  fly  to  arms, 
set  up  for  a nation,  and  strive  to  break 
the  unity  of  the  British  dominions  ? It 
should  also  be  remembered,  that  the 
Texans  were  not  only  a drop  of  the 


bucket  compared  with  the  Mexican 
population,  but  that  they  were  a decided 
minority  in  the  particular  State  to  which 
they  belonged  ; so  that  their  revolt  may 
be  compared  to  the  rising  of  a county  in 
Massachusetts  or  Virginia  for  the  pur- 
pose of  establishing  a separate  sover- 
eignty, on  the  ground  of  some  real  or 
imagined  violation  of  right  on  the  part 
of  the  Federal  or  the  State  Government. 
Still  more,  this  little  knot  of  Texans 
were  far  from  being  unanimous  as  to  the 
revolt.  The  older  and  wealthier  inhab- 
itants favored  peace.  “There  were 
great  differences  of  opinion  among  the 
colonists,  and  even  violent  party  dissen- 
sions. Many,  who  were  in  the  quiet 
enjoyment  of  their  property,  were  op- 
posed to  all  these  hostile  movements. 
The  first  public  declaration  of  indepen- 
dence was  adopted,  not  by  persons  assum- 
ing to  act  in  a representative  capacity, 
but  by  about  ninety  individuals , all,  {- 
except  two,  Americans,  if  we  may  judge 
by  their  names,  acting  for  themselves, 
and  recommending  a similar  course  to 
their  fellow-citizens.  That  declaration 
furnishes  proofs  of  the  dissensions  and 
jealousies  of  which  we  have  spoken.  It 
proves  another  fact,  that  the  ancient 
population  of  the  province  was  favor- 
able to  the  new  views  of  the  government 
of  Mexico.”  In  some  letters  written  by 
Colonel  S.  T.  Austin,  the  founder  of  the 
colony,  in  the  year  1834,  whilst  impris- 
oned in  Mexico  on  the  charge  of  en- 
couraging revolutionary  movements  in 
Texas,  we  have  some  remarkable  pas- 
sages, showing  the  aversion  of  the 
sounder  part  of  the  population  to  violent 
measures.  “ I wish  my  friends  and  all 
Texas  to  adopt  and  firmly  adhere  to  the 
motto  and  rule  I have  stated  in  this  let- 
ter. The  rule  is,  to  discountenance,  in 
the  most  unequivocal  and  efficient  man- 
ner, all  persons  who  are  in  the  habit  of 
speaking  or  writing  in  violent  or  disre- 
spectful terms  of  the  Mexican  people  or 
authorities.  I have  been  led  into  so 
much  difficulty,  and  Texas  has  been  so 
much  jeopardized  in  its  true  and  perma- 
nent interests,  by  inflammatory  men, 
political  fanatics,  political  adventurers, 
would-be-great  men,  vain  talkers,  and 
visionary  fools,  that  I begin  to  lose  all 
confidence  except  for  those  who  seek 
their  living  between  the  plough-handles  ; 
and,  alas  for  them  ! they  are  too  often 
sacrificed  before  they  know  it.  Toler- 


ON  THE  ANNEX  A TION  OF  TEXAS 


756 

ate  no  more  violent  measures,  and  you 
will  prosper,  and  obtain  from  the  gov- 
ernment all  that  reasonable  men  ought 
to  ask  for.”*  It  is  very  plain  that,  of 
this  diminutive  colony,  the  more  reason- 
able men,  had  they  not  been  overborne 
by  the  more  violent,  would  have  averted 
the  civil  war.  Such  was  the  number 
which  set  up  for  a nation ! 

I have  no  disposition  to  deny  that 
Texas  had  grievances  to  justify  com- 
plaint. In  proof  of  this  I need  no  docu- 
ments. That  she  was  not  always  wisely 
governed,  that  her  rights  were  not  always 
respected,  who  can  doubt  ? What  else 
could  be  expected  ? Mexico  is  not  wise. 
Mexico  is  not  skilled  in  the  science  of 
human  rights.  Her  civilization  is  very 
imperfect,  as  we  and  the  Texans  have 
always  known  ; and  a good  government 
is  one  of  the  slowest  fruits  of  civilization. 
In  truth,  a good  government  exists  no- 
where. The  errors  and  vices  of  rulers 
entail  evils  on  every  state.  Especially 
in  an  extensive  community,  some  dis- 
tricts will  always  suffer  from  unwise, 
partial,  unjust  legislation.  If  every  town 
or  county  may  start  up  into  a sovereign 
state,  whenever  it  is  wronged,  society 
will  be  given  up  to  perpetual  convulsion, 
and  history  be  one  bloody  record  of  re- 
volt. The  right  of  insurrection  is  to  be 
exercised  most  rarely,  fearfully,  reluc- 
tantly, and  only  in  cases  of  fixed,  pro- 
nounced, persevering  oppression,  from 
which  no  relief  can  be  found  but  in 
force.  Nothing  is  easier  than  for  any 
and  every  people  to  draw  up  a list  of 
wrongs  ; nothing  more  ruinous  than  to 
rebel  because  every  claim  is  not  treated 
with  respect.  The  United  States  did 
not  throw  off  the  British  yoke  because 
every  human  right  which  could  be  de- 
monstrated by  moral  science  was  not 
granted  them,  but  because  they  were 
denied  the  rights  which  their  fathers 
had  enjoyed,  and  which  had  been  se- 
cured to  the  rest  of  the  empire.  They 
began  with  pleading  precedent.  They 
took  their  first  stand  on  the  British  con- 
stitution. They  claimed  the  rights  of 
Englishmen.  They  set  up  the  case  of 
peculiar  oppression  ; and  did  not  appeal 
to  arms  until  they  had  sought  redress 
for  years,  by  patient  and  respectful  re- 
monstrance ; until  they  had  exhausted 
every  means  of  conciliation  which  wis- 

“ History  of  Texas,”  p.  210,  Austin’s  Correspond- 


dom  could  devise  or  a just  self-respect 
would  allow.  Such  was  the  code  of 
national  morality  to  which  our  fathers 
bowed  ; and  in  so  doing  they  acknowl- 
edged the  sacredness  of  allegiance,  and 
manifested  their  deep  conviction  of  the 
fearful  responsibility  of  subverting  a 
government  and  of  rupturing  national 
ties.  A province,  in  estimating  its 
grievances,  should  have  respect  to  the 
general  condition  of  the  country  to  which 
it  belongs.  A colony,  emigrating  from 
a highly  civilized  country,  has  no  right 
to  expect  in  a less  favored  state  the 
privileges  it  has  left  behind.  The  Tex- 
ans must  have  been  insane  if,  on  enter- 
ing Mexico,  they  looked  for  an  admin- 
istration as  faultless  as  that  under  which 
they  had  lived.  They  might  with  equal 
reason  have  planted  themselves  in  Rus- 
sia, and  then  have  unfurled  the  banner 
of  independence  near  the  throne  of  the 
Czar,  because  denied  the  immunities  of 
their  native  land. 

Having  thus  considered  the  grievances 
of  the  Texans,  I now  proceed  to  con- 
sider the  real  and  great  causes  of  the 
revolt.  These  are  matters  of  notoriety, 
so  as  to  need  no  minute  exposition. 
The  first  great  cause  was  the  unbounded, 
unprincipled  spirit  of  land  speculation, 
which  so  tempting  a prize  as  Texas 
easily  kindled  in  multitudes  in  the 
United  States,  where  this  mode  of 
gambling  is  too  common  a vice.  Large 
grants  of  land  in  Texas  were  originally 
made  to  individuals,  chiefly  citizens  of 
our  country,  who,  in  many  cases,  trans- 
ferred their  claims  to  joint-stock  com- 
panies in  some  of  our  cities.  A quota- 
tion will  illustrate  the  nature  of  these 
grants,  and  the  frauds  and  speculations 
to  which  they  gave  birth.  “ The  nom- 
inal grantee  is  called  the  e?npresario. 
He  is  considered,  by  the  terms  of  the 
contract,  merely  as  a trustee  of  the  gov- 
ernment, having  no  title  himself  to  the 
land  within  the  limits  of  his  future  col- 
ony, except  upon  condition  of  settling 
a number  of  families  [within  a given 
time].  The  settlers  themselves  receive 
a title  for  each  family  for  a league  square, 
upon  the  express  condition  of  settlement 
and  cultivation,  and  the  payment  of  cer- 
tain very  moderate  charges  within  a lim- 
ited period.  It  is  believed  that  these 
conditions  were  by  the  colonization  laws 
of  Mexico  the  basis  of  all  the  land-titles 
in  Texas,  together  with  the  further  con- 


ence. 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


757 


dition,  that  all  right  and  title  should  be 
forfeited  if  the  grantee  [or  new  settler] 
should  abandon  the  country,  or  sell  his 
land  before  having  cultivated  it.  An 
inspection  of  the  various  maps  of  Texas 
will  show  how  numerous  have  been  these 
privileges  conceded  to  various  empresa- 
rios.  The  face  of  the  province,  from 
Nueces  to  Red  River,  and  from  the 
Gulf  to  the  mountains,  is  nearly  covered 
by  them.  It  became  at  last  a matter  of 
greedy  speculation  ; and  it  is  a notorious 
fact  that  many  of  the  empresarios , for- 
getting the  contingent  character  of  their 
own  rights  to  the  soil,  and  the  conditions 
upon  which  their  future  colonists  were 
to  receive  allotments  of  land,  proceeded 
at  once  to  make  out  scrip,  which  has 
been  sold  in  the  United  States  to  an 
incalculable  amount.  In  addition  to 
this,  we  are  informed,  on  the  best  au- 
thority, that  the  manufacture  of  land- 
titles,  having  no  foundation  whatever, 
has  been  carried  on  as  a regular  busi- 
ness. That  frauds  of  these  different 
kinds  have  been  practised  on  the  cupid- 
ity and  credulity  of  the  people  of  the 
United  States,  is  beyond  doubt.  Had 
the  close  of  the  present  campaign  been 
what  its  opening  seemed  to  portend, 
and  the  colonies  been  broken  up,  it 
would  be  impossible  to  calculate  the 
losses  which  would  be  sustained  by 
those  who  have  never  seen  the  land 
which  they  have  bought.  It  is  not  haz- 
arding too  much  to  say,  that  millions 
have  been  expended  in  the  Southern 
and  South-western  States.” 

Texas,  indeed,  has  been  regarded  as 
a prey  for  land  speculators  within  its 
own  borders  and  in  the  United  States. 
To  show  the  scale  on  which  this  kind 
of  plunder  has  been  carried  on,  it  may 
be  stated  that  the  legislature  of  Coa- 
huila  and  Texas,  in  open  violation  of 
the  laws  of  Mexico,  were  induced  “by 
a company  of  land  speculators,  never 
distinctly  known,  to  grant  them,  in  con- 
sideration of  twenty  thousand  dollars, 
the  extent  of  four  hundred  square 
leagues  of  the  public  land.*  This  trans- 
action was  disavowed,  and  the  grant 
annulled,  by  the  Mexican  government, 
and  led  to  the  dispersion  of  the  legis- 
lature, and  the  imprisonment  of  the  gov- 
ernor, Viesca.  And  yet  this  unauthor- 
ized and,  perhaps,  corrupt  grant  of  public 
lands  formed  the  basis  of  new  specula- 

* Another  account  says,  41 1 leagues  for  30,000  dollars. 


tion  and  frauds.  A new  scrip  was 
formed  ; and,  according  to  the  best  in- 
formation we  have  been  able  to  obtain, 
four  hundred  leagues  became,  in  the 
hands  of  speculators,  as  many  thousands. 
The  extent  of  these  frauds  is  yet  to  be 
ascertained  ; for  such  is  the  blindness 
of  cupidity,  that  any  thing  which  looks 
fair  on  paper  passes  without  scrutiny 
for  a land-title  in  Texas.”  The  indig- 
nation excited  in  the  Mexican  govern- 
ment by  this  enormous  grant,  and  the 
attempt  to  seize  the  legislators  who  per- 
petrated it,  were  among  the  immediate 
excitements  to  the  revolt.  In  conse- 
quence of  these  lawless  proceedings, 
great  numbers  in  this  country  and  Texas 
have  nominal  titles  to  land,  which  can 
only  be  substantiated  by  setting  aside 
the  authority  of  the  General  Congress 
of  Mexico,  and  are,  of  consequence, 
directly  and  strongly  interested  in  sever- 
ing this  province  from  the  Mexican  con- 
federacy. T exan  independence  can  alone 
legalize  the  mighty  frauds  of  the  land 
speculator.  Texas  must  be  wrested  from 
the  country  to  which  she  owes  allegiance, 
that  her  soil  may  pass  into  the  hands 
of  cheating  and  cheated  foreigners.  We 
have  here  one  explanation  of  the  zeal 
with  which  the  Texan  cause  was  em- 
braced in  the  United  States.  From 
this  country  the  great  impulse  has  been 
given  to  the  Texan  revolution  ; and  a 
principal  motive  has  been,  the  unappeas- 
able hunger  for  Texan  land.  An  interest 
in  that  soil,  whether  real  or  fictitious, 
has  been  spread  over  our  country.  Thus 
“the  generous  zeal  for  freedom,”  which 
has  stirred  and  armed  so  many  of  our 
citizens  to  fight  for  Texas,  turns  out  to 
be  a passion  for  unrighteous  spoil. 

I proceed  to  another  cause  of  the 
revolt ; and  this  was,  the  resolution  to 
throw  Texas  open  to  slave-holders  and 
slaves.  Mexico,  at  the  moment  of 
throwing  off  the  Spanish  yoke,  gave  a 
noble  testimony  of  her  loyalty  to  free 
principles,  by  decreeing,  “that  no  per- 
son thereafter  should  be  born  a slave 
or  introduced  as  such  into  the  Mexican 
States  ; that  all  slaves  then  held  should 
receive  stipulated  wages,  and  be  subject 
to  no  punishment  but  on  trial  and  judg- 
ment by  the  magistrate.”  The  subse- 
quent acts  of  the  government  carried 
out  fully  these  constitutional  provisions. 
It  is  matter  of  deep  grief  and  humilia- 
tion, that  the  emigrants  from  this  coun- 


ON  THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS 


7 53 

try,  whilst  boasting  of  superior  civiliza- 
tion, refused  to  second  this  honorable 
policy,  intended  to  set  limits  to  one  of 
the  greatest  social  evils.  Slaves  were 
brought  into  Texas  with  their  masters 
from  the  neighboring  States  of  this 
country.  One  mode  of  evading  the 
laws  was,  to  introduce  slaves  under 
formal  indentures  for  long  periods,  in 
some  cases  it  is  said  for  ninety-nine 
years.  By  a decree  of  the  State  Leg- 
islature of  Coahuila  and  Texas,  all  in- 
dentures for  a longer  period  than  ten 
years  were  annulled,  and  provision  was 
made  for  the  freedom  of  children  born 
during  this  apprenticeship.  This  set- 
tled, invincible  purpose  of  Mexico  to 
exclude  slavery  from  her  limits,  created 
as  strong  a purpose  to  annihilate  her 
authority  in  Texas.  By  this  prohibition, 
Texas  was  virtually  shut  against  emi- 
gration from  the  Southern  and  Western 
portions  of  this  country  ; and  it  is  well 
known  that  the  eyes  of  the  South  and 
West  had  for  some  time  been  turned 
to  this  province,  as  a new  market  for 
slaves,  as  a new  field  for  slave  labor, 
and  as  a vast  accession  of  political 
power  to  the  slave-holding  States. 
That  such  views  were  prevalent,  we 
know  ; for,  nefarious  as  they  are,  they 
found  their  way  into  the  public  prints. 
The  project  of  dismembering  a neigh- 
boring republic,  that  slave-holders  and 
slaves  might  overspread  a region  which 
had  been  consecrated  to  a free  population, 
was  discussed  in  newspapers  as  coolly  as 
if  it  were  a matter  of  obvious  right  and 
unquestionable  humanity.  A powerful 
interest  was  thus  created  for  severing 
from  Mexico  her  distant  province.  We 
have  here  a powerful  incitement  to  the 
Texan  revolt,  and  another  explanation 
of  the  eagerness  with  which  men  and 
money  were  thrown  from  the  United 
States  into  that  region  to  carry  on  the 
war  of  revolution. 

I proceed  to  another  circumstance 
which  helped  to  determine,  or  at  least 
to  hasten,  the  insurrection ; and  that 
was  the  disappointment  of  the  Texans 
in  their  efforts  to  obtain  for  themselves 
an  organization  as  a separate  state. 
Texas  and  Coahuila  had  hitherto  formed 
a single  state.  But  the  colonists,  being 
a minority  in  the  joint  legislature,  found 
themselves  thwarted  in  their  plans.  Im- 
patient of  this  restraint,  and  probably 
suffering  at  times  from  a union  which 


gave  the  superiority  to  others,  they  pre- 
pared for  themselves  a constitution,  by 
which  they  were  to  be  erected  into  a 
separate  state,  neglecting  in  their  haste 
the  forms  prescribed  by  the  Mexican 
law.  This  instrument  they  forwarded  to 
the  capital  for  the  sanction  of  the  .Gen- 
eral Congress,  by  whom  it  was  imme- 
diately rejected.  Its  informality  was  a 
sufficient  reason  for  its  finding  no  better 
reception  ; but  the  omission  of  all  pro- 
vision to  secure  the  country  against 
slavery  was  a more  serious  obstacle  to 
its  ratification.  The  irritation  of  the 
Texans  was  great.  Once  invested  with 
the  powers  of  a state,  they  would  not 
have  found  it  difficult,  in  their  remote- 
ness from  the  capital,  and  in  the  un- 
settled state  of  the  nation,  to  manage 
their  affairs  in  their  own  way.  A virtual 
independence  might  have  been  secured, 
and  the  laws  of  Mexico  evaded  with 
impunity.  Their  exasperation  was  in- 
creased by  the  imprisonment  of  the 
agent  who  had  carried  the  instrument 
to  Mexico,  and  who  had  advised  them, 
in  an  intercepted  letter,  to  take  matters 
into  their  own  hands,  or  to  organize  a 
state  government  without  authority  from 
the  national  Congress.  Thus  denied 
the  privilege  of  a separate  state,  and 
threatened  with  new  attempts  on  the 
part  of  the  general  government  to  en- 
force the  laws,  they  felt  that  the  criti- 
cal moment  had  arrived ; and,  looking 
abroad  for  help,  resolved  to  take  the 
chances  of  a conflict  with  the  crippled 
power  of  Mexico. 

Such  were  the  chief  excitements  to 
the  revolt.  Undoubtedly,  the  Texans 
were  instigated  by  the  idea  of  wrongs, 
as  well  as  by  mercenary  hopes.  But 
had  they  yielded  true  obedience  to  the 
country  of  which  they  had,  with  their 
own  free  will,  become  a part ; had  they 
submitted  to  the  laws  relating  to  the 
revenue,  to  the  sale  of  lands,  and  to 
slavery ; the  wrongs  of  which  they 
complained  might  never  have  been  ex- 
perienced, or  might  never  have  been 
construed  into  a plea  for  insurrection. 
The  great  motives  to  revolt  on  which 
I have  insisted  are  so  notorious,  that  it 
is  wonderful  that  any  among  us  could 
be  cheated  into  sympathy  with  the 
Texan  cause,  as  the  cause  of  freedom. 
Slavery  and  fraud  lay  at  its  very  foun- 
dation. It  is  notorious  that  land  spec- 
ulators, slave-holders,  and  selfish  ad- 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES . 


759 


venturers  were  among  the  foremost  to 
proclaim  and  engage  in  the  crusade  for 
“ Texan  liberties.”  From  the  hands 
of  these  we  are  invited  to  receive  a 
province,  torn  from  a country  to  which 
we  have  given  pledges  of  amity  and 
peace.  In  these  remarks,  I do  not,  of 
course,  intend  to  say  that  every  invader 
of  Texas  was  carried  thither  by  selfish 
motives.  Some,  I doubt  not,  were  im- 
pelled by  a generous  interest  in  what 
bore  the  name  of  liberty ; and  more  by 
that  natural  sympathy  which  incites  a 
man  to  take  part  with  his  countrymen 
against  a stranger,  without  stopping  to 
ask  whether  they  are  right  or  wrong. 
But  the  motives  which  rallied  the  great 
efficient  majority  round  the  standard  of 
Texas  were  such  as  have  been  exposed, 
and  should  awaken  any  sentiment  but 
respect. 

Having  considered  the  motives  of  the 
revolution,  I proceed  to  inquire,  How 
was  it  accomplished  ? The  answer  to 
this  question  will  show  more  fully  the 
criminality  of  the  enterprise.  The  Tex- 
ans, we  have  seen,  were  a few  thousands, 
as  unfit  for  sovereignty  as  one  of  our 
towns ; and,  if  left  to  themselves,  must 
have  utterly  despaired  of  achieving  in- 
dependence. They  looked  abroad  ; and 
to  whom  did  they  look  ? To  any  for- 
eign'state  ? To  the  government  under 
which  they  had  formerly  lived  ? No  ; 
their  whole  reliance  was  placed  on  selfish 
individuals  in  a neighboring  republic  at 
peace  with  Mexico.  They  looked  wholly 
to  private  individuals,  to  citizens  of  this 
country,  to  such  among  us  as,  defying 
the  laws  of  the  land,  and  hungry  for 
sudden  gain,  should  be  lured  by  the 
scent  of  this  mighty  prey,  and  should  be 
ready  to  stain  their  hands  with  blood  for 
spoil.  They  held  out  a country  as  a 
prize  to  the  reckless,  lawless,  daring, 
avaricious,  and  trusted  to  the  excite- 
ments of  intoxicated  imagination  and 
insatiable  cupidity  to  supply  them  with 
partners  in  their  scheme  of  violence. 

By  whom  has  Texas  been  conquered  ? 
By  the  colonists  ? By  the  hands  which 
raised  the  standard  of  revolt  ? By  for- 
eign governments  espousing  their  cause  ? 
No  ; it  has  been  conquered  by  your  and 
my  countrymen,  by  citizens  of  the  United 
States,  in  violation  of  our  laws  and  of 
the  laws  of  nations.  We,  we  have  filled 
the  ranks  which  have  wrested  Texas 
from  Mexico.  In  the  army  of  eight 


hundred  men  who  won  the  victory  which 
scattered  the  Mexican  force  and  made 
its  chief  a prisoner,  “ not  more  than  fifty 
were  citizens  of  Texas  having  griev- 
ances of  their  own  to  seek  relief  from  on 
that  field.”  The  Texans  in  this  war- 
fare are  little  more  than  a name,  a cover, 
under  which  selfish  adventurers  from 
another  country  have  prosecuted  their 
work  of  plunder. 

Some  crimes,  by  their  magnitude,  have 
a touch  of  the  sublime  ; and  to  this  dig- 
nity the  seizure  of  Texas  by  our  citizens 
is  entitled.  Modern  times  furnish  no 
example,  of  individual  rapine  on  so  grand 
a scale.  It  is  nothing  less  than  the  rob- 
bery of  a realm.  The  pirate  seizes  a 
ship.  The  colonists  and  their  coadju- 
tors can  satisfy  themselves  with  nothing 
short  of  an  empire.  They  have  left  their 
Anglo-Saxon  ancestors  behind  them. 
Those  barbarians  conformed  to  the 
maxims  of  their  age,  to  the  rude  code  of 
nations  in  time  of  thickest  heathen  dark- 
ness. They  invaded  England  under 
their  sovereigns,  and  with  the  sanction 
of  the  gloomy  religion  of  the  North. 
But  it  is  in  a civilized  age,  and  amidst 
refinements  of  manners  : it  is  amidst  the 
lights  of  science  and  the  teachings  of 
Christianity,  amidst  expositions  of  the 
law  of  nations  and  enforcements  of  the 
law  of  universal  love,  amidst  institutions 
of  religion,  learning,  and  humanity,  that 
the  robbery  of  Texas  has  found  its  in- 
struments. It  is  from  a free,  well- 
ordered,  enlightened  Christian  country, 
that  hordes  have  gone  forth,  in  open 
day,  to  perpetrate  this  mighty  wrong. 

Let  me  now  ask,  are  the  United  States 
prepared  to  receive  from  these  hands  the 
gift  of  Texas  ? In  annexing  it  to  this 
country,  shall  we  not  appropriate  to  our- 
selves the  fruits  of  a rapine  which  we 
ought  to  have  suppressed  ? We  cer- 
tainly should  shrink  from  a proposition 
to  receive  a piratical  state  into  our  con- 
federacy. And  of  whom  does  Texas 
consist  ? Very  much  of  our  own  citi- 
zens, who  have  won  a country  by  waging 
war  against  a foreign  nation,  to  which  we 
owed  protection  against  such  assaults. 
Does  it  consist  with  national  honor,  with 
national  virtue,  to  receive  to  our  embrace 
men  who  have  prospered  by  crimes  which 
we  were  bound  to  reprobate  and  repress  ? 

Had  this  country  resisted  with  its 
whole  power  the  lawlessness  of  its  citi- 
zens ; had  these,  notwithstanding  such 


ON  THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS 


760 

opposition,  succeeded  in  extorting  from 
Mexico  a recognition  of  independence  ; 
and  were  their  sovereignty  acknowledged 
by  other  nations  ; we  should  stand  ac- 
quitted, in  the  sight  of  the  civilized 
world,  of  participating  in  their  crime, 
were  considerations  of  policy  to  deter- 
mine us  to  admit  them  into  our  Union. 
Unhappily,  the  United  States  have  not 
discharged  the  obligations  of  a neutral 
state.  They  have  suffered,  by  a culpa- 
ble negligence,  the  violation  of  the  Mex- 
ican territory  by  their  citizens  ; and  if 
now,  in  the  midst  of  the  conflict,  whilst 
Mexico  yet  threatens  to  enforce  her 
claims,  they  should  proceed  to  incorpo- 
rate Texas  with  themselves,  they  woulcf 
involve  themselves,  before  all  nations,  in 
the  whole  infamy  of  the  revolt.  ‘ The 
United  States  have  not  been  just  to 
Mexico.  Our  citizens  did  not  steal  sin- 
gly, silently,  in  disguise,  into  that  land. 
Their  purpose  of  dismembering  Mexico, 
and  attaching  her  distant  province  to 
this  country,  was  not  wrapped  in  mys- 
tery. It  was  proclaimed  in  our  public 
prints.  Expeditions  were  openly  fitted 
out  within  our  borders  for  the  Texan 
war.  Troops  were  organized,  equipped, 
and  marched  for  the  scene  of  action. 
Advertisements  for  volunteers,  to  be  en- 
rolled and  conducted  to  Texas  at  the 
expense  of  that  territory,  were  inserted 
in  our  newspapers.  The  government, 
indeed,  issued  its  proclamation,  forbid- 
ding these  hostile  preparations  ; but  this 
was  a dead  letter.  Military  companies, 
with  officers  and  standards,  in  defiance 
of  proclamations,  and  in  the  face  of  day, 
directed  their  steps  to  the  revolted  prov- 
ince. We  had,  indeed,  an  army  near 
the  frontiers  of  Mexico.  Did  it  turn 
back  these  invaders  of  a land  with  which 
we  were  at  peace  ? On  the  contrary, 
did  not  its  presence  give  confidence  to 
the  revolters  ? After  this,  what  con- 
struction of  our  conduct  shall  we  force 
on  the  world,  if  we  proceed,  especially 
at  this  moment,  to  receive  into  our 
Union  the  territory  which,  through  our 
neglect,  has  fallen  a prey  to  lawless  in- 
vasion ? Are  we  willing  to  take  our 
place  among  robber-states  ? As  a peo- 
ple, have  we  no  self-respect  ? Have 
we  no  reverence  for  national  morality  ? 
Have  we  no  feeling  of  responsibility  to 
other  nations,  and  to  Him  by  whom  the 
fates  of  nations  are  disposed  ? 

II.  Having  unfolded  the  argument 


against  the  annexation  of  Texas  from 
the  criminality  of  the  revolt,  I proceed 
to  a second  very  solemn  consideration  ; 
namely,  that  by  this  act  our  country  will 
enter  on  a career  of  encroachment,  war, 
and  crime,  and  will  merit  and  incur  the 
punishment  and  woe  of  aggravated 
wrong-doing.  The  seizure  of  Texas 
will  not  stand  alone.  It  will  darken  our 
future  history.  It  will  be  linked  by  an 
iron  necessity  to  long-continued  deeds 
of  rapine  and  blood.  Ages  may  not  see 
the  catastrophe  of  the  tragedy,  the  first 
scene  of  which  we  are  so  ready  to  enact* 
It  is  strange  that  nations  should  be  so 
much  more  rash  than  individuals  ; and 
this,  in  the  face  of  experience,  which 
has  been  teaching,  from  the  beginning 
of  society,  that  of  all  precipitate  and 
criminal  deeds,  those  perpetrated  by 
nations  are  the  most  fruitful  of  misery. 

Did  this  country  know  itself,  or  were 
it  disposed  to  profit  by  self-knowledge, 
it  would  feel  the  necessity  of  laying  an 
immediate  curb  on  its  passion  for  ex- 
tended territory.  It  would  not  trust 
itself  to  new  acquisitions.  It  would 
shrink  from  the  temptation  to  conquest. 
We  are  a restless  people,  prone  to  en- 
croachment, impatient  of  the  ordinary 
laws  of  progress,  less  anxious  to  con- 
solidate and  perfect  than  to  extend  our 
institutions,  more  ambitious  of  spread- 
ing ourselves  over  a wide  space  than  of 
diffusing  beauty  and  fruitfulness  over  a 
narrower  field.  We  boast  of  our  rapid 
growth,  forgetting  that  throughout  nat- 
ure noble  growths  are  slow.  Our  peo- 
ple throw  themselves  beyond  the  bounds 
of  civilization,  and  expose  themselves 
to  relapses  into  a semi-barbarous  state, 
under  the  impulse  of  wild  imagination, 
and  for  the  name  of  great  possessions. 
Perhaps  there  is  no  people  on  earth  on 
whom  the  ties  of  local  attachment  sit 
so  loosely.  Even  the  wandering  tribes 
of  Scythia  are  bound  to  one  spot,  the 
graves  of  their  fathers  ; but  the  homes 
and  graves  of  our  fathers  detain  us 
feebly.  The  known  and  familiar  is  often 
abandoned  for  the  distant  and  untrod- 
den ; and  sometimes  the  untrodden  is 
not  the  less  eagerly  desired  because  be- 
longing to  others.  We  owe  this  spirit, 
in  a measure,  to  our  descent  from  men 
who  left  the  Old  World  for  the  New, 
the  seats  of  ancient  cultivation  for  a 
wilderness,  and  who  advanced  by  driving 
before  them  the  old  occupants  of  the 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


soil.  To  this  spirit  we  have  sacrificed 
justice  and  humanity ; and,  through  its 
ascendency,  the  records  of  this  young 
nation  are  stained  with  atrocities  at 
which  communities  grown  gray  in  cor- 
ruption might  blush. 

It  is  full  time  that  we  should  lay 
on  ourselves  serious,  resolute  restraint. 
Possessed  of  a domain  vast  enough  for 
the  growth  of  ages,  it  is  time  for  us  to 
stop  in  the  career  of  acquisition  and 
conquest.  Already  endangered  by  our 
greatness,  we  cannot  advance  without 
imminent  peril  to  our  institutions,  union, 
prosperity,  virtue,  and  peace.  Our  for- 
mer additions  of  territory  have  been 
justified  by  the  necessity  of  obtaining 
outlets  for  the  population  of  the  South 
and  the  West.  No  such  pretext  exists 
for  the  occupation  of  Texas.  We  cannot 
seize  upon  or  join  to  ourselves  that  ter- 
ritory, without  manifesting  and  strength- 
ening the  purpose  of  setting  no  limits 
to  our  empire.  We  give  ourselves  an 
impulse,  which  will  and  must  precipitate 
us  into  new  invasions  of  our  neighbors’ 
soil.  Is  it  by  pressing  forward  in  this 
course  that  we  are  to  learn  self-re- 
straint ? Is  cupidity  to  be  appeased 
by  gratification  ? Is  it  by  unrighteous 
grasping  that  an  impatient  people  will 
be  instructed  how  to  hem  themselves 
within  the  rigid  bounds  of  justice  ? 

Texas  is  a country  conquered  by  our 
citizens  ; and  the  annexation  of  it  to 
our  Union  will  be  the  beginning  of 
conquests  which,  unless  arrested  and 
beaten  back  by  a just  and  kind  Provi- 
dence, will  stop  only  at  the  Isthmus  of 
Darien.  Henceforth,  we  must  cease 
to  cry,  Peace,  peace.  Our  Eagle  will 
whet,  not  gorge,  its  appetite  on  its  first 
victim  ; and  will  snuff  a more  tempting 
quarry,  more  alluring  blood,  in  every 
new  region  which  opens  southward.  To 
annex  Texas  is  to  declare  perpetual 
war  with  Mexico.  That  word,  Mexico , 
associated  in  men’s  minds  with  bound- 
less wealth,  has  already  awakened  ra- 
pacity. Already  it  has  been  proclaimed 
that  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  is  destined 
to  the  sway  of  this  magnificent  realm, 
that  the  rude  form  of  society  which 
Spain  established  there  is  to  yield 
and  vanish  before  a higher  civilization. 
Without  this  exposure  of  plans  of  ra- 
pine and  subjugation,  the  result,  as  far 
as  our  will  can  determine  it,  is  plain. 
Texas  is  the  first  step  to  Mexico.  The 


761 

moment  we  plant  our  authority  on  Texas, 
the  boundaries  of  those  two  countries 
will  become  nominal,  will  be  little  more 
than  lines  on  the  sand  of  the  sea-shore. 
In  the  fact  that  portions  of  the  Southern 
and  Western  States  are  already  threat- 
ened with  devastation,  through  the  im- 
patience of  multitudes  to  precipitate 
themselves  into  the  Texan  land  of 
promise,  we  have  a pledge  and  earnest 
of  the  flood  which  will  pour  itself  still 
farther  south  when  Texas  shall  be  but 
partially  overrun. 

Can  Mexico  look  without  alarm  on 
the  approaches  of  this  ever-growing 
tide  ? Is  she  prepared  to  be  a passive 
prey  ? to  shrink  and  surrender  without 
a struggle  ? Is  she  not  strong  in  her 
hatred,  "if  not  in  her  fortresses  or  skill  ? 
Strong  enough  to  make  war  a dear  and 
bloody  game  ? Can  she  not  bring  to 
bear  on  us  a force  more  formidable  than 
fleets,  — the  force  of  privateers  ; that 
is,  of  legalized  pirates,  which,  issuing 
from  hef  ports,  will  scour  the  seas,  prey 
on  our  commerce,  and  add  to  spoliation 
cruelty  and  murder  ? 

Even  were  the  dispositions  of  our 
government  most  pacific  and  opposed  to 
encroachment,  the  annexation  of  Texas 
would  almost  certainly  embroil  us  with 
Mexico.  This  territory  would  be  over- 
run by  adventurers  ; and  the  most  un- 
principled of  these  — the  proscribed, 
the  disgraced,  the  outcasts  of  society  — 
would,  of  course,  keep  always  in  ad- 
vance of  the  better  population.  These 
would  represent  our  republic  on  the 
borders  of  the  Mexican  States.  The 
history  of  the  connection  of  such  men 
with  the  Indians  forewarns  us  of  the 
outrages  which  would  attend  their  con- 
tact with  the  border  inhabitants  of  our 
southern  neighbor.  Texas,  from  its  re- 
moteness from  the  seat  of  government, 
would  be  feebly  restrained  by  the  author- 
ities of  the  nation  to  which  it  would  be- 
long. Its  whole  early  history  would  be 
a lesson  of  scorn  for  Mexico,  an  educa- 
tion for  invasion  of  her  soil.  Its  legis- 
lature would  find  in  its  position  some 
color  for  stretching  to  the  utmost  the 
doctrine  of  state-sovereignty.  It  would 
not  hear  unmoved  the  cries  for  protec- 
tion and  vengeance  which  would  break 
from  the  frontier,  -*-from  the  very  men 
whose  lawlessness  would  provoke  the 
cruelties  so  indignantly  denounced  ; nor 
would  it  sift  very  anxiously  the  question 


ON  THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS 


762 

on  which  side  the  wrong  began.  To 
the  wisdom,  moderation,  and  tender 
mercies  of  the  back-settlers  and  law- 
givers of  Texas  the  peace  of  this  coun- 
try would  be  committed. 

Have  we  counted  the  cost  of  estab- 
lishing and  making  perpetual  these  hos- 
tile relations  with  Mexico  ? Will  wars, 
begun  in  rapacity,  carried  on  so  far 
from  the  centre  of  the  confederation, 
and,  of  consequence,  little  checked  or 
controlled  by  Congress,  add  strength  to 
our  institutions,  or  cement  our  union, 
or  exert  a healthy  moral  influence  on 
rulers  or  people  ? What  limits  can  be 
set  to  the  atrocities  of  such  conflicts  ? 
What  limits  to  the  treasures  which 
must  be  lavished  on  such  distant  bor- 
ders ? What  limits  to  the  patronage 
and  power  which  such  distant  expedi- 
tions must  accumulate  in  the  hands  of 
the  Executive  ? Are  the  blood  and 
hard-earned  wealth  of  the  older  States 
to  be  poured  out  like  water  to  protect 
and  revenge  a new  people,  whose  char- 
acter and  condition  will  plunge  them 
into  perpetual  wrongs  ? 

Is  the  time  never  to  come  when  the 
neighborhood  of  a more  powerful  and 
civilized  people  will  prove  a blessing, 
instead  of  a curse,  to  an  inferior  com- 
munity? It  was  my  hope,  when  the 
Spanish  colonies  of  this  continent  sep- 
arated themselves  from  the  mother  coun- 
try, and,  in  admiration  of  the  United 
States,  adopted  republican  institutions, 
that  they  were  to  find  in  us  friends  to 
their  freedom,  helpers  to  their  civiliza- 
tion. If  ever  a people  were  placed  by 
Providence  in  a condition  to  do  good 
to  a neighboring  state,  we  of  this  coun- 
try sustained  such  a relation  to  Mexico. 
That  nation,  inferior  in  science,  arts, 
agriculture,  and  legislation,  looked  to 
us  with  a generous  trust.  She  opened 
her  ports  and  territories  to  our  farmers, 
mechanics,  and  merchants.  We  might 
have  conquered  her  by  the  only  honor- 
able arms,  — by  the  force  of  superior  in- 
telligence, industry,  and  morality.  We 
might  silently  have  poured  in  upon  her 
our  improvements,  and  by  the  infusion 
of  our  population  have  assimilated  her 
to  ourselves.  Justice,  good-will,  and 
profitable  intercourse  might  have  ce- 
mented a lasting  friendship.  And  what 
is  now  the  case  ? A deadly  hatred 
burns  in  Mexico  towards  this  country. 
No  stronger  national  sentiment  now 


binds  her  scattered  provinces  together 
than  dread  and  detestation  of  republi- 
can America.  She  is  ready  to  attach 
herself  to  Europe  for  defence  from  the 
United  States.  All  the  moral  power 
which  we  might  have  gained  over  Mex- 
ico we  have  thrown  away  ; and  suspi- 
cion, dread,  and  abhorrence  have  sup- 
planted respect  and  trust. 

I am  aware  that  these  remarks  are 
met  by  a vicious  reasoning,  which  dis- 
credits a people  among  whom  it  finds 
favor.  It  is  sometimes  said  that  na- 
tions are  swayed  by  laws  as  unfailing 
as  those  which  govern  matter ; that 
they  have  their  destinies  ; that  their 
character  and  position  carry  them  for- 
ward irresistibly  to  their  goal ; that  the 
stationary  Turk  must  sink  under  the 
progressive  civilization  of  Russia,  as 
inevitably  as  the  crumbling  edifice  falls 
to  the  earth  ; that,  by  a like  necessity, 
the  Indians  haye  melted  before  the  white 
man,  and  the  mixed,  degraded  race  of 
Mexico  must  melt  before  the  Anglo- 
Saxon.  Away  with  this  vile  sophistry  ! 
There  is  no  necessity  for  crime.  There 
is  no  fate  to  justify  rapacious  nations, 
any  more  than  to  justify  gamblers  and 
robbers  in  plunder.  We  boast  of  the 
progress  of  society,  and  this  progress 
consists  in  the  substitution  of  reason 
and  moral  principle  for  the  sway  of 
brute  force.  It  is  true  that  more  civil- 
ized must  always  exert  a great  power 
over  less  civilized  communities  in  their 
neighborhood.  But  it  may  and  should 
be  a power  to  enlighten  and  improve, 
not  to  crush  and  destroy.  We  talk  of 
accomplishing  our  destiny.  So  did  the 
late  conqueror  of  Europe  ; and  destiny 
consigned  him  to  a lonely  rock  in  the 
ocean,  the  prey  of  an  ambition  which 
destroyed  no  peace  but  his  own. 

Hitherto  I have  spoken  of  the  an- 
nexation of  Texas  as  embroiling  us  with 
Mexico;  but  it  will  not  stop  here.  It 
will  bring  us  into  collision  with  other 
states.  It  will,  almost  of  necessity,  in- 
volve us  in  hostility  with  European 
powers.  Such  are  now  the  connections 
of  nations,  that  Europe  must  look  with 
jealousy  on  a country  whose  ambition, 
seconded  by  vast  resources,  will  seem 
to  place  within  her  grasp  the  empire  of 
the  New  World.  And  not  only  general 
considerations  of  this  nature,  but  the 
particular  relation  of  certain  foreign 
states  to  this  continent,  must  tend  to 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


destroy  the  peace  now  happily  subsist- 
ing between  us  and  the  kingdoms  of 
Europe.  England,  in  particular,  must 
watch  us  with  suspicion,  and  cannot 
but  resist  our  appropriation  of  Texas  to 
ourselves.  She  has  at  once  a moral  and 
political  interest  in  this  question  which 
demands  and  will  justify  interference. 

First,  England  has  a moral  interest  in 
this  question.  The  annexation  of  Texas 
is  sought  by  us  for  the  very  purpose  of 
extending  slavery,  and  thus  will  neces- 
sarily give  new  life  and  extension  to  the 
slave-trade.  A new  and  vast  market 
for  slaves  cannot,  of  course,  be  opened 
without  inviting  and  obtaining  a supply 
from  abroad,  as  well  as  from  this  coun- 
try. The  most  solemn  treaties,  and 
ships  of  war  lining  the  African  coast, 
do  not  and  cannot  suppress  this  infernal 
traffic,  as  long  as  the  slaver,  freighted 
with  stolen,  chained,  and  wretched  cap- 
tives, can  obtain  a price  proportioned  to 
the  peril  of  the  undertaking.  Now, 
England  has  long  made  it  a part  of  her 
foreign  policy  to  suppress  the  slave- 
trade  ; and,  of  late,  a strong  public 
feeling  impels  the  government  to  resist, 
as  far  as  may  be,  the  extension  of  sla- 
very. Can  we  expect  her  to  be  a pas- 
sive spectator  of  a measure  by  which 
her  struggles  for  years  in  the  cause  of 
humanity,  and  some  of  her  strongest  na- 
tional feelings,  are  to  be  withstood  ? 

England  is  a privileged  nation.  On 
one  part  of  her  history  she  can  look 
with  unmixed  self-respect.  With  the 
exception  of  the  promulgation  of  Chris- 
tianity, I know  not  a moral  effort  so 
glorious  as  the  long,  painful,  victorious 
struggle  of  her  philanthropists  against 
that  concentration  of  all  horrors,  cruel- 
ties, and  crimes,  — the  slave-trade.  Next 
to  this,  her  recent  Emancipation  Act  is 
the  most  signal  expression  afforded  by 
our  times  of  the  progress  of  civilization 
and  a purer  Christianity.  Other  na- 
tions have  won  imperishable  honors  by 
heroic  struggles  for  their  own  rights. 
But  there  was  wanting  the  example  of 
a nation  espousing,  with  disinterested- 
ness, and  amidst  great  obstacles,  the 
rights  of  others,  the  rights  of  those 
who  had  no  claim  but  that  of  a common 
humanity,  the  rights  of  the  most  fallen 
of  the  race.  Great  Britian,  loaded  with 
an  unprecedented  debt  and  with  a grind- 
ing taxation,  contracted  a new  debt  of  a 
hundred  million  dollars,  to  give  freedom, 


763 

not  to  Englishmen,  but  to  the  degraded 
African.  This  was  not  an  act  of  policy, 
not  a work  of  statesmen.  Parliament 
but  registered  the  edict  of  the  people. 
The  English  nation,  with  one  heart  and 
one  voice,  under  a strong  Christian  im- 
pulse, and  without  distinction  of  rank, 
sex,  party  or  religious  names,  decreed 
freedom  to  the  slave.  I know  not  that 
history  records  a national  act  so  disin- 
terested, so  sublime.  In  the  progress 
of  ages,  England’s  naval  triumphs  will 
shrink  into  a more  and  more  narrow 
space  in  the  records  of  our  race.  This 
moral  triumph  will  fill  a broader,  brighter 
page.  Is  not  England,  representing,  as 
she  does  in  this  case,  the  civilized  world, 
authorized,  and  even  bound,  to  remon- 
strate, in  the  name  of  humanity  and  re- 
ligion, against  a measure  by  which  the 
great  work  for  which  she  has  so  long 
toiled  is  to  be  indefinitely  postponed  ? 

But  England  has  a political  as  well  as 
a moral  interest  in  this  question.  By 
the  annexation  of  Texas  we  shall  ap- 
proach her  liberated  colonies  ; we  shall 
build  up  a power  in  her  neighborhood, 
to  which  no  limits  can  be  prescribed. 
By  adding  Texas  to  our  acquisition  of 
Florida,  we  shall  do  much  towards  gird- 
ling the  Gulf  of  Mexico  ; and  I doubt 
not  that  some  of  our  politicians  will  feel 
as  if  our  mastery  in  that  sea  were  sure. 
The  West  Indian  Archipelago,  in  which 
the  European  is  regarded  as  an  intruder, 
will,  of  course,  be  embraced  in  our  ever- 
growing scheme  of  empire.  In  truth, 
collision  with  the  West  Indies  will  be 
the  most  certain  effect  of  the  extension 
of  our  power  in  that  quarter.  The  ex- 
ample which  they  exhibit  of  African 
freedom,  of  the  elevation  of  the  colored 
race  to  the  rights  of  men,  is,  of  all  influ- 
ences, most  menacing  to  slavery  at  the 
South.  It  must  grow  continually  more 
perilous.  These  islands,  unless  inter- 
fered with  from  abroad,  seem  destined 
to  be  nurseries  of  civilization  and  free- 
dom to  the  African  race.  The  white 
race  must  melt  more  and  more  before 
the  colored,  if  both  are  left  to  free  com- 
petition. The  Europeans,  unnerved  by 
the  climate,  and  forming  but  a handful 
of  the  population,  cannot  stand  before 
the  African,  who  revels  in  the  heat  of 
the  tropics,  and  is  to  develop  under  it 
all  his  energies.  Will  a slave-holding 
people,  spreading  along  the  shores  of 
the  Mexican  Gulf,  cultivate  friendly 


ON  THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS 


764 

sentiments  towards  communities  whose 
whole  history  will  be  a bitter  reproach 
to  their  institutions,  a witness  against 
their  wrongs,  and  whose  ardent  sympa- 
thies will  be  enlisted  in  the  cause  of  the 
slave  ? Cruel,  ferocious  conflicts  must 
grow  from  this  neighborhood  of  hostile 
principles,  of  communities  regarding  one 
another  with  unextinguishable  hatred. 
All  the  islands  of  the  Archipelago  will 
have  cause  to  dread  our  power,  but  none 
so  much  as  the  emancipated.  Is  it  not 
more  than  possible  that  wars,  having 
for  an  object  the  subjugation  of  the  col- 
ored race,  the  destruction  of  this  tempt- 
ing example  of  freedom,  should  spring 
from  the  proposed  extension  of  our 
dominion  along  the  Mexican  Gulf  ? Can 
England  view  our  encroachments  with- 
out alarm  ? I know  it  is  thought  that, 
staggering,  as  she  does,  under  her  enor- 
mous debt,  she  will  be  slow  to  engage 
in  war.  But  other  nations  of  Europe 
have  islands  in  the  same  neighborhood, 
to  induce  them  to  make  common  cause 
with  her.  Other  nations  look  with  jeal- 
ousy on  our  peculiar  institutions  and  our 
growing  maritime  power.  Other  nations 
are  unwilling  that  we  should  engross  or 
control  the  whole  commerce  of  the  Mex- 
ican Gulf.  We  ought  to  remember  that 
this  jealousy  is  sanctioned  by  our  exam- 
ple. It  is  understood  that,  at  one  period 
of  the  internal  disorders  of  Spain,  which 
rendered  all  her  foreign  possessions  in- 
secure, we  sought  from  France  and 
Great  Britain  assurances  that  they 
would  not  possess  themselves  of  Cuba. 
Still  more,  after  the  revolt  of  her  colo- 
nies from  Spain,  and  after  our  recogni- 
tion of  their  independence,  it  was  an- 
nounced to  the  nations  of  Europe,  in 
the  message  of  the  President,  that  we 
should  regard  as  hostile  any  interference 
on  their  part  with  these  new  govern- 
ments, “ for  the  purpose  of  oppressing 
them,  or  controlling  their  destiny  in  any 
other  way.”  I,  of  course,  have  no  com- 
munication with  foreign  cabinets  ; but  I 
cannot  doubt  that  Great  Britain  has 
remonstrated  against  the  annexation  of 
Texas  to  this  country.  An  English  min- 
ister would  be  unworthy  of  his  office 
who  should  see  another  state  greedily 
swallowing  up  territories  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  British  colonies,  and  not 
strive,  by  all  just  means,  to  avert  the 
danger.  I have  just  referred  to  the 
warning  given  by  us  to  the  powers  of 


Europe,  to  abstain  from  appropriating 
to  themselves  the  colonies  torn  from 
Spain.  How  will  Europe  interpret  our 
act,  if  we  now  seize  Texas,  and  take  this 
stride  towards  Mexico  ? Will  she  not 
suspect  that  we  purposed  to  drive  away 
the  older  vultures  in  order  to  keep  the 
victim  to  ourselves  ; that,  conscious  of 
growing  power,  we  foresaw,  in  the  ex- 
clusion of  foreign  states,  the  sure  exten- 
sion of  our  own  dominion  over  the  New 
World?  Can  we  expect  those  powers, 
with  such  an  example  before  them,  to 
heed  our  warning  ? Will  they  look 
patiently  on,  and  see  the  young  vulture 
feasting  on  the  nearest  prey,  and  flesh- 
ing itself  for  the  spoils  which  their  own 
possessions  will  next  present  ? Will  it 
be  strange  if  hunger  for  a share  of  the 
plunder,  as  well  as  the  principle  of  self- 
defence,  should  make  this  continent  the 
object  of  their  policy  to  an  extent  we 
have  never  dreamed  ? 

It  is  of  great  and  manifest  importance 
that  we  should  use  every  just  means  to 
separate  this  continent  from  the  politics 
of  Europe,  that  we  should  prevent,  as 
far  as  possible,  all  connection,  except 
commercial,  between  the  Old  and  the 
New  World,  that  we  should  give  to  for- 
eign states  no  occasion  or  pretext  for 
insinuating  themselves  into  our  affairs. 
For  this  end,  we  should  maintain  tow- 
ards our  sister  republics  a more  liberal 
policy  than  was  ever  adopted  by  nation 
towards  nation.  We  should  strive  to 
appease  their  internal  divisions,  and  to 
reconcile  them  to  each  other.  We 
should  even  make  sacrifices  to  build  up 
their  strength.  Weak  and  divided,  they 
cannot  but  lean  upon  foreign  support. 
No  pains  should  be  spared  to  prevent 
or  allay  the  jealousies  which  the  great 
superiority  of  this  country  is  suited  to 
awaken.  By  an  opposite  policy  we  shall 
favor  foreign  interference.  By  encroach- 
ing on  Mexico  we  shall  throw  her  into 
the  arms  of  Europoan  states,  shall  com- 
pel her  to  seek  defence  in  transatlantic 
alliance.  How  plain  is  it,  that  alliance 
with  Mexico  will  be  hostility  to  the 
United  States,  that  her  defenders  will 
repay  themselves  by  making  her  subser- 
vient to  their  views,  that  they  will  thus 
strike  root  in  her  soil,  monopolize  her 
trade,  and  control  her  resources.  And 
with  what  face  can  we  resist  the  aggres- 
sions of  others  on  our  neighbor,  if  we 
give  an  example  of  aggression  ? Still 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


more,  if  by  our  advances  we  put  the 
colonies  of  England  in  new  peril,  with 
what  face  can  we  oppose  her  occupation 
of  Cuba  ? Suppose  her,  with  that  mag- 
nificent island  in  her  hands,  to  command 
the  Mexican  Gulf  and  the  mouths  of  the 
Mississippi  ; will  the  Western  States 
find  compensation  for  this  formidable 
neighborhood  in  the  privilege  of  flood- 
ing Texas  with  slaves  ? 

Thus,  wars  with  Europe  and  Mexico 
are  to  be  entailed  on  us  by  the  annexa- 
tion of  Texas.  And  is  war  the  policy 
by  which  this  country  is  to  flourish  ? 
Was  it  for  interminable  conflicts  that  we 
formed  our  Union  ? Is  it  blood,  shed 
for  plunder,  which  is  to  consolidate  our 
institutions  ? Is  it  by  collision  with  the 
greatest  maritime  power  that  our  com- 
merce is  to  gain  strength  ? Is  it  by 
arming  against  ourselves  the  moral  sen- 
timents of  the  world  that  we  are  to  build 
up  national  honor  ? Must  we  of  the 
North  buckle  on  our  armor  to  fight  the 
battles  of  slavery  ; to  fight  for  a posses- 
sion which  our  moral  principles  and  just 
jealousy  forbid  us  to  incorporate  with 
our  confederacy?  In  attaching  Texas 
to  ourselves,  we  provoke  hostilities,  and 
at  the  same  time  expose  new  points  of 
attack  to  our  foes.  Vulnerable  at  so 
many  points,  we  shall  need  a vast  mili- 
tary force.  Great  armies  will  require 
great  revenues,  and  raise  up  great  chief- 
tains. Are  we  tired  of  freedom,  that  we 
are  prepared  to  place  it  under  such 
guardians  ? Is  the  republic  bent  on 
dying  by  its  own  hands  ? Does  not 
every  man  feel  that,  with  war  for  our 
habit,  our  institutions  cannot  be  pre- 
served ? If  ever  a country  were  bound 
to  peace,  it  is  this.  Peace  is  our  great 
interest.  In  peace  our  resources  are  to 
be  developed,  the  true  interpretation  of 
the  constitution  to  be  established,  and 
the  interfering  claims  of  liberty  and  order 
to  be  adjusted.  In  peace  we  are  to  dis- 
charge our  great  debt  to  the  human  race, 
and  to  diffuse  freedom  by  manifesting 
its  fruits.  A country  has  no  right  to 
adopt  a policy,  however  gainful,  which, 
as  it  may  foresee,  will  determine  it  to  a 
career  of  war.  A nation,  like  an  indi- 
vidual, is  bound  to  seek,  even  by  sacri- 
fices, a position  which  will  favor  peace, 
justice,  and  the  exercise  of  a beneficent 
influence  on  the  world.  A nation  pro- 
voking war  by  cupidity,  by  encroach- 
ment, and,  above  all,  by  efforts  to  propa- 


765 

gate  the  curse  of  slavery,  is  alike  false 
to  itself,  to  God,  and  to  the  human  race. 

III.  I proceed  now  to  a consideration 
of  what  is  to  me  the  strongest  argument 
against  annexing  Texas  to  the  United 
States.  This  measure  will  extend  and 
perpetuate  slavery.  I have  necessarily 
glanced  at  this  topic  in  the  preceding 
pages ; but  it  deserves  to  be  brought 
out  distinctly.  I shall  speak  calmly, 
but  I must  speak  earnestly  ; and  I feel, 
and  rejoice  to  feel,  that  however  you 
may  differ  from  some  of  my  views,  yet 
we  do  not  differ  as  to  the  great  princi- 
ple on  which  all  my  remarks  and  re- 
monstrances are  founded.  Slavery 
seems  to  you,  as  to  me,  an  evil  and  a 
wrong.  Your  language  on  this  subject 
has  given  me  a satisfaction  for  which  I 
owe  you  thanks  ; and  if,  in  what  I am 
now  to  say,  I may  use  expressions  which 
you  may  think  too  strong,  I am  sure 
your  candor  will  recognize  in  them  the 
signs  of  deep  conviction,  and  will  acquit 
me  of  all  desire  to  irritate  or  give  pain. 

The  annexation  of  Texas,  I have  said, 
will  extend  and  perpetuate  slavery.  It 
is  fitted,  and,  still  more,  intended  to  do 
so.  On  this  point  there  can  be  no  doubt. 
As  far  back  as  the  year  1829,  the  an- 
nexation of  Texas  was  agitated  in  the 
Southern  and  Western  States  ; and  it 
was  urged  on  the  ground  of  the  strength 
and  extension  it  would  give  the  slave- 
holding interest.  In  a series  of  essays, 
ascribed  to  a gentleman  now  a senator 
in  Congress,  it  was  maintained  that  five 
or  six  slave-holding  States  would  by  this 
measure  be  added  to  the  Union ; and  he 
even  intimated  that  as  many  as  nine 
States  as  large  as  Kentucky  might  be 
formed  within  the  limits  of  Texas.  In 
Virginia,  about  the  same  time,  calcula- 
tions were  made  as  to  the  increased 
value  which  would  thus  be  given  to 
slaves,  and  it  was  even  said  that  this 
acquisition  would  raise  the  price  fifty 
per  cent.  Of  late  the  language  on  this 
subject  is  most  explicit.  The  great 
argument  for  annexing  Texas  is,  that  it 
will  strengthen  “the  peculiar  institu- 
tions ” of  the  South,  and  open  a new  and 
vast  field  for  slavery. 

By  this  act,  slavery  will  be  spread 
over  regions  to  which  it  is  now  impos- 
sible to  set  limits.  Texas,  I repeat  it,  is 
but  the  first  step  of  aggressions.  I trust, 
indeed,  that  Providence  will  beat  back 
and  humble  our  cupidity  and  ambition. 


ON  THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS 


766 

But  one  guilty  success  is  often  suffered 
to  be  crowned,  as  men  call  it,  with 
greater,  in  order  that  a more  awful 
retribution  may  at  length  vindicate  the 
justice  of  God,  and  the  rights  of  the  op- 
pressed. Texas,  smitten  with  slavery, 
will  spread  the  infection  beyond  herself. 
We  know  that  the  tropical  regions  have 
been  found  most  propitious  to  this  pesti- 
lence ; nor  can  we  promise  ourselves 
that  its  expulsion  from  them  for  a sea- 
son forbids  its  return.  By  annexing 
Texas,  we  may  send  this  scourge  to  a 
distance,  which,  if  now  revealed,  would 
appall  us,  and  through  these  vast  regions 
every  cry  of  the  injured  will  invoke 
wrath  on  our  heads. 

By  this  act,  slavery  will  be  perpetuated 
in  the  old  States,  as  well  as  spread  over 
new.  It  is  well  known  that  the  soil  of 
some  of  the  old  States  has  become  ex- 
hausted by  slave  cultivation.  Their 
neighborhood  to  communities  which  are 
flourishing  under  free  labor  forces  on 
them  perpetual  arguments  for  adopting 
this  better  system.  They  now  adhere 
to  slavery,  not  on  account  of  the  wealth 
which  it  extracts  from  the  soil,  but  be- 
cause it  furnishes  men  and  women  to 
be  sold  in  newly  settled  and  more 
southern  districts.  It  is  by  slave-breed- 
ing and  slave-selling  that  these  States 
subsist.  Take  away  from  them  a foreign 
market,  and  slavery  would  die.  Of  con- 
sequence, by  opening  a new  market,  it 
is  prolonged  and  invigorated.  By  an- 
nexing Texas,  we  shall  not  only  create 
it  where  it  does  not  exist,  but  breathe 
new  life  into  it,  where  its  end  seemed 
to  be  near.  States,  which  might  and 
ought  to  throw  it  off,  will  make  the 
multiplication  of  slaves  their  great  aim 
and  chief  resource. 

Nor  is  the  worst  told.  As  I have 
before  intimated,  — and  it  cannot  be 
too  often  repeated,  — we  shall  not  only 
quicken  the  domestic  slave-trade,  we 
shall  give  a new  impulse  to  the  foreign. 
This,  indeed,  we  have  pronounced  in 
our  laws  to  be  felony ; but  we  make 
our  laws  cobwebs,  when  we  offer  to 
rapacious  men  strong  motives  for  their 
violation.  Open  a market  for  slaves  in 
an  unsettled  country,  with  a sweep  of 
sea-coast,  and  at  such  a distance  from 
the  seat  of  government  that  laws  may 
be  evaded  with  impunity,  and  how  can 
you  exclude  slaves  from  Africa?  It  is 
well  known  that  cargoes  have  been 


landed  in  Louisiana.  What  is  to  drive 
them  from  Texas?  In  incorporating 
this  region  with  the  Union  to  make  it 
a slave  country,  we  send  the  kidnapper 
to  prowl  through  the  jungles,  and  to 
dart,  like  a beast  of  prey,  on  the  de- 
fenceless villages  of  Africa ; we  chain 
the  helpless,  despairing  victims  ; crowd 
them  into  the  fetid,  pestilential  slave- 
ship  ; expose  them  to  the  unutterable 
cruelties  of  the  middle  passage,  and,  if 
they  survive  it,  crush  them  with  per- 
petual bondage. 

I now  ask  whether,  as  a people,  we 
are  prepared  to  seize  on  a neighboring 
territory  for  the  end  of  extending  sla- 
very ? I ask  whether,  as  a people,  we 
can  stand  forth  in  the  sight  of  God,  in 
the  sight  of  the  nations,  and  adopt 
this  atrocious  policy  ? Sooner  perish  ! 
Sooner  be  our  name  blotted  out  from 
the  record  of  nations  ! 

This  is  no  place  for  entering  into  the 
argument  against  slavery.  I have  else- 
where given  my  views  of  it.  In  truth, 
no  argument  is  needed.  The  evil  of 
slavery  speaks  for  itself.  It  is  one  of 
those  primary,  intuitive  truths  which 
need  only  a fair  exhibition  to  be  imme- 
diately received.  To  state  is  to  con- 
demn this  institution.  The  choice 
which  every  freeman  makes  of  death 
for  his  child  and  for  every  thing  he  loves, 
in  preference  to  slavery,  shows  what  it 
is.  The  single  consideration  that,  by 
slavery,  one  human  being  is  placed 
powerless  and  defenceless  in  the  hands 
of  another,  to  be  driven  to  whatever 
labor  that  other  may  impose,  to  suffer 
whatever  punishment  he  may  inflict,  to 
live  as  his  tool,  the  instrument  of  his 
pleasure,  — this  is  all  that  is  needed  to 
satisfy  such  as  know  the  human  heart 
and  its  unfitness  for  irresponsible  power, 
that,  of  all  conditions,  slavery  is  the 
most  hostile  to  the  dignity,  self-respect, 
improvement,  rights,  and  happiness  of 
human  beings.  Is  it  w'ithin  the  bounds 
of  credibility,  that  a people,  boasting  of 
freedom,  of  civilization,  of  Christianity, 
should  systematically  strive  to  spread 
this  calamity  over  the  earth  ? 

To  perpetuate  and  extend  slavery  is 
not  now,  in  a moral  point  of  view,  what 
it  once  was.  We  cannot  shelter  our- 
selves under  the  errors  and  usages  of 
our  times.  We  do  not  belong  to  the 
dark  ages,  or  to  heathenism.  We  have 
not  grown  up  under  the  prejudices  of  a 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


blinding,  crushing  tyranny.  We  live  un- 
der free  institutions  and  under  the  broad 
light  of  Christianity.  Every  principle 
of  our  government  and  religion  con- 
demns slavery.  The  spirit  of  our  age 
condemns  it.  The  decree  of  the  civil- 
ized world  has  gone  out  against  it. 
England  has  abolished  it.  France  and 
Denmark  meditate  its  abolition.  The 
chain  is  falling  from  the  serf  in  Russia. 
In  the  whole  circuit  of  civilized  nations, 
with  the  single  exception  of  the  United 
States,  not  a voice  is  lifted  up  in  de- 
fence of  slavery.  All  the  great  names 
in  legislation  and  religion  are  against 
it.  The  most  enduring  reputations  of 
our  times  have  been  won  by  resisting 
it.  Recall  the  great  men  of  this  and 
the  last  generation,  and,  be  they  phi- 
losophers, philanthropists,  poets,  econo- 
mists, statesmen,  jurists,  all  swell  the 
reprobation  of  slavery.  The  leaders  of 
opposing  religious  sects,  Wesley,  the 
patriarch  of  Methodism,  Edwards  and 
Hopkins,  pillars  of  Calvinism,  join  as 
brothers  in  one  solemn  testimony  against 
slavery.  And  is  this  an  age  in  which  a 
free  and  Christian  people  shall  delib- 
erately resolve  to  extend  and  perpetuate 
the  evil  ? In  so  doing,  we  cut  ourselves 
off  from  the  communion  of  the  nations  ; 
we  sink  below  the  civilization  of  our 
age  ; we  invite  the  scorn,  indignation, 
and  abhorrence  of  the  world. 

Let  it  not  be  said  that  this  opposition 
of  our  times  to  slavery  is  an  accident, 
a temporary  gust  of  opinion,  an  eddy  in 
the  current  of  human  thought,  a fashion 
to  pass  away  with  the  present  actors  on 
the  stage.  He  who  so  says  must  have 
read  history  with  a superficial  eye,  and 
is  strangely  blind  to  the  deepest  and  most 
powerful  influences  which  are  moulding 
society.  Christianity  has  done  more  than 
all  things  to  determine  the  character  and 
direction  of  our  present  civilization ; 
and  who  can  question  or  overlook  the 
tendency  and  design  of  this  religion  ? 
Christianity  has  no  plainer  purpose 
than  to  unite  all  men  as  brethren,  to 
make  man  unutterably  dear  to  man,  to 
pour  contempt  on  outward  distinctions, 
to  raise  the  fallen,  to  league  all  in  efforts 
for  the  elevation  of  all.  Under  its  in- 
fluence, the  differences  of  nations  and 
rank  are  softening.  To  the  establish- 
ment of  a fraternal  relation  among  men, 
the  science,  literature,  commerce,  edu- 
cation of  the  Christian  world  are  tending. 


767 

Who  cannot  see  this  mighty  movement 
of  Providence  ? Who  is  so  blind  as  to 
call  it  a temporary  impulse  ? Who  so  dar- 
ing, so  impious,  as  to  strive  to  arrest  it  ? 

What  is  the  tendency  of  all  govern- 
ments in  the  Christian  world?  To 
secure  more  and  more  to  every  man  his 
rights,  be  his  condition  what  it  may. 
Even  in  despotisms,  where  political 
rights  are  denied,  private  rights  are 
held  more  and  more  sacred.  The  ab- 
solute monarch  is  more  and  more  anx- 
ious to  improve  the  laws  of  the  state, 
and  to  extend  their  protection  and  re- 
straints over  all  classes  a,nd  individuals 
without  distinction.  Equality  before 
the  law  is  the  maxim  of  the  civilized 
world.  To  place  the  rights  of  a large 
part  of  the  community  beyond  the  pro- 
tection of  law,  to  place  half  a people 
under  private,  irresponsible  power,  is  to 
oppose  one  of  the  most  characteristic 
and  glorious  tendencies  of  modern  times. 
Who  has  the  courage  to  set  down  this 
reverence  for  private  rights  among  the 
fashions  and  caprices  of  the  day?  Is 
it  not  founded  in  everlasting  truth  ? 
And  dare  we,  in  the  face  of  it,  extend 
and  perpetuate  an  institution,  the  grand 
feature  of  which  is,  that  it  tramples  pri- 
vate rights  in  the  dust  ? 

Whoever  studies  modern  history  with 
any  care,  must  discern  in  it  a steady, 
growing  movement  towards  one  most 
interesting  result,  — I mean  towards  the 
elevation  of  the  laboring  class  of  society. 
This  is  not  a recent,  accidental  turn  of 
human  affairs.  We  can  trace  its  begin- 
ning in  the  feudal  times,  and  its  slow 
advances  in  subsequent  periods,  until  it 
has  become  the  master  movement  of 
our  age.  Is  it  not  plain  that  those  who 
toil  with  their  hands,  and  whose  produc- 
tive industry  is  the  spring  of  all  wealth, 
are  rising  from  the  condition  of  beasts 
of  burden,  to  which  they  were  once  re- 
duced, to  the  consciousness,  intelligence, 
self-respect,  and  proper  happiness  of 
men  ? Is  it  not  the  strong  tendency  of 
our  times  to  diffuse  among  the  many  the 
improvements  once  confined  to  the  few  ? 
He  who  overlooks  this  has  no  compre- 
hension of  the  great  work  of  Providence, 
or  of  the  most  signal  feature  of  his  times  ; 
and  is  this  an  age  for  efforts  to  extend 
and  perpetuate  an  institution,  the  very 
object  of  which  is  to  keep  down  the 
laborer,  and  to  make  him  a machine  for 
another’s  gratification  ? 


ON  THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS 


768 

I know  it  has  been  said,  in  reply  to 
such  views,  that,  do  what  we  will  with 
the  laborer,  call  him  what  we  will,  he  is 
and  must  be  in  reality  a slave.  The 
doctrine  has  been  published  at  the 
South,  that  nature  has  made  two  classes, 
the  rich  and  the  poor,  the  employer  and 
the  employed,  the  capitalist  and  the  op- 
erative, and  that  the  class  who  work  are, 
to  all  intents,  slaves  to  those  in  whose 
service  they  are  engaged.  In  a report 
on  the  mail,  recently  offered  to  the  Sen- 
ate of  the  United  States,  an  effort  was 
made  to  establish  resemblances  between 
slavery  and  the  condition  of  free  labor- 
ers, for  the  obvious  purpose  of  showing 
that  the  shades  of  difference  between 
them  are  not  very  strong.  Is  it  possible 
that  such  reasonings  escaped  from  a man 
who  has  trod  the  soil  of  New  England, 
and  was  educated  at  one  of  her  colleges  ? 
Whom  did  he  meet  at  that  college  ? 
The  sons  of  her  laborers,  — young  men 
whose  hands  had  been  hardened  at 
the  plough.  Does  he  not  know  that 
the  families  of  laborers  have  furnished 
every  department  in  life  among  us  with 
illustrious  men,  have  furnished  our  he- 
roes in  war,  our  statesmen  in  council, 
our  orators  in  the  pulpit  and  at  the  bar, 
our  merchants  whose  enterprises  em- 
brace the  whole  earth  ? What  ! the 
laborer  of  the  free  State  a slave,  and 
to  be  ranked  with  the  despised  negro, 
whom  the  lash  drives  to  toil,  and  whose 
dearest  rights  are  at  the  mercy  of  irre- 
sponsible power  ? If  there  be  a firm, 
independent  spirit  on  earth,  it  is  to  be 
found  in  the  man  who  tills  the  fields  of 
the  free  States,  and  moistens  them  with 
the  sweat  of  his  brow.  I recently  heard 
of  a visitor  from  the  South  compassion- 
ating the  operatives  of  our  manufacto- 
ries, as  in  a worse  condition  than  the 
slave.  What  carries  the  young  woman 
to  the  manufactory  ? Not,  generally, 
the  want  of  a comfortable  home  ; but 
sometimes  the  desire  of  supplying  her- 
self with  a wardrobe  which  ought  to  sat- 
isfy the  affluent,  and  oftener  the  desire 
of  furnishing  in  more  than  decent  style 
the  home  where  she  is  to  sustain  the 
nearest  relations,  and  perform  the  most 
sacred  duties  of  life.  Generally  speak- 
ing, each  of  these  young  women  has  her 
plan  of  life,  her  hopes,  her  bright  dreams, 
her  spring  of  action  in  her  own  free  will, 
and  amidst  toil  she  contrives  to  find  sea- 
sons for  intellectual  and  religious  cult- 


ure. It  is  common  in  New  England 
for  the  sons  of  farmers  to  repair  to  the 
large  towns,  and  there  to  establish  them- 
selves as  domestics  in  families,  a condi- 
tion which  the  South  will  be  peculiarly 
disposed  to  identify  with  slavery.  But 
what  brings  these  young  men  to  the 
city  ? The  hope  of  earning  in  a shorter 
time  a sum  with  which  to  purchase  a 
farm  at  home  or  in  the  West,  perhaps 
to  become  traders  ; and  in  these  voca- 
tions they  not  unfrequently  rise  to  con- 
sideration, and  to  what,  in  their  places 
of  residence,  is  called  wealth.  I have  in 
my  thoughts  an  individual  distinguished 
alike  by  vigor  and  elevation  of  mind, 
who  began  life  by  hiring  himself  as  a 
laborer  to  a farmer,  and  then  entered  a 
family  as  a domestic  ; and  now  he  is  the 
honored  associate  of  the  most  enlight- 
ened men,  and  devotes  himself  to  the 
highest  subjects  of  human  thought.  It 
is  true  that  much  remains  to  be  done  for 
the  laboring  class  in  the  most  favored 
regions  ; but  the  intelligence  already 
spread  through  this  class  is  an  earnest 
of  a brighter  day,  of  the  most  glorious 
revolution  in  history,  of  the  elevation  of 
the  mass  of  men  to  the  dignity  of  human 
beings. 

It  is  the  great  mission  of  this  country 
to  forward  this  revolution,  and  never  was 
a sublimer  work  committed  to  a nation. 
Our  mission  is  to  elevate  society  through 
all  its  conditions,  to  secure  to  every  hu- 
man being  the  means  of  progress,  to 
substitute  the  government  of  equal  laws 
for  that  of  irresponsible  individuals,  to 
prove  that,  under  popular  institutions, 
the  people  may  be  carried  forward,  that 
the  multitude  who  toil  are  capable  of 
enjoying  the  noblest  blessings  of  the 
social  state.  The  prejudice,  that  labor 
is  a degradation,  one  of  the  worst  preju- 
dices handed  down  from  barbarous  ages, 
is  to  receive  here  a practical  refutation. 
The  power  of  liberty  to  raise  up  the 
whole  people,  this  is  the  great  idea  on 
which  our  institutions  rest,  and  which  is 
to  be  wrought  out  in  our  history.  Shall 
a nation  having  such  a mission  abjure 
it,  and  even  fight  against  the  progress 
which  it  is  specially  called  to  pro- 
mote ? 

The  annexation  of  Texas,  if  it  should 
be  accomplished,  would  do  much  to  de- 
termine the  future  history  and  charac- 
ter of  this  country.  It  is  one  of  those 
measures  which  call  a nation  to  pause, 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES . 


reflect,  look  forward,  because  their  force 
is  not  soon  exhausted.  Many  acts  of 
government,  intensely  exciting  at  the 
moment,  are  yet  of  little  importance, 
because  their  influence  is  too  transient 
to  leave  a trace  on  history.  A bad  ad- 
ministration may  impoverish  a people  at 
home,  or  cripple  its  energies  abroad,  for 
a year  or  more.  But  such  wounds  heal 
soon.  A young  people  soon  recruits  its 
powers,  and  starts  forward  with  increased 
impulse,  after  the  momentary  suspension 
of  its  activity.  The  chief  interest  of  a 
people  lies  in  measures  which,  making, 
perhaps,  little  noise,  go  far  to  fix  its 
character,  to  determine  its  policy  and 
fate  for  ages,  to  decide  its  rank  among 
nations.  A fearful  responsibility  rests 
on  those  who  originate  or  control  these 
pregnant  acts.  The  destiny  of  millions 
is  in  their  hands.  The  execration  of 
millions  may  fall  on  their  heads.  Long 
after  present  excitements  shall  have 
passed  away,  long  after  they  and  their 
generation  shall  have  vanished  from  the 
earth,  the  fruits  of  their  agency  will  be 
reaped.  Such  a measure  is  that  of  which 
I now  write.  It  will  commit  us  to  a de- 
rading  policy,  the  issues  of  which  lie 
eyond  human  foresight.  In  opening 
to  ourselves  vast  regions,  through  which 
we  may  spread  slavery,  and  in  spreading 
it  for  this,  among  other  ends,  that  the 
slave-holding  States  may  bear  rule  in 
the  national  councils,  we  make  slavery 
the  predominant  interest  of  the  state. 
We  make  it  the  basis  of  power,  the 
spring  or  guide  of  public  measures,  the 
object  for  which  the  revenues,  strength, 
and  wealth  of  the  country  are  to  be  ex- 
hausted. Slavery  will  be  branded  on 
our  front,  as  the  great  idea,  the  promi- 
nent feature  of  the  country.  We  shall 
renounce  our  high  calling  as  a people, 
and  accomplish  the  lowest  destiny  to 
which  a nation  can  be  bound. 

And  are  we  prepared  for  this  degra- 
dation ? Are  we  prepared  to  couple 
with  the  name  of  our  country  the  infamy 
of  deliberately  spreading  slavery  ? and 
especially  of  spreading  it  through  regions 
from  which  the  wise  and  humane  leg- 
islation of  a neighboring  republic  had 
excluded  it  ? We  call  Mexico  a semi- 
barbarous  people  ; and  yet  we  talk  of 
planting  slavery  where  Mexico  would 
not  suffer  it  to  live.  What  American 
will  not  blush  to  lift  his  head  in  Europe, 
if  this  disgrace  shall  be  fastened  on  his 


769 

I country  ? Let  other  calamities,  if  God 
so  will,  come  on  us.  Let  us  be  steeped 
in  poverty.  Let  pestilence  stalk  through 
our  land.  Let  famine  thin  our  popula- 
tion. Let  the  world  join  hands  against 
our  free  institutions,  and  deluge  our 
shores  with  blood.  All  this  can  be  en- 
dured. A few  years  of  industry  and 
peace  will  recruit  our  wasted  numbers, 
and  spread  fruitfulness  over  our  deso- 
lated fields.  But  a nation,  devoting  it- 
self to  the  work  of  spreading  and  per- 
petuating slavery,  stamps  itself  with  a 
guilt  and  shame  which  generations  may 
not  be  able  to  efface.  The  plea  on 
which  we  have  rested,  that  slavery  was 
not  our  choice,  but  a sad  necessity  be- 
queathed us  by  our  fathers,  will  avail 
us  no  longer.  The  whole  guilt  will  be 
assumed  by  ourselves. 

It  is  very  lamentable  that,  among  the 
distinguished  men  of  the  South,  any 
should  be  found  so  wanting  to  their  own 
fame  as  to  become  advocates  of  slavery. 
That  vulgar  politicians,  who  look  only 
at  the  interests  of  the  day  and  the 
chances  of  the  next  election,  should 
swell  the  madness  of  the  passions  by 
which  they  hope  to  rise,  is  a thing  of 
course.  But  that  men,  who  might  leave 
honorable  and  enduring  record  of  them- 
selves in  their  country’s  history,  who 
might  associate  their  names  with  their 
country’s  progress,  and  who  are  solemn- 
ly bound  by  their  high  gifts  to  direct  and 
purify  public  sentiment,  that  such  men 
should  lend  their  great  powers  to  the 
extension  of  slavery,  is  among  the  dark 
symptoms  of  the  times.  Can  such  men 
be  satisfied  with  the  sympathies  and 
shouts  of  the  little  circle  around  them, 
and  of  the  passing  moment  ? Have  they 
nothing  of  that  prophetic  instinct  by 
which  truly  great  men  read  the  future  ? 
Can  they  learn  nothing  from  the  sen- 
tence now  passed  on  men  who,  fifty  years 
ago,  defended  the  slave-trade  ? We  have 
to  rejoice,  Sir,  that  you,  amidst  the  ex- 
citements of  the  time,  have  always  given 
your  testimony  against  slavery.  You 
have  adhered  to  the  doctrine  which  the 
great  men  of  the  South  of  the  last  gen- 
eration asserted,  that  it  is  a great  evil. 
We  shall  not  forget  this  among  the  good 
services  which  you  have  rendered  to  your 
country. 

I have  expressed  my  fears  that,  by 
the  annexation  of  Texas,  slavery  is  to 
be  continued  and  extended.  But  I wish 


49 


77° 


ON  THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS 


not  to  be  understood  as  having  the 
slightest  doubt  as  to  the  approaching 
fall  of  the  institution.  It  may  be  pro- 
longed, to  our  reproach  and  greater  ulti- 
mate suffering.  But  fall  it  will  and  must. 
This,  Sir,  you  know,  and,  I doubt  not, 
rejoice  to  know.  The  advocates  of  sla- 
very must  not  imagine  that  to  carry  a 
vote  is  to  sustain  their  cause.  With  all 
their  power,  they  cannot  withstand  the 
providence  of  God,  the  principles  of 
human  nature,  the  destinies  of  the  race. 
To  succeed,  they  must  roll  back  time 
to  the  dark  ages,  must  send  back  Luther 
to  the  cell  of  his  monastery,  must  ex- 
tinguish the  growing  light  of  Christianity 
and  moral  science,  must  blot  out  the 
declaration  of  American  independence. 
The  fall  of  slavery  is  as  sure  as  the 
descent  of  your  own  Ohio.  Moral  laws 
are  as  irresistible  as  physical.  In  the 
most  enlightened  countries  of  Europe, 
a man  would  forfeit  his  place  in  society 
by  vindicating  slavery.  The  slave-holder 
must  not  imagine  that  he  has  nothing  to 
do  but  fight  with  a few  societies.  These 
of  themselves  are  nothing.  He  should 
not  waste  on  them  one  fear.  They  are 
strong,  only  as  representing  the  spirit  of 
the  Christian  and  civilized  world.  His 
battle  is  with  the  laws  of  human  nature 
and  the  irresistible  tendencies  of  human 
affairs.  These  are  not  to  be  withstood 
by  artful  strokes  of  policy,  or  by  daring 
crimes.  The  world  is  against  him,  and 
the  world’s  Maker.  Every  day  the 
sympathies  of  the  world  are  forsaking 
him.  Can  he  hope  to  sustain  slavery 
against  the  moral  feeling,  the  solemn 
sentence  of  the  human  race  ? 

The  South,  cut  off  by  its  “ peculiar 
institutions  ” from  close  connection  with 
other  communities,  comprehends  little 
the  progress  of  the  ci  vilized  world.  The 
spirit  which  is  spreading  through  other 
communities  finds  no  organ  within  its 
borders,  and  the  strength  of  this  is 
therefore  little  understood.  Hence,  it 
looks  on  antislavery  movements  in  any 
part  of  the  country  as  an  accident, 
which  a little  force  can  put  down.  It 
might  as  well  think  of  imprisoning  the 
winds.  The  South  is  ignorant  of  what 
it  most  needs  to  know.  A very  intelli- 
gent gentleman  from  that  quarter  told 
me,  not  long  ago,  that  he  could  not 
learn  at  home  the  working  of  emanci- 
pation in  the  West  Indies  ; so  that  an 
experiment  of  infinite  interest  to  the 


slave-holder  is  going  on  at  his  door,  and 
he  knows  little  more  of  it  than  if  it 
were  occurring  in  another  planet.  Of 
course,  there  are  exceptions.  There 
are  at  the  South  philosophical  observ- 
ers of  the  progress  of  human  affairs. 
But  in  such  a state  of  society  it  is  hard 
to  realize  the  truth  on  this  subject. 
Were  it  known,  the  project  of  building 
a power  on  the  diffusion  of  slavery 
would  seem  to  be  an  act  of  madness, 
as  truly  as  of  crime. 

I suppose  that  I shall  be  charged  with 
unfriendly  feelings  towards  the  South. 
All  such  I disclaim.  Strange  as  it  may 
seem,  if  I have  partialities,  they  are 
rather  for  the  South.  I spent  a part  of 
my  early  life  in  that  region,  when  man- 
ners probably  retained  more  of  their 
primitive  character  than  they  now  do  ; 
and  to  a young  man,  unaccustomed  to 
life  and  its  perils,  there  was  something 
singularly  captivating  in  the  unbound- 
ed hospitality,  the  impulsive  generosity, 
the  carelessness  of  the  future,  the  frank, 
open  manners,  the  buoyant  spirit  and 
courage,  which  marked  the  people  ; and 
though  I have  since  learned  to  interpret 
more  wisely  what  I then  saw,  still  the 
impressions  which  I then  received,  and 
the  friendships  formed  at  a yet  earlier 
age  with  the  youth  of  the  South,  have 
always  given  me  a leaning  towards  that 
part  of  the  country.  I am  unconscious 
of  local  prejudices.  My  interest  in  the 
South  strengthens  my  desire  to  avert 
the  annexation  of  Texas  to  the  Union. 
That  act,  I feel,  will  fix  an  indelible 
stain  on  the  South.  It  will  conflict 
with  the  generous  elements  of  character 
which  I take  pleasure  in  recollecting 
there.  The  South  will  cease  to  be  what 
it  was.  In  the  period  to  which  I have  re- 
ferred, slavery  was  acknowledged  there 
to  be  a great  evil.  I heard  it  spoken 
of  freely  with  abhorrence.  The  moral 
sentiment  of  the  community  on  this 
point  was  not  corrupt.  The  principles 
of  Mr.  Jefferson  in  relation  to  it  found 
a wide  response.  The  doctrine  that 
slavery  is  a good,  if  spread  by  the  seiz- 
ure of  Texas,  will  work  a moral  revo- 
lution, the  most  disastrous  which  can 
befall  the  South.  It  will  paralyze  every 
effort  for  escape  from  this  enormous 
evil.  A deadly  sophistry  will  weigh 
on  men’s  consciences  and  hearts,  un- 
til terrible  convulsions  — God’s  just 
judgments  — will  hasten  the  deliverance 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


77 1 


which  human  justice  and  benevolence 
were  bound  to  accomplish. 

IV.  I now  proceed  to  another  im- 
portant argument  against  the  annexa- 
tion of  Texas  to  our  country  — the  argu- 
ment drawn  from  the  bearings  of  the 
measure  on  our  National  Union.  Next 
to  liberty,  union  is  our  great  political 
interest,  and  this  cannot  but  be  loos- 
ened— it  may  be  dissolved  — by  the 
proposed  extension  of  our  territory.  I 
will  not  say  that  every  extension  must 
be  pernicious,  that  our  government  can- 
not hold  together  even  our  present  con- 
federacy, that  the  central  hearUcannot 
send  its  influences  to  the  remote  States 
which  are  to  spring  up  within  our  pres- 
ent borders.  Old  theories  must  be  cau- 
tiously applied  to  the  institutions  of 
this  country.  If  the  federal  govern- 
ment will  abstain  from  minute  legisla- 
tion, and  rigidly  confine  itself  within 
constitutional  bounds,  it  may  be  a bond 
of  union  to  more  extensive  communi- 
ties than  were  ever  comprehended  un- 
der one  sway.  Undoubtedly,  there  is 
peril  in  extending  ourselves,  and  yet  the 
chief  benefit  of  the  Union,  which  is  the 
preservation  of  peaceful  relations  among 
neighboring  States,  is  so  vast,  that  some 
risk  should  be  taken  to  secure  it  in  the 
greatest  possible  degree.  The  objec- 
tion to  the  annexation  of  Texas,  drawn 
from  the  unwieldiness  it  would  give  to 
the  country,  though  very  serious,  is  not 
decisive.  A far  more  serious  objection 
is,  that  it  is  to  be  annexed  to  us  for  the 
avowed  purpose  of  multiplying  slave- 
holding States,  and  thus  giving  political 
power.  This  cannot,  ought  not  to  be 
borne.  It  will  justify,  it  will  at  length 
demand,  the  separation  of  the  States. 

We  maintain  that  this  policy  is  alto- 
gether without  reason  on  the  part  of  the 
South.  The  South  has  exerted,  and 
cannot  help  exerting,  a disproportionate 
share  of  influence  on  the  confederacy. 
The  slave-holding  States  have  already 
advantages  for  co-operation,  and  for 
swaying  the  country,  which  the  others 
do  not  possess.  The  free  States  have 
no  great  common  interest,  like  slavery, 
to  hold  them  together.  They  differ  in 
character,  feelings,  and  pursuits.  They 
agree  but  on  one  point,  and  that  a neg- 
ative one,  — the  absence  of  slavery  ; and 
this  distinction,  as  is  well  known,  makes 
no  lively  impression  on  the  conscious- 
ness, and  in  no  degree  counteracts  the 


influences  which  divide  them  from  one 
another.  To  this  may  be  added  the 
well-known  fact,  that  in  the  free  States 
the  subject  of  politics  is  of  secondary 
importance,  whilst  at  the  South  it  is 
paramount.  At  the  North  every  man 
must  toil  for  subsistence,  and,  amidst 
the  feverish  competitions  and  anxieties 
of  the  eager  and  universal  pursuit  of 
gain,  political  power  is  sought  with  little 
comparative  avidity.  In  some  districts 
it  is  hard  to  find  fit  representatives  for 
Congress,  so  backward  are  superior  men 
to  forego  the  emoluments  of  their  voca- 
tion, the  prospects  of  independence,  for 
the  uncertainties  of  public  life.  At  the 
North,  too,  a vast  amount  of  energy  is 
absorbed  in  associations  of  a religious, 
philanthropic,  literary  character.  The 
apathy  of  the  free  States  in  regard  to 
Texas  — an  apathy  from  which  they  are 
just  beginning  to  be  roused  — is  a strik- 
ing proof  of  their  almost  incredible  in- 
difference to  political  power.  Perhaps 
no  parallel  to  it  can  be  found  in  the  his- 
tory of  confederations.  What  a con- 
trast does  the  South  form  with  the 
divided  and  slumbering  North  ! There, 
one  strong,  broad  distinction  exists,  of 
which  all  the  members  of  the  community 
have  a perpetual  consciousness  ; there, 
a peculiar  element  is  found,  which 
spreads  its  influence  through  the  mass, 
and  impresses  itself  on  the  whole  con- 
stitution of  society.  Slavery  is  not  a 
superficial  distinction.  Nothing  decides 
the  character  of  a people  more  than  the 
form  and  determination  of  labor.  Hence 
we  find  a unity  at  the  South  unknown  at 
the  North.  At  the  South,  too,  the  pro- 
prietors, released  from  the  necessity  of 
labor,  and  having  little  of  the  machinery 
of  associations  to  engage  their  attention, 
devote  themselves  to  politics  with  a con- 
centration of  zeal  which  a Northern  man 
can  only  comprehend  by  residing  on  the 
spot.  Hence  the  South  has  profes- 
sional politicians, — a character  hardly 
known  in  the  free  States.  The  result 
is  plain.  The  South  has  generally  ruled 
the  country.  It  must  always  have  an 
undue  power.  United,  as  the  North 
cannot  be,  it  can  always  link  with  itself 
some  discontented  portion  at  the  North, 
which  it  can  liberally  reward  by  the  pat- 
ronage which  the  possession  of  the  gov- 
ernment confers.  That  the  constitu- 
tional rights  of  the  South  should  be 
prejudiced  by  the  North  is  one  of  those 


772 


ON  THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS 


moral  impossibilities  against  which  it  is 
folly  to  ask  security. 

We  cannot  consent  that  the  South 
should  extend  its  already  disproportion- 
ate power  by  an  indefinite  extension  of 
territory,  because  we  maintain  that  its 
dispositions  towards  us  gives  us  no 
pledge  that  its  power  will  be  well  used. 
It  is,  unhappily,  too  well  known  that  it 
wants  friendly  feelings  towards  the 
North.  Divided  from  us  by  an  institu- 
tion which  gives  it  a peculiar  character, 
which  lays  it  open  to  reproach,  and 
which  will  never  suffer  it  to  rival  our 
prosperity,  it  cannot  look  on  us  with 
favor.  It  magnifies  our  faults.  It  is 
blind  to  our  virtues. . At  the  North,  no 
unfriendly  disposition  prevails  towards 
the  South.  We  are  too  busy  and  too 
prosperous  for  hatred.  We  complain 
that  our  good-will  is  not  reciprocated. 
We  complain  that  our  commerce  and 
manufactures  have  sometimes  found  lit- 
tle mercy  at  the  hands  of  the  South. 
Still  more,  we  feel  — though  we  are 
slow  to  complain  of  it  — that  in  Con- 
gress, the  common  ground  of  the  con- 
federacy, we  have  had  to  encounter  a 
tone  and  bearing  which  it  has  required 
the  colder  temperament  of  the  North  to 
endure.  We  cannot  consent  to  take  a 
lower  place  than  we  now  hold.  We 
cannot  consent  that  our  confederacy 
should  spread  over  the  wilds  of  Mexico 
to  give  us  more  powerful  masters.  The 
old  balance  of  the  country  is  unfavor- 
able enough.  We  cannot  consent  that 
a new  weight  should  be  thrown  in,  which 
may  fix  the  political  inferiority  of  our- 
selves and  our  posterity.  I give  you, 
Sir,  the  feelings  of  the  North.  In  part 
they  may  be  prejudices.  Jealousies, 
often  groundless,  are  the  necessary 
fruits  of  confederations.  On  that  ac- 
count, measures  must  not  be  adopted 
disturbing  violently,  unnaturally,  unex- 
pectedly, the  old  distributions  of  power, 
and  directly  aimed  at  that  result. 

In  other  ways  the  annexation  of 
Texas  is  to  endanger  the  Union.  It 
will  give  new  violence  and  passion  to 
the  agitation  of  the  question  of  slavery. 
It  is  well  known  that  a majority  at  the 
North  have  discouraged  the  discussion 
of  this  topic,  on  the  ground  that  slavery 
was  imposed  on  the  South  by  necessity, 
that  its  continuance  was  not  of  choice, 
and  that  the  States  in  which  it  subsists, 
if  left  to  themselves,  would  find  a rem- 


edy in  their  own  way.  Let  slavery  be 
systematically  proposed  as  the  policy  of 
these  States,  let  it  bind  them  together  in 
efforts  to  establish  political  power,  and 
a new  feeling  will  burst  forth  through 
the  whole  North.  It  will  be  a concen- 
tration of  moral,  religious,  political,  and 
patriotic  feelings.  The  fire,  now  smoth- 
ered, will  blaze  out,  and,  of  consequence, 
new  jealousies  and  exasperations  will 
be  kindled  at  the  South.  Strange,  that 
the  South  should  think  of  securing 
its  “ peculiar  institutions  ” by  violent 
means ! Its  violence  necessarily  in- 
creases the  evils  it  would  suppress.  For 
example,  by  denying  the  right  of  petition 
to  those  who  sought  the  abolition  of  sla- 
very within  the  immediate  jurisdiction 
of  the  United  States,  it  has  awakened  a 
spirit  which  will  overwhelm  Congress 
with  petitions  till  this  right  be  restored. 
The  annexation  of  Texas  would  be  a 
measure  of  the  same  injurious  character, 
and  would  stir  up  an  open,  uncompro- 
mising hostility  to  slavery,  of  which  we 
have  seen  no  example,  and  which  would 
produce  a reaction  very  dangerous  to 
union. 

The  annexation  of  Texas  will  give 
rise  to  constitutional  questions  and  con- 
flicts which  cannot  be  adjusted.  It  is 
well  known  that  the  additions  to  our  ter- 
ritory of  Louisiana  and  Florida  were 
acceded  to  by  the  North,  though  very 
reluctantly,  on  account  of  their  obvious 
utility.  But  it  has  been  seriously 
doubted  whether  the  powers  given  by 
the  Constitution  were  not  in  both  cases 
transcended.  “At  the  time  Louisiana 
was  acquired,  Mr.  Jefferson  himself  was 
deliberately  of  opinion  that  the  treaty- 
making authority,  under  the  Constitu- 
tion of  the  United  States,  was  incompe- 
tent to  make  such  an  acquisition  from 
a foreign  power,  and  annex  it  to  the 
Union,  and  that  an  amendment  of  the 
Constitution  would  be  necessary  to 
sanction  it.  In  a letter  to  Governor 
Lincoln,  he  even  furnishes  the  formula 
of  a proposed  amendment  for  the  pur- 
pose of  admitting  Louisiana  into  the 
Union  ; but  adds,  that  the  less  that  is 
said  about  the  constitutional  difficulty 
the  better.  Very  little  was  said  about 
it,  and  there  was  a general  and  tacit 
acquiescence,  in  consequence  of  the 
great  and  incalculable  advantages  ex- 
pected from  the  acquisition  in  a national 
point  of  view.  The  purchase  of  Texas, 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


77  3 


under  existing  circumstances,  might  pre- 
sent a very  different  question.”* 

It  is  true  that,  as  a general  rule,  the 
right  to  purchase  territory  is  incident 
to  sovereignty.  But  the  sovereignty  of 
our  national  government  is  a limited 
one.  The  Constitution  was  a com- 
promise among  independent  States,  and 
it  is  well  known  that  geographical  rela- 
tions and  local  interests  were  among 
the  essential  conditions  on  which  the 
compromise  was  made.  We  are  willing, 
for  the  sake  of  universally  acknowl- 
edged public  interests,  that  additions 
of  territory  should  be  made  to  our 
country.  But  can  it  be  admitted  that 
the  Constitution  gives  power  to  the 
President  and  Senate  to  add  a vast 
realm  to  the  United  States,  for  the  very 
purpose  of  disturbing  the  balance  be- 
tween different  sections,  or  of  securing 
ascendency  to  certain  parts  of  the  con- 
federacy? Was  not  the  Constitution 
founded  on  conditions  or  considerations 
which  are  even  more  authoritative  than 
its  particular  provisions,  and  the  viola- 
tion of  which  must  be  death  to  our 
Union  ? Besides,  a new  question  is  to 
be  opened  by  the  admission  of  Texas. 
We  shall  not  purchase  a territory,  as 
in  the  case  of  Louisiana,  but  shall  ad- 
mit an  independent  community,  invested 
with  sovereignty,  into  the  confedera- 
tion ; and  can  the  treaty-making  power 
do  this  ? Can  it  receive  foreign  nations, 
however  vast,  to  the  Union  ? Does  not 
the  question  carry  its  own  answer  ? By 
the  assumption  of  such  a right,  would 
not  the  old  compact  be  at  once  consid- 
ered as  dissolved  ? 

To  me  it  seems  not  only  the  right 
but  the  duty  of  the  free  States,  in  case 
of  the  annexation  of  Texas,  to  say  to 
the  slave-holding  States,  “ We  regard 
this  act  as  the  dissolution  of  the  Union. 
The  essential  conditions  of  the  na- 
tional compact  are  violated.  To  you 
we  will  faithfully  adhere,  but  will  not 
join  ourselves  to  this  new  and  iniquitous 
acquisition.  We  will  not  become  part- 
ners in  your  wars  with  Mexico  and 
Europe,  in  your  schemes  of  spreading 
and  perpetuating  slavery,  in  your  hopes 
of  conquest,  in  your  unrighteous  spoils.” 
No  one  prizes  the  Union  more  than  my- 
self, as  the  means  of  peace.  But,  with 
Texas,  we  shall  have  no  peace.  Texas, 
brought  into  the  confederacy,  will  bring 

* “ North  American  Review/1  July,  1836.  1 


with  it  domestic  and  foreign  strife.  It 
will  change  our  relations  to  other  coun- 
tries, and  to  one  another.  A pacific 
division  in  the  first  instance  seems  to  me 
to  threaten  less  contention  than  a linger- 
ing, feverish  dissolution  of  the  Union, 
such  as  must  be  expected  under  this 
fatal  innovation. 

I am  but  one  of  a nation  of  fifteen 
millions,  and,  as  such,  may  seem  too 
insignificant  to  protest  against  a public 
measure.  But  in  this  country  every 
man,  even  the  obscurest,  participates 
in  the  sovereignty,  and  is  responsible 
for  public  acts,  unless  by  some  mode 
of  opposition,  proportioned  to  his  sense 
of  the  evil,  he  absolves  himself  from 
the  guilt.  For  one,  then,  I say,  that 
earnestly  as  I deprecate  the  separation 
of  these  States,  and  though  this  event 
would  disappoint  most  cherished  hopes 
for  my  country,  still  I can  submit  to  it 
more  readily  than  to  the  reception  of 
Texas  into  the  confederacy.  I shrink 
from  that  contamination.  I shrink  from 
an  act  which  is  to  pledge  us  as  a peo- 
ple to  robbery  and  war,  to  the  work 
of  upholding  and  extending  slavery  with- 
out limitation  or  end.  I do  not  desire 
to  share  the  responsibility,  or  to  live 
under  the  laws  of  a government  adopt- 
ing such  a policy,  and  swayed  by  such  a 
spirit,  as  would  be  expressed  by  the 
incorporation  of  Texas  with  our  country. 

In  truth,  if  the  South  is  bent  on  in- 
corporating Texas  with  itself,  as  a new 
prop  to  slavery,  it  would  do  well  to  in- 
sist on  the  division  of  the  States.  It 
would,  in  so  doing,  consult  best  its  own 
safety.  It  should  studiously  keep  itself 
from  communion  with  the  free  part  of 
the  country.  It  should  suffer  no  rail- 
road from  that  section  to  cross  its  bor- 
ders. It  should  block  up  intercourse 
with  us  by  sea  and  land.  Still  more, 
it  should  abjure  connection  with  the 
whole  civilized  world  : for  from  every 
country  it  would  be  invaded  by  an  in- 
fluence hostile  to  slavery.  It  should 
borrow  the  code  of  the  Dictator  of 
Paraguay,  and  seal  itself  hermetically 
against  the  infectious  books,  opinions, 
and  visits  of  foreigners.  Its  pride,  as 
well  as  safety,  should  teach  it  this  in- 
sulation ; for,  having  once  taken  the 
ground  that  slavery  is  a good,  to  be 
spread  and  made  perpetual,  it  does  by 
that  act  forfeit  the  rank  which  it  covets 
1 among  civilized  and  improving  com- 


774 


ON  THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS 


munities.  It  cannot  be  recognized  as 
an  equal  by  other  states.  On  this  point 
the  decree  of  the  world  has  gone  forth, 
and  no  protests  or  clamors  can  drown 
the  deep,  solemn  voice  of  humanity, 
gathering  strength  with  every  new  gen- 
eration. A community,  acknowledging 
the  evils  of  slavery,  and  continuing  it 
only  because  the  first  law  of  nature, 
self-preservation,  seems  to  require  grad- 
ual processes  of  change,  may  retain  the 
respect  of  those  who  deem  their  fears 
unfounded.  But  a community,  wedding 
itself  to  slavery  inseparably,  with  choice 
and  affection,  and  with  the  purpose  of 
spreading  the  plague  far  and  wide,  must 
become  a by-word  among  the  nations  ; 
and  the  friend  of  humanity  will  shake 
off  the  dust  of  his  feet  against  it  in  tes- 
timony of  his  reprobation. 

V.  I proceed  now  to  the  last  head 
of  this  communication.  I observe,  that 
the  cause  of  liberty,  of  free  institutions, 
— a cause  more  sacred  than  union,  — 
forbids  the  annexation  of  Texas.  It  is 
plain,  from  the  whole  preceding  dis- 
cussion, that  this  measure  will  exert  a 
disastrous  influence  on  the  moral  senti- 
ments and  principles  of  this  country,  by 
sanctioning  plunder,  by  inflaming  cupid- 
ity, by  encouraging  lawless  speculation, 
by  bringing  into  the  confederacy  a com- 
munity whose  whole  history  and  cir- 
cumstances are  adverse  to  moral  order 
and  wholesome  restraint,  by  violating 
national  faith,  by  proposing  immoral 
and  inhuman  ends,  by  placing  us  as  a 
people  in  opposition  to  the  efforts  of 
philanthropy,  and  the  advancing  move- 
ments of  the  civilized  world.  It  will 
spread  a moral  corruption,  already  too 
rife  among  us,  and,  in  so  doing,  it  will 
shake  the  foundations  of  freedom  at 
home,  and  bring  reproach  on  it  abroad. 
It  will, be  treachery  to  the  great  cause 
which  has  been  confided  to  this  above 
all  nations. 

The  dependence  of  freedom  on  morals 
is  an  old  subject,  and  I have  no  thought 
of  enlarging  on  the  general  truth.  I 
wish  only  to  say,  that  it  is  one  which 
needs  to  be  brought  home  to  us  at 
the  present  moment,  and  that  it  cannot 
be  trifled  with  but  to  our  great  peril. 
There  are  symptoms  of  corruption 
amongst  us,  which  show  us  that  we 
cannot  enter  on  a new  career  of  crime 
without  peculiar  hazard.  I cannot  do 
justice  to  this  topic  without  speaking 


freely  of  our  country,  as  freely  as  I 
should  of  any  other  ; and,  unhappily, 
we  are  so  accustomed  as  a people  to 
receive  incense,  to  be  soothed  by  flat- 
tery, and  to  account  reputation  as  a 
more  important  interest  than  morality, 
that  my  freedom  may  be  construed  into 
a kind  of  disloyalty.  But  it  would  be 
wrong  to  make  concessions  to  this  dan- 
gerous weakness.  I believe  that  moral- 
ity is  the  first  interest  of  a people,  and 
that  this  requires  self-knowledge  in  na- 
tions as  truly  as  in  individuals.  He 
who  helps  a community  to  comprehend 
itself,  and  to  apply  to  itself  a higher 
rule  of  action,  is  the  truest  patriot, 
and  contributes  most  to  its  enduring 
fame. 

I have  said  that  we  shall  expose  our 
freedom  to  great  peril  by  entering  on  a 
new  career  of  crime.  We  are  corrupt 
enough  already.  In  one  respect  our 
institutions  have  disappointed  us  all. 
They  have  not  wrought  out  for  us  that 
elevation  of  character  which  is  the  most 
precious,  and,  in  truth,  the  only  substan- 
tial blessing  of  liberty.  Our  progress  in 
prosperity  has  indeed  been  the  wonder 
of  the  world  ; but  this  prosperity  has 
done  much  to  counteract  the  ennobling 
influence  of  free  institutions.  The  pe- 
culiar circumstances  of  the  country  and 
of  our  times  have  poured  in  upon  us  a 
torrent  of  wealth  ; and  human  nature 
has  not  been  strong  enough  for  the  as- 
sault of  such  severe  temptation.  Pros- 
perity has  become  dearer  than  freedom. 
Government  is  regarded  more  as  a 
means  of  enriching  the  country  than  of 
securing  private  rights.  We  have  be- 
come wedded  to  gain  as  our  chief  good. 
That,  under  the  predominance  of  this 
degrading  passion,  the  higher  virtues, 
the  moral  independence,  the  simplicity 
of  manners,  the  stern  uprightness,  the 
self-reverence,  the  respect  for  man  as 
man,  which  are  the  ornaments  and  safe- 
guards of  a republic,  should  wither,  and 
give  place  to  selfish  calculation  and  in- 
dulgence, to  show  and  extravagance,  to 
anxious,  envious,  discontented  strivings, 
to  wild  adventure,  and  to  the  gambling 
spirit  of  speculation,  will  surprise  no 
one  who  has  studied  human  nature. 
The  invasion  of  Texas  by  our  citizens 
is  a mournful  comment  on  our  national 
morality.  Whether,  without  some  fiery 
trial,  some  signal  prostration  of  our 
prosperity,  we  can  rise  to  the  force  and 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES . 


775 


self-denial  of  freemen,  is  a question  not 
easily  solved. 

There  are  other  alarming  views.  A 
spirit  of  lawlessness  pervades  the  com- 
munity, which,  if  not  repressed,  threatens 
the  dissolution  of  our  present  forms  of 
society.  Even  in  the  old  States,  mobs 
are  taking  the  government  into  their 
hands,  and  a profligate  newspaper  finds 
little  difficulty  in  stirring  up  multitudes 
to  violence.  When  we  look  at  the  parts 
of  the  country  nearest  Texas,  we  see  the 
arm  of  the  law  paralyzed  by  the  pas- 
sions of  the  individual.  Men  take  un- 
der their  own  protection  the  rights  which 
it  is  the  very  office  of  government  to 
secure.  The  citizen,  wearing  arms  as 
means  of  defence,  carries  with  him  per- 
petual proofs  of  the  weakness  of  the 
authorities  under  which  he  lives.  The 
substitution  of  self-constituted  tribunals 
for  the  regular  course  of  justice,  and  the 
infliction  of  immediate  punishment  in 
the  moment  of  popular  frenzy,  are  symp- 
toms of  a people  half  reclaimed  from 
barbarism.  I know  not  that  any  civil- 
ized country  on  earth  has  exhibited  dur- 
ing the  last  year  a spectacle  so  atrocious 
as  the  burning  of  a colored  man  by  a 
slow  fire,  in  the  neighborhood  of  St. 
Louis  ; and  this  infernal  sacrifice  was 
offered  not  by  a few  fiends  selected  from 
the  whole  country,  but  by  a crowd  gath- 
ered from  a single  spot.  Add  to  all 
this,  the  invasions  of  the  rights  of 
speech  and  of  the  press  by  lawless  force, 
the  extent  and  toleration  of  which  oblige 
us  to  believe  that  a considerable  portion 
of  our  citizens  have  no  comprehension 
of  the  first  principles  of  liberty. 

It  is  an  undeniable  fact  that,  in  con- 
sequence of  these  and  other  symptoms, 
the  confidence  of  many  reflecting  men 
in  our  free  institutions  is  very  much 
impaired.  Some  despair.  That  main 
pillar  of  public  liberty,  mutual  trust 
among  citizens,  is  shaken.  That  we 
must  seek  security  for  property  and  life 
in  a stronger  government  is  a spreading 
conviction.  Men,  who  in  public  talk  of 
the  stability  of  our  institutions,  whisper 
their  doubts  (perhaps  their  scorn)  in 
private.  So  common  are  these  appre- 
hensions, that  the  knowledge  of  them 
has  reached  Europe  Not  long  ago,  I 
received  a letter  from  an  enlightened  and 
fervei  t friend  of  liberty  in  Great  Britain, 
beseeching  me  to  inform  him  how  far  he 
was  to  rely  on  the  representations  of  one 


of  his  countrymen  just  returned  from 
the  United  States,  who  had  reported  to 
him  that,  in  the  most  respectable  soci- 
ety, he  had  again  and  again  been  told 
that  the  experiment  of  freedom  here 
was  a failure,  and  that  faith  in  our  insti- 
tutions was  gone.  That  the  traveller 
misinterpreted  #in  a measure  what  he 
heard,  we  shall  all  acknowledge.  But 
is  the  old  enthusiasm  of  liberty  unchilled 
among  us  ? Is  the  old  jealousy  of  power 
as  keen  and  uncompromising  ? Do  not 
parties  more  unscrupulously  encroach 
on  the  Constitution  and  on  the  rights  of 
minorities  ? In  one  respect  we  must  all 
admit  a change.  When  you  and  I grew 
up,  what  a deep  interest  pervaded  this 
country  in  the  success  of  free  institu- 
tions abroad ! With  what  throbbing 
hearts  did  we  follow  the  struggles  of 
the  oppressed  ! How  many  among  us 
were  ready  to  lay  down  their  lives  for 
the  cause  of  liberty  on  the  earth  ! And 
now  who  cares  for  free  institutions 
abroad  ? How  seldom  does  the  topic 
pass  men’s  lips  ! Multitudes,  discour- 
aged by  the  licentiousness  at  home, 
doubt  the  value  of  popular  institutions, 
especially  in  less  enlightened  countries  ; 
whilst  greater  numbers,  locked  up  in 
gain,  can  spare  no  thought  on  the  strug- 
gles of  liberty,  and,  provided  they  can 
drive  a prosperous  trade  with  foreign 
nations,  care  little  whether  they  are  bond 
or  free. 

I may  be  thought  inclined  to  draw 
a dark  picture  of  our  moral  condition. 
But  at  home  I am  set  down  among  those 
who  hope  against  hope ; and  I have 
never  ceased  to  condemn  as  a crime  the 
despondence  of  those  who,  lamenting  the 
corruptions  of  the  times,  do  not  lift  a 
finger  to  withstand  it.  I am  far,  very 
far,  from  despair.  I have  no  fears  but 
such  as  belong  to  a friend  of  freedom. 
Among  dark  omens,  I see  favorable  in- 
fluences, remedial  processes,  counteract- 
ing agencies.  I well  know  that  the 
vicious  part  of  our  system  makes  more 
noise  and  show  than  the  sound.  I know 
that  the  prophets  of  ruin  to  our  institu- 
tions are  to  be  found  most  frequently  in 
the  party  out  of  power,  and  that  many 
dark  auguries  must  be  set  down  to  the 
account  of  disappointment  and  irritation. 
I am  sure,  too,  that  imminent  peril  would 
wake  up  the  spirit  of  our  fathers  in  many 
who  slumber  in  these  days  of  ease  and 
security.  It  is  also  true  that,  with  all 


ON  THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS 


776 

our  defects,  there  is  a wider  diffusion  of 
intelligence,  moral  restraint,  and  self- 
respect  among  us  than  through  any 
other  community.  Still,  I am  compelled 
to  acknowledge  an  extent  of  corruption 
among  us  which  menaces  freedom  and 
our  dearest  interests  ; and  a policy  which 
will  give  new  and  enduring  impulse  to 
corruption,  which  will  multiply  indefi- 
nitely public  and  private  crime,  ought 
to  be  reprobated  as  the  sorest  calamity 
we  can  incur.  Freedom  is  fighting  her 
battles  in  the  world  with  sufficient  odds 
against  her.  Let  us  not  give  new  chances 
to  her  foes. 

That  the  cause  of  republicanism  is 
suffering  abroad,  through  the  defects 
and  crimes  of  our  countrymen,  is  as 
true  as  that  it  is  regarded  with  increased 
scepticism  among  ourselves.  Abroad, 
republicanism  is  identified  with  the 
United  States,  and  it  is  certain  that 
the  American  name  has  not  risen  of 
late  in  the  world.  It  so  happens  that, 
whilst  writing,  I have  received  a news- 
paper from  England,  in  which  Lynch 
law  is  as  familiarly  associated  with  our 
country  as  if  it  were  one  of  our  estab- 
lishments. We  are  quoted  as  monu- 
ments of  the  degrading  tendencies  of 
popular  institutions.  When  I visited 
England  fifteen  years  ago,  republican 
sentiments  were  freely  expressed  to 
me.  I should  probably  hear  none  now. 
Men’s  minds  seem  to  be  returning  to 
severer  principles  of  government ; and 
this  country  is  responsible  for  a part 
of  this  change.  It  is  believed  abroad 
that  property  is  less  secure  among  us, 
order  less  stable,  law  less  revered,  social 
ties  more  easily  broken,  religion  lqss 
enforced,  life  held  less  sacred,  than  in 
other  countries.  Undoubtedly,  the  prej- 
udices of  foreign  nations,  the  interests 
of  foreign  governments,  have  led  to 
gross  exaggeration  of  evils  here.  The 
least  civilized  parts  of  the  country  are 
made  to  represent  the  whole,  and  occa- 
sional atrocities  are  construed  into  hab- 
its. But  who  does  not  feel  that  we  have 
given  cause  of  reproach  ? and  shall  we 
fix  this  reproach,  and  exasperate  it  into 
indignation  and  hatred,  by  adopting  a 
policy  against  which  the  moral  senti- 
ments of  the  Christian  world  Revolt  ? 
Shall  we  make  the  name  of  republic 
“a  stench  in  the.  nostrils  ” of  all  na- 
tions, by  employing  our  power  to  build 
up  and  spread  slavery,  by  resisting  the 


efforts  of  other  countries  for  its  aboli- 
tion, by  falling  behind  monarchies  in 
reverence  for  the  rights  of  men  ? 

When  we  look  forward  to  the  prob- 
able growth  of  this  country ; when  we 
think  of  the  millions  of  human  beings 
who  are  to  spread  over  our  present 
territory  ; of  the  career  of  improvement 
and  glory  opened  to  this  new  people  ; 
of  the  impulse  which  free  institutions, 
if  prosperous,  may  be  expected  to  give 
to  philosophy,  religion,  science,  litera- 
ture, and  arts  ; of  the  vast  field  in  which 
the  experiment  is  to  be  made,  of  what 
the  unfettered  powers  of  man  may 
achieve  ; of  the  bright  page  of  history 
which  our  fathers  have  filled,  and  of 
the  advantages  under  which  their  toils 
and  virtues  have  placed  us  for  carrying 
on  their  work  ; — when  we  think  of  all 
this,  can  we  help,  for  a moment,  sur- 
rendering ourselves  to  bright  visions 
of  our  country’s  glory,  before  which  all 
the  glories  of  the  past  are  to  fade  away  ? 
Is  it  presumption  to  say  that,  if  just  to 
ourselves  and  all  nations,  we  shall  be 
felt  through  this  whole  continent,  that 
we  shall  spread  our  language,  institu- 
tions, and  civilization  through  a wider 
space  than  any  nation  has  yet  filled 
with  a like  beneficent  influence  ? And 
are  we  prepared  to  barter  these  hopes, 
this  sublime  moral  empire,  for  conquests 
by  force  ? Are  we  prepared  to  sink  to 
the  level  of  unprincipled  nations,  to 
content  ourselves  with  a vulgar,  guilty 
greatness,  to  adopt  in  our  youth  maxims 
and  ends  which  must  brand  our  future 
with  sordidness,  oppression,  and  shame  ? 
This  country  cannot  without  peculiar 
infamy  run  the  common  race  of  national 
rapacity.  Our  origin,  institutions,  and 
position  are  peculiar,  and  all  favor  an 
upright,  honorable  course.  We  have 
not  the  apologies  of  nations  hemmed 
in  by  narrow  bounds,  or  threatened  by 
the  overshadowing  power  of  ambitious 
neighbors.  If  we  surrender  ourselves 
to  a selfish  policy,  we  shall  sin  almost 
without  temptation,  and  forfeit  oppor- 
tunities of  greatness  vouchsafed  to  no 
other  people,  for  a prize  below  con- 
tempt. 

I have  alluded  to  the  want  of  wisdom 
with  which  we  are  accustomed  to  speak 
of  our  destiny  as  a people.  We  are 
destined  (that  is  the  word)  to  overspread 
North  America  ; and,  intoxicated  with 
the  idea,  it  matters  little  to  us  how  we 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


777 


accomplish  our  fate.  To  spread,  to 
supplant  others,  to  cover  a boundless 
space,  this  seems  our  ambition,  no 
matter  what  influence  we  spread  with 
us.  Why  cannot  we  rise  to  noble  con- 
ceptions of  our  destiny  ? Why  do  we 
not  feel  that  our  work  as  a nation  is  to 
carry  freedom,  religion,  science,  and  a 
nobler  form  of  human  nature  over  this 
continent  ? and  why  do  we  not  remem- 
ber, that  to  diffuse  these  blessings  we 
must  first  cherish  them  in  our  own 
borders ; and  that  whatever  deeply  and 
permanently  corrupts  us  will  make  our 
spreading  influence  a curse,  not  a bless- 
ing to  this  New  World?  It  is  a com- 
mon idea  in  Europe  that  we  are  destined 
to  spread  an  inferior  civilization  over 
North  America ; that  our  slavery  and 
our  absorption  in  gain  and  outward  in- 
terests mark  us  out  as  fated  to  fall  be- 
hind the  Old  World  in  the  higher  im- 
provements of  human  nature,  in  the 
philosophy,  the  refinements,  the  enthu- 
siasm of  literature  and  the  arts,  which 
throw  a lustre  round  other  countries. 
I am  not  prophet  enough  to  read  our 
fate.  I believe,  indeed,  that  we  are 
to  make  our  futurity  for  ourselves.  I 
believe  that  a nation’s  destiny  lies  in 
its  character,  in  the  principles  which 
govern  its  policy  and  bear  rule  in  the 
hearts  of  its  citizens.  I take  my  stand 
on  God’s  moral  and  eternal  law.  A 
nation,  renouncing  and  defying  this, 
cannot  be  free,  cannot  be  great. 

Religious  men  in  this  community  — 
and  they  are  many  — are  peculiarly 
bound  to  read  the  future  history  of 
their  country,  not  in  the  flattering  prom- 
ises of  politicians,  but  in  the  warnings 
of  conscience,  and  in  the  declaration  of 
God’s  word.  They  know,  and  should 
make  it  known,  that  nations  cannot  con- 
solidate free  institutions  and  secure  a 
lasting  prosperity  by  crime.  They  know 
that  retribution  awaits  communities  as 
well  as  individuals ; and  they  should 
tremble  amidst  their  hopes,  when,  with 
this  solemn  truth  on  their  minds,  they 
look  round  on  their  country.  Let  them 
consider  the  clearness  with  which  God’s 
will  is  now  made  known,  and  the  signal 
blessings  of  his  providence  poured  out 
on  this  people,  with  a profusion  ac- 
corded to  no  other  under  heaven ; and 
then  let  them  consider  our  ingratitude 
for  his  boundless  gifts,  our  abuse  of 
his  beneficence  to  sensual  and  selfish 


gratification,  our  unmeasured,  unright- 
eous love  of  gain,  our  unprincipled 
party-spirit,  and  our  faithless  and  cruel 
wrongs  toward  the  Indian  race  ; and 
can  they  help  fearing  that  the  cup  of 
wrath  is  filling  for  this  people  ? Men, 
buried  in  themselves  and  in  outward 
interests,  atheists  in  heart  and  life,  may 
scoff  at  the  doctrine  of  national  retribu- 
tion, because  they  do  not  see  God’s  hand 
stretched  out  to  destroy  guilty  commu- 
nities. But  does  not  all  history  teach 
that  the  unlicensed  passions  of  a guilty 
people  are  more  terrible  ministers  of 
punishment  than  miraculous  inflictions  ? 
To  chastise  and  destroy,  God  need  not 
interfere  by  supernatural  judgments.  In 
every  community  there  are  elements  of 
discord,  revolution,  and  ruin,  pent  up 
in  the  human  soul,  which  need  only  to 
be  quickened  and  set  free  by  a new 
order  of  events,  to  shake  and  convulse 
the  whole  social  fabric.  Never  were 
the  causes  of  disastrous  change  in  hu- 
man affairs  more  active  than  at  the 
present  moment.  Society  heaves  and 
trembles  from  the  struggle  of  opposing 
principles,  as  the  earth  quakes  through 
the  force  of  central  fires.  This  is  not 
the  time  for  presumption,  for  defying 
Heaven  by  new  crimes,  for  giving  a 
new  range  to  cupidity  and  ambition. 
Men  who  fear  God  must  fear  for  their 
country  in  this  “ day  of  provocation,” 
and  they  will  be  false  to  their  country 
if  they  look  on  passively,  and  see  with- 
out remonstrance  the  consummation  of 
a great  national  crime,  which  cannot 
fail  to  bring  down  awful  retribution. 

I am  aware  that  there  are  those  who, 
on  reading  these  pages,  will  smile  at 
my  simplicity  in  urging  moral  and  relig- 
ious motives,  disinterested  considera- 
tions, lofty  aims,  on  a politician.  The 
common  notion  is,  that  the  course  of  a 
man  embarked  in  public  life  will  be 
shaped  by  the  bearing  of  passing  events 
on  his  immediate  popularity  ; that  virtue 
and  freedom,  however  they  may  round 
his  periods  in  the  senate,  have  little  in- 
fluence on  his  vote.  But  I do  not 
believe  that  public  life  is  necessarily 
degrading,  or  that  a statesman  is  inca- 
pable of  looking  above  himself.  Pub- 
lic life  appeals  to  the  noblest  as  well  as 
basest  principles  of  human  nature.  It 
holds  up  for  pursuit  enduring  fame,  as 
well  as  the  notoriety  of  the  passing 
hour.  By  giving  opportunities  of  act- 


ON  THE  ANNEX  A TION  OF  TEXAS 


778 

in g on  the  vast  and  permanent  interests 
of  a nation,  it  often  creates  a deep  sense 
of  responsibility,  and  a generous  self- 
oblivion.  I have  too  much  faith  in  hu- 
man nature  to  distrust  the  influence  of 
great  truths  and  high  motives  on  any 
class  of  men,  especially  on  men  of  com- 
manding intelligence.  There  is  a con- 
geniality between  vast  powers  of  thought 
and  dignity  of  purpose.  None  are  so 
capable  of  sacrificing  themselves  as 
those  who  have  most  to  sacrifice,  who, 
in  offering  themselves,  make  the  great- 
est offerings  to  humanity.  With  this 
conviction,  I am  not  discouraged  by  the 
anticipated  smiles  and  scoffs  of  those 
who  will  think  that,  in  insisting  on 
national  purity  as  the  essential  condi- 
tion of  freedom  and  greatness,  I have 
“ preached”  to  the  winds.  To  you, 
Sir,  rectitude  is  not  an  empty  name, 
nor  will  a measure  fraught  with  lasting 
corruption  and  shame  to  your  coun- 
try seem  to  you  any  thing  but  a fearful 
calamity. 

I have  now  finished  the  task  which  I 
have  felt  myself  bound  to  undertake. 
That  I have  escaped  all  error,  I cannot 
hope.  That  I may  have  fallen  into  oc- 
casional exaggeration,  I ought  perhaps 
to  fear,  from  the  earnestness  with  which 
I have  written.  But  of  the  essential 
truth  of  the  views  here  communicated,  I 
cannot  doubt.  It  is  exceedingly  to  be 
regretted  that  the  subject  of  this  letter 
has  as  yet  drawn  little  attention  at  the 
North.  The  unprecedented  pecuniary 
difficulties  pressing  now  on  the  country 
have  absorbed  the  public  mind.  And 
yet  these  difficulties,  should  they  be 
aggravated  and  continued  far  beyond 
what  is  most  dreaded,  would  be  a light 
national  evil  compared  with  the  annex- 
ation of  Texas  to  the  Union.  I trust 
the  people  will  not  slumber  on  the  edge 
of  this  precipice  till  it  shall  be  too  late 
to  reflect  and  provide  for  safety.  Too 
much  time  has  been  given  for  the  ripen- 
ing of  this  unrighteous  project.  I doubt 
not,  as  I have  said,  that  opposition  exists 
to  it  in  the  slave-holding  States.  This, 
if  manifested  in  any  strength,  would 
immediately  defeat  it.  The  other  States 
should  raise  a voice  against  it,  like  the 
voice  of  many  waters.  Party  dissen- 
sions should  be  swallowed  up  in  this 
vast  common  interest.  The  will  of  the 
people,  too  strong  and  fixed  to  be  re- 
sisted, should  be  expressed  to  Congress 


in  remonstrances  from  towns,  cities, 
counties,  and  legislatures.  Let  no  man, 
who  feels  the  greatness  of  the  evil  which 
threatens  us,  satisfy  himself  with  un- 
profitable regrets  ; but  let  each  embody 
his  opposition  in  a form  which  will  give 
incitement  to  his  neighbors,  and  act  on 
men  in  power. 

I take  it  for  granted  that  those  who 
differ  from  me  will  ascribe  what  I have 
written  to  unworthy  motives.  This  is 
the  common  mode  of  parrying  unwel- 
come truths  ; and  it  is  not  without  in- 
fluence where  the  author  is  unknown. 
May  I,  then,  be  allowed  to  say,  that  I 
have  strong  reasons  for  believing  that, 
among  the  many  defects  of  this  let- 
ter, those  of  unworthy  intention  are 
not  to  be  numbered.  The  reluctance 
with  which  I have  written  satisfies  me 
that  I have  not  been  impelled  by  any 
headlong  passion.  Nor  can  I have  been 
impelled  by  party-spirit.  I am  pledged 
to  no  party.  In  truth,  I do  not  feel  my- 
self able  to  form  a decisive  opinion  on 
the  subjects  which  now  inflame  and 
divide  the  country,  and  which  can  be 
very  little  understood  except  by  men 
who  have  made  a study  of  commerce 
and  finance.  As  to  having  written  from 
that  most  common  motive,  the  desire  of 
distinction,  I may  be  permitted  to  say, 
that  to  win  the  public  ear  I need  not  en- 
gage in  a controversy  which  will  expose 
me  to  unmeasured  reproach.  May  I add, 
that  I have  lived  long  enough  to  learn 
the  worth  of  applause.  Could  I,  in- 
deed, admit  the  slightest  hope  of  secur- 
ing to  myself  that  enduring  fame  which 
future  ages  award  to  the  lights  and 
benefactors  of  their  race,  I could  not 
but  be  stirred  by  the  prospect.  But 
notoriety  among  contemporaries,  ob- 
tained by  taking  part  in  the  irritating 
discussions  of  the  day,  I would  not 
stretch  out  a hand  to  secure. 

I cannot  but  fear  that  the  earnestness 
with  which  I have  written  may  seem  to 
indicate  an  undue  excitement  of  mind. 
But  I have  all  along  felt  distinctly  the  im- 
portance of  calmness,  and  have  seemed 
to  myself  to  maintain  it.  I have  pre- 
pared this  letter,  not  amidst  the  goad- 
ings,  irritations,  and  feverish  tumults  of 
a crowded  city,  but  in  the  stillness  of 
retirement,  amid  scenes  of  peace  and 
beauty.  Hardly  an  hour  has  passed  in 
which  I have  not  sought  relief  from  the 
exhaustion  of  writing  by  walking  abroad 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


amidst  God’s  works,  which  seldom  fail 
to  breathe  tranquillity,  and  which,  by 
their  harmony  and  beneficence,  con- 
tinually cheer  me,  as  emblems  and 
prophecies  of  a more  harmonious  and 
blessed  state  of  human  affairs  than  has 
yet  been  known.  Perhaps  some  will 
object  it  to  me  that  a man,  living  in 
such  retirement,  unfits  himself  to  judge 
of  passing  events,  that  he  is  prone  to 
substitute  his  visions  for  realities,  and 
to  legislate  for  a world  which  does  not 
exist.  I acknowledge  the  danger  of 
such  a position.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
is  equally  true  that  the  man  who  lives 
in  a crowd  and  receives  perpetual  im- 
pulse from  its  prejudices  and  passions, 
who  connects  himself  with  a party  and 
looks  to  it  for  reward,  cannot  easily  keep 
his  mind  open  to  truth,  or  sacrifice  the 
interests  of  the  moment  to  everlasting 
principles  and  the  enduring  welfare  of 
his  country.  Everywhere  our  frail  nat- 
ure is  severely  tried.  All  circumstances 
have  their  perils.  In  every  condition 
there  are  biases  to  wrong  judgment  and 
incitements  to  wrong  action.  Through 
such  discipline  we  are  to  make  our  way 
to  truth  and  perfection.  The  dread  of 
these  dangers  must  not  keep  us  inactive. 
Having  sought  to  understand  the  diffi- 
culties in  our  respective  paths,  and  hav- 
ing done  what  we  can  to  learn  the  truth, 
we  must  commit  ourselves  to  our  con- 
victions without  fear,  expressing  them 
in  word  and  action,  and  leaving  results 
to  Him  who  will  accept  our  pure  pur- 
pose, and  whose  providence  is  the  pledge 
of  the  ultimate  triumphs  of  humanity 
and  uprightness. 

You  and  I,  my  dear  Sir,  are  approach- 
ing that  period  of  life  when  the  passions 
lose  much  of  their  force,  when  disap- 
pointment, bereavement,  the  fall  of  our 
contemporaries  on  the  right  hand  and 
the  left,  and  long  experience  of  the 
emptiness  of  human  favor  and  of  the 
instability  of  all  earthly  goods,  are 
teaching  us  the  lofty  lessons  of  superi- 
ority to  the  fleeting  opinion  of  our  day, 
of  reliance  on  the  everlasting  law  of 
right,  of  reference  to  a higher  Judge 
than  man,  of  solemn  anticipation  of  our 
final  account.  Permit  me  to  close  this 
letter,  with  desiring  for  you,  in  your 
commanding  station,  what  I ask  for  my- 
self in  private  life,  that  we  may  be  faith- 
ful to  ourselves,  to  our  country,  to  man- 
kind, to  the  benevolent  principles  of  the 


779 

Christian  faith,  and  to  the  common 
Father  of  the  whole  human  race. 

Very  respectfully, 

Your  friend  and  servant, 

William  E.  Channing. 
Newport,  R.I.,  August  i,  1837. 


Note.  — A few  remarks,  which  have 
been  suggested  since  the  completion  of 
the  preceding  letter,  I shall  throw  into  a 
note. 

The  recognition  of  the  independence 
of  Texas  by  our  government  is  to  be 
lamented,  as  unbecomingly  hasty,  and 
as  a violation  of  the  principle  adopted 
by  Mr.  Monroe  in  regard  to  the  Spanish 
colonies.  “ These  new  states,”  he  says, 
“had  completely  established  their  in- 
dependence before  we  acknowledged 
them.”  We  have  recognized  Texas  as 
a nation,  having  all  the  attributes  of 
sovereignty,  and  competent  to  the  dis- 
charge of  all  the  obligations  of  an  inde- 
pendent state.  And  what  is  Texas  ? A 
collection  of  a few  settlements,  which 
would  vanish  at  once  were  a Mexican 
army  of  any  force  to  enter  the  country. 
One  decisive  victory  would  scatter  all 
Texas  like  a horde  of  Tartars,  and  not  a 
trace  of  its  institutions  and  population 
would  remain.  We  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  think  of  a nation  as  something 
permanent,  as  having  some  fixtures, 
some  lasting  bond  of  union.  There 
would  be  nothing  to  hold  Texas  to- 
gether, were  her  single,  small  army  to 
be  routed  in  one  battle.  To  send  a 
minister  plenipotentiary  to  such  a hand- 
ful of  people,  made  up  chiefly  of  our 
own  citizens,  is  to  degrade  *he  forms  of 
national  intercourse.  This  new  republic, 
with  its  president  and  diplomatic  corps, 
has  been  called  a farce.  But  the  tragic 
element  prevails  so  much  over  the  farci- 
cal in  this  whole  business,  that  we  can- 
not laugh  at  it.  The  movements  of  our 
government  in  regard  to  Texas  are 
chiefly  interesting  as  they  are  thought 
to  indicate  a disposition  favorable  to 
its  annexation  to  our  country.  But  we 
will  not  believe  that  the  government  is 
resolved  on  this  great  wrong,  unless  we 
are  compelled  so  to  do.  We  hope  that 
the  present  administration  will  secure  the 
confidence  of  good  men  by  well-consid- 
ered and  upright  measures,  looking  be- 
yond momentary  interests  to  the  lasting 
peace,  order,  and  strength  of  the  country. 


ON  THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS 


780 

There  is  another  objection  to  the  an- 
nexation of  Texas,  which,  after  our  late 
experience,  is  entitled  to  attention.  This 
possession  will  involve  us  in  new  Indian 
wars.  Texas,  besides  being  open  to  the 
irruption  of  the  tribes  within  our  terri- 
tories, has  a tribe  of  its  own,  the  Caman- 
ches,  which  is  described  as  more  formi- 
dable than  any  in  North  America.  Such 
foes  are  not  to  be  coveted.  The  Indi- 
ans ! that  ominous  word,  which  ought 
to  pierce  the  conscience  of  this  nation 
more  than  the  savage  war-cry  pierces 
the  ear.  The  Indians  ! Have  we  not 
inflicted  and  endured  evil  enough  in  our 
intercourse  with  this  wretched  people,  to 
abstain  from  new  wars  with  them?  Is 
the  tragedy  of  Florida  to  be  acted  again 
and  again  in  our  own  day,  and  in  our 
children’s  ? 

In  addition  to  what  I have  said  of  the 
constitutional  objections  to  the  annexa- 
tion of  Texas  to  our  country,  I would 
observe,  that  we  may  infer,  from  the 
history  and  language  of  the  Constitu- 
tion, that  our  national  Union  was  so  far 
from  being  intended  to  spread  slavery 
over  new  countries,  that,  had  the  possi- 
bility of  such  a result  been  anticipated, 
decided  provisions  would  have  been  in- 
troduced for  its  prevention.  It  is  worthy 
of  remark,  how  anxious  the  framers  of 
that  instrument  were  to  exclude  from  it 
the  word  slavery.  They  were  not  will- 
ing that  this  feature  of  our  social  system 
should  be  betrayed  in  the  construction 
of  our  free  government.  A stranger 
might  read  it  without  suspecting  the  ex- 
istence of  this  institution  among  us. 
Were  slavery  to  be  wholly  abolished 
here,  no  change  would  be  needed  in  the 
Constitution,  nor  would  any  part  become 
obsolete  except  an  obscure  clause,  which, 
in  apportioning  the  representatives,  pro- 
vides that  there  shall  be  added  to  the 
whole  number  of  free  persons  “ three- 
fifths  of  other  persons.”  Slavery  is  stu- 
diously thrown  into  the  background. 
How  little  did  our  forefathers  suppose 
that  it  was  to  become  a leading  interest 
of  the  government,  to  which  our  peace 
at  home  and  abroad  was  to  be  made  a 
sacrifice ! 

I have  said,  that  I desire  no  political 
union  with  communities  bent  on  spread- 
ing and  perpetuating  slavery.  It  is 
hardly  necessary  to  observe,  that  this 
was  not  intended  to  express  a desire 
to  decline  friendly  intercourse  with  the 


members  of  those  communities.  Indi- 
viduals, who  have  received  from  their 
ancestors  some  pernicious  prejudice  or 
institution,  may  still,  in  their  general 
spirit,  be  disinterested  and  just.  Our 
testimony  against  the  wrong  which  such 
men  practise  is  not  to  be  stifled  or  im- 
paired by  the  feelings  of  interest  or 
attachment  which  they  inspire  ; nor,  on 
the  other  hand,  must  this  wrong  be 
spread  by  our  imaginations  over  their 
whole  characters,  so  as  to  seem  their 
sole  attribute,  and  so  as  to  hide  all 
their  claims  to  regard.  In  an  age  of 
reform,  one  of  the  hardest  duties  is  to 
be  inflexibly  hostile  to  the  long-rooted 
corruptions  of  society,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  be  candid  and  just  to  those  who 
uphold  them.  It  is  true  that,  with  the 
most  friendly  feelings,  we  shall  probably 
give  offence  to  those  who  are  interested 
in  abuses  which  we  condemn.  But  we 
are  not  on  this  account  absolved  from 
the  duty  of  cultivating  and  expressing 
kindness  and  justice,  of  laying  strong 
restraint  on  our  passions,  and  of  avoid- 
ing all  needless  provocation. 

The  speech  of  Mr.  Adams  on  the 
subject  of  the  preceding  letter,  delivered 
in  Congress,  in  December,  1835,  should 
be  republished  and  circulated.  It  de- 
serves to  be  read  as  a specimen  of  par- 
liamentary eloquence  ; and  its  moral 
and  political  views  are  worthy  of  its 
eminent  author. 

There  seems  to  be  an  apprehension 
at  the  South  that  the  free  States,  should 
they  obtain  the  ascendency,  might  be 
disposed  to  use  the  powers  of  the  gov- 
ernment for  the  abolition  of  slavery. 
On  this  point  there  is  but  one  feeling  at 
the  North.  The  free  States  feel  that 
they  have  no  more  right  to  abolish  sla- 
very in  the  slave-holding  States  than  in 
a foreign  country.  They  regard  the 
matter  as  wholly  out  of  their  reach. 
They,  indeed,  claim  the  right  of  setting 
forth  the  evils  of  slavery,  as  of  any 
other  pernicious  and  morally  wrong  in- 
stitution. But  the  thought  of  touching 
the  laws  which  established  it  in  any 
State,  they  reject  without  a discordant 
voice.  In  regard  to  the  District  of 
Columbia,  many  of  us  feel  that  slavery 
continues  there  by  the  action  of  all  the 
States  ; that  the  free  States,  therefore, 
are  responsible  for  it ; and  we  maintain 
that  it  is  most  unreasonable  that  an  in- 
stitution should  be  sustained  by  those 


TO  THE  UNITED  STATES . 


who  hold  it  to  be  immoral  and  perni- 
cious. But  we  feel  no  such  responsi- 
bility for  slavery  in  the  slave-holding 
States.  These  States  must  determine 
for  themselves  how  long  it  shall  con- 
tinue, and  by  what  means  it  shall  be 
abolished.  We  solemnly  urge  them  to 
use  their  power  for  its  removal ; but 
nothing  would  tempt  us  to  wrest  the 
power  from  them,  if  we  could.  The 
South  has  fears  that  the  free  States  may 
be  hurried  away  by  “ enthusiasm  ” into 
usurpation  of  unconstitutional  powers 
on  the  subject.  One  is  tempted  to 
smile  at  the  want  of  acquaintance  with 
the  North  which  such  an  apprehension 
betrays.  This  enthusiasm,  to  endanger 
the  South,  must  spread  through  all  the 
free  States  ; for,  as  the  slave-holders 
are  unanimous,  nothing  but  a like  una- 
nimity in  their  opponents  can  expose 
them  to  harm.  And  is  it  possible  that 
a large  number  of  communities,  spread 
over  a vast  surface,  having  a diversity 
of  interests,  and  all  absorbed  in  the 
pursuit  of  gain  to  a degree,  perhaps, 
without  a parallel,  should  be  driven  by 
a moral,  philanthropic  enthusiasm  into 
violations  of  a national  compact,  by 
which  their  peace  and  prosperity  would 
be  put  in  peril,  and  into  combined  and 
lawless  efforts  against  other  communi- 
ties with  whom  they  sustain  exceedingly 
profitable  connections,  and  from  whom 
they  could  not  be  sundered  without 
serious  loss  ? Whoever  is  acquainted 
with  the  free  States  knows  that  the  ex- 
cesses to  which  they  are  exposed  are 
not  so  much  those  of  enthusiasm  as  of 
caution  and  worldly  prudence.  The 
patience  with  which  they  have  endured 
recent  violent  measures  directed  against 
their  citizens  shows  little  propensity  to 
rashness.  The  danger  is  not  so  much 
that  they  will  invade  the  rights  of  other 
members  of  the  confederacy,  as  that 
they  will  be  indifferent  to  their  own. 


781 

I have  spoken  in  this  letter  of  the 
estimation  in  which  this  country  is  held 
abroad.  I hope  I shall  not  be  num- 
bered among  those,  too  common  here, 
who  are  irritably  alive  to  the  opinions 
of  other  nations,  to  the  censures  and 
misrepresentations  of  travellers.  To  a 
great  and  growing  people,  how  insig- 
nificant is  the  praise  or  blame  of  a 
traveller  or  a nation  ! “ None  of  these 

things  move  me.”  But  one  thing  does 
move  me.  It  is  a sore  evil  that  freedom 
should  be  blasphemed,  that  republican 
institutions  should  forfeit  the  confidence 
of  mankind  through  the  unfaithfulness 
of  this  people  to  their  trust. 

In  reviewing  this  letter,  I perceive 
that  I have  used  the  strong  language  in 
which  the  apprehension  of  great  evils 
naturally  expresses  itself.  1 hope  this 
will  not  be  construed  as  betokening  any 
anxieties  or  misgivings  in  regard  to 
the  issues  of  passing  events.  I place 
a cheerful  trust  in  Providence.  The 
triumphs  in  evil,  which  men  call  great, 
are  but  clouds  passing  over  the  serene 
and  everlasting  heavens.  Public  men 
may,  in  craft  or  passion,  decree  violence 
and  oppression.  But  silently,  irresist- 
ibly, they  and  their  works  are  swept 
away.  A voice  of  encouragement  comes 
to  us  from  the  ruins  of  the  past,  from 
the  humiliations  of  the  proud,  from  the 
prostrate  thrones  of  conquerors,  from  the 
baffled  schemes  of  statesmen,  from  the 
reprobation  with  which  the  present  age 
looks  back  on  the  unrighteous  policy  of 
former  times.  Such  sentence. the  future 
will  pass  on  present  wrongs.  Men, 
measures,  and  all  earthly  interests  pass 
away  ; but  principles  are  eternal.  Truth, 
justice,  and  goodness  partake  of  the 
omnipotence  and  immutableness  of  God, 
whose  essence  they  are.  In  these  it  be- 
comes us  to  place  a calm,  joyful  trust, 
in  the  darkest  hour. 


7 82 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


REMARKS  ON  THE  SLAVERY  QUESTION, 

In  a Letter  to  Jonathan  Phillips , Esq . 


My  dear  Sir,  — On  reading  Mr. 
Clay’s  speech  on  Slavery,  many  thoughts 
were  suggested  to  me  which  I wished  to 
communicate  ; and  our  conversation  of 
last  evening  confirmed  me  in  the  pur- 
pose of  laying  them  before  the  public. 

I have  resolved  to  give  my  views  in  the 
form  of  a letter,  because  I can  do  my 
work  more  easily  and  rapidly  in  this  way 
than  in  any  other.  A general  methodi- 
cal discussion  of  the  subject  would  be 
more  agreeable  to  me  ; but  we  must  do 
what  we  can.  I must  write  in  haste,  or 
not  at  all.  If  others  would  take  the 
subject  in  hand,  I should  gladly  be  silent. 
Something  ought  to  be  spoken  on  the 
occasion  ; but  who  will  speak  ? My 
range  of  topics  will  be  somewhat  large  ; 
nor,  if  good  can  be  done,  shall  I hesitate 
to  stray  beyond  the  document  which  first 
suggested  this  communication. 

I shall  often  be  obliged  to  introduce 
the  name  of  Mr.  Clay ; but,  as  you  will 
see,  I regard  him  in  this  discussion  sim- 
ply as  the  representative  of  a body  of  men, 
— simply  as  having  given  wide  circula- 
tion to  a set  of  opinions.  I have  nothing 
to  do  with  his  motives.  It  is  common 
to  ascribe  the  efforts  of  politicians  to 
selfish  aims.  But  why  mix  up  the  man 
with  the  cause  ? In  general,  we  do  well 
to  let  an  opponent’s  motives  alone.  We 
are  seldom  just  to  them.  Our  own 
motives  on  such  occasions  are  often 
worse  than  those  we  assail.  Besides, 
our  business  is  with  the  arguments,  not 
the  character,  of  an  adversary.  A speech 
is  not  refuted  by  imputations,  true  or 
false,  on  the  speaker.  There  is,  indeed, 
a general  presumption  against  a politi- 
cian’s purity  of  purpose  ; but  public 
men  differ  in  character  as  much  as 
private ; and  when  a statesman  holds 
an  honorable  place  in  his  class,  and 
brings  high  gifts  to  a discussion,  he 
ought  to  be  listened  to  with  impartiality 
and  respect.  For  one,  I desire  that  sla- 
very should  be  defended  by  the  ablest 
men  among  its  upholders.  In  the  long 


run,  truth  is  aided  by  nothing  so  much 
as  by  opposition,  and  by  the  opposition 
of  those  who  can  give  the  full  strength  of 
the  argument  on  the  side  of  error.  In 
an  age  of  authority  and  spiritual  bond- 
age, the  opinions  of  an  individual  are 
often  important,  — sometimes  decisive. 
One  voice  may  determine  the  judgment 
of  a country.  But,  in  an  age  of  free  dis- 
cussion, little  is  to  be  feared  from  great 
names,  on  whatever  side  arrayed.  When 
I hear  a man  complaining  that  some 
cause  which  he  has  at  heart  will  be  put 
back  for  years  by  a speech  or  a book, 
I suspect  that  his  attachment  to  it  is  a 
prejudice  ; that  he  has  no  consciousness 
of  standing  on  a rock.  The  more  dis- 
cussion the  better,  if  passion  and  per- 
sonality be  eschewed  ; and  discussion, 
even  if  stormy,  often  winnows  truth  from 
error,  — a good  never  to  be  expected  in 
an  uninquiring  age. 

I have  said  that  my  concern  is  wholly 
with  Mr.  Clay’s  speech,  not  with  the 
author  ; and  I would  add,  that  in  the 
greater  part  of  the  discussion  which 
is  to  follow,  my  concern  will  be  with 
slavery,  and  not  with  the  slave-holder. 
Principles,  not  men,  are  what  I wish  to 
examine  and  judge.  For  the  sake  of 
truth  and  good  temper,  personalities  are 
to  be  shunned  as  far  as  they  may.  I 
shall  speak  strongly  of  slavery,  for  we 
serve  neither  truth  nor  virtue  by  prun- 
ing discourse  into  tameness  ; but  a 
criminal  institution  does  not  necessa- 
rily imply  any  singular  criminality  in 
those  who  uphold  it.  An  institution, 
the  growth  of  barbarous  times,  trans- 
mitted from  distant  ages,  and  “sancti- 
fied” by  the  laws,  is  a very  different 
thing,  as  far  as  the  character  of  its 
friends  is  concerned,  from  what  it  would 
be  were  it  deliberately  adopted  at  the 
present  day.  I must,  indeed,  ascribe 
much  culpableness  to  the  body  of  slave- 
holder^, just  as  I see  much  to  blame  in 
political  parties  ; but  do  I therefore  set 
down  all  the  members  of  these  classes 


SLAVERY  QUESTION, 


as  unprincipled  men  ? The  injustice, 
criminality,  inhumanity  of  a practice  we 
can  judge.  The  guilt  of  our  neighbor  we 
can  never  weigh  with  exactness  ; and  in 
most  cases  must  refer  him  to  a higher 
tribunal.  This  I say  that  I may  separate 
the  subject  from  personalities.  To  me, 
the  slave-holder  is  very  much  an  ab- 
straction. The  word,  as  here  used, 
expresses  a general  relation.  The  in- 
dividual seldom  or  never  enters  my 
thoughts. 

The  principal  part  of  Mr.  Clay’s 
speech  is  an  attack  on  the  abolitionists. 
These  I have  no  thought  of  defending. 
They  must  fight  their  own  battle.  I am 
not  of  them,  and  nothing  would  induce 
me  to  become  responsible  for  their  move- 
ments. And  this  I say  from  no  desire 
to  shift  from  myself  an  unpopular  name. 
It  will  be  seen,  in  the  course  of  these 
remarks,  that  I am  not  studying  to 
soothe  prejudice  or  to  make  a compro- 
mise with  error.  I separate  myself  from 
the  abolitionists  from  no  sensitiveness 
to  reproach.  A man  who  has  studied 
Christianity  and  history  as  long  as  you 
and  myself  will  not  be  very  anxious  to 
shelter  himself  from  what  has  been  the 
common  lot  of  the  friends  of  truth.  How- 
ever the  abolitionists  may  have  erred,  I 
honor  them  as  advocates  of  the  princi- 
ples of  freedom,  justice,  and  humanity, 
and  for  having  clung  to  these  amidst 
threats,  perils,  and  violence.  In  declin- 
ing all  connection  with  them,  I am  in- 
fluenced by  no  desire  to  make  over  to 
others  all  the  censures  and  invectives  of 
the  community ; but  I simply  wish  to 
take  my  true  position,  — to  appear  what 
I am'. 

Mr.  Clay’s  speech,  however  intended 
for  the  abolitionists,  contains  passages 
at  which  every  man  interested  in  the  re- 
moval of  slavery  must  take  offence ; 
and  to  these  my  remarks  will  be  con- 
fined. The  most  important  part  of  it, 
indeed,  has  no  special  bearing  on  the 
abolitionists,  but  concerns  equally  all 
the  free  States.  I refer  to  that  in  which 
we  are  told  that  slavery  is  to  be  perpet- 
ual, that  we  have  nothing  to  hope  in 
this  respect  from  the  South.  Every 
other  part  of  the  speech  sinks  into  in- 
significance in  comparison  with  this. 
Coming  from  any  other  man,  this  docu- 
ment would  be  less  important.  But  Mr. 
Clay  is  no  rash  talker.  His  legislative 
course  has  been  distinguished  by  noth- 


783 

ing  so  much  as  by  his  skill  in  compro- 
mising discordant  opinions.  His  speech 
was  meant  to  be  a compromise,  to  ex- 
ert a healing  power.  He  does  not,  in  a 
fit  of  transient,  blinding  anger,  dash  to 
the  ground  our  hopes  of  relief  from  the 
intolerable  evils  of  slavery.  He  states 
deliberately  the  grand  obstacle  to  eman- 
cipation, and  it  is  one  which  can  only  be 
removed  by  the  dying  out  of  the  slaves. 
He  takes  the  ground  that  if  the  two 
races  are  to  live  together,  one  must  be 
hopelessly  subjugated  to  the  other,  so  as 
to  prevent  collision.  Emancipation,  he 
gives  us  to  understand,  would  be  a sig- 
nal for  civil  war,  to  end  only  in  exter- 
mination. And  as  this  peril,  if  real, 
increases  with  the  increase  of  the  ser- 
vile class,  of  consequence  every  year’s 
continuance  of  the  evil  makes  freedom, 
if  possible,  more  and  more  to  be  de- 
spaired of.  We  lament  and  abhor  this 
doctrine,  but  are  truly  glad  that  it  is 
brought  out  distinctly,  that  the  free 
States  may  know  what  they  are  to  ex- 
pect. A vague  hope  has  floated  before 
many  minds,  that  this  immense  evil  was 
in  some  way  or  other  to  cease.  On  this 
ground,  such  of  us  in  the  free  States  as 
have  written  against  slavery  have  been 
rebuked.  Our  friends,  as  well  as  foes, 
have  said,  “ Be  quiet ; let  the  South 
alone  ; it  will  find  for  itself  the  way  of 
emancipation.  You  throw  back  the  good 
work  a century.”  We  have  all  along 
known  better.  We  have  known  that 
long  use,  the  love  of  property,  and  the 
love  of  power,  had  bound  this  evil  on 
the  South  with  a triple  adamantine  chain. 
We  have  known  that  the  increasing  cult- 
ure of  cotton  was  spreading  slavery 
with  immense  rapidity  through  new 
regions,  and,  by  rendering  it  more  gain- 
ful, was  strengthening  the  obstinacy 
with  which  it  is  grasped  by  the  owner. 
We  have  known  that,  in  consequence  of 
this  culture,  the  Northern  slave  States, 
whose  soil  the  system  had  exhausted, 
have  acquired  a new  interest  in  it,  by 
humbling  themselves  to  the  condition  of 
slave-breeding  and  slave-trading  com- 
munities. We  have  seen  that  the  insti- 
tution, if  to  be  shaken  or  subverted, 
was  to  be  stormed  from  abroad,  not  by 
“ carnal  weapons,”  not  by  physical  force, 
but  by  those  moral  influences  which,  if 
steadily  poured  in  upon  a civilized  peo- 
ple, must  gradually  prevail.  It  is  now 
seen  that  we  were  right.  It  is  now  plain 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


784 

that  the  South  has  deliberately  wedded 
itself  to  slavery.  We  are  glad  to  have 
it  known.  The  speech  publishing  this 
doctrine  was  meant  to  be  a herald  of 
peace,  but  it  is  in  truth  a summons  to 
new  conflict.  It  calls  those  who  regard 
slavery  as  a grievous  outrage  on  human 
nature  to  spread  their  convictions  with 
unremitting  energy.  I take  the  ground 
that  no  communities,  unless  cutting 
themselves  off  from  the  civilized  world, 
can  withstand  just,  enlightened,  earnest 
opinion  ; and  this  power  must  be  brought 
to  bear  on  slavery  more  zealously  than 
ever. 

I observe,  in  passing,  that  Mr.  Clay, 
in  giving  us  no  hope  for  the  extinction 
of  slavery  but  in  the  extinction  of  the 
colored  race,  puts  an  end  to  all  expecta- 
tion of  aid  in  this  respect  from  the  Col- 
onization Society,  an  institution  of  which 
he  is  an  ardent  friend,  and,  for  aught  I 
know,  is  now  the  president ; and  I trust 
his  frankness  will  open  the  eyes  of  those 
who  dream  of  removing  slavery  by  the 
process  of  draining  it  off  to  another 
country,  — a process  about  as  reasona- 
ble as  that  of  draining  the  Atlantic.  Col- 
onization may  do  good  in  Africa.  It 
does  only  harm  among  ourselves.  It  has 
confirmed  the  prejudice,  to  which  slavery 
owes  much  of  its  strength,  that  the  col- 
ored man  cannot  live  and  prosper  as 
a freeman  on  these  shores.  It  indeed 
sends  out  to  the  public  now  and  then 
accounts  of  planters  who  have  freed  a 
greater  or  less  number  of  slaves  to  be 
shipped  to  Africa.  But  these  very  op- 
erations strengthen  slavery  at  home, 
Could  the  master  send  his  plantation  to 
Africa  with  his  slaves,  he  would  serve 
the  cause  of  freedom.  But  the  land 
remains  here,  and  remains  to  be  tilled  ; 
and  by  whom  must  the  cultivation  go 
on  ? By  slaves.  Of  course  new  slaves 
must  be  bought.  Of  course  the  de- 
mand for  slaves  is  increased  ; and  the 
price  of  a man  rises  ; and  a new  mo- 
tive is  given  to  the  slave-breeding 
States  to  stock  the  market  with  hu- 
man cattle.  Thus  the  barbarous  trade 
in  men  strikes  deeper  root.  No  ! Col- 
onization darkens  the  prospects  of  hu- 
manity at  home,  however  it  may  brighten 
them  abroad.  It  has  done  much  to 
harden  the  slave-holder  in  his  purpose 
of  holding  fast  his  victim,  and  thus  in- 
creases the  necessity  of  more  earnest 
remonstrance  against  slavery. 


Mr.  Clay,  of  course,  will  not  allow 
that  the  resolution  of  making  slavery 
perpetual  at  the  South  is  a reason  for 
new  assaults  on  the  system.  He  in- 
sists, on  the  contrary,  with  the  whole 
South,  that  we  in  this  region  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  matter ; that  it  is  no 
concern  of  ours  ; and  that  to  labor  here 
for  the  subversion  of  an  institution  in 
other  States  is  a criminal  interference. 
Interference  is  the  word  which  has  been 
applied  to  all  agitation  of  this  subject  at 
the  North  ; and  the  censure  implied  in 
the  term  has  misled  the  unthinking  into 
a vague  notion  that  to  touch  the  subject 
here  is  doing  wrong  to  the  South.  But 
I maintain  that  there  is  a moral  inter- 
ference with  our  fellow-creatures  at 
home  and  abroad,  not  only  to  be  as- 
serted as  a right,  but  binding  as  a duty. 
This  is  the  first  topic  of  discussion,  and 
its  importance  will  induce  me  to  treat  it 
at  large. 

We  are  told  that  the  slave-holding 
States,  in  relation  to  this  point,  stand  on 
the  same  ground  with  foreign  countries, 
and  are  consequently  to  be  treated  with 
equal  delicacy  and  reserve.  This  posi- 
tion I deny  ; but  grant  it ; I maintain 
the  right  of  acting  on  foreign  countries 
by  moral  means  for  moral  ends.  Sup- 
pose that  there  were  in  contact  with  us 
a foreign  state,  which  should  ordain  by 
law  that  every  child  born  with  black  hair 
or  a darkly-shaded  face  should  be  put 
to  death  ; and  suppose  that  every  sixth 
child  should  be  slaughtered  by  this  bar- 
barous decree.  Or  take  the  case  of  a 
community  at  our  door,  which  should 
restore  the  old  gladiatorial  shows,  and 
suppose  that  a large  part  of  the  popula- 
tion should  perish  in  these  execrable 
games.  Who  of  us  would  feel  himself 
bound  to  hold  his  peace  because  these 
atrocities  were  committed  beyond  our 
boundaries  ? Who  would  say  that  the 
tortures  of  the  slain  were  no  concern  of 
ours,  because  not  of  our  own  parish  or 
country?  Is  humanity  a local  feeling? 
Does  sympathy  stop  at  a frontier  ? Does 
the  heart  shrink  and  harden  as  it  ap- 
proximates an  imaginary  line  on  the 
earth’s  surface  ? Is  moral  indignation 
moved  only  by  crimes  perpetrated  un- 
der our  own  eyes  ? Has  duty  no  work 
to  do  beyond  our  native  land  ? Does  a 
man  cease  to  be  a brother  by  living  in 
another  state  ? Is  liberty  nothing  to  us 
I if  cloven  down  at  a little  distance  ? 


735 


SLA  VER  Y QUESTION. 


Christianity  teaches  different  lessons. 
Its  spirit  is  unconfined  love.  One  of  its 
grandest  truths  is  human  brotherhood. 
Under  its  impulses  Christians  send  the 
preacher  of  the  cross  to  distant  coun- 
tries, to  war  with  deep-rooted  institu- 
tions. The  spiritual  ties  which  bind  all 
men  together  were  not  woven  by  human 
policy,  nor  can  statesmen  sunder  them. 

Suppose  that  one  of  the  States  of  the 
Union  should  become  pledged  by  its 
institutions  to  intemperance,  that  its 
laws  should  be  framed  to  encourage  the 
production  and  consumption  of  ardent 
spirits.  Would  not  every  other  State  be 
bound  to  give  utterance  to  its  detesta- 
tion of  this  horrible  system  ? Suppose 
that  temperance  societies,  in  their  anx- 
iety to  purify  this  sink  of  corruption, 
should  make  its  excesses  and  crimes 
their  standing  themes.  Who  of  us 
would  recognize  the  right  of  the  intem- 
perate State  to  repel  this  interference  as 
an  assault  o.n  its  sovereignty  ? What 
should  we  think  were  this  community  to 
insist  that  it  would  not  suffer  its  charac- 
ter to  be  traduced,  or  the  product  on 
which  its  wealth  and  revenues  depended 
to  be  diminished,  and  that  it  would  re- 
cede from  the  Union  unless  permitted 
to  manufacture  and  drink  alcohol  unre- 
proved ? These  questions  answer  them- 
selves. But  I shall  undoubtedly  be 
asked  whether  intemperance  and  slavery 
be  parallel  cases  ? They  are  parallel  as 
viewed  in  relation  to  my  object,  which 
is,  not  to  weigh  the  guilt  of  different 
crimes,  but  to  establish  a general  princi- 
ple, to  establish  the  right  and  duty  of 
men  to  oppose  the  force  of  moral  repro- 
bation to  prevalent  moral  evils,  whether 
in  our  own  or  other  countries.  In  re- 
gard to  the  comparative  guilt  of  intem- 
perance and  slavery,  I will  only  say  that 
the  last  involves  the  worst  evil  of  the 
first ; that  is,  it  does  much  to  degrade 
men  into  brutes.  There  is,  however, 
this  difference,  — the  intemperate  man 
degrades  himself,  the  slave-holder  de- 
grades his  fellow-creatures.  Which  of 
the  two  is  most  culpable  in  the  sight  of 
God,  let  every  man  judge. 

The  position  is  false,  that  nation  has 
no  right  to  interfere  morally  with  nation. 
Every  community  is  responsible  to  other 
communities  for  its  laws,  habits,  char- 
acter ; not  responsible  in  the  sense  of 
being  liable  to  physical  punishment  and 
force,  but  in  the  sense  of  just  expos- 


ure to  reprobation  and  scorn  ; and  this 
moral  control  communities  are  bound  to 
exercise  over  each  other,  and  must 
exercise  over  each  other,  and  exercise 
it  more  and  more  in  proportion  to  the 
spread  of  intelligence  and  civilization. 
The  world  is  governed  much  more  by 
opinion  than  by  laws.  It  is  not  the 
judgment  of  courts,  but  the  moral  judg- 
ment of  individuals  and  masses  of  men, 
which  is  the  chief  wall  of  defence  round 
property  and  life.  With  the  progress  of 
society,  this  power  of  opinion  is  taking 
the  place  of  arms.  Rulers  are  more  and 
more  anxious  to  stand  acquitted  before 
their  peers  and  the  human  race.  Na- 
tional honor,  once  in  the  keeping  of  the 
soldier,  is  understood  more  and  more  to 
rest  on  the  character  of  nations.  In 
this  state  of  the  world,  all  attempts  of 
the  slave-holder  to  put  to  silence  the 
condemning  voice  of  men,  whether  far 
or  near,  are  vain. 

I claim  the  right  of  pleading  the  cause 
of  the  oppressed,  whether  he  suffer  in 
this  country  or  another.  I utterly  deny 
that  a people  can  screen  themselves  be- 
hind their  nationality  from  the  moral 
judgment  of  the  world.  Because  they 
form  themselves  into  a state,  and  forbid 
within  their  bounds  a single  voice  to 
rise  in  behalf  of  the  injured;  because 
they  crush  the  weak  under  the  forms  of 
law,  do  they  hereby  put  a seal  on  the 
lips  of  foreigners  ? Do  they  disarm  the 
moral  sentiment  of  other  states  ? Is  this 
among  the  rights  of  sovereignty,  that  a 
people,  however  criminal,  shall  stand 
unreproved  ? 

In  consequence  of  the  increasing  in- 
tercourse and  intelligence  of  modern 
times,  there  is  now  erected  in  the  civil- 
ized world  a grand  moral  tribunal,  before 
which  all  communities  stand  and  must 
be  judged.  As  yet,  its  authority  is  fee- 
ble compared  with  what  it  is  to  be,  but 
still  strong  enough  to  lay  restraint,  to 
inspire  fear.  Before  this  slave-holding 
communities  are  arraigned,  and  must 
answer.  The  friends  of  justice,  liberty, 
and  humanity  accuse  them  of  grievous 
wrongs.  It  is  vain  to  talk  of  the  pre- 
scription of  two  hundred  years.  Within 
this  space  of  time  great  changes  have 
taken  place  in  the  code  by  which  the 
commonwealth  of  nations  passes  sen- 
tence. The  doctrine  of  human  rights 
has  been  expounded.  The  right  of  the 
laborer  to  wages,  the  right  of  every  in- 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


786 

nocent  man  to  his  own  person,  the  right 
of  all  to  equity  before  the  laws,  — these 
are  no  longer  abstractions  of  speculative 
visionaries,  no  longer  innovations,  but 
the  established  rights  of  humanity.  Be- 
fore the  tribunal  of  the  civilized  world, 
and  the  higher  tribunal  of  Christianity 
and  of  God,  the  slave-holder  has  to  an- 
swer for  stripping  his  brother  of  these 
recognized  privileges  and  immunities  of 
a man.  Multitudes,  on  both  sides  of 
the  ocean,  looking  above  the  distinction 
of  nations,  standing  on  the  broad  ground 
of  a common  nature,  protest  in  the  face 
of  heaven  and  earth  against  the  wrong 
inflicted  on  their  enslaved  brother.  Let 
the  South  understand  that  it  is  not  your 
voice  or  mine,  or  that  of  a small  knot  of 
enthusiasts,  which  they  have  to  silence. 
You  and  I are  nothing,  but  as  we  rep- 
resent those  great  principles  of  justice 
and  charity  with  which  the  human  heart 
is  everywhere  beginning  to  beat.  Ev- 
erywhere the  slave-holder  is  accused  ; 
everywhere  he  is  judged. 

It  is  strange  that  the  South  should 
tell  us  that  the  increasing  protest  at  the 
North  against  slavery  is  the  greater 
wrong  because  slavery  is  one  of  their 
institutions.  As  if  an  evil  lost  its  de- 
formity by  becoming  an  institution,  — 
that  is,  an  established  thing,  held  up  by 
laws  and  public  force.  One  would  think 
that  the  circumstance  of  its  being  so 
rooted,  of  its  having  gained  this  fearful 
strength,  were  the  very  reason  for  vig- 
orous opposition.  A few  straggling  in- 
dividuals, given  to  a bad  course,  might 
be  overlooked  for  their  insignificance. 
But  when  a community  openly,  by  stat- 
utes, by  arms,  adopts  and  upholds  an 
enormous  wrong,  then  good  men,  through 
the  earth,  are  bound  to  unite  against  it 
in  stern,  solemn  remonstrance.  The 
greater  the  force  combined  to  support 
an  evil,  the  greater  the  force  needed  for 
its  subversion.  Crime  is  comparatively 
weak  until  it  embodies  and  “ sanctifies  ” 
itself  in  institutions.  Individuals,  seiz- 
ing on  and  enslaving  their  brethren, 
would  be  put  down  by  the  spontaneous, 
immediate  reprobation  of  society.  It  is 
the  perpetration  of  this  wrong  by  com- 
munities which  makes  it  fonmidable ; 
and  I confess  that  here,  if  anywhere,  a 
justification  may  be  found  for  organized 
associations  against  slavery.  This  evil 
rests  on  associated  strength,  on  the 
prostitution  of  the  powers  of  the  state. 


Regarded  as  an  institution  which  com- 
bined millions  uphold,  it  seems  to  have 
a strength,  a permanence,  against  which 
individual  power  can  avail  nothing  ; and 
hen£e,  it  may  be  said,  strength  is  to  be 
sought  in  associations.  The  argument 
does  not  satisfy  me  ; for  I believe  that, 
to  produce  moral  changes  of  judgment 
and  feeling,  the  individual,  in  the  long 
run,  is  stronger  than  combinations  ; but 
I do  feel  that  slavery,  entrenched  behind 
institutions,  is,  on  that  very  account,  to 
be  assailed  with  all  the  weapons  of  rea- 
son, of  moral  suasion,  of  moral  reproba- 
tion, which  good  men  can  yield.  Less 
mercy  should  be  shown  it  because  it  is 
an  institution. 

The  notion  which  I have  combated, 
that  slavery  is  to  be  treated  with  respect 
because  it  is  a public  ordinance,  is  one 
of  many  proofs  that,  even  yet,  there  is 
but  a faint  consciousness  of  the  exist- 
ence of  an  everlasting  and  immutable 
rule  of  right.  Multitudes,  even  now, 
know  no  higher  authority  than  human 
government.  They  think  that  a number 
of  men,  perhaps  little  honored  as  indi- 
viduals for  intelligence  and  virtue,  are 
yet  competent,  when  collected  into  a 
legislature,  to  create  right  and  wrong. 
The  most  immoral  institutions  thus  gain 
a sanctity  from  law.  To  the  laws  we 
are  indeed  bound  to  submit,  in  the  sense 
of  abstaining  from  physical  resistance  ; 
but  we  are  under  no  obligation  to  bow 
to  them  our  moral  judgment,  our  free 
thoughts,  our  free  speech.  What  ! Is 
conscience  to  stoop  from  its  supremacy, 
and  to  become  an  echo  of  the  human 
magistrate  ? Is  the  law,  written  by 
God’s  finger  on  the  heart,  placed  at  the 
mercy  of  interested  statesmen  ? Is  it 
not  one  of  the  chief  marks  of  social 
progress  that  men  are  coming  to  recog- 
nize immutable  principles,  to  understand 
the  independence  of  truth  and  duty  on 
human  will,  on  the  sovereignty  of  the 
state,  whether  lodged  in  one  or  many 
hands  ? 

You  and  I,  Sir,  observe  the  golden 
rule  concerning  Southern  slavery.  We 
do  to  our  neighbor  what  we  wish  our 
neighbor  to  do  to  us.  We  expose,  as 
we  can,  the  crimes  and  cruelties  of  other 
States,  and  we  ask  of  other  States  the 
same  freedom  towards  our  own.  If,  in 
the  opinion  of  the  civilized  world,  or  of 
any  portion  of  it,  we  of  this  Common- 
wealth are  robbing  men  of  their  dearest 


SLAVERY  QUESTION, 


rights,  and  treading  them  in  the  dust, 
let  the  wrong  be  proclaimed  far  and 
wide.  If  good  men  anywhere  believe 
that  here  the  weak  are  at  the  mercy  of  the 
strong,  and  the  poor  are  denied  the  pro- 
tection of  the  laws,  then  let  them  make 
every  State  of  the  Union  ring  with  in- 
dignant rebuke.  Especially  if  a giant 
evil  is  here  incorporated  with  our  civil 
institutions,  upheld  by  the  public  force, 
so  that  the  sufferers  are  made  dumb,  so 
that  they  endure  the  last  wrong  in  being 
forbidden  to  speak  of  their  wrongs,  then, 
we  say,  let  humanity  beyond  our  borders 
take  hold  of  their  cause.  If  the  op- 
pressed are  muzzled  here,  let  the  lips  of 
the  free  elsewhere  give  voice  to  their 
wrongs. 

In  the  preceding  remarks,  I have  gone 
on  the  supposition  that  the  slave-hold- 
ing States,  as  far  as  slavery  is  concerned, 
stand  to  the  other  States  on  the  footing 
of  foreign  countries,  and  have  shown, 
that  if  we  make  them  this  concession, 
our  right  of  remonstrance  against  this 
institution  is  untouched.  But  this  con- 
cession is  ungrounded,  unjust.  The 
free  and  slave  States  are  one  nation, 
and  have  a very  different  connection 
with  one  another  from  their  connection 
with  foreign  communities.  Slavery  is 
not  the  affair  of  a part  only,  but  of  the 
whole.  The  free  States  are  concerned 
in  it,  and  of  necessity  act  on  it  and 
are  acted  on  by  it.  We  of  the  North 
sustain  intimate  relations  to  slavery, 
which  make  us  partakers  of  its  guilt, 
and  which,  of  course,  bind  us  to  use 
every  lawful  means  for  its  subversion. 
This  I shall  attempt  to  establish. 

If  we  look  first  at  the  District  of 
Columbia,  we  have  a proof  how  deeply 
the  free  States  are  implicated  by  their 
contact  with  the  slave-holding.  I do 
not  refer  now  to  the  reproach  fixed  on 
the  whole  people  by  the  open,  allowed 
existence  of  bondage  at  the  seat  of 
government.  This  is  evil  enough,  es- 
pecially if  we  add  that  the  District  of 
Columbia,  besides  this  contamination, 
is  one  of  the  chief  slave-markets  in 
the  country  ; so  that  strangers,  foreign 
ministers,  men  whose  reports  of  us  de- 
termine our  rank  in  the  civilized  world, 
associate  with  us  the  enormities  of  the 
slave-trade  and  of  slave  auctions  as 
among  our  chief  distinctions.  This  is 
bad  enough  for  a community  which  has 
any  respect  for  character.  But  there 


787 

is  a greater  evil.  The  District  of  Co- 
lumbia fastens  on  the  whole  nation  the 
guilt  of  slave-holding.  We  at  the  North 
uphold  it  as  truly  as  the  South.  That 
district  belongs  to  no  State,  but  to  the 
nation.  It  is  governed  oy  the  nation, 
and  with  as  ample  powers  as  are  pos- 
sessed by  any  State  government.  Its 
laws  and  institutions  exist  through  the 
national  will.  Every  legal  act  owes  its 
authority  to  Congress.  Of  consequence, 
the  slavery  of  the  District  is  upheld  by 
the  nation.  Not  a slave  is  sold  or 
whipped  there  but  by  the  sanction  of 
the  whole  people.  The  slave  code  of 
the  District  admits  of  mitigations  ; and 
this  code  remains  unmodified  through 
the  national  will.  The  guilt  of  the  in- 
stitution thus  lies  at  the  door  of  every 
man  in  the  United  States,  unless  he 
purge  himself  of  it  by  solemn  petition 
and  remonstrance  against  the  evil. 
What ! have  the  free  States  nothing  to 
do  with  slavery  ? This  moment  they 
are  giving  it  active  support. 

And  here  it  is  interesting  and  instruc- 
tive to  observe,  how  soon  and  naturally 
retribution  follows  crime.  We  uphold 
slavery  in  the  District  of  Columbia ; 
and  this  is  beginning  to  trench  on  our 
own  freedom.  It  is  making  of  no  effect 
the  right  of  petition,  — a right  founded 
not  on  convention  and  charters,  but  on 
nature,  and  granted  even  by  despots  to 
their  subjects.  The  pretext  on  which 
the  petitions  for  the  abolition  of  slavery 
in  Columbia  have  been  denied  the  com- 
mon attention  by  Congress  is  not  even 
specious.  The  right  of  Congress  to 
perform  the  act  for  which  the  petitioners 
pray  is  undoubted.  It  may  be  said  to 
have  been  demonstrated.*  Why,  then, 
are  the  memorials  of  a free  people  on 
this  subject  treated  with  a scorn  to 
which  no  others  are  subjected?  It  is 
pretended  that  the  petitioners  are  aim- 
ing at  an  object  which  the  Constitution 
places  beyond  the  power  of  Congress,  — 
that  they  are  seeking,  through  this  ac- 
tion in  the  District,  to  abolish  slavery 
in  the  States.  To  this,  two  replies  at 
once  occur.  The  first  is,  that  among 
the  petitioners,  who  hope  by  acting  on 
the  District  to  reach  slavery  everywhere, 
there  is  not  one  who  has  not  also  an- 

* See  a pamphlet  on  the  “ Abolition  of  Slavery  in 
the  District  of  Columbia,”  by  Wythe.  This  is  one  of 
the  ablest  pamphlets  from  the  American  press.  It  is 
ascribed  to  Theodore  Weld. 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


788 

other  object,  which  is  the  well-being 
of  the  District,  or  the  abolition  of  sla- 
very in  it  for  its  own  sake.  Allowing 
one  of  their  ends  to  be  unwarrantable, 
they  distinctly  propose  another  end, 
which  the  Constitution  sanctions.  A 
second  reply  is,  that  it  is  not  true  of  all 
who  have  petitioned  for  the  abolition  of 
slavery  in  the  District  that  they  have 
aimed,  in  this  way,  at  the  abolition  of 
it  in  the  States.  I have  signed  these 
petitions,  I know  not  how  often,  and, 
in  so  doing,  was  in  no  degree  moved  by 
this  consideration.  I was  governed  by 
other  motives.  I wished  the  District 
to  be  purified  from  a great  evil.  I 
wished  the  nation  to  be  freed  from  the 
responsibility  of  ordaining  and  uphold- 
ing slavery.  I wished  also  by  some 
public  act  to  wash  my  own  hands  of 
this  guilt.  I felt  myself  bound  to  de- 
clare that  if  this  nation  uphold  slavery 
I am  clear  of  it.  And  I hold  it  the 
duty  of  every  man  in  the  free  States, 
who  regards  this  institution  as  I do,  to 
bear  the  same  testimony  against  it,  and, 
by  solemn  remonstrance  to  Congress,  to 
purge  his  conscience  of  the  nation’s 
crime.  As  for  myself,  I could  not  pe- 
tition against  slavery  in  the  District,  as 
a means  of  abolishing  it  in  the  States  ; 
for,  as  I have  again  and  again  declared, 
I can  see  but  little  connection  between 
these  measures.  Be  this  as  it  may,  by 
sanctioning  an  acknowledged  wrong  at 
the  seat  of  government,  we  have  pro- 
voked a blow  at  our  own  privileges.  In 
the  original  draught  of  the  Constitution, 
the  right  of  petition  was  not  referred  to, 
for  no  one  dreamed  of  its  ever  being 
questioned.  Massachusetts,  however, 
not  satisfied  with  its  foundation  in  nat- 
ure and  reason,  chose  to  place  it  under 
the  protection  of  the  Constitution. 
What  this  right  is,  we  must  judge  from 
usage,  and  from  its  own  nature  and  end. 
Thus  interpreted,  has  it  not  been  in- 
fringed by  the  power  of  slavery  ? * 

I have  now  considered  one  important 
relation  of  the  free  States  to  slavery,  — 
that  which  grows  out  of  the  District  of 
Columbia.  I now  proceed  to  another. 
The  Constitution  requires  the  free  States 
to  send  back  to  bondage  the  fugitive 
slave.  Does  this  show  that  we  have 
no  concern  with  the  domestic  institu- 
tions of  the  South  ? that  the  guilt  of 
them,  if  such  there  be,  is  wholly  theirs, 
* See  Note  A at  end  of  this  letter. 


and  in  no  degree  ours?  This  clause 
makes  us  direct  partakers  of  the  guilt ; 
and,  of  consequence,  we  have  a vital  in- 
terest in  the  matter  of  slavery.  I know 
no  provision  of  the  Constitution  at  which 
my  moral  feelings  revolt  but  this.  Has 
not  the  slave  a right  to  fly  from  bond- 
age ? Who  among  us  doubts  it  ? Let 
any  man  ask  himself  how  he  should 
construe  his  rights  were  he  made  a 
slave ; and  does  he  not  receive  an 
answer  from  his  own  moral  nature  as 
bright,  immediate,  and  resistless  as 
lightning  ? And  yet  we  of  the  free 
States  stop  the  flying  slave,  and  give 
him  back  to  bondage ! It  does  not 
satisfy  me  to  be  told  that  this  is  a part 
of  that  sacred  instrument,  the  Constitu- 
tion, which  all  are  solemnly  bound  to  up- 
hold. No  charter  of  man’s  writing  can 
sanctify  injustice,  or  repeal  God’s  eternal 
law.  I cannot  escape  the  conviction  that 
every  man  who  aids  the  restoration  of 
the  flying  slave  is  a wrong-doer,  though 
this  is  done  by  our  best  and  wisest  men 
with  no  self-reproach.  To  send  him 
from  a free  State  into  bondage  seems 
to  me  much  the  same  thing  as  to  trans- 
port him  from  Africa  to  the  West  Indies 
or  this  country.  I shall  undoubtedly  be 
told  that  the  fugitive  is  a slave  by  the 
laws  of  territory  from  which  he  escapes. 
But  when  laws  are  acknowledged  vio- 
lations of  the  most  sacred  rights,  we 
cannot  innocently  be  active  in  replac- 
ing men  under  their  cruel  power.  The 
slave  goes  back  not  merely  to  toil  and 
sweat  for  his  master  as  before.  He 
goes  to  be  lacerated  for  the  offence  of 
flying  from  oppression.  For  hardly  any 
crime  is  the  slave  so  scored  and  scarred 
as  for  running  away ; and  for  every  lash 
that  enters  his  flesh  we  of  the  free  States, 
who  have  given  him  back,  must  answer. 

I know  perfectly  how  these  views  will 
be  received  at  the  North  and  South. 
Some  will  call  me  a visionary,  while 
more  will  fix  on  me  a harder  name. 
But  I look  above  scoffers  and  de- 
nouncers to  that  pure,  serene,  almighty 
justice,  which  is  enthroned  in  heaven, 
and  inquire  of  God,  the  Father  of  us 
all,  whether  he  approves  the  surrender 
of  the  flying  slave.  I shall  be  charged 
with  irreverence  towards  the  fathers  of 
the  Revolution,  — the  framers  of  our 
glorious  national  charter.  But  I reply, 
that,  great  as  they  were,  they  were  fal- 
lible, and  that  the  progress  of  opinion 


SLAVERY  QUESTION. 


since  their  day  seems  to  me  to  have 
convicted  them  of  error  in  the  matter 
now  in  hand.  I am  aware,  too,  that 
good  and  wise  men,  friends  who  are 
dear  to  me,  will  disapprove  my  free, 
strong  language.  But  I must  be  faith- 
ful to  the  strong  moral  conviction  which 
I cannot  escape  on  this  subject.  If  I 
am  right,  the  truth  which  I speak,  how- 
ever questioned  now,  will  not  have  been 
spoken  in  vain.  To-day  is  not  for  ever. 
The  men  who  now  scorn  or  condemn 
are  not  to  live  for  ever.  Let  a few 
years  pass,  and  we  shall  all  have  van- 
ished, and  other  actors  will  fill  the  stage, 
and  the  despised  and  neglected  truths 
of  this  generation  will  become  the  hon- 
ored ones  of  the  next. 

Before  quitting  this  topic,  it  may  be 
well  just  to  glance  at  the  reasoning  by 
which  my  views  will  be  assailed.  To 
the  exposition  of  duty  now  given  it  will 
be  objected,  that  the  morality  of  the 
closet  is  not  the  morality  of  real  life  ; 
that  there  is  danger  of  pushing  princi- 
ples to  extremes ; that  difficulties  are 
to  be  grappled  with  in  the  conduct  of 
public  affairs  which  retired  men  cannot 
understand  ; that  there  must  be  a com- 
promise between  the  ideal  and  the  act- 
ual ; and  that  our  rigid  rules  must  be 
softened  or  bend,  when  consequences, 
unusually  serious,  will  attend  their  ob- 
servance. These  commonplaces  are  not 
wholly  without  truth.  M orality  is  some- 
times turned,  by  inexperienced  men,  into 
rant  and  romance.  Solitary  dreamers, 
exalting  imagination  above  reason  and 
conscience,  make  life  a stage  for  playing 
showy,  dazzling  parts,  which  pass  with 
them  for  beautiful  or  heroic.  I have 
little  more  sympathy  with  these  over- 
refined,  sublimated  moralists  than  with 
the  common  run  of  coarse,  low-minded 
politicians.  Duty  is  something  practi- 
cable, something  within  reach,  and  which 
approves  itself  to  us  not  in  moments  of 
feverish  excitement,  but  of  deliberate 
thought.  Good  sense,  which  is  another 
name  for  that  calm,  comprehensive  rea- 
son which  sees  things  as  they  are,  and 
looks  at  all  the  circumstances  and  con- 
sequences of  actions,  is  as  essential  to 
the  moral  direction  of  life  as  in  merely 
prudential  concerns.  Still  more,  there 
is  a large  class  of  actions,  the  relations 
of  which  are  so  complicated,  and  the  con- 
sequences so  obscure,  that  individual 
judgment  is  at  fault,  and  we  are  bound 


789 

to  acquiesce  in  usage,  especially  if  long 
established,  because  this  represents  to 
us  the  collective  experience  of  the  race. 
All  this  is  true.  But  it  is  also  true  that 
there  are  grand,  fundamental,  moral 
principles,  which  shine  with  their  own 
light,  which  approve  themselves  to  the 
reason,  conscience,  and  heart,  and  which 
have  gathered  strength  and  sanctity  from 
the  experience  of  nations  and  individuals 
through  all  ages.  These  are  never  to 
be  surrendered  to  the  urgency  of  the 
moment,  however  pressing,  or  to  im- 
agined interests  of  individuals  or  states. 
Let  these  be  sacrificed  to  hope  or  fear, 
and  our  foundation  is  gone,  our  anchor 
slipped.  We  have  no  fixtures  in  our 
own  souls,  nothing  to  rely  on.  No 
ground  of  faith  in  man  is  left  us.  Self- 
ish, staggering  policy  becomes  the  stand- 
ard of  duty,  the  guide  of  life,  the  law 
of  nations.  Now,  the  question  as  to 
surrendering  fugitive  slaves  seems  to 
me  to  fall  plainly,  immediately,  under 
these  great  primitive  truths  of  morality. 
It  has  no  complexity  about  it,  no  mys- 
terious elements,  no  obscure  conse- 
quences. To  send  back  the  slave  is 
to  treat  the  innocent  as  guilty.  It  is  to 
violate  a plain,  natural  right.  It  is  to 
enforce  a criminal  claim.  It  is  to  take 
the  side  of  the  strong  and  oppressive 
against  the  weak  and  poor.  It  is  to 
give  up  an  unoffending  fellow-creature 
to  a degrading  bondage,  and  to  horrible 
laceration.  The  fixed  universal  conse- 
quence of  this  act  is  the  severe  punish- 
ment, not  of  the  injurious,  but  of  the 
injured  man.  On  this  point  my  moral 
nature  speaks  strongly,  and  I ought  to 
give  it  utterance.  If  I err,  there  are 
enough  to  refute  me.  My  authority  is 
nothing  where  a people  are  against  me. 
I ask  no  authority ; but  simply  that 
what  I say  may  be  calmly,  impartially 
weighed. 

It  will  be  said  that  the  South  will  in- 
sist on  this  stipulation,  because  it  is 
necessary  to  the  support  of  her  institu- 
tions. This  necessity  may  be  ques- 
tioned, because,  if  I may  judge  from  a 
rough  estimate,  comparatively  few  fugi- 
tives are  recovered  from  other  States ; 
and  yet  slavery  lives  and  thrives.  But 
if  the  necessity  be  real,  then  it  follows 
that  the  free  States  are  the  guardians 
and  essential  supports  of  slavery.  We 
are  the  jailers  and  constables  of  the  in- 
stitution ; and  yet  we  are  told  that  we 


790 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


sustain  no  relation  to  slavery,  — that^it 
is  in  no  degree  our  concern  ! 

I know  it  will  be  asked,  what  ought 
to  be  done  if  the  Constitution  bind  us  to 
an  unlawful  act  ? I reply,  the  individ- 
ual convinced  of  the  unlawfulness  can 
have  no  difficulty.  He  must  abstain 
from  what  he  deems  wrong.  As  to  the 
community,  should  it  ever  come  to  the 
same  conviction,  it  must  take  counsel 
from  circumstances  and  from  its  wisest 
minds,  as  to  the  course  by  which  its 
peace  and  prosperity  and  the  interest  of 
the  whole  land  may  be  reconciled  with 
duty.  Happily,  the  Constitution  may  be 
amended,  and  this  power  is  never  so 
needed  as  when  the  conscience  of  the 
citizen  comes  in  collision  with  the  gov- 
ernment. I trust  that  an  amendment, 
reaching  the  present  case,  and  de- 
manded, not  by  the  passion,  but  by  the 
deliberate  moral  judgment  of  a large 
portion  of  the  community,  will  not  fail. 
I appeal  to  the  generosity  and  honor  of 
the  South,  and  would  ask  whether  we, 
with  our  views  of  slavery,  ought  to  be 
required  to  give  it  active  support  ? I 
would  ask  whether,  in  the  present  state 
of  opinion  in  the  civilized  world,  a slave 
country  ought  not  to  protect  its  own 
institutions,  without  looking  for  aid  to 
others  ? I would  ask,  too,  whether  a 
citizen,  who  views  the  government  which 
he  sustains  as  pledged  to  wrong,  deserves 
reproach  for  laboring  to  bring  it  into 
harmony  with  truth  and  rectitude  ? 
Does  not  the  Constitution,  in  making 
provision  for  its  own  amendment,  imply 
the  possibility  of  defect,  and  warrant 
free  discussion  of  its  various  clauses  ? 
What  avails  our  liberty  of  speech,  if,  on 
a grave  question  of  duty,  we  must  hold 
our  peace  ? If  the  citizen  believes  that 
our  very  constitutional  charter  sanctions 
wrong,  is  he  not  bound  by  his  participa- 
tion of  the  national  sovereignty,  by  the 
fact  of  his  forming  a portion  of  "the  body 
politic,  to  utter  his  honest  thought? 

I proceed  to  consider  another  impor- 
tant relation  which  the  North  bears  to 
slavery.  We  are  bound,  in  case  of  an 
insurrection  of  the  slaves  against  their 
masters,  to  put  it  down  by  force.  This 
we  ought  to  do,  for  such  an  insurrection 
would  involve  all  the  woes  and  crimes  of 
civil  war  in  the  most  aggravated  forms, 
with  no  possibility  of  a beneficial  result. 
It  would  be  cruelty,  massacre,  without 
compensation  or  hope.  The  slaves  are 


incapable  of  substituting  free  institutions 
for  their  bondage  ; and  extermination 
or  a heavier  yoke  would  end  their  strug- 
gles. We  ought  to  disarm  them  ; but 
ought  we  to  replace  their  chains  ? 
Ought  we  to  put  them  without  protec- 
tion under  exasperated  oppressors  ? 
Ought  we  not  to  feel  that  both  parties 
in  this  fearful  conflict  have  rights  ? 
And  ought  we  not  to  act  as  friends  of 
both  ? Is  there  nothing  at  which  our 
minds  revolt,  in  the  thought  of  restoring 
unmitigated  slavery  ; of  giving  back  the 
victim  to  the  unrestrained  power  which, 
under  a spasmodic  sense  of  wrong,  he 
has  struggled  to  throw  off?  Should 
not  every  effort,  short  of  physical  force, 
be  employed  to  obtain  for  him  a better, 
a more  righteous  lot  ? But  the  South, 
as  we  well  know,  would  reject  such 
mediation  with  scorn.  Have  we  not, 
then,  painful  relations  to  slavery  ? Have 
we  not  a deep  interest  in  its  aboli- 
tion ? 

In  another  view  the  North  sustains  re- 
lations to  slavery.  Slavery  is  our  near 
neighbor  ; and  not  a few  among  us  grow 
hardened  to  it  by  familiarity.  It  per- 
verts our  moral  sense.  We  cannot  hold 
intimate  connection,  national  union,  with 
a region  where  so  great  an  abuse  is 
legalized,  and  yet  escape  contamination. 
To  say  nothing  of  friendly,  domestic  in- 
tercourse, our  commercial  relations  with 
the  slave  States  give  to  not  a few  a 
pecuniary  interest  in  the  institution. 
The  slave  is  mortgaged  to  the  Northern 
merchant.  The  slaves’  toil  is  the  North- 
ern merchant’s  wealth,  for  it  produces 
the  great  staple  on  which  all  the  com- 
mercial dealings  of  the  country  turn. 
As  our  merchants  and  manufacturers 
cast  their  eyes  southward,  what  do  they 
see  ? Cotton,  cotton,  nothing  but  cot- 
ton. This  fills  the  whole  horizon  of  the 
South.  What  care  they  for  the  poor 
human  tools  by  whom  it  is  reared? 
Their  sympathies  are  with  the  man  with 
whom  they  deal,  who  trusts  them  and  is 
trusted  by  them,  and  not  with  the  bond- 
men,  by  whose  sweat  they  thrive. 
What  change  do  they  desire  in  a system 
so  gainful  ? Under  these  various  influ- 
ences, the  moral  feeling  of  the  North  in 
regard  to  slavery  is  more  or  less  palsied. 
Men  call  it  in  vague  language  an  evil, 
just  as  they  call  religion  a good  ; in  both 
cases  giving  assent  to  a lifeless  form  of 
words,  which  they  forget  whilst  they 


SLAVERY  QUESTION. 


791 


utter  them,  and  which  have  no  power 
over  their  lives. 

There  is  another  way  in  which  South- 
ern slavery  bears  seriously  on  the  North. 
It  blends  itself  intimately  with  the  whole 
political  action  of  the  country,  deter- 
mines its  parties,  decides  important 
measures  of  government,  is  a brand  of 
discord,  a fountain  of  bitter  strifes,  and, 
whilst  it  lasts,  will  never  suffer  us  to 
become  truly  one  people.  We  call  our- 
selves one,  but  slavery  makes  us  two. 
National  unity  implies  a general  unity  of 
character ; but  slave  States  and  free 
States  are  severed  by  deep,  indelible 
differences  of  mind  and  feeling.  In  the 
former,  where  one  half  of  the  population 
are  semi-barbarous  or  semi-brutal,  and 
the  other  half  trained  to  mastery,  to 
lordship,  there  can  be  little  comprehen- 
sion of,  and  little  sympathy  with,  the 
latter,  where  the  recognition  of  the  equal 
rights  of  all  is  the  pervading  principle  of 
government  and  of  common  life.  The 
South,  counting  labor  degradation,  must 
look  with  contempt  on  the  most  impor- 
tant and  influential  portions  of  the 
North,  — that  is,  our  great  mechanic 
and  agricultural  classes.  From  these 
fundamental  differences  in  the  very 
constitution  of  society  must  grow  up 
jealousies,  real  and  imaginary  collisions 
of  interest,  mutual  dislike,  mutual  fear. 
Congress  must  be  an  arena  in  which 
Northern  and  Southern  parties  will  be 
arrayed  against  each  other ; and  that 
portion  of  the  Union  which  has  the 
strongest  bond  of  union  within  itself 
will,  on  the  whole,  master  the  other.  A 
Northern  man  thinks  it  no  hard  thing  to 
show  that  slavery  has  chiefly  ruled  the 
country,  has  deeply  influenced  Northern 
commerce  and  manufactures,  has  played 
off  Northern  parties  against  each  other, 
whilst  a Southern  man  undoubtedly  can 
produce  a list  of  grievances  in  return. 
Thus  slavery  is  the  bane  of  our  Union. 
Nothing  else  can  separate  us.  Without 
this  element  of  war  and  woe  in  our  in- 
stitutions, our  nation  would  be  more  in- 
dissolubly bound  together  by  mutual 
benefits  than  any  other  nation  is  by  habit 
and  tradition.  Have  we,  then,  nothing 
to  do  with  slavery  ? Is  it  the  concern 
of  the  South  alone  ? Are  we  bound  to 
keep  silence  on  it,  because  it  nowhere 
touches  us,  because  it  is  as  foreign  to  us 
as  the  slavery  of  Turkey  and  Russia? 
Oh  no.  It  more  than  touches  us.  We 


feel  its  grasp.  We  owe  it  to  ourselves, 
as  well  as  to  humanity,  to  do  what  we 
lawfully  and  peacefully  may  to  procure 
its  abolition. 

I have  thus  considered  at  length  the 
right  and  fitness  of  discussing  freely  the 
subject  of  slavery.  Why  is  it  that  this 
right  is  questioned  ? What  lies  at  the 
bottom  of  the  charge  against  us,  of  un- 
warrantable interference  with  what  is  not 
our  proper  concern  ? The  real  cause  of 
the  complaint,  though  not  suspected  at  the 
South,  is  the  insensibility  which  prevails 
there  in  regard  to  this  evil.  Could  the 
slave-holder  look  on  it  from  our  point  of 
view,  could  he  see  it  as  we  do,  he  would 
no  longer  blame  our  remonstrances 
against  it.  He  would  himself  join  the 
cry.  But  here  lies  his  unhappiness. 
Long  habit  has  hardened  him  to  slavery. 
Perhaps  he  calls  it  an  evil,  but  this  word 
on  his  lips  means  something  very  differ- 
ent from  what  it  means  on  ours.  Habit 
is  as  powerful  over  the  understanding 
and  conscience  as  over  the  will.  An 
institution  handed  down  from  our  fa- 
thers, sanctioned  by  laws,  and  under 
which  we  have  grown  up,  be  it  ever  so 
criminal,  cannot  shock  us  as  it  does  a 
stranger,  and  we  naturally  count  the 
stranger’s  rebuke  an  insult  and  wrong. 
Here  lies  the  vice  of  Mr.  Clay’s  speech. 
He  silently  assumes  the  innocence  of 
slavery.  He  does  not  dream  of  the 
need  of  apologizing  for  himself  as  a 
slave-holder.  He  cannot  realize  that, 
in  the  view  of  the  civilized  world,  this  is 
a brand,  which  shows  through  all  the 
brightness  of  his  talents  and  fame.  He 
approaches  the  subject  with  a tone  of 
confidence,  and,  though  the  advocate  of 
flagrant  injustice,  takes  the  ground  of  an 
injured  man.  We,  who  speak  and  write 
against  slavery,  find  our  vindication  and 
our  duty  in  the  enormity  of  the  evil. 
How  natural  that  those  who  have  lived 
in  fellowship  with  the  evil  from  their 
birth  should  look  on  us  as  rash,  unwar- 
rantable meddlers  with  what  is  their 
business  alone  ! 

I have  said  that  we  rest  the  justice 
and  obligation  of  our  moral  efforts 
against  slavery  on  the  greatness  of  the 
evil.  It  might  then  be  expected  that,  to 
make  out  our  case  more  fully,  I should 
enlarge  on  this  topic,  and  show  that 
slavery  is  not  an  imaginary  monster,  but 
a combination  of  wrongs  and  crimes  and 
woes  not  only  justifying,  but  demand- 


792 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


ing,  the  opposition  of  all  good  men. 
But  I have,  in  a former  publication, 
travelled  this  ground,  and  I cannot  un- 
necessarily renew  the  pain  which  I then 
suffered.  There  is,  however,  one  topic 
on  which  something  should  be  said.  I 
refer  to  the  common  apology  for  slavery 
by  which  the  whole  South,  and  not  a few 
at  the  North,  conceal  from  themselves 
the  true  character  of  this  evil,  and  re- 
pel as  unwarrantable  our  efforts  for  its 
destruction.  Whenever  the  subject  is 
discussed,  we  are  told  that,  through  the 
lenity  of  the  master,  the  slave  suffers 
less  than  the  laborer  in  most  other  coun- 
tries. He  has  more  comforts,  we  hear. 
He  is  happier.  To  this  refuge  the 
slave-holder  always  flies.  My  next  ob- 
ject, therefore,  and  one  intimately  con- 
nected with  the  preceding,  will  be  to 
examine  this  position. 

I begin  with  observing,  that  it  is  hon- 
orable to  our  times  that  such  a defence 
as  this  is  urged  and  required.  It  shows 
the  progress  of  civilization  and  Christi- 
anity, that  the  master  holds  himself 
bound  to  maintain  that  his  victim  is 
happier  for  his  bondage.  An  ancient 
Roman  never  thought  of  seeking  a jus- 
tification of  slavery  in  its  blessings,  — 
never  took  the  ground  of  his  being  a 
benefactor  to  those  whom  he  oppressed. 
We  have  here  a sign  of  the  great  moral 
revolution  which  is  making  its  way 
through  society ; and  we  may  be  as- 
sured that,  when  slavery  can  only  stand 
on  the  footing  .of  its  beneficence,  it  is 
not  far  from  its  fall. 

I have  never  been  disposed  to  deny 
that  at  the  South  slavery  wore  a milder 
aspect  than  in  other  countries,  though 
by  some  this  is  strenuously  denied.  I 
concede  the  fact ; and,  still  more,  I can- 
not doubt  that  the  condition  of  the  slave 
continues  to  improve.  The  cry,  that  the 
slave  is  treated  more  severely  on  account 
of  the  abolition  movement  at  the  North, 
cannot  be  true  on  the  whole,  though 
particular  restraints  may  be  increased. 
He  is  and  must  be  treated  more  kindly. 
We  have  here  better  evidence  than 
rumor.  A master  was  never  made  more 
severe  by  having  the  eyes  of  the  world 
turned  upon  him,  especially  when  the 
world,  as  at  present,  is  more  than  ever 
penetrated  with  the  spirit  of  humanity.* 
Slavery  exists  at  this  moment  under  the 
broad  light  of  heaven.  The  sound  of 

* See  Note  B at  end  of  this  letter. 


the  lash  resounds  through  the  free 
States,  and  through  all  nations.  The 
master  is  held  responsible  to  his  race  for 
his  power.  Can  this  make  him  more 
severe  ? The  defences  which  we  hear 
from  the  South  set  us  at  ease  on  this 
point.  The  anxiety  of  the  planter  to 
show  the  Northern  visitor  the  comforts 
of  his  slaves  sets  us  at  ease.  Within  a 
short  time,  more  than  one  gentle  voice 
of  woman  from  the  South  has  spoken  to 
me  of  the  happiness  of  the  slave.  The 
master  feels  that  he  can  only  keep  him- 
self within  the  pale  of  civilized  society 
by  practising  kindness  to  a certain  ex- 
tent. All  his  defenders  at  the  North 
plead  his  kindness.  Who  does  not  see 
that,  under  these  influences,  the  severi- 
ties of  the  system  must  be  mitigated, 
and  that  the  advocates  of  freedom  are 
doing  immediate  good  to  the  poor  creat- 
ures whos:  cause  they  espouse  ? 

I believe,  too,  that  not  only  is  the  gen- 
eral treatment  of  the  slaves  improved, 
but  that  their  religious  means  are  in- 
creased, in  consequence  of  the  agitation 
at  the  North.  We  are  told  that  they  are 
now  denied  instruction  in  reading.  But 
ministers,  churches,  masters,  are  waked 
up,  as  never  before,  to  the  obligation  of 
giving  to  the  slaves  the  blessings  of 
Christianity,  and  have  a new  anxiety  to 
roll  away  the  reproach  of  bringing  up 
hordes  of  heathens  within  their  borders. 
I must  say,  however,  that  whilst  we 
must  give  credit  to  the  South  for  in- 
creased religious  attention  to  the  slave, 
I expect  little  good  from  it.  And  I thus 
speak,  not  merely  from  the  reports  of 
intelligent  witnesses,  but  from  immuta- 
ble moral  principles.  It  is  hard  to  graft 
good  on  what  is  essentially  evil  and  cor- 
rupt ; hard  for  the  man  who  oppresses 
to  exalt  his  victim.  There  is  always  a 
tendency  to  unity  in  the  various  influ- 
ences which  a man  exerts.  To  enslave 
a human  being,  is  to  war  against  his 
religious  as  truly  as  his  social  and  phy- 
sical nature.  The  African  is,  indeed, 
very  susceptible,  and  easily  puts  on  the 
show  of  piety.  Nothing  is  easier  than 
to  draw  forth  groans  or  shouts  from  a 
colored  congregation.  Nothing  easier 
than  to  gather  this  people  by  crowds 
into  churches.  But  the  slave  is  incapa- 
ble of  a nobler  reverence  towards  God 
than  towards  his  master.  He  is  equally, 

I fear,  a slave  before  both.  This  is  one 
of  the  evils  of  slavery,  that  it  perverts, 


SLA  VER  Y QUESTION, 


793 


turns  into  an  instrument  of  degradation, 
that  highest  sentiment  of  our  nature,  — 
reverence.  In  truth,  it  is  hard  to  com- 
prehend how  the  slave-holder  can  preach 
the  grand  principles  of  Christianity  ; how 
he  can  set  forth  God  as  the  Universal 
Father,  who  looks  on  all  men  with  an 
equally  tender  love,  and  watches,  with 
an  equal  severity  of  justice,  over  the 
rights  of  all.  Indeed,  how  difficult  must 
it  be  for  either  masters  or  slaves  to  get 
into  the  heart  of  this  religion,  to  under- 
stand its  deep  purpose,  when  the  chief 
element  of  such  a community  is  in  direct 
hostility  to  its  spirit.  I speak  not  from 
report,  but  from  the  general  principles 
of  human  nature  ; and  these  would  lead 
me  to  fear  that,  in  such  a community, 
the  religion  of  the  higher  classes,  as  well 
as  of  the  lowest,  must  be,  to  an  unusual 
extent  one  or  another  form  of  supersti- 
tion, that  is,  a substitution  of  dogmas, 
ceremonies,  or  feelings,  for  the  manly 
and  enlightened  piety  which  Jesus 
taught,  and  which  makes  the  worship  of 
God  to  consist  chiefly  in  the  imitation  of 
his  universal  justice  and  universal  love. 

This  is  somewhat  of  a digression, 
though  not  exceeding  the  freedom  of 
epistolary  communication.  1 return  to 
the  subject.  I acknowledge,  and  rejoice 
to  acknowledge,  that  slavery  is  mitigated 
by  kindness  at  the  South,  though,  as  we 
shall  see,  it  necessarily  includes  much 
cruelty.  I will  allow  to  the  full  extent 
what  is  urged  in  favor  of  the  comforts 
of  a state  of  bondage,  though  the  con- 
cession is  not  warranted  by  facts.  I 
still  say  that  the  apology  fails  of  its 
end  ; that  it  does  not  touch  the  essen- 
tial, fundamental  evil  of  slavery,  which 
is,  the  injustice  it  does  to  a human  be- 
ing. It  is  no  excuse  for  wronging  a man 
that  you  make  him  as  comfortable  as 
is  consistent  with  the  wrong.  A man, 
shutting  me  up  in  prison,  would  poorly 
atone  for  his  violation  of  my  rights  by 
feeding  and  clothing  me  to  my  heart’s 
content.  I claim  from  my  oppressor,  not 
food  and  clothes,  but  freedom.  I insist 
that  he  leave  to  me,  unrestrained,  the 
right  of  using  my  limbs  and  powers  for 
my  own  and  others’  good.  A deep  in- 
stinct of  my  soul,  founded  at  once  in  my 
spiritual  and  physical  nature,  calls  out 
for  personal  liberty.  No  matter  that 
our  chains  are  woven  of  silk.  They  are 
as  iron,  because  they  are  chains.  Let  a 
master  draw  round  us  a line,  which  may 


not  be  passed  without  our  being  driven 
back  by  a whip  ; and  for  this  very  rea- 
son we  should  burn  to  escape.  Such  is 
the  thirst  for  freedom  breathed  by  God 
into  the  human  spirit.  Slavery  is  a vio- 
lence to  our  nature,  to  which  nothing 
but  abjectness  can  reconcile  a man,  and 
which  we  honor  him  for  repelling. 

It  is  vain  to  say  that  the  slave  suffers 
less  than  other  laborers.  We  have  no 
right  to  inflict  a suffering,  greater  or 
less,  on  an  innocent  fellow-creature.  In- 
justice is  injustice,  be  the  extent  of  its 
influence  ever  so  confined.  Were  one 
of  our  governments,  by  an  act  of  usur- 
pation, to  abridge  the  free  motions  and 
the  rights  of  the  laboring  class,  would 
it  be  a mitigation  of  the  wrong  that  the 
laborer  still  exceeded  in  privileges  and 
means  of  pleasure  the  serfs  of  Russia  ? 
It  is  no  excuse  for  keeping  a man  in  the 
dust,  that  you  throw  him  better  food 
than  he  can  earn  by  his  free  industry. 
Be  just  before  you  are  generous.  The 
lenity  which  quiets  you  in  wrong-doing 
becomes  a crime.  Do  not  boast  of  your 
humanity  to  those  whom  you  own,  when 
it  is  a cruel  wrong  to  be  their  owner. 
Some  highwaymen  have  taken  pride  in 
the  gentlemanly,  courteous  style  in  which 
they  have  eased  the  traveller  of  his 
purse.  They  have  given  him  back  a part 
of  the  spoils,  that  he  might  travel  com- 
fortably home.  But  they  were  robbers 
still.  A criminal  relation  cannot  be 
made  virtuous  by  the  mode  of  sustain- 
ing it.  Caesar  was  a clement  dictator, 
but  usurpation  did  not  therefore  cease 
to  be  a vice. 

It  is  no  excuse  for  taking  possession 
of  a man,  that  we  can  make  him  hap- 
pier. We  are  poor  judges  of  another’s 
happiness.  He  was  made  to  work  it 
out  for  himself.  Our  opinion  of  his  best 
interests  is  particularly  to  be  distrusted, 
when  our  own  interest  is  to  be  advanced 
by  making  him  our  tool.  Especially  if, 
to  make  him  happy,  we  must  drive  him 
as  a brute,  subject  him  to  the  lash,  it  is 
plainly  time  to  give  up  our  philanthropic 
efforts,  and  to  let  him  seek  his  good  in 
his  own  way. 

Allow  that  the  sufferings  of  the  slave 
are  less  than  those  of  the  free  laborer. 
But  these  sufferings  are  wrongs,  and  this 
changes  their  nature.  Pain  as  pain,  is 
nothing  compared  with  pain  when  it  is  a 
wrong.  A blow,  given  me  by  accident, 
may  fell  me  to  the  earth  ; but,  after  all, 


794 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


it  is  a trifle.  A slight  blow,  inflicted  in 
scorn  or  with  injurious  intent,  is  an  evil 
which,  without  aid  from  my  principles, 

I could  not  bear.  Let  God’s  providence 
confine  me  to  my  room  by  disease,  and  I 
more  than  submit,  for  in  his  dispensa- 
tions I see  parental  goodness  seeking  my 
purity  and  peace.  But  let  man  imprison 
me,  without  inflicting  disease,  and  how 
intolerable  my  narrow  bounds  ! So,  if 
the  elements  take  away  our  property,  we 
resign  it  without  a murmur  ; but  if  man 
rob  us  of  our  fortune,  poverty  weighs 
on  us  as  a mountain.  Any  thing  can  be 
borne  but  the  will  and  the  power  of  the 
selfish,  unrighteous  man.  There  is  also 
this  difference  between  sufferings  from 
God  or  nature,  and  sufferings  from  hu- 
man injustice.  The  former  we  are  al- 
most always  able  to  soften  or  remove  by 
industry  and  skill,  by  studying  the  laws 
of  nature,  or  by  seeking  aid  and  sym- 
pathy from  men.  These  sufferings  are 
intended  to  awaken  our  powers  and  to 
strengthen  social  dependencies.  Nature 
opposes  us  that  we  may  resist  her,  and, 
by  resistance,  may  grow  strong.  But 
the  owner  of  his  fellow-creatures  re- 
sents the  resistance  as  a wrong,  and 
cuts  them  off  from  help  from  their  kind. 

It  will  be  said  that  the  slave  has  noth- 
ing of  this  consciousness  of  his  wrongs, 
which  adds  such  weight  to  sufferings. 
He  has  no  self-respect,  we  hear,  to  be 
wounded  when  he  is  lashed.  To  him,  as 
to  the  ox,  a blow  is  but  a blow.  And  is 
this  an  apology  for  slavery,  that  it  de- 
stroys all  sense  of  wrongs,  blunts  the 
common  sensibilities  of  human  nature, 
makes  man  tamer  than  the  nobler  ani- 
mals under  inflicted  pain?  It  is  this 
prostration  of  self-respect  and  of  just 
indignation  for  wrongs  which  sets  an 
additional  seal  on  slavery  as  an  outrage 
on  humanity.  But  it  is  not  true  that  the 
spirit  of  a man  is  wholly  killed  in  the 
slave.  The  moral  nature  never  dies. 
He  often  feels  a wrong  in  the  violence 
which  he  cannot  resist.  He  has  often 
bitter  hatred  towards  the  cruel  overseer. 
He  ponders  in  secret  over  his  oppressed 
lot.  There  are  deep  groans  of  conscious 
injury  and  revenge,  which,  though  smoth- 
ered by  fear,  do  not  less  agonize  the 
soul. 

In  these  remarks  we  have  seen  how 
much  the  slave  may  suffer,  though  little 
of  what  is  called  cruelty  enters  into  his 
lot.  My  hostility  to  the  system  does 


not  rest  primarily  on  the  physical  ago- 
nies it  inflicts,  but  on  a deeper  founda- 
tion, — on  its  flagrant  injustice,  and  on 
the  misery  necessarily  involved  in  a sys- 
tem of  wrong.  Slavery,  however,  is  not 
to  be  absolved  from  the  guilt  of  cruelty. 
However  tempered  with  kindness,  it 
does  and  must  bear  this  brand.  Who 
that  knows  human  nature  can  question 
whether  irresponsible  power  will  be 
abused  ? Such  power  breeds  the  very 
passions  which  make  abuse  sure.  Be- 
sides, it  is  exposed  to  great  temptation. 
Slaves  are  necessarily  irritating.  Their 
laziness,  thievishness,  lying  propensi- 
ties, sulkiness,  the  natural  fruits  of  their 
condition,  are  sore  trials  to  those  placed 
over  them.  Slavery  necessarily  gener- 
ates in  its  victims  the  very  vices  which 
are  most  fitted  to  fret  and  exasperate 
the  owner  or  overseer.  Under  such 
circumstances,  more  cruelty  might  be 
expected  than  exists.  After  all  the  in- 
stances of  barbarity  we  hear  from  the 
South,  the  patience  of  the  slave-holder  is 
more  to  be  wondered  at  than  his  severity. 
The  relation  he  sustains  is  the  last  for  a 
good  man  to  covet.  It  is,  of  all  others, 
most  fitted  to  nourish  the  passions 
against  which  religion  calls  us  to  watch. 
He  who  would  not  be  “ led  into  temp- 
tation ” should  cast  away  with  dread 
irresponsible  power  over  his  fellow- 
creatures.  That,  under  such  circum- 
stances, selfishness,  the  passion  for 
dominion,  avarice,  anger,  impatience, 
lust,  should  break  out  into  fearful  ex- 
cesses, is  as  necessary  as  that  the  stone 
should  fall,  or  the  fire  destroy. 

One  instance  of  cruelty  at  the  South 
has  lately  found  its  way  into  some  of 
our  papers,  and  that  is,  the  employment 
of  bloodhounds  in  parts  of  the  new 
States  for  the  recovery,  or,  if  this  be 
resisted,  for  the  destruction,  of  the 
fugitive  slaves.  This  statement  has 
been  questioned  or  denied  by  those 
who  incline  to  favorable  views  of  the 
whole  subject,  as  an  atrocity  too  mon- 
strous for  belief.  I have  not  inquired 
into  its  authenticity.  But  that  one 
breed  of  bloodhounds  exist  at  the 
South,  we  know,  — a breed  not  armed 
with  fangs,  but  rifles,  and  who  shoot 
down  the  fugitive  when  no  other  way 
is  left  for  arresting  his  flight.  And 
where  lies  the  difference  between  tear- 
ing his  flesh  by  teeth,  x>r  sending  bullets 
through  his  heart,  skull,  or  bowels  ? 


SLAVERY  QUESTION. 


795 


My  humanity  can  draw  no  lines  between 
these  infernal  modes  of  despatching  a 
fellow-creature,  guilty  of  no  offence  but 
that  of  asserting  one  of  the  primary, 
inalienable  rights  of  his  nature.  It  is 
bad  enough  to  oppress  a man  ; but, 
when  he  escapes  from  oppression,  to 
pursue  him  with  mortal  weapons,  to 
shatter  his  bones,  to  mutilate  him,  and 
thus  send  him  from  a weary  life  with 
an  agonizing,  bloody  death,  is  murder 
in  an  aggravated  form.  The  laws  which 
sanction  the  shooting  of  the  flying  slave 
are,  to  my  mind,  attempts  to  legalize 
murder.  They  who  uphold  them  do, 
however  unconsciously,  uphold  murder. 
It  is  vain  to  say  that  this  is  an  accom- 
paniment of  slavery  which  cannot  be 
avoided.  The  accompaniment  proves 
the  character  of  the  system.  It  is  a 
fearful  law  of  our  condition  that  crimes 
cannot  stand  alone.  Slavery  and  mur- 
der go  hand-in-hand.  Having  taken  the 
first  step  in  a system  of  cruelty  and 
wrong,  we  can  set  no  bounds  to  our 
career. 

Still,  I do  not  charge  cruelty  on  sla- 
very as  its  worst  evil.  The  great  evil 
is  the  contempt  and  violation  of  human 
rights,  the  injustice  which  treats  a man 
as  a brute,  and  which  breaks  his  spirit 

make  him  a human  tool.  It  is  the 
injustice  which  denies  him  the  means 
of  improvement,  which  denies  him  scope 
for  his  powers,  which  dooms  him  to  an 
unchangeable  lot,  which  robs  him  of 
the  primitive  right  of  human  nature, 
that  of  bettering  his  outward  and  in- 
i ward  state.  It  is  the  injustice  which 
converts  his  social  connections  into  a 
curse.  Here,  perhaps,  the  influence  of 
slavery  is  most  blighting.  Our  social 
connections  are  intended  by  God  to  be 
among  our  chief  means  of  improvement 
and  happiness  ; and  a system  which 
wars  with  these  is  the  most  cruel  out- 
rage on  our  nature.  Other  men’s  chief 
relations  are  to  wife  and  children,  to 
brother  and  sister,  to  beings  endeared 
by  nature,  and  who  awaken  the  heart 
to  tenderness  and  faithful  love.  The 
slave’s  chief  relation  is  to  his  owner,  — 
to  the  man  who  wrongs  him.  This  it 
is  which  above  all  things  determines  his 
lot,  and  this  infuses  poison  into  all  his 
other  social  connections.  This  destroys 
the  foundation  of  domestic  happiness, 
by  sullying  female  purity,  by  extinguish- 
ing in  woman  the  sense  of  honor.  This 


violates  the  sanctity  of  the  marriage 
bond.  This  tears  the  wife  from  the 
husband,  or  condemns  her  to  insult, 
perhaps  laceration,  in  his  sight.  This 
takes  from  the  parent  his  children.  His 
children  belong  to  another,  and  are  dis- 
posed of  for  another’s  gain.  Thus 
God’s  great  provisions  for  softening, 
refining,  elevating  human  nature,  are 
thwarted.  Thus  social  ties  are  liable 
to  be  turned  into  bitterness  and  wrong. 

An  ecclesiastical  document  which  ap- 
peared not  long  ago  in  some  of  our 
papers  is  a strong  illustration  of  the 
influence  of  slavery  on  the  relations  of 
domestic  life.  It  confirms  what  we 
have  often  heard,  that  the  slaves  are 
commanded  to  marry  or  live  together, 
for  the  purpose  of  keeping  up  the  stock 
of  the  estate.  It  shows  us,  too,  that 
when  slaves  are  sold  at  a distance  from 
their  original  homes,  they  are  com- 
manded to  give  up  the  wives  or  hus- 
bands whom  they  have  left,  and  to  serve 
the  estate  by  forming  new  connections. 
Against  this  tyranny,  one  would  think 
that  the  slave  would  find  some  protec- 
tion in  his  religious  teachers.  One 
would  think  that  the  Christian  minister 
would  interpose  to  save  the  colored 
member  of  the  church  from  being 
forced  to  renounce  the  wife  from  whom 
he  had  been  torn  ; that  he  would  strug- 
gle to  rescue  him  from  an  adulterous 
union,  against  which  his  affections  as 
well  as  sense  of  duty  may  revolt.  But, 
according  to  this  document,  an  associa- 
tion of  ministers  decreed,  that  the  slave, 
sold  at  a distance  from  his  home,  was 
to  be  regarded  as  dead  to  his  former 
wife  ; that  he  was  not  to  be  treated  in 
this  concern  as  a free  agent  ; that  he 
was  not  to  be  countenanced  by  the 
church  in  resisting  his  master’s  will. 
The  document  is  given  below.*  What 

* The  following  extract  is  made  from  the  “Anti- 
slavery Record”  of  February 9,  1836:  — 

“ The  following  query  was,  not  long  since,  pre- 
sented to  the  Savannah  River  Baptist  Association  of 
Ministers  : — ‘ Whether,  in  case  of  involuntary  separa- 
tion of  such  a character  as  to  preclude  all  prospect  of 
future  intercourse,  the  parties  ought  to  be  allowed  to 
marry  again?’  This  query  was  put  in  regard  to  hus- 
band and  wife  separated  by  sale,  — an  every-day  result 
of  the  great  internal  slave-trade.  They  answered, — 
‘That  such  separation,  among  persons  situated  as  our 
slaves  are,  is  civilly  a separation  by  death  ; and  they 
believe  that  in  the  sight  of  God  it  would  be  so  viewed. 
To  forbid  second  marriages  in  such  case  would  be  to 
expose  the  parties,  not  only  to  stronger  hardships  and 
strong  temptations,  but  to  church  censure  for  acting  in 
disobedience  to  their  masters,  who  cannot  be  expected 
to  acquiesce  in  a regulation  at  variance  with  justice  to 
the  slaves,  and  to  the  spirit  of  that  command  which 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


796 

a comment  on  Southern  institutions  ! 
It  shows  how  religion  is  made  their 
tool,  how  Christianity  is  used  to  do 
violence  to  the  most  sacred  feelings  and 
ties,  that  the  breed  of  slaves  may  be 
kept  up.  It  shows  us  that  this  iniqui- 
tous system  pollutes  by  its  touch  the 
divinest,  the  holiest  provision  of  God 
for  human  happiness  and  virtue. 

There  is  a short  method  of  palliating 
these  and  all  the  enormities  of  slavery, 
which  is  more  and  more  resorted  to 
at  the  South.  The  slave-holder  looks 
abroad  on  the  world,  and,  finding  in 
other  countries  a great  amount  of  hard- 
ship, crime,  prostitution,  penury,  woe, 
he  proceeds  to  say,  that  these  are  the 
lot  of  humanity,  and  that  they  are  not 
borne  more  extensively  or  painfully  in 
slave  countries  than  in  others,  perhaps 
even  less.  Why,  then,  is  slavery  so 
great  an  evil  ? Without  stopping  to 
examine  these  alleged  facts,  I see  an 
important  difference  in  the  cases  brought 
into  comparison.  In  other  civilized 
countries,  the  evils  charged  on  them  are 
seen  and  deplored,  and  it  is  acknowl- 
edged that  earnest  efforts  should  be 
made  for  their  removal.  Religion  and 
philanthropy,  though  still  half-slumber- 
ing, are  waking  up  to  a sense  of  great 
responsibility,  and  to  new  struggles  with 
the  giant  evils  of  society.  It  is  acknowl- 
edged that,  as  far  as  institutions  entail 
on  the  great  laboring  class  poverty,  vice, 
prostitution,  domestic  infidelity,  and  bru- 
tal debasement  of  intellect  and  heart, 
they  ought  to  be  changed.  Nowhere 
but  in  slave  countries  are  the  civil  power, 
the  sword,  the  laws,  the  wealth,  the 
religion  of  a community,  deliberately 
pledged  to  the  support  of  a system  which 
is  known  and  acknowledged  to  deprive 
one-half  of  the  people  of  property  and 
civil  rights,  — known  to  doom  them  to 
perpetual  ignorance  and  licentiousness, 
— known  to  rob  the  individual  of  the 
means  of  progress,  and  to  poison  the 
sources  of  domestic  well-being.  To 
slave  countries  belongs  the  presumptu- 
ousness of  ordaining  the  perpetual  de- 
basement of  half  the  community,  on  no 
better  ground  than  that  from  the  laws 
of  nature  a large  amount  of  evil  must 
adhere  to  the  social  state.  What ! 

regulates  marriage  among  Christians.  The  slaves  are 
not  free  agents  ; and  a dissolution  by  death  is  not  more 
entirely  without  their  consent  and  beyond  their  control 
than  by  such  separation.’  ” 


Does  Providence  intend  no  progress  in 
human  affairs  ? Does  Christianity  en- 
courage and  enjoin  no  efforts  for  a hap- 
pier condition  of  humanity  ? Is  man  to 
take  his  rules  of  conduct  towards  his 
fellow-creatures  from  the  corruptions 
which  barbarous  times  have  transmitted 
to  the  present  ? May  man,  sheltering 
himself  under  Divine  Providence,  per- 
petuate evils  which  God,  through  the 
conscience  and  by  his  Son,  commands 
us,  to  the  extent  of  our  power,  to  dimin- 
ish and  to  expel  from  the  social  state  ? 

To  return  to  the  kindness  which  is 
said  to  be  practised  at  the  South  towards 
the  slaves.  I wish  not  to  disparage  it. 
Let  us  open  our  eyes  to  whatever  is 
beautiful  or  promising  in  human  life. 

I could  laud  this  kindness  as  heartily 
as  any  man,  did  I not  find  it  used,  both 
here  and  at  the  South,  as  a buttress  to 
the  tottering  cause  of  slavery.  I am 
bound,  therefore,  to  inquire  into  its  real 
value,  to  give  it  its  due,  but  nothing 
more  than  its  due.  One  obvious  remark 
is,  that  kindness  without  justice  is  of 
little  moral  worth.  It  is  a feeling  rather 
than  a principle.  Principle  enjoins  jus- 
tice, and  will  not  offer  favors  as  an 
atonement  for  wrongs.  Again,  the  kind- 
ness at  the  South,  of  which  we  hear,” 
finds  its  occasion  in  a dependence  and 
helplessness  which  the  kind  agent  has 
himself  created.  Is  there  much  merit 
in  taking  care  of  those  whom  we  have 
stripped  of  all  property,  of  self-help,  of 
all  the  means  of  taking  care  of  them- 
selves ? There  is  another  subtraction 
from  kindness  to  the  slave,  inasmuch  as 
it  is  a matter  of  interest.  The  human 
machine  cannot  work  without  food,  rai- 
ment, and  health  ; and,  in  times  like  the 
present,  when  slave-labor  is  more  than 
usually  profitable,  there  cannot  be  a 
better  investment  of  money  than  in  com- 
forts which  keep  the  slave  in  a working 
state.  A more  important  consideration 
is,  that  the  kindness  to  the  slaves  is  not 
of  the  right  stamp.  It  wants  a moral 
character.  The  master  is  kind  to  them 
because  they  are  his  own , not  because 
they  are  fellow-creatures.  The  true, 
grand  foundation  of  love  is  wanting. 
How  kind  are  men  to  dogs  and  horses 
which  they  have  long  owned ! They 
feed  them,  caress  them,  admit  them 
to  their  familiarity.  But  the  sort  of 
kindness  which  is  shown  to  the  brute 
becomes  a wrong  and  insult  when  ex- 


SLAVERY  QUESTION. 


tended  to  the  man.  He  must  be  loved 
and  respected  as  a man.  This  is  his 
due  ; and,  had  he  the  feelings  of  a man, 
nothing  else  would  content  him.  The 
slave  is  treated  kindly  because  he  is  a 
slave,  and  has  the  spirit  of  a slave. 
Once  let  the  spirit  of  a man  wake  in 
him,  once  let  him  know  his  rights,  and 
show  his  knowledge  in  words,  looks,  and 
bearing,  and  immediately  he  falls  under 
suspicion  and  dislike  ; and  a severity, 
designed  to  break  him  down,  is  substi- 
tuted for  kindness.  He  is  less  liked  in 
proportion  as  he  acts  from  a principle 
in  his  own  breast,  and  not  from  his  mas- 
ter’s will.  And  what  is  the  worth  of 
such  kindness  ? The  slave,  were  he  not 
so  degraded,  would  regard  it  as  a cruel 
mockery.  Again,  I cannot  but  think 
that  a good  deal  of  the  kindness  at  the 
South  has  for  its  object  to  quiet  the 
self-reproach  which,  at  this  age,  can 
hardly  but  exist  in  a latent  state  in  the 
slave-holder’s  breast.  Men  must,  in 
some  way  or  other,  strike  up  a peace 
with  their  own-  consciences.  He  who 
holds  his  fellow-creatures  in  bondage 
must  reconcile  himself  to  himself  ; and 
nowhere  is  the  task  so  difficult  as  in  a 
free  country,  where  the  master  claims 
liberty  as  an  inalienable  right,  and  clings 
to  it  more  than  to  life.  In  such  a coun- 
try he  can  only  escape  the  consciousness 
of  wrong  by  flattering  himself  that  he  is 
the  benefactor  of  the  slave.  But  kind- 
ness, when  thus  made  an  opiate  to  con- 
science, is  more  a crime  than  a virtue. 
As  a conclusion  to  this  head,  I am  will- 
ing and  happy  to  acknowledge  that  the 
kindness  of  the  South  to  the  slave  is  to 
be  ascribed,  in  part,  to  the  religious  and 
moral  improvements  of  the  times.  We 
live  under  brighter  lights  than  former 
generations  ; and  these  influences  pene- 
trate into  all  the  relations  of  life.  But 
the  lights  which  induce  the  master  to 
use  his  power  more  mercifully  do  not 
finish  their  mission  by  this  teaching. 
They  command  him  to  renounce  his 
power  altogether.  They  convict  him 
of  usurpation.  The  principles  which 
persuade  him  to  be  a lenient  owner,  if 
carried  out,  forbid  him  to  be  an  owner 
at  all.  That  state  of  civilization  which 
dictates  mercy  towards  the  slave,  makes 
slavery  a greater  crime.  Oppression  is 
to  be  measured,  not  by  its  weight,  but 
by  the  light  under  which  it  is  practised. 
To  rob  men  of  liberty  in  an  age  which 


797 

recognizes  human  rights,  and  God’s 
equal  love  to  all  his  human  creatures,  is 
a very  different  thing  from  enslaving 
men  in  ages  of  darkness  and  despotism. 
A slight  cruelty  now  is  a more  heinous 
crime  than  an  atrocity  in  barbarous 
times.  Must  we  not  feel,  then,  that  sla- 
very among  us,  however  mild,  has  a 
guilt  in  the  sight  of  God  unknown  be- 
fore ? Its  very  kindnesses,  extorted 
from  it  by  the  clear  lights  of  religion 
and  freedom,  become  testimonies  to  its 
guilt.  This  may  seem  severe.  But  God 
knows  that  my  desire  is,  not  to  give  pain, 
but  to  set  forth  what  seems  to  me  great 
moral  truth,  for  the  benefit  of  my  fel- 
low-creatures. 

I have  thus  attempted  to  show  that 
there  is  nothing  in  the  mitigating  cir- 
cumstances of  slavery  to  diminish  the 
reprobation  with  which  it  is  regarded 
by  the  civilized  world  ; and  nothing  to 
justify  the  charge  brought  against  its 
opposers,  of  unwarrantable  interference. 
Having  finished  this  part  of  my  task,  I 
shall  now  pass  to  those  portions  of  Mr. 
Clay’s  speech  in  which  he  meets  the 
arguments  against  slavery  by  attempt- 
ing to  show  that  emancipation  is  im- 
possible. The  arguments  on  which  he 
rests  are  chiefly  these,  — the  amount 
of  property  which  would  be  sacrificed 
by  emancipation  ; next,  the  amalgama- 
tion of  the  races  ; and,  lastly,  the  civil 
wars,  ending  in  extermination  of  one  or 
the  other  race,  which  would  follow  the 
measure.  I shall  consider  these  in  their 
order. 

Mr.  Clay  maintains  that  “ the  total 
value  of  the  slave  property  in  the  United 
States  is  twelve  hundred  millions  of 
dollars,”  and  considers  this  “immense 
amount  ” as  putting  the  freedom  of  the 
slave  out  of  the  question.  Who  can  be 
expected  to  make  such  a sacrifice  ? The 
accuracy  of  this  valuation  of  the  slaves 
I have  nothing  to  do  with.  I admit  it 
without  dispute.  But  the  impression 
made  on  my  mind  by  the  vastness  of 
the  sum  is  directly  the  reverse  of  the 
effect  on  Mr.  Clay.  Regarding  slavery 
as  throughout  a wrong,  I see,  in  the 
immenseness  of  the  value  of  the  slaves, 
the  enormous  amount  of  the  robbery 
committed  on  them.  I see  “ twelve 
hundred  millions  of  dollars  ” seized,  ex- 
torted by  unrighteous  force.  I know 
not  on  the  face  of  the  earth  a system 
of  such  enormous  spoliation.  I know 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


798 

nowhere  injustice  on  such  a giant  scale. 
And  yet  the  vast  amount  of  this  wrong 
is,  in  the  view  of  many,  a reason  for  its 
continuance  ! If  I strip  my  neighbor 
of  a few  dollars,  1 ought  to  restore 
them  ; but  if  I have  spoiled  him  of  his 
all,  and  grown  rich  on  the  spoils,  I must 
not  be  expected  to  make  restitution ! 
Justice,  when  it  will  cost  much,  loses 
its  binding  power.  What  makes  the 
present  case  more  startling  is,  that  this 
vast  amount  of  property  consists  not 
of  the  goods  of  injured  men,  but  of 
the  men  themselves.  Here  are  human 
nerves,  living  men,  worth,  at  the  market 
price,  “ twelve  hundred  millions  of  dol- 
lars.” That  this  enormous  wrong  should 
be  perpetuated  in  the  bosom  of  a Chris- 
tian and  civilized  community,  is  a sad 
comment  on  our  times.  Sad  and  strange, 
that  a distinguished  man,  in  the  face  of 
a great  people  and  of  the  world,  should 
talk  with  entire  indifference  of  fellow- 
creatures,  held  and  labelled  as  property, 
to  this  “ immense  amount.” 

But  this  property,  we  are  told,  is  not 
to  be  questioned,  on  account  of  its  long 
duration.  ‘‘Two  hundred  years  of  leg- 
islation have  sanctioned  and  sanctified 
negro  slaves  as  property.”  Nothing  but 
respect  for  the  speaker  could  repress 
criticism  on  this  unhappy  phraseology. 
We  will  trust  it  escaped  him  without 
thought.  But  to  confine  ourselves  to 
the  argument  from  duration  ; how  ob- 
vious the  reply  ! Is  injustice  changed 
into  justice  by  the  practice  of  ages  ? Is 
my  victim  made  a righteous  prey  because 
I have  bowed  him  to  the  earth  till  he 
cannot  rise  ? For  more  than  two  hun- 
dred years  heretics  were  burned,  and 
not  by  mobs,  not  by  Lynch  law,  but  by 
the  decrees  of  councils,  at  the  instiga- 
tion of  theologians,  and  with  the  sanc- 
tion of  the  laws  and  religions  of  nations  ; 
and  was  this  a reason  for  keeping  up  the 
fires,  that  they  had  burned  two  hundred 
years  ? In  the  Eastern  world,  succes- 
sive despots,  not  for  two  hundred  years, 
but  for  twice  two  thousand,  have  claimed 
the  right  of  life  and  death  over  millions, 
and,  with  no  law  but  their  own  will,  have 
beheaded,  bowstrung,  starved,  tortured 
unhappy  men  without  number,  who  have 
incurred  their  wrath  ; and  does  the  lapse 
of  so  many  centuries  sanctify  murder  and 
ferocious  power  ? 

But  the  great  argument  remains.  It 
is  said  that  this  property  must  not  be 


questioned,  because  it  is  established  by 
law.  “ That  is  property  which  the  law 
declares  to  be  property.”  * Thus  hu- 
man law  is  made  supreme,  decisive,  in  a 
great  question  of  morals.  Thus  the  idea 
of  an  eternal,  immutable  justice  is  set 
at  nought.  Thus  the  great  rule  of  hu- 
man life  is  made  to  be  the  ordinance 
of  interested  men.  But  there  is  a higher 
tribunal,  a throne  of  equal  justice,  im- 
movable by  the  conspiracy  of  all  human 
legislatures.  “ That  is  property  which 
the  law  declares  to  be  property.”  Then 
the  laws  have  only  to  declare  you,  or 
me,  or  Mr.  Clay,  to  be  property,  and 
we  become  chattels,  and  are  bound  to 
bear  the  yoke  ! Does  not  even  man’s 
moral  nature  repel  this  doctrine  too  in- 
tuitively to  leave  time  or  need  for  argu- 
ment ? 

I always  hear  with  pain  the  doctrine 
too  common  among  lawyers,  that  prop- 
erty is  the  creature  of  the  law  ; as  if  it 
had  no  natural  foundation,  as  if  it  were 
not  a natural  right,  as  if  it  did  not  pre- 
cede all  laws,  and  were  not  their  ground 
instead  of  being  their  effect.  Govern- 
ment is  ordained,  not  to  create  so  much 
as  to  protect  and  regulate  property  ; and 
the  chief  strength  of  government  lies 
in  the  sanction  which  the  moral  sense, 
the  natural  idea  of  right,  gives  to  hon- 
estly earned  possessions.  The  notion 
which  I am  combating  is  essentially 
revolutionary  and  destructive.  We  hear 
much  of  radicalism,  of  agrarianism,  at  the 
present  day.  But  of  all  radicals,  the 
most  dangerous,  perhaps,  is  he  who 
makes  property  the  “ creature  of  law  ; ” 
because  what  law  creates  it  can  destroy. 
If  we  of  this  Commonwealth  have  no 
right  in  our  persons,  houses,  ships, 
farms,  but  what  a vote  of  the  legislat- 
ure or  the  majority  confers,  then  a vote 
of  the  same  masses  may  strip  us  of  them 
all,  and  transfer  them  to  others  ; and 
the  right  will  go  with  the  law.  Accord- 
ing to  this  doctrine,  I see  not  why  the 
majority,  who  are  always  comparatively 
poor,  may  not  step  into  the  mansions 
and  estates  of  the  rich.  I see  not  why 
the  law  cannot  make  some  idle  neighbor 
the  rightful  owner  of  your  fortune  or 
mine. " What  better  support  can  radi- 
calism ask  than  this  ? 

It  may  be  objected  that  legislation 
does,  in  fact,  touch  and  take  a part  of 
the  citizens’  property,  and  if  a part,  why 
* The  italics  are  by  Mr.  Clay. 


SLAVERY  QUESTION. 


799 


not  the  whole  ? I reply,  that  the  gen- 
eral end  for  which  legislation  touches 
property  is  to  make  it  more  secure.  It 
levies  taxes  for  the  execution  of  laws, 
under  which  all  property  is  safe.  I 
reply  again,  that  a righteous  legislature, 
in  touching  property,  still  shows  its  re- 
spect by  equalizing,  as  far  as  possible, 
the  burdens  it  imposes,  and  by  making 
compensation,  when  it  can,  for  what  it 
alienates  or  destroys.  I am  aware,  in- 
deed, that  legislation  may,  in  certain 
circumstances,  make  important  changes 
in  the  tenure  of  property ; and  the  rea- 
son is,  that  property  is  not  the  only  hu- 
man right,  and  consequently  that  it  may 
sometimes  come  into  collision  with  other 
rights,  in  which  case  all  are  to  be  rec- 
onciled according  to  the  highest  moral 
law.  Thus  a community  threatened 
with  destruction  may  appropriate  to  its 
use  what  it  cannot  restore  ; or  it  may 
set  bounds  to  the  individual  accumula- 
tion of  wealth,  where  this  shall  plainly 
menace  ruin  to  its  institutions.  The 
right  of  gaining  property,  being  uni- 
versal, does  itself  require  that  the  in- 
dividual shall  not  be  suffered  so  to 
accumulate  as  to  take  from  multitudes 
the  chance  of  earning  means  of  support, 
or  as  to  create  a power  dangerous  to 
the  rights  of  any  class  of  citizens.  Ac- 
cording to  these  principles,  entails  may 
be  forbidden,  and  laws  relating  to  testa- 
ments may  be  so  framed  as  to  break  up 
overgrown  estates.  But,  in  all  these 
cases,  legislation,  in  touching  property, 
treats  it  with  reverence,  and  acknowl- 
edges its  foundation  in  immutable  jus- 
tice. There  are,  then,  principles  of 
property  which  no  laws  can*  move. 
Man  cannot  make  and  unmake  it  at 
will.  As  he  is  physically  unable  to 
turn  the  sun  and  air  into  private  pos- 
sessions, so  he  is  morally  incompetent 
to  turn  his  fellow-creatures  into  chat- 
tels. Both  cases  are  out  of  the  province 
of  law.  Even  Mr.  Clay,  in  urging  the 
wrong  which  would  be  done  to  slave- 
holders, should  the  law  strip  them  of 
their  slaves,  acknowledges  that  law  is 
not  the  supreme  rule  of  right ; for,  if  it 
were,  with  what  face  could  they  com- 
plain of  being  wrongfully  dispossessed  ? 

Mr.  Clay,  having  thus  summarily  set- 
tled the  validity  of  the  slave-holder’s 
claim,  goes  on  to  affirm  that  the  opposite 
* doctrine  — the  doctrine  that  man  cannot 
be  rightfully  seized  and  held  as  prop- 


erty— is  “a  visionary  dogma,’’  “the 
wild  speculation  of  theorists  and  inno- 
vators.” Does  not  Mr.  Clay  know  that 
the  English  nation,  from  its  highest  to 
its  lowest  ranks,  with  scarce  an  excep- 
tion, pronounces  the  pretended  right  of 
property  in  men  an  aggravated  wrong  ? 
Does  he  not  know  that  this  same  doc- 
trine pervades  the  continent  ? — that, 
indeed,  it  is  the  acknowledged  senti- 
ment of  Europe,  with  the  exception  of 
Russia  and  Turkey  ? Does  he  not  know 
that  it  is  the  faith  of  the  vast  majority  in 
the  free  States  ? In  truth,  I know  none 
who  in  their  hearts  believe  that  man 
may  rightfully  be  made  property,  with 
the  exception  of  some  technical  law- 
yers, — a body  too  much  inclined  to 
exalt  precedents  above  principles,  to 
make  the  statute-book  the  standard  of 
truth  and  duty,  and  practically  to  recog- 
nize no  higher  law  than  that  of  a major- 
ity or  a king. 

I maintain,  then,  that  the  slave-holder 
has  no  defence  in  law,  or  in  the  opinion 
of  the  civilized  world,  for  continuing  to 
hold  slaves.  He  is  bound  to  free  them, 
and  to  do  it  the  sooner  on  account  of 
their  great  value.  He  has  held  this  vast 
amount  of  others’  property  long  enough, 
and  the  rightful  owners  have  ground  for 
urgency  in  proportion  to  the  extent  and 
duration  of  their  wrongs. 

“ But  must  the  slave-holder  make 
himself  poor  ? ” says  many  a man  at  the 
North,  as  well  as  at  the  South.  I 
answer,  by  asking  those  who  put  the 
question,  what  they  would  deem  to  be 
their  own  duty,  should  they  find  them- 
selves in  possession  of  a large  amount 
belonging  to  their  neighbor  ? Would 
they  go  on  to  hold  it,  because  honesty 
would  make  them  poor  ? Then  they 
are  criminal,  and  deserve  to  join  their 
partners  in  the  State  prison.  He  who 
is  just  only  as  long  as  justice  will  secure 
him  a warm  home  and  the  comforts  of 
life,  should  be  called  by  his  right  name, 
an  unprincipled  man.  I cannot  doubt 
that  multitudes  at  the  South,  if  thor- 
oughly convinced  of  holding  what  is  not 
their  own,  would  renounce  it  in  obedi- 
ence to  God  and  justice. 

But  a more  important  objection  re- 
mains. Men  of  honor  and  principle, 
who  recognize  immediately  the  obliga- 
tion of  individuals  to  restore  what  is  not 
their  own,  will  tell  me  that,  in  the  present 
case,  not  merely  individuals,  but  states, 


8oo 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


bodies  politic,  with  their  order  and  es- 
sential interests,  are  concerned  ; that 
when  a particular  kind  of  property  be- 
comes inwoven  with  all  the  possessions, 
transactions,  and  habits  of  a commu- 
nity, sudden  changes  in  it  may  induce 
universal  bankruptcy,  and  threaten  soci- 
ety with  dissolution  ; and  they  may  ask 
whether  I am  prepared,  in  such  cases, 
to  insist  punctiliously  on  giving  every 
man  his  due  ? I answer,  that  this  rea- 
soning applies  only  to  what  may  be  law- 
fully held  as  property,  to  material  things, 
such  as  houses  and  lands.  It  is  acknowl- 
edged that  a man’s  right  to  these  is 
controlled  and  superseded  in  extreme 
cases,  when  the  assertion  of  it  would 
bring  great  evils  on  the  state.  This  is 
a fundamental  restriction  on  the  right  of 
property.  But,  in  allowing  this,  I do 
not  allow  that  human  beings,  God’s 
rational  and  moral  creatures,  who  can- 
not be  held  as  property  without  unut- 
terable wrong,  may  still  be  retained  as 
chattels,  from  apprehensions  of  evils 
which  restoration  of  their  rights  may 
bring  on  the  state.  No  fear  of  conse- 
quences can  authorize  us  to  violate  an 
eternal,  immutable  law  of  justice.  I 
deny,  however,  that  the  dreaded  conse- 
quences of  doing  right  in  the  case  before 
us  can  occur.  I deny  that  Providence 
has  ordained,  or  can  ever  ordain,  rem- 
ediless injustice  as  an  essential  condi- 
tion of  social  security.  On  what  ground 
is  this  wide-spreading  ruin  to  be  feared, 
from  destroying  property  in  slaves  ? Is 
emancipation  an  untried  thing  ? Has  it 
not  been  carried  through  again  and 
again,  in  countries  where  social  order 
was  less  confirmed,  and  ideas  of  prop- 
erty were  looser,  than  among  ourselves  ? 
In  the  West  Indies,  has  not  the  revolu- 
tion been  suddenly  accomplished  without 
the  least  shock  to  property  ? Have  we 
not  reason  to  believe  that  the  price  of 
real  estate  has  risen  under  the  change  ? 
The  slave  is  a working  machine  ; and  is 
his  power  to  work  paralyzed  by  liberty  ? 
Does  ncrt  the  master,  possessing  as  he 
does  the  soil  and  capital,  possess  unfail- 
ing means  of  obtaining  from  the  colored 
man,  whether  bond  or  free,  the  labor 
required  for  the  cultivation  of  the  earth  ? 
And  with  this  grand  original  source  of 
all  wealth  untouched,  is  not  society 
secured  against  universal  insolvency  ? 
How  apt  are  men  to  raise  phantoms  to  ter- 
rify themselves  from  an  unwelcome  duty ! 


Mr.  Clay  insists  that  the  slave-holder 
has  a right  to  full  compensation  from 
those  who  call  on  him  to  surrender  his 
slaves.  I utterly  deny  such  a right  in  a 
man  who  surrenders  what  is  not  his  own. 

I cheerfully  acknowledge,  however,  that 
whilst,  in  strict  justice,  the  slave-holder 
has  no  claim  to  indemnity,  he  has  a title 
to  sympathy  and  equitable  consideration. 
A man  who,  by  conscientious  and  hon- 
orable relinquishment  of  what  he  dis- 
covers to  be  another’s,  makes  himself 
comparatively  poor,  deserves  respect 
and  liberal  aid.  There  are  few  at  the 
North  who  would  not  joyfully  acquiesce 
in  the  plan  of  that  distinguished  states- 
man, Rufus  King,  for  large  appropria- 
tions of  the  public  land  to  the  indem- 
nifying of  sufferers  under  an  act  of 
universal  abolition. 

It  is  believed,  however,  that  compen- 
sation, even  on  the  most  liberal  scale, 
would  not  be  a great  amount ; for  the 
planters,  in  general,  would  suffer  little, 
if  at  all,  from  emancipation.  This 
change  would  make  them  richer,  rather 
than  poorer.  One  would  think,  indeed, 
from  the  common  language  on  the  sub- 
ject, that  the  negroes  were  to  be  annihi- 
lated by  being  set  free  ; that  the  whole 
labor  of  the  South  was  to  be  destroyed 
by  a single  blow.  But  the  colored  man, 
when  freed,  will  not  vanish  from  the 
soil.  He  will  stand  there  with  the  same 
muscles  as  before,  only  strung  anew  by 
liberty  ; with  the  same  limbs  to  toil,  and 
with  stronger  motives  to  toil  than  before. 
He  will  receive  wages,  instead  of  a fixed 
allowance  ; and  wages  are  found,  in  many 
parts  of  the  West  Indies,  to  get  from 
him  nearly  twice  the  labor  which  he  per- 
formed during  bondage.  He  will  work 
from  hope,  not  fear  ; will  work  for  him- 
self, not  for  others  ; and  unless  all  the 
principles  of  human  nature  are  reversed 
under  a black  skin,  he  will  work  better 
than  before.  For  what  mighty  loss, 
then,  does  the  slave-holder  need  com- 
pensation ? We  believe  that  agriculture 
will  revive,  worn-out  soils  be  renewed, 
and  the  whole  country  assume  a bright- 
er aspect  under  free  labor.  The  slave- 
holder, in  relinquishing  what  is  anoth- 
er’s, will  add  a new  value  to  what  is 
unquestionably  his  own. 

The  next  objection  to  emancipation 
is,  that  it  will  produce  an  amalgamation 
of  the  white  and  colored  races.  This  • 
objection  is  a strange  one  from  a resi- 


SLAVERY  QUESTION. 


8oi 


dent  at  the  South.  Can  any  impartial 
man  fear  that  amalgamation  will,  in  any 
event,  go  on  more  rapidly  than  at 
the  present  moment  ? Slavery  tends 
directly  to  intermingle  the  races.  It 
robs  the  colored  female  of  protection 
against  licentiousness.  Still  worse,  it 
robs  her  of  self-respect*  It  dooms  her 
class  to  prostitution.  Nothing  but  free- 
dom can  give  her  the*  feelings  of  a 
woman,  and  can  shield  her  from  brutal 
lust.  Slavery  does  something  worse 
than  sell  off  her  children.  It  makes 
her  a stranger  to  the  delicacy  of  her 
sex.  Undoubtedly  a smile  will  be  pro- 
voked by  expressions  of  concern  for 
the  delicacy  of  a colored  woman.  But 
is  this  a conventional,  arbitrary  accom- 
plishment, appropriate  only  to  a white 
skin  ? Is  it  not  the  fit,  natural,  beau- 
tiful adorning  which  God  designed  for 
every  woman  ; and  does  not  a curse 
belong  to  an  institution  which  blights 
it  not  accidentally,  but  by  a necessary, 
fixed  operation  ? It  is  the  relation  of 
property  in  human  beings  which  gen- 
erates the  impure  connections  of  the 
South,  and  which  prevents  the  natural 
repugnance  growing  out  of  difference 
of  color  from  exerting  its  power.  As 
far  as  marriage  is  concerned,  there 
seems  to  be  a*  natural  repugnance  be- 
tween the  races  ; and  in  saying  this,  no 
unfeeling  contempt  is  expressed  towards 
either  race.  Marriage  is  an  affair  of 
taste.  We  do  not  marry  the  old  ; yet 
how  profoundly  we  respect  them.  How 
few  women  would  a man  of  refinement 
consent  to  marry;  yet  he  honors  the 
sex.  The  barrier  of  color,  as  far  as 
this  particular  connection  is  concerned, 
implies  no  degradation  of  the  African 
race.  There  seems,  as  I have  said,  a 
repugnance  in  nature  ; but,  if  not  nat- 
ural, the  prejudice  is  as  strong  as  an 
innate  feeling ; and  how  much  it  may 
be  relied  on  to  prevent  connections,  we 
may  judge  from  the  whole  experience 
of  the  North.  There  is  another  secu- 
rity against  this  union  in  our  country. 
I refer  to  the  mark  which  has  been  set 
on  the  colored  race  by  their  past  sla- 
very,— a mark  which  generations  will 
not  efface,  and  in  which  the  whites  will 
have  no  desire  to  participate.  Even 
were  the  slaves  of  the  South  of  our 
own  color,  and  were  slavery  to  fix  on 
them  and  on  their  children  some  badge 
or  memorial,  such  as  the  impress  of  a 


lash  on  the  forehead,  or  of  a chain  on 
the  cheek,  how  few  among  the  class  of 
free  descent  would  #be  anxious  to  ally 
themselves  with  this  separated  portion 
of  the  race  ! The  spirit  of  caste,  which 
almost  seems  the  strongest  in  human 
nature,  will  certainly  postpone  amalga- 
mation long  enough  to  give  the  world 
opportunity  to  understand  and  manage 
the  subject  much  better  than  ourselves. 
To  continue  a system  of  wrong  from 
dread  of  such  evils,  only  shows  the  in- 
genuity of  power  in  defending  itself. 
The  fable  of  the  wolf  and  the  lamb 
drinking  at  the  same  stream  comes 
spontaneously  to  our  thoughts.  But 
allowing  what  I have  contested,  allow- 
ing that  amalgamation  is  to  be  antici- 
pated, then  I maintain  we  have  no  right 
to  resist  it.  Then  it  is  not  unnatural. 
If  the  tendencies  to  it  are  so  strong 
that  they  can  only  be  resisted  by  a sys- 
tematic degradation  of  a large  portion 
of  our  fellow-creatures,  then  God  in- 
tended it  to  take  place,  and  resistance 
to  it  is  opposition  to  his  will.  What  a 
strange  reason  for  oppressing  a race  of 
fellow-beings,  that,  if  we  restore  them 
to  their  rights,  we  shall  marry  them ! 

I proceed  to  the  last  objection  to 
emancipation.  We  are  told  that  it  will 
stir  up  the  two  races  to  a war,  which 
nothing  but  the  slavery  or  extermina- 
tion of  one  or  the  other  will  end.  We 
have  often  heard  of  the  “fears  of  the 
brave,”  so  that  we  ought  not,  perhaps, 
to  wonder  at  the  alarm  here  expressed. 
And  yet  we  are  somewhat  surprised 
that  “the  chivalry  of  the  South  ” should 
see  in  the  colored  man  a formidable  foe, 
and  should  be  willing  to  put  forth  their 
fears  as  a defence  of  their  injustice. 
Superior  as  the  slave-holders  are  in 
number,  holding  all  the  property  and 
civil  power,  distinguished  by  education, 
by  skill  in  arms,  and  by  singular  daring, 
and  backed  by  the  whole  power  of  the 
free  States,  can  they  seriously  dread 
collisions  ? All  our  fear  here  is,  that 
the  colored  man,  though  freed,  will  re- 
main a slave,  will  be  crushed  by  the 
lordly  spirit,  the  high  bearing  of  the 
white  race  ; that  he  will  not  for  a long 
time  rise  to  a just  self-respect.  We 
fear  that,  in  a country  where  the  law  of 
honor  and  Lynch  law  are  rife,  he  cannot 
enjoy  that  equality  before  the  civil  laws 
to  which  freedom  will  give  him  a nonv 
inal  claim.  We  fear  that,  among  a peo^ 


802 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


pie  who  take  the  protection  of  their 
persons  and  character  into  their  own 
hands,  and  shoot  *down  the  man  who 
offers  an  insult,  the  poor  colored  race, 
whose  assertion  of  rights  will  easily  be 
construed  into  insolence,  will  be  very 
slow  to  insist  on  their  due.  That  they 
should  gain  the  ascendency,  without 
some  miraculous  combination  of  cir- 
cumstances, is  impossible.  Were  they 
a fierce,  savage,  indomitable  race,  they 
might  be  looked  on  with  apprehension  ; 
but  they  are  the  most  inoffensive  peo- 
ple on  earth ; and  their  mildness  has 
undoubtedly  perpetuated  their  chains. 
With  emancipation,  their  present  rapid 
increase  will  be  checked,  for  the  mo- 
tives to  breed  them  will  cease.  With 
liberty  of  motion,  the  desire  of  change 
of  place  will  spring  up  ; they  will  nat- 
urally be  more  or  less  dispersed ; the 
danger  of  concentration  on  a few  spots 
will  diminish ; and  when  we  think  of 
the  vast  extent  of  our  country,  we  may 
expect  them  to  become  a sprinkling 
through  our  population,  incapable,  even 
if  desirous,  of  disturbing  the  public 
peace.  Especially  the  discontented, 
bold,  and  adventurous  — the  very  spirits 
from  which  turbulence  might  be  feared 
— will  be  attracted  by  hope  and  novelty, 
as  well  as  driven  by  inward  restlessness, 
to  new  scenes.  In  truth,  can  we  con- 
ceive of  a country  which  has  so  little  to 
dread  from  emancipation  as  this,  reach- 
ing as  it  does  from  ocean  to  ocean,  and 
destined  to  receive  increasing  acces- 
sions to  its  numbers  from  the  Old 
World  ? It  is  also  worthy  of  note,  that 
the  characteristics  of  the  colored  race 
are  particularly  fitted  to  keep  them  harm- 
less. I refer  to  their  passion  for  imita- 
tion of  their  superiors,  and  to  their  love 
of  show  and  fashion,  which  tend  to  at- 
tach them  more  to  the  white  race  than 
to  their  own,  and  to  break  them  up  into 
different  ranks  or  castes  among  them- 
selves. 

The  groundlessness  of  fears  from 
emancipation  is  becoming  more  appar- 
ent from  the  experiment  of  the  West 
Indies.  I do  not  speak  of  this  as  de- 
cided ; but  its  first  fruits  surpass  all  ex- 
pectation. The  slaves  in  those  islands 
were  to  their  masters  in  the  proportion 
of  eight  or  ten  to  one,  and  they  are  shut 
up  in  narrow  islands,  which  prevent  dis- 
persion ; and  yet  the  gift  of  freedom 
has  not  provoked  an  act  of  violence. 


Their  new  liberty  has  been  followed  by 
a degree  of  order  unknown  before  ; and 
what  makes  this  peaceful  transition  more 
striking  is,  that  emancipation  took  place 
under  every  possible  disadvantage.  It 
was  not  the  free  gift  of  the  master,  not 
an  act  of  justice  and  kindness,  not  ac- 
companied with  appeals  to  the  gratitude 
and  better  nature  of  the  slave.  It  was 
conferred  by  a distant  benefactor ; it 
was  forced  on  the  planter.  It  was  sub- 
mitted to  with  predictions  of  its  ruinous 
results.  The  generous  hope,  which  so 
often  creates  the  good  it  pants  for,  was 
wanting.  In  Jamaica,  it  would  seem 
that  the  furious  opposition  of  the  plant- 
ing interest  to  the  measure  broke  out,  in 
some  instances,  into  a desire  of  its  de- 
feat. Yet,  under  all  these  disadvantages, 
which  can  never  occur  here,  because 
emancipation  here  must  be  a free  gift, 
the  prospects  of  a successful  issue  are 
brighter  than  had  dawned  on  any  but 
the  most  ardent  spirits.  The  failure  of 
such  an  experiment  would  not  have  dis- 
couraged me.  What  ought  not  to  be 
hoped  from  its  success  ? 

Mr.  Clay  seems  particularly  to  dread 
immediate  emancipation.  But  this,  in 
the  common  acceptation  of  the  words, 
is  not  the  only  way  of  giving  freedom. 
Let  the  wisdom  of  the  South  engage  in 
this  cause  heartily,  and  in  good  faith,  and 
it  is  reasonable  to  expect  that  means  of 
a safe  transition  to  freedom,  not  dreamed 
of  now,  would  be  devised.  This  work 
we  have  no  desire  to  take  out  of  the 
master’s  hands,  nor  would  we  thrust  on 
him  our  plans  for  adoption.  I indeed 
think  that  emancipation,  in  one  sense  of 
the  phrase,  should  be  immediate  ; that 
is,  the  right  of  property  in  a human  be- 
ing should  be  immediately  disclaimed. 
But  though  private  ownership  should 
cease,  the  State  would  be  authorized 
and  bound  to  provide  for  its  own  safety. 
The  legislature  may  place  the  colored 
race  under  guardianship,  may  impose 
such  restraints  as  the  public  order  shall 
require,  and  may  postpone  the  full  en- 
joyment of  personal  liberty  even  to  the 
next  generation.  There  was  a time  when 
these  safeguards  seemed  to  me  needful. 
Happily  the  West  Indies  are  teaching, 
and,  I trust,  will  continue  to  teach,  that 
immediate  emancipation,  in  the  full  sense 
of  the  words,  is  safer  than  a gradual 
loosening  of  the  chain. 

Let  me  close  this  head  with  one  re- 


SLAVERY  QUESTION. 


mark.  Allow  what  is  not  true  ; allow 
emancipation  to  be  dangerous.  Will 
it  be  safer  hereafter  than  at  the  present 
moment  ? Will  it  be  safer  when  the 
slaves  shall  have  doubled,  trebled,  or 
still  more  increased  ? And  must  it  not 
at  length  come  ? Can  any  man,  who 
considers  the  chances  of  war,  and  the 
direction  which  opinion  is  taking  in  the 
civilized  world,  believe  that  slavery  is  to 
be  perpetual  ? Is  it  wise  to  wink  out  of 
sight  a continually  increasing  peril  ? At 
this  moment,  what  possible  danger  is 
to  be  feared  from  emancipation  in  the 
Northern  slave  States  ? Does  not  every 
Kentuckian  know  that  slavery  can  be 
ended  now  without  the  slightest  hazard 
to  social  order  ? Does  not  the  whole 
danger  as  to  that  State  lie  in  delay  ? 
How,  then,  can  danger  be  an  excuse  for 
refusing  emancipation  ? 

Having  thus  reviewed  the  common 
objections  to  emancipation,  I pass  to 
one  more  topic  which  is  referred  to  in 
Mr.  Clay’s  speech,  and  which  is  the  bur- 
den of  many  passionate  appeals  from  the 
South.  I have  in  view  the  objections, 
which  are  made  to  the  agitation  of  the 
question  of  slavery  at  the  North.  These 
are  chiefly  two,  — that  such  discussion 
may  excite  insurrection  among  the 
slaves  ; and  that  it  threatens  to  dissolve 
the  Union. 

In  regard  to  the  first,  — the  danger  of 
insurrection,  — I have  shown  how  I view 
it  by  continuing  to  write  on  the  subject 
of  slavery.  Could  I discover  even  a 
slight  ground  for  apprehending  such  a 
result,  I would  not  write.  Nothing 
would  tempt  me  to  take  the  hazard  of 
stirring  up  a servile  war.  Bad  as  slavery 
is,  massacre  is  far  worse.  In  the  pres- 
ent case,  worcjs  of  truth  and  good-will 
are  the  only  weapons  for  a Christian  to 
fight  with.  A mysterious  and  adorable 
Providence  permits  and  controls  massa- 
cre, war,  and  the  rage  of  .savage  men, 
for  the  subversion  of  corrupt  institu- 
tions, just  as  it  purifies  the  tainted  at- 
mosphere. by  storms  and  lightnings. 
But  man  is  not  trusted  with  these  awful 
powers  ; and  let  not  philanthropy  be  dis- 
heartened, because  not  permitted  to  re- 
form the  world  by  the  sudden  processes 
of  violence  and  bloodshed.  Moral  in- 
fluences are  the  surest  and  most  en- 
during, and  good  men  part  with  their 
strength  in  resorting  to  other  means. 

I have  known  too  much  of  slavery,  of 


803 

the  spirit  of  its  victims,  of  the  restraints 
under  which  they  live,  and  of  the  mas- 
ter’s power,  to  dread  the  stirring  up  of 
insurrections.  On  this  point,  persons, 
who  have  not  visited  slave  countries  fall 
into  great  errors.  Not  long  ago,  a speech 
was  made  in  Boston,  in  which  the  slaves 
were  compared  to  wild  beasts,  thirsting 
for  blood ; and  the  good  people  were 
told  that  the  master  locks  his  doors  at 
night,  not  knowing  but  that  in  the  morn- 
ing he  shall  find  the  throats  of  wife  and 
children  cut  from  ear  to  ear  ; and  there 
were  found  among  us  some  who,  in  the 
simplicity  of  their  hearts,  believed  the 
tale.  One  would  have  thought  that,  in 
hearing  the  fearful  story,  they  would 
have  asked  themselves  how  it  happens 
that  our  Southern  brethren  give  five 
hundred  or  a thousand  dollars  for  one 
of  these  beasts  of  prey  ? how  it  is  that 
they  are  anxious  to  fill  their  houses  and 
plantations,  and  surround  their  wives 
and  children,  with  assassins  ? Human 
nature,  if  this  account  be  true,  is  a dif- 
ferent thing  at  the  South  from  what  it 
is  at  the  North.  Here  we  should  go 
mad,  and  should  lose  life  as  well  as  rea- 
son, if  the  murderous  blade  were  glar- 
ing before  our  eyes  night  and  day  ; and, 
still  more,  we  should  be  most  grateful 
to  our  neighbors  who  should  be  anxious 
to  free  us  from  the  curse,  instead  of  re- 
jecting their  “ meddling  interference  ” 
with  threats  and  execrations.  But  among 
the  hearers  of  the  speech  referred  to, 
there  seemed  not  a few  to  whom  these 
difficulties  did  not  occur.  They  even 
forgot  to  inquire  how  the  fearful  account 
was  to  be  reconciled  with  the  assurances 
from  the  South  of  the  happiness  of  the 
slave  and  the  blessings  of  the  institu- 
tion ; and,  in  their  sympathy  with  the 
South,  they  frowned  fiercely  enough  on 
such  of  us  as,  by  our  writings,  are  stir- 
ring up  the  colored  race  to  murder.  To 
tranquillize  these  compassionate  people, 
I will  tell  them  that  the  picture  which 
terrified  them  was  a work  of  fancy. 
There  is  no  such  terror  in  slave-holding 
countries.  In  my  long  residences  among 
slaves,  I have  used  fewer  precautions  at 
night  than  in  this  good  city.  I have 
slept  in  one  place  with  open  doors,  and 
in  another  have  given  to  a slave  the  key 
to  lock  the  house  at  the  hour  of  retir- 
ing, and  to  reopen  it  in  the  morning, 
when  I have  been  the  sole  tenant  of  the 
dwelling.  Undoubtedly  the  slave-holder 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


804 

wears  arms,  just  as  we  bolt  our  doors 
and  appoint  patrols  of  watchmen  in  the 
streets  ; but,  in  both  cases,  these  and 
other  means  of  defence  bring  such 
security  that  sleep  is  undisturbed  by 
fear.  The  slaves,  broken  from  birth  to 
submission,  brought  up  in  ignorance, 
confined  to  the  plantation,  having  no 
means  of  external  concert,  wanting  mut- 
ual confidence,  because  wanting  princi- 
ple, and  separated  by  the  distinction  of 
house  servants  and  field  laborers,  cower 
before  their  instructed,  armed,  united, 
organized  masters,  and  feel  resistance 
to  be  vain.  Add  to  this,  the  strong  at- 
tachment by  which  some  on  almost 
every  estate  are  bound  to  their  owners, 
— stronger  than  what  they  bear  to  their 
own  race,  — and  we  shall  see  that  the 
danger  of  a servile  war  is  not  great 
enough  to  embitter  life  or  deserve  much 
sympathy. 

Rome  had  servile  wars  ; but  her  slaves 
had  been  freemen.  Among  them  were 
fierce  barbarians,  whose  native  wilder- 
nesses had  infused  an  indomitable  love 
of  liberty  ; and  there  were  civilized  men, 
who  groaned  in  spirit  and  gnashed  their 
teeth  at  the  degrading,  intolerable  yoke 
which  was  crushing  them.  But  in  this 
country  there  are  no  materials  for  ser- 
vile war,  — at  least  in  times  of  peace.  In 
war,  indeed,  whether  civil  or  foreign,  an 
army*  marching  with  “ Emancipation  ” 
on  its  banner,  might  stir  up  the  palsied 
spirit  of  the  oppressed  to  terrible  retri- 
bution for  their  wrongs.  But  very  little 
is  to  be  feared  in  ordinary  times.  Were 
the  slave  more  dangerous,  I should  feel 
less  for  his  yoke.  Were  a greater  por- 
tion of  the  spirit  of  a man  left  him,  I 
should  not  think  him  so  wronged:  But 
what  is  to  be  feared  from  a man  who 
stands  by  and  sees  wife  and  child  lacer- 
ated without  cause,  and  is  driven  by  no 
impulse  to  interpose  for  their  defence  ? 
The  strongest  sensibilities  of  nature 
cannot  sting  him  to  do  for  his  child 
what  the  hen  does  for  her  chicken,  or 
the  trembling  hare  for  her  young. 

The  slave,  as  far  as  I have  known 
him,  is  not  a being  to  be  feared.  The 
iron  has  eaten  into  his  soul,  and  this  is 
worse  than  eating  into  the  flesh.  The 
tidings  that  there  are  people  here  who 
would  set  him  free  will  do  little  harm. 
He  withstands  a far  greater  temptation 
than  this,  — I mean  the  presence  of  the 
free  negro.  One  would  think  that  the 


sight  of  his  own  race  enjoying  liberty 
would,  if  any  thing,  stir  him  up  to  the 
assertion  of  his  rights ; but  it  fails. 
Liberty  is  a word  not  indeed  to  be 
heard  without  awakening  desire  ; but  it 
rouses  no  resistance.  The  colonization- 
ist  holds  out  to  the  slaves  an  elysium, 
where  they  are  to  be  free  and  rich  and 
happy,  and  a great  people  ; thus  teach- 
ing them  that  there  is  nothing  in  their 
nature  which  forbids  them  the  enjoy- 
ment of  all  human  rights  ; and  the  mas- 
ter, so  far  from  dreading  the  doctrines 
of  this  society,  will  become  its  president. 
No.  Slavery  has  done  its  work,  — has 
broken  the  spirit.  So  little  is  the  slave 
inclined  to  violence,  that  it  is  affirmed, 
and  I presume  truly,  that  there  are  fewer 
murders  by  their  hands  than  by  an  equal 
number  of  white  men  at  the  North.  We 
hear,  indeed,  of  atrocious  deeds,  assas- 
sinations, bloody  combats  at  the  South. 
But  these  are  the  deeds  of  white  men. 
Pistols  and  bowie-knives  are  not  worn 
by  the  colored  race.  Slavery  produces 
horrible  multiplied  murders  at  the  South, 
pot  by  infusing  rage,  revenge  into  the 
man  who  bears  the  yoke,  but  by  nursing 
proud,  unforgiving,  bloodthirsty  propen- 
sities in  the  master. 

Undoubtedly  there  are  exposures  to 
massacre  in  slave  countries,  as  there  are 
to  mobs,  partial  insurrections  in  all 
countries.  But  outbreaks  at  the  South 
will  be  found,  perhaps  always,  to  have 
their  cause  in  local  circumstances,  not 
in  influences  from  abroad.  I do  not  say 
that  there  is  no  danger  in  slavery.  Sys- 
tems founded  in  wrong  want  stability, 
and  are  every  day  growing  more  and 
more  insecure,  with  the  progress  of  in- 
telligence and  moral  sentiment  in  the 
world.  Unexpected  explosions  may  take 
place  at  the  South.  Secret  causes  may 
be  at  work  on  the  spirit  of  the  slave. 
Foreign  invasion  would  be  a death-blow 
to  the  system.  I mean  only  to  say,  that 
there  is  no  danger  from  the  discussion 
of  slavery  at  the  North,  or  only  that 
indirect,  distant  danger  which  we  are 
always  encountering,  and  which  no  man 
thinks  of  flying  from,  in  human  affairs. 
The  stormiest  day  of  abolitionism  has 
passed,  and  yet  not  a symptom  of  insur- 
rection has  appeared  at  the  South.  It 
is  morally  impossible  that  there  should 
be  danger  in  the  calmer  days  which  are 
to  follow. 

I now  proceed  to  the  second  objection 


SLA  VER  Y QUESTION. 


to  the  agitation  of  slavery  at  the  North. 
We  are  told  that  the  Union  will  be  thus 
endangered.  “Danger  to  the  Union” 
is  so  old  a cry,  that  it  ceases  to  startle 
you  or  myself ; and  yet  so  much  sensi- 
tiveness to  it  remains,  that  the  topic 
ought  not  to  be  lightly  dismissed.  And 
I begin  with  saying,  that  were  the  Union 
as  weak  as  these  clamors  suppose,  were 
it  capable  of  being  dissolved  by  any  of 
the  hundred  causes  which  are  said  to 
threaten  it,  then  it  would  not  be  worth 
the  keeping.  The  bonds  which  hold 
a nation  together,  if  not  exceedingly 
strong,  are  of  no  use.  They  will  snap 
in  the  hour  of  need.  But  our  Union  is 
not  so  weak  as  our  alarmists  imagine. 
It  has  stood  many  storms,  and  will  stand 
many  more.  It  is  not,  as  many  think,  a 
creature  of  a day.  Its  foundations  were 
laid  at  the  first  settlement  of  these 
States,  and  their  whole  history  was 
silently  preparing  them  to  become  one 
great  people.  There  is  not  a community 
on  earth  which  has  so  distinct  a convic- 
tion of  the  blessings  of  national  union, 
and  of  the  evils  of  separation,  as  this 
country  ; and,  in  the  present  age  of  the 
world,  such  a conviction  may  avail 
almost  or  quite  as  much  as  the  tradi- 
tional prejudices  and  habits  of  other 
nations.  Then  our  Union  does  not  rest 
only  on  the  clear  perception  of  the  good 
it  confers.  It  rests  on  sentiment  as  well 
as  interest,  and  on  a higher  sentiment 
than  binds  any  other  people.  We  are 
charged,  I know,  with  being  given  to 
boasting  ; but  this  reproach  must  not 
deter  me  from  speaking  of  the  deep 
foundation  of  our  Union  in  the  claims  of 
our  country  on  our  love  and  reverence. 
No  other  people  can  look  back  to  such 
founders  as  we.  No  other  people  has 
done  as  much  in  an  equal  time  for  civ- 
ilization and  freedom.  Two  hundred 
years  have  hardly  passed  over  us,  and 
we  have  redeemed  from  savage  wildness 
a realm  compared  with  which  European 
kingdoms  are  dwarfed  into  provinces  ; 
and,  through  every  period  of  our  history, 
we  have  been  pressing  forwards  to  an 
equality  of  rights  and  a freedom  of  insti- 
tutions nowhere  else  known  in  past  or 
present  times.  The  deliberate  construc- 
tion of  a civil  polity,  in  which  the  idea 
of  liberty  is  realized  to  a degree  not 
dreamed  of  in  other  countries,  is  one  of 
the  grandest  achievements  of  history. 
Other  governments,  the  creatures  of 


805 

chance,  and  obstructed  by  abuses  of  bar- 
barous times,  bear  no  such  testimony  to 
the  energy  and  elevation  of  the  public 
mind.  Through  this  clear,  bright,  prac- 
tical development  of  the  principle  of 
liberty,  these  United  States,  an  infant 
country,  growing  up  in  a distant  wilder- 
ness, have  moved  and  quickened  the 
civilized  world.  This  country  has  been 
called  by  Providence  to  a twofold  work, 
— to  spread  civilization  over  a new  con- 
tinent, and  to  give  a new  impulse  to  the 
cause  of  human  rights  and  freedom.  A 
higher  destiny  has  been  granted  to  no 
people  ; and,  with  all  our  imperfections 
(exceedingly  great,  I acknowledge),  we 
have  accomplished  our  task  with  a force 
of  thought  and  will  unsurpassed  in 
human  history.  Add  to  this,  that  we 
have  produced  what  no  other  country 
can  boast  of,  a spotless  revolutionary 
leader,  a chief  who,  in  a season  of  storm 
and  civil  strife,  amidst  unbounded  popu- 
larity, amidst  the  temptations  of  severe 
hardship  and  of  brilliant  success,  never, 
in  a single  instance,  grasped  at  power, 
forgot  his  duty  to  his  country,  or  wav- 
ered in  his  loyalty  to  freedom.  In  one 
form  of  greatness  we  feel  ourselves  un- 
rivalled. The  annals  of  no  people  fur- 
nish a patriot  and  friend  of  liberty  so 
pure,  so  disinterested  as  Washington. 
That  a people  having  such  a history 
should  be  bound  by  sentiment  to  the 
national  Union,  is  a necessary  result  of 
the  laws  of  human  nature  ; and  accord- 
ingly the  people,  as  far  as  I know  them, 
are,  on  this  point,  of  one  heart  and  one 
mind. 

But,  besides  this  generous  sentiment, 
we  have  characteristic  feelings,  as  a peo- 
ple, which  bind  us  together.  One  of  our 
national  passions  is  pride  in  a vast  ex- 
tent of  territory.  From  the  circumstance 
of  our  history  and  location,  we  are  ac- 
customed to  think  and  talk  of  immense 
regions,  and  to  scour  remote  tracts  of 
sea  and  land  ; and  we  should  experi- 
ence a sense  of  confinement  in  the 
boundaries  which  satisfy  other  states. 
An  American  has  a passion  for  belong- 
ing to  a great  country.  A witty  for- 
eigner observed  of  the  city  of  Washing- 
ton, that  it  had  one  merit,  if  no  other  ; 
it  was  a city  of  “magnificent  distances.” 
For  this  kind  of  magnificence  our  people 
have  a decided  taste.  We  look  with 
something  like  scorn  on  the  kingdoms 
of  the  Old  World ; and  our  mother 


8o5 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


country  seems  to  us  but  a speck  on  the 
ocean.  We  travel  a distance  equal  to 
the  whole  length  of  Great  Britain  in  two 
days  or  less,  and  feel  as  if  we  had  but 
begun  our  journey.  Our  great  men 
desire  to  connect  their  names  with  this 
vast  country ; and  humble  individuals, 
whether  wisely  or  not,  derive  from  it  a 
feeling  of  importance.  The  poor  man, 
in  voting,  feels  that  he  is  exercising,  in 
part,  the  sovereignty  of  an  immense 
realm.  There  is  more  of  the  imagina- 
tion than  of  the  heart  in  the  sentiment 
now  unfolded  ; but  it  is  real,  and  it  is 
no  frail  bond  of  national  union. 

Another  cause  of  union  may  appear  to 
foreigners  less  serious  than  it  really  is. 
We  hold  together,  because  we  know  not 
where  to  break  off.  Neighboring  States 
are  too  much  allied  in  feelings  and  in- 
terests and  domestic  bonds  for  separa- 
tion, and  no  State  is  willing  to  occupy 
the  position  of  a frontier. 

Our  Union  is  every  day  gaining 
strength  by  the  increased  facilities  of 
intercourse  which  place  distant  parts  of 
the  country  side  by  side,  and  are  inter- 
weaving almost  as  closely  the  interests 
and  affections  of  remote  States  as  of  those 
which  border  on  each  other.  The  sub- 
tile steam,  made  up  of  mutually  repel- 
ling particles,  and  melting  in  a moment 
into  air,  has  become  to  this  country  a 
cord  stronger  than*  adamant.  Provi- 
dence seems  to  intend  to  give  us  the 
physical  means  of  binding  together  a 
wider  region  than  was  ever  before 
blessed  with  one  beneficent  sway. 

It  also  deserves  attention,  that  the 
cause  which  has  hitherto  chiefly  dis- 
turbed our  Union  is  diminishing,  if  it 
has  not  passed  away.  I refer  to  the  dis- 
position of  the  national  legislature  to 
interfere  with  local  interests,  or  to  ex- 
tend itself  beyond  the  bounds  of  strict 
necessity ; thus  awakening  the  jealousy 
of  different  sections,  and  giving  them 
the  notion  of  separate  interests  ! This 
disposition  is  yielding,  not  only  to  the 
resistance  of  different  States,  but  to  an 
impossibility  of  its  exercise  founded  on 
the  nature  of  free  institutions.  Under 
these,  government  is  a slowly  moving 
machine.  Its  wheels  seem  to  be  clogged 
more  and  more.  Diversities  of  interest, 
collisions  of  passion,  party-spirit,  and 
endless  varieties  of  opinion,  throw  almost 
insuperable  obstacles  in  the  way  of  leg- 
islation. Congress,  after  a long  session, 


separates,  having  hardly  passed  laws 
enough  to  keep  the  government  in  oper- 
ation. All  free  states,  at  home  and 
abroad,  feel  this  difficulty  ; and,  evil  as 
it  seems,  it  has  no  small  advantages.  It 
abates  that  worse  nuisance,  excess  of 
legislation.  By  this  cause,  Congress  is 
compelled  to  keep  itself  within  its 
bounds  ; for  in  these  it  finds  more  work 
than  it  can  do.  The  government  must 
be  in  reality  what  it  is  in  name,  general, 
and  must  be  as  simple  as  consists  with 
public  safety  ; and,  thus  qualified,  why 
may  it  not  hold  together  a mighty 
realm  ? 

Foreigners  expect  disunion  from  the 
extent  of  our  territory,  but  in  this  we 
see  safety,  as  well  as  danger  ; for  it  not 
only  flatters,  as  we  have  seen,  the  na- 
tional pride,  but  multiplies  the  bonds  of 
mutual  interest,  renders  free  exchange 
of  productions  and  friendly  intercourse 
vastly  more  profitable,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  checks  despotic  power  of  party 
leaders,  those  simultaneous  excite- 
ments, those  passionate  movements, 
that  concentration  of  all  the  energies 
and  feelings  of  the  people  on  a single 
point  of  controversy,  by  which  free 
states  of  narrower  dimensions  are  con- 
vulsed. 

From  these  remarks  it  will  be  seen 
that  I partake  little  of  the  nervous  sen- 
sitiveness of  a portion  of  the  people  on 
the  subject  of  the  Union.  Undoubtedly 
it  is  exposed  to  perils,  which  may  turn 
these  hopes  and  prophecies  into  illu- 
sions. The  experience  of  life  teaches 
us  to  be  prepared  for  the  worst.  Our 
present  prosperity  seems  too  unpar- 
alleled to  endure.  But  loose,  vague 
fears  ought  not  to  disturb  us  ; nor  should 
they  be  propagated,  because  they  often 
serve  to  fulfil  themselves.  The  truth  is, 
that  we  are  a people  singularly  given  to 
alarm,  and  very  much  on  the  ground  on 
which  the  rich  fear  most  about  property. 
The  greatness  of  our  blessings  makes  us 
timid.  As  far  as  my  knowledge  of  this 
community  extends,  the  Union  is  most 
dear.  It  maybe  said  of  this,  as  of  other 
social  ties,  that  its  strength  cannot  be 
fully  known  till  we  are  seriously  called 
to  dissolve  it. 

But,  it  is  said,  the  South  is  passionate, 
and  threatens  to  secede  if  we  agitate  this 
subject  of  slavery.  Is  this  no  cause  of 
alarm  ? To  this  argument  I would  offer 
two  answers.  First,  the  South,  passion- 


SLAVERY  QUESTION, 


ate  as  it  may  be,  is  not  insane.  Does 
not  the  South  know  that,  in  abandoning 
us  on  the  ground  of  slavery,  it  would 
take  the  surest  step  towards  converting 
the  free  States  to  intense  and  over- 
whelming abolitionism  ? Would  not  sla- 
very become  from  that  moment  the  grand 
distinctive  idea  of  the  Southern  repub- 
lic ? And  would  not  its  Northern  rival, 
by  instinct  and  necessity,  found  itself  on 
the  antagonist  principle  ? In  such  an 
event,  there  would  be  no  need  of  anti- 
slavery societies,  of  abolition  agitations, 
to  convert  the  North.  The  blow  that 
would  sever  the  Union  for  this  cause 
would  produce  an  instantaneous  explo- 
sion to  shake  the  whole  land.  The 
moral  sentiment  against  slavery,  now 
kept  down  by  the  interests  and  duties 
which  grow  out  of  union,  would  burst  its 
fetters,  and  be  reinforced  by  the  whole 
strength  of  the  patriotic  principle,  as 
well  as  by  all  the  prejudices  and  local 
passions  which  would  follow  disunion. 
Does  not  the  South  see  that  our  exemp- 
tion from  the  taint  of  slavery  would,  in 
this  case,  become  our  main  boast  ? that 
we  should  cast  the  reproach  of  this  in- 
stitution into  her  teeth,  in  very  different 
language  from  what  is  now  used  ? that 
what  is  now  tolerated  in  sister  States 
would  be  intensely  hated  in  separate, 
rival  communities  ? Let  disunion  on 
this  ground  take  place,  and  then  the 
North  may  become  truly  dangerous  to 
the  South.  Then  real  incendiaries,  very 
different  from  those  who  now  bear  the 
name,  might  spring  up  among  us.  Then 
fanaticism  would  borrow  force  and  pro- 
tection from  national  feeling.  Then,  in 
the  unfriendly  relations  between  the  two 
communities,  which  would  soon  be  cre- 
ated, and  in  the  self-regarding  policy 
which  we  should  adopt,  we  should  take 
into  account  the  weakness  which  a ser- 
vile population  would  bring^on  our  ad- 
versaries. We  should  feel  that  we  have 
an  ally  in  our  rival’s  bosom,  nor  would 
that  ally  forget  to  look  northward  for 
liberation.  I say  the  South  is  not  in- 
sane. Nothing  but  a palpable  necessity 
could  induce  it  to  break  off  from  the  free 
States  on  the  ground  of  slavery. 

This  leads  me  to  observe,  in  the  next 
place,  that  there  is,  and  can  be,  no  kind 
of  necessity  or  warrant  for  separation 
furnished  to  the  South  by  the  discussion 
of  slavery  at  the  North.  This  topic  will 
indeed  be  agitated,  and  more  and  more 


807 

freely ; but  no  discussion,  no  agitation 
of  slavery,  no  form  of  abolition,  can  pro- 
duce such  an  excitement  on  the  subject 
in  the  free  States  as  will  furnish  the 
slave  States  with  any  motive  to  encoun- 
ter the  terrible  evils  of  separation.  This 
subject  deserves  some  consideration. 
Abolitionism  may  be  viewed  in  two 
lights  ; first,  as  the  organized  array  of 
societies  against  slavery  ; and  next,  as  an 
individual  sentiment,  scattered  through 
the  whole  population.  In  neither  view 
can  it  drive  the  South  to  disunion,  at  least 
for  a long  time  to  come.  Regarded  as  an 
organized  body,  abolitionism  will  sub- 
sist and  will  influence  opinion,  but 
it  will  never  gain  an  ascendency  in  the 
free  States.  On  this  point  my  mind  has 
never  wavered.  It  nowhere  carries  with 
it  the  mass  of  the  people,  or  the  weight 
of  opinion.  It  has  brought  no  religious 
or  political  body  under  its  influence. 
Fashion,  wealth,  sectarian  prejudice,  and 
political  ambition  are,  for  the  most  part, 
opposed  to  it.  That  the  South  should 
be  driven  by  it  to  desperation,  is  impos- 
sible. Many  of  the  obstacles  to  the 
ascendency  of  this  first  form  of  aboli- 
tionism will  naturally  be  presented  in 
my  views  of  the  second.  I will  here 
only  observe,  that,  with  the  intelligence 
and  state  of  feeling  prevalent  at  the 
North,  public  opinion  cannot  be  deter- 
mined by  associations,  especially  by  one 
which  takes  agitation  for  its  motto. 
Agitation  may* be  useful  in  producing  a 
speedy  movement  in  favor  of  an  object 
of  clear  utility,  and  about  which  opinions 
do  not  greatly  differ.  For  example,  in 
the  case  of  temperance,  where  men  are 
generally  of  one  mind,  where  opinion  is 
fixed,  where  excitement  is  the  great 
object  to  be  accomplished,  where  men 
are  to  be  roused  to  resist  habits  which 
they  know  to  be  wrong,  — in  such  a case, 
an  array  of  numbers,  a system  of  pledges, 
and  multiplied  public  meetings,  may  do 
good.  But  on  a subject  involving  many 
practical  difficulties  and  solemn  conse- 
quences, and  coming,  as  many  think, 
into  collision  with  great  public  interests, 
agitation  will  not  now  avail.  Men  dis- 
trust it,  fear  it,  and  resent  as  a wrong 
the  violence  with  which  the  opinions  of 
zealous  men  are  forced  on  the  commu- 
nity. Agitation  may  carry  such  a coun- 
try as  Ireland,  where  the  people,  besides 
being  ignorant,  are  all  inflamed  with  one 
sense  of  wrong,  and  every  heart  re- 


8o3 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


sponds  to  the  agitator’s  cry.  So  it  car- 
ried the  British  Act  of  Emancipation, 
for  the  nation  wa-s  ripe  for  action,  and 
for  the  most  part  had  no  hostile  preju- 
dices to  surrender.  But  an  intelligent 
people,  divided  in  opinion  and  feeling 
on  a great  subject,  cannot  be  carried  by 
storm,  or  be  swept  away  by  a fervent 
association.  The  ardent  advocates  even 
of  a good  cause,  if  marshalled  into  an 
army,  and  joined  in  vehement  onset  on 
the  prejudices  of  such  a community, 
cannot  but  awaken  reaction  and  obsti- 
nate repulsion ; and  will,  too  often,  put 
themselves  in  the  wrong  by  passionate 
movements,  of  which  the  foe  is  sure  to 
profit.  I now  speak  of  associated  agita- 
tion. Let  the  individual  enthusiast,  who 
acts  from  his  own  soul,  agitate  as  much 
as  he  will.  I would  not  say  a word  to 
stifle  the  full,  bursting  heart.  But  pre- 
meditated, organized  agitation  is  another 
thing.  Besides  the  difficulty  already 
stated,  it  is  apt  to  degenerate  into  noise 
and  show,  and  to  fall  under  suspicion  of 
pretence,  and  on  this  account  is  less  for- 
given for  what  is  deemed  excess.  I see. 
therefore,  very  serious  obstacles  to  the 
triumphs  of  organized  abolitionism  in  a 
community  like  ours.  It  has,  indeed, 
done  good.  Under  all  its  disadvantages, 
it  has  roused  many  minds,  but  it  cannot 
carry  with  it  the  people. 

As  to  abolitionism  in  its  more  general 
form,  or  regarded  as  an  individual  prin- 
ciple of  settled,  earnest  opposition  to 
slavery,  this  has  taken  deep  root,  and 
must  grow  and  triumph.  It  is  in  har- 
mony with  our  institutions,  and  with  all 
the  tendencies  of  modern  civilization. 
It  triumphs  in  Europe,  and  will  flow  in 
upon  us  from  abroad  more  and  more 
freely,  in  consequence  of  those  im- 
provements of  intercourse  which  place 
Europe  almost  at  our  door.  Still,  it 
is  far  from  being  universal  among  us. 
There  are  obstacles  as  well  as  aids  to 
its  progress,  in  consequence  of  which 
it  is  to  make  its  way  calmly,  gradually, 
so  that  there  is  no  possibility  of  any 
violent  action  from  the  freest  discus- 
sion of  slavery.  There  is  no  danger 
of  an  antislavery  fever  here,  which  will 
justify  the  South  to  itself  in  encounter- 
ing the  infinite  hazards  of  disunion. 

The  prevalent  state  of  feeling  in  the 
free  States  in  regard  to  slavery  is  in- 
difference. — an  indifference  strength- 
ened by  the  notion  of  great  difficulties  I 


attending  the  subject.  The  fact  is  pain- 
ful, but  the  truth  should  be  spoken. 
The  majority  of  the  people,  even  yet, 
care  little  about  the  matter.  A painful 
proof  of  this  insensibility  was  furnished 
about  a year  and  a half  ago,  when  the 
English  West  Indies  were  emancipated. 
An  event  surpassing  this  in  moral  gran- 
deur is  not  recorded  in  history.  In  one 
day,  half  a million,  probably  seven  hun- 
dred thousand  of  human  beings,  were 
rescued  from  bondage,  to  full,  unquali- 
fied freedom.  The  consciousness  of 
wrongs,  in  so  many  breasts,  was  ex- 
changed into  rapturous,  grateful  joy. 
What  shouts  of  thanksgiving  broke 
forth  from  those  liberated  crowds  ! 
What  new  sanctity  and  strength  were 
added  to  the  domestic  ties  ! What  new 
hopes  opened  on  future  generations ! 
The  crowning  glory  of  this  day  was 
the  fact  that  the  work  of  emancipation 
was  wholly  due  to  the  principles  of 
Christianity.  The  West  Indies  were 
freed,  not  by  force,  or  human  policy, 
but  by  the  reverence  of  a great  people 
for  justice  and  humanity.  The  men 
who  began  and  carried  on  this  cause 
were  Christian  philanthropists  ; and  they 
prevailed  by  spreading  their  own  spirit 
through  a nation.  In  this  respect  the 
emancipation  of  the  West  Indies  was 
a grander  work  than  the  redemption  of 
the  Israelites  from  bondage.  This  was 
accomplished  by  force,  by  outward  mira- 
cles, by  the  violence  of  the  elements. 
That  was  achieved  by  love,  by  moral 
power,  by  God,  working  not  in  the 
stormy  seas,  but  in  the  depths  of  the 
human  heart.  And  how  was  this  day 
of  emancipation  — one  of  the  most 
blessed  days  which  ever  dawned  on 
the  earth  — received  in  this  country  ? 
Whilst  in  distant  England  a thrill  of 
gratitude  and  joy  pervaded  thousands 
and  millions,  we,  the  neighbors  of  the 
West  Indies,  and  who  boast  of  our  love 
of  liberty,  saw  the  sun  of  that  day  rise 
and  set  w'ith  hardly  a thought  of  the 
scenes  on  which  it  was  pouring  its  joy- 
ful light.  The  greatest  part  of  our 
newspapers  did  not  refer  to  the  event. 
The  great  majority  of  the  people  had 
forgotten  it.  Such  was  the  testimony 
we  gave  to  our  concern  for  the  poor 
slave ; and  is  it  from  discussions  of 
slavery  among  such  a people  that  the 
country  is  to  be  overturned  ? 

It  will  undoubtedly  be  said  that  our 


SLAVERY  QUESTION. 


uncertainty  as  to  the  issues  of  West 
Indian  emancipation  prevented  our  re- 
joicing in  it.  But  does  uncertainty  so 
act  where  the  heart  i-s  deeply  moved  ? 
Is  it  a part  of  human  nature  to  wait  for 
assurance  before  it  exults  at  events 
in  which  its  affections  are  involved  ? 
Does  the  new-born  child  receive  no 
welcome  because  we  are  not  sure  of 
the  prosperity  of  his  future  years  ? 
Does  the  lover  of  freedom  give  no  salu- 
tation, no  benediction,  to  a people  rising 
in  defence  of  rights,  or  establishing  free 
institutions,  because  the  experiment  of 
liberty  may  fail?  Undoubtedly  there 
were  evils  to  be  apprehended  from  West 
Indian  emancipation  ; for  when  was  a 
great  social  revolution  ever  accom- 
plished, or  a great  abuse  ever  removed, 
without  them  ? It  was  impossible  for 
the  slave  and  the  master  to  change  their 
old  relations,  to  reorganize  society,  with- 
out continuing  to  feel  more  or  less  the 
influences  of  the  old  system  of  oppres- 
sion. Are  the  wounds  of  ages  to  be 
healed  in  a moment  ? Could  a perfect 
social  order  be  expected  to  rise  from  the 
ruins  of  slavery  ? But  must  corrupt 
systems  be  made  perpetual,  because  of 
the  chances  of  reform  ? In  the  case 
of  the  West  India  emancipation,  we 
had  more  pledges  of  success  than  are 
usually  given.  We  knew  that  the  trial 
of  liberty  had  been  made  in  Antigua, 
without  the  occurrence  of  any  of  the 
evils  which  had  been  dreaded.  The 
great  transition  from  slavery  to  freedom 
had  taken  place  in  a day  without  dis- 
order, without  the  slightest  injury  to 
property  or  life,  with  no  excitement  but 
overwhelming  gratitude.  Yet,  as  a peo- 
ple, we  cared  nothing  for  the  liberation 
of  the  West  Indian  slave.  With  the 
exception  of  a few  voices,  the  mighty 
chorus  of  praise  to  God,  which  ascended 
from  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  from  Great 
Britain,  found  no  response  here. 

This  indifference  to  slavery  has  foun- 
dations among  us  which  are  not  to  be 
removed  in  a day.  One  cause  is  to  be 
found  in  the  all-devouring  passion  for 
gain,  accumulation,  which  leaves  little 
leisure  for  sympathy  with  any  suffering 
which  does  not  meet  our  eye,  and  which 
will  listen  to  no  invocations  by  which 
the  old  channels  of  trade  and  profit  may 
be  obstructed.  Another  cause  is  to  be 
found  in  the  sympathies  of  what  are  called 
the  higher  and  more  refined  classes  here 


809 

with  the  like  classes  at  the  South.  The 
tide  of  fashion  — no  unimportant  influ- 
ence even  in  a republic  — sets  strongly 
against  antislavery  efforts.  Another 
cause  is  our  position  in  regard  to  the  col- 
ored race.  In  Europe,  the  negro  is  known 
chiefly  by  report,  and  is  therefore  easily 
recognized  as  a man.  His  humanity  is 
never  questioned.  Still  more,  he  is  an 
object  for  the  imagination  and  the  heart. 
He  is  known  only  as  a wronged,  suffer- 
ing man.  He  is  almost  a picturesque 
being.  Thousands  and  thousands  in 
England,  at  the  mention  of  the  African 
slave,  immediately  recall  to  their  minds 
that  most  affecting  figure  of  the  negro, 
as  Darwin  portrayed  him,  touching  the 
earth  with  one  knee,  lifting  up  his  chained 
hands,  and  exclaiming,  “ Am  I not  a 
man  and  a brother  ? ” To  us,  the  negro 
is  no  creature  of  imagination.  We  see 
him  as  he  is.  There  is  nothing  pict- 
uresque in  his  lot.  On  visiting  the 
slave  States,  we  see  him  practically 
ranked  with  inferior  creatures,  and  tak- 
ing the  rank  submissively.  We  hear  from 
him  shouts  of  boisterous  laughter,  much 
oftener  than  sighs  or  groans  ; and  this 
laughter  repels  compassion,  whilst  it 
inspires  something  like  contempt.  We 
here  have  a hard  task  to  perform.  We 
have  to  conquer  old  and  deep  prejudices, 
and  to  see  a true  man  in  one  with  whom 
we  have  associated  ideas  of  degradation 
inconsistent  with  humanity.  These  are 
painful  truths  ; but  it  is  good  to  know 
the  truth.  One  thing  is  plain,  that  free 
discussion  of  slavery  is  not  likely  to  stir 
up  in  the  free  States  rash,  careless  as- 
saults on  the  institutions  of  the  South, 
and  so  to  endanger  the  Union.  We, 
who  are  called  incendiaries  because  we 
discuss  this  subject,  do  not  kindle  our 
fires  among  dry  woods,  but  too  often  on 
fields  of  ice.  A consuming  conflagration 
is  not  to  be  feared. 

I have  now  considered  the  objections 
to  the  free  discussion  of  slavery  at  the 
North.  This  discussion  is  safe ; still 
more,  it  is  a duty,  and  must  go  on  ; and 
under  this  and  other  influences,  the  anti- 
slavery spirit  must. spread  and  must  pre- 
vail. Mr.  Clay’s  speech  will  but  aid  the 
movement.  The  antislavery  spirit  may 
triumph  slowly,  but  triumph  it  must  and 
will.  It  may  be  thought  that,  from  my 
own  showing,  the  success  of  this  cause 
is  not  so  sure  as  its  friends  are  accus- 
tomed to  boast.  But,  notwithstanding 


8io 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


all  the  obstacles  which  I have  frankly 
stated,  antislavery  principles  have  made 
great  progress,  have  become  deep  con- 
victions in  many  souls  within  a few 
years  : and  the  impulse,  far  from  being 
spent,  continually  gains  strength.  There 
are  those  who  hope  that  the  present 
movement  is  a temporary  fanaticism. 
We  are  even  told  that  a distinguished 
senator  from  the  South,  on  the  close  of 
Mr.  Clay’s  speech,  repaid  this  effort  for 
slavery  with  unbounded  applause,  and 
declared,  that  “ Abolitionism  was  now 
down.”  But  such  men  have  not  studied 
our  times.  Strange,  that  in  an  age  when 
great  principles  are  stirring  the  human 
soul,  and  when  the  mass  of  men,  who 
have  hitherto  slept,  are  waking  up  to 
thought,  it  should  be  imagined  that  an 
individual,  a name,  a breath,  can  arrest 
the  grand  forward  movements  of  society  ! 
When  will  statesmen  learn  that  there 
are  higher  powers  than  political  motives, 
interests,  and  intrigues  ? When  will 
they  learn  the  might  which  dwells  in 
truth  ? When  will  they  learn  that  the 
great  moral  and  religious  ideas  which 
have  now  seized  on  and  are  working  in 
men’s  souls  are  the  most  efficient,  dura- 
ble forces  which  are  acting  in  the  world  ? 
When  will  they  learn  that  the  past  and 
present  are  not  the  future,  but  that  the 
changes  already  wrought  in  society  are 
only  forerunners,  signs,  and  springs  of 
mightier  revolutions  ? Politicians,  ab- 
sorbed in  near  objects,  are  prophets  only 
on  a small  scale.  They  may  foretell 
the  issues  of  the  next  election,  though 
even  here  they  are  often  baffled  ; but 
the  breaking  out  of  a deep  moral  con- 
viction in  the  mass  of  men  is  a mystery 
which  they  have  little  skill  to  interpret. 
The  future  of  this  country  is  to  take  its 
shape,  not  from  the  growing  of  cotton 
at  the  South,  not  from  the  struggles  of 
parties  or  leaders  for  power  or  station, 
but  from  the  great  principles  which  are 
unfolding  themselves  silently  in  men’s 
breasts.  There  is  here,  and  through 
the  civilized  world,  a steady  current  of 
thought  and  feeling  in  one  direction. 
The  old  notion  of  the  subjection  of  the 
many  for  the  comfort,  ease,  pleasure, 
and  pride  of  the  few,  is  fast  wearing 
away.  A far  higher  and  more  rational 
conception  of  freedom  than  entered  into 
the  loftiest  speculations  of  ancient  times 
is  spreading  itself,  and  is  changing  the 
face  of  society.  “Equality  before  the 


laws  ” has  become  the  watchword  of  all 
civilized  states.  The  absolute  worth  of 
a human  being  is  better  understood,  that 
is,  his  worth  as  an  individual,  or  on  his 
own  account,  and  not  merely  as  a useful 
tool  to  others.  Christianity  is  more 
and  more  seen  to  attach  a sacredness 
and  unspeakable  dignity  to  every  man, 
because  each  man  is  immortal.  Such 
is  the  current  of  human  thought.  Prin- 
ciples of  a higher  order  are  beginning 
to  operate  on  society,  and  the  dawn  of 
these  primal,  everlasting  lights,  is  a sure 
omen  of  a brighter  day.  This  is  the 
true  sign  of  the  coming  ages.  Politi- 
cians, seizing  on  the  narrow,  selfish 
principles  of  human  nature,  expect  these 
to  rule  for  ever.  They  hope,  by  their 
own  machinery,  to  determine  the  move- 
ments of  the  world.  But  if  history 
teaches  any  lesson,  it  is  the  impotence 
of  statesmen  ; and,  happily,  this  impo- 
tence is  increasing  every  day,  with  the 
spread  of  lights  and  moral  force  among 
the  people.  Would  politicians  study 
history  with  more  care,  they  might  learn, 
even  from  the  dark  times  which  are  past, 
that  self-interest  is  not,  after  all,  the 
mightiest  agent  in  human  affairs  ; that 
the  course  of  human  events  has  been 
more  determined,  on  the  whole,  by  great 
principles,  by  great  emotions,  by  feeling, 
by  enthusiasm,  than  by  selfish  calcula- 
tions, or  by  selfish  men.  In  the  great 
conflict  between  the  Oriental  and  the 
Western  World,  which  was  decided  at 
Thermopylae  and  Marathon;  in  the  last 
great  conflict  between  Polytheism  and 
Theism,  begun  by  Jesus  Christ,  and 
carried  on  by  his  followers  ; in  the 
Reformation  of  Luther ; in  the  Ameri- 
can Revolution  ; in  these  grandest 
epochs  of  history,  what  was  it  which 
won  the  victory  ? What  were  the 
mighty,  all-prevailing  powers  ? Not  po- 
litical management,  not  self-interest,  not 
the  lower  principles  of  human  nature, 
but  the  principles  of  freedom  and  relig- 
ion, moral  power,  moral  enthusiasm,  the 
divine  aspirations  of  the  human  soul. 
Great  thoughts  and  great  emotions  have 
a place  in  human  history  which  no  his- 
torian has  hitherto  given  them,  and  the 
future  is  to  be  more  determined  by  these 
than  the  past.  The  antislavery  spirit 
is  not,  then,  to  die  under  the  breath  of 
an  orator.  As  easily  might  that  breath 
blow  out  the  sun. 

Slavery  must  fall,  because  it  stands  in 


SLAVERY  QUESTION. 


8 1 1 


direct  hostility  to  all  the  grand  move- 
ments, principles,  and  reforms  of  our 
age,  because  it  stands  in  the  way  of  an 
advancing  world.  One  great  idea  stands 
out  amidst  the  discoveries  and  improve- 
ments of  modern  times.  It  is,  that  man 
is  not  to  exercise  arbitrary,  irresponsible 
power  over  man.  To  restrain  power,  to 
divide  and  balance  it,  to  create  respon- 
sibility for  its  just  use,  to  secure  the 
individual  against  its  abuse,  to  substi- 
tute law  for  private  will,  to  shield  the 
weak  from  the  strong,  to  give  to  the  in- 
jured the  means  of  redress,  to  set  a fence 
round  every  man’s  property  and  rights, 
in  a word,  to  secure  liberty,  — such, 
under  various  expressions,  is  the  great 
object  on  which  philosophers,  patriots, 
philanthropists,  have  long  fixed  their 
thoughts  and  hopes.  It  is  remarkable, 
and  one  of  the  happy  omens  of  the  times, 
that  even  absolute  governments  have 
reached  in  a measure  this  grand  idea. 
They  present  themselves  as  the  guar- 
dians of  liberty.  They  profess  their 
desire  and  purpose  to  sustain  equal  laws, 
under  which  all  men,  from  the  highest 
to  the  lowest,  shall  find  effectual  pro- 
tection for  their  rights.  The  distin- 
guished Prussian  historian,  Raumer,  in 
his  letters  on  England,  maintains  that 
his  own  government,  which  foreigners 
call  despotic,  does  not  rest  on  private 
will,  and  that  it  insures,  on  the  whole, 
greater  freedom  to  the  subject  than  the 
British  people  can  boast.  Thus  des- 
potism does  homage  to  the  great  ideas 
and  spirit  of  our  times  ; and  yet  in  the 
midst  of  this  progress,  in  the  face  of  this 
universal  reverence  for  human  rights, 
the  slave-holder  stands  apart,  and  sets 
up  his  claim  to  ownership  of  his  fellow- 
creatures,  and  insists  on  arbitrary,  irre- 
sponsible rule,  and  makes  his  will  a law, 
and  enforces  it  by  degrading  punish- 
ments. And  can  this  power  stand  ? Is 
it  able  to  resist  the  moral  power  of  the 
world  ? Can  it  withstand  a higher 
power,  that  of  Eternal  Justice,  before 
which  all  worlds  bow,  and  to  which  the 
highest  orders  of  beings  must  give 
account  ? 

I began  this  discussion  with  stating 
that  I should  avoid,  as  much  as  possi- 
ble, all  personalities  ; and  I have  aimed 
throughout  to  look  only  at  the  system, 
not  at  individuals.  I am  aware,  how- 
ever, that  some  of  my  remarks  must 
seem  to  have  a very  unfavorable  bear-  i 


ing  on  the  slave-holder  ; for  how  can 
the  evils  and  crimes  of  a system  be  held 
up  without  implicating  more  or  less  those 
who  sustain  it  ? To  prevent,  then,  all 
misapprehension,  I wish  to  say  that, 
whilst  I think  slave-holders  in  general 
highly  culpable  for  upholding  a system 
of  wrong  which  has  been  so  plainly  ex- 
posed, I do  not  regard  slave-holding  as 
a proof  of  the  necessary  absence  of 
moral  and  religious  principle.  Our  nat- 
ure is  strangely  inconsistent,  and  expe- 
rience continually  teaches  us  that  faults 
and  sins  on  which  the  eye  of  conscience 
has  not  been  distinctly  turned  may  con- 
sist with  real  virtue.  A man,  living  in  a 
community,  all  of  whose  members  join 
in  passionate  support  of  an  evil  institu- 
tion, must  have  an  energy  of  thought,  a 
moral  force,  a moral  independence  which 
few  can  boast,  in  order  to  see  and  resist 
and  renounce  the  wrong.  No  moral 
trial  on  earth  is  perhaps  so  overpower- 
ing. The  light,  which  prevails  in  other 
regions,  enters  most  slowly  this  com- 
pact, dense  mass  of  moral  error.  I can- 
not forget  this  in  judging  the  slave- 
holder. I remember,  too,  that  he  is  not 
merely  a slave-holder.  He  sustains  the 
natural,  innocent,  purifying  relations  of 
domestic  life,  of  private  friendship,  of 
country,  and  of  Christian  worship,  and 
in  these  he  may  be  exemplary  ; in  these 
there  are  women  at  the  South  eminently 
faithful.  I know  it  is  said  that  in  these 
acknowledgments  I weaken  my  testi- 
mony against  slavery  ; but  truth  is  dearer 
than  policy.  I cannot  hold  it  back. 
Could  I liberate  all  the  slaves,  by  mis- 
representing the  slave-holder,  I would 
not  do  it.  The  primary  work  of  a man 
is,  not  to  liberate  slaves,  but  to  be  just, 
to  render  to  all  their  due,  to  do  what  is 
right,  be  the  cost  what  it  may ; and  all 
benevolent  enterprises,  which  have  not 
their  origin  and  rule  in  this  sovereign 
principle  of  duty,  are  “splendid  sins.” 
The  slave-holders  commit  a great  wrong, 
many  without  consciousness  of  the 
wrong,  and  many  with  entire  indiffer- 
ence to  the  moral  character  of  slave- 
holding. And  in  all  this  they  resemble 
other  societies  of  men  here  and  abroad. 
There  is  much  unconscious  wrong-doing, 
and,  still  more,  much  conscious  sacrifice 
of  right  to  interest,  all  the  world  over. 
This  should  not  prevent  rebuke  of  other 
communities,  but  should  check  invidious 
comparison  and  the  spirit  of  self-exalta- 


812 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


tion.  We  of  the  North  have  reason  and 
are  bound  to  condemn  the  enormous 
wrongs  practised  at  the  South  ; but  have 
we  a right  to  boast  of  ourselves  as  bet- 
ter than  our  neighbors  ? Is  not  the  self- 
ish spirit  of  gain,  which  is  blinding 
multitudes  at  the  South  to  the  injustice 
of  slavery,  very  rife  here  ? Were  this 
institution  rooted  here,  should  we  not 
cling  as  a people  to  it  as  obstinately  as 
others  ? Are  none  of  us  now  reconciled 
to  it  by  the  profits  it  affords  them  ? 
England  reproaches  our  slavery,  and 
she  cannot  do  it  too  solemnly.  But  has 
England  a right  to  boast  over  the  slave- 
holder ? Who  can  fathom  the  depths  of 
guilt  and  woe  in  that  rich,  prosperous 
island  ? Is  there  another  spot  on  earth 
in  which  so  many  crimes  and  agonies 
are  accumulated  as  in  London  ? Where 
else  on  earth  is  so  shocking  a contrast 
to  be  seen  of  boundless  luxury  and  un- 
utterable wretchedness  ? What  a work 
has  philanthropy  to  do  for  the  ignorant, 
intemperate,  half-famished  crowds  of 
Ireland  and  Great  Britain  ! Her  nobles 
and  merchants,  indeed,  scatter  their 
thousands  and  ten  thousands  among 
the  poor.  But  do  they  retrench  one 
indulgence  or  one  ostentatious  display, 
or  resolutely  meet  the  great  question, 
how  the  terrible  evils  which  weigh  down 
and  threaten  society  are  to  be  substan- 
tially redressed  ? 1 say  not  these  things 

in  the  spirit  of  retaliation  towards  Eng- 
land. I ask  from  her  just,  indignant 
remonstrance  against  our  wrong-doing. 
But  I would  show  that,  in  assailing 
slavery,  I am  not  blind  to  all  other  evils, 
that  1 mean  not  to  set  apart  the  slave- 
holder as  alone  deserving  rebuke,  and 
that  I acknowledge  the  justice  of  many 
of  his  reproofs  of  these  free  States  and 
of  Europe.  God  alone  knows  the  chief 
offender.  The  slave-holder,  indeed,  is 
chargeable  with  the  peculiar  guilt  of 
ordaining,  and  upholding  with  set  pur- 
pose, a system  of  enormous  injustice. 
Slavery  is  a creature  of  human  will  and 
choice,  and  at  the  same  time  the  great- 
est wrong  and  insult  on  human  nature. 
I therefore  cry  aloud  against  it.  Of  the 
individuals  who  defend  and  perpetuate 
the  system,  1 am  sure  that  the  best  are 
deeply  injured  by  it ; but  among  them 
there  are  better  than  myself.  I do  not 
fix  their  rank  in  a world  of  transgressors. 
I desire  to  lift  up  the  wronged  and  op- 
pressed. I leave  to  a higher  Judge  the 


heart,  the  sins,  the  virtues  of  the  op- 
pressor. 

I have  now  concluded  my  remarks  on 
the  topics  suggested  by  Mr.  Clay’s 
speech  ; and  here  you  may  expect  me 
to  close  this  long  communication.  But 
believing,  as  I do,  that  my  engagements 
and  duties  will  not  allow  me  to  write 
again  on  slavery,  I am  inclined  to  re- 
lieve my  mind  of  all  its  burdens  on  this 
subject.  Allow  me,  then,  to  say  a few 
words  on  a topic  which  has  given  me 
many  painful  thoughts,  — the  more  pain- 
ful, because  so  few  have  seemed  to  share 
my  feeling.  I refer  to  that  gross  out- 
rage on  rights  and  liberty,  the  burning 
of  the  Hall  of  Freedom  in  Philadelphia. 
I have  felt  this  the  more  because  this 
hall  was  erected  for  free  discussion,  wak 
dedicated  to  liberty  of  speech.  Un- 
doubtedly it  was  especially  designed  to 
give  the  abolitionists  a chance  of  being 
heard ; but  it  was  also  intended  to 
give  the  same  privilege  to  others,  who, 
in  consequence  of  having  adopted  un- 
popular opinions,  might  be  excluded 
from  the  places  commonly  devoted 
to  public  meetings.  This  building  was 
associated  with  the  dearest  right  of 
an  intelligent,  spiritual  being,  that  of 
communicating  thought  and  receiving 
such  communication  in  return,  — more 
intimately  associated  with  it  than  any 
other  edifice  in  the  country.  And  this 
was  stormed  by  a mob ; a peaceful 
assemblage  was  driven  from  its  walls  ; 
and  afterwards  it  was  levelled  to  the 
earth  by  fire. 

Various  circumstances  conspired  to 
take  this  out  of  the  class  of  common 
crimes.  It  was  not  the  act  of  the  coarse, 
passionate  multitude.  It  was  not  done  in 
a transport  of  fury.  The  incendiaries 
proceeded  leisurely  in  their  work,  and 
distinctly  understood  that  they  were  exe- 
cuting the  wish  and  purpose  of  a great 
majority  of  the  people.  Passionate  out- 
breaks may  be  forgiven.  An  act  per- 
formed by  the  reckless  few  does  not 
alarm  us,  because  we  know  that  a moral 
force  subsists  in  the  community  to  coun- 
teract it.  But  when  individuals,  to  whom 
we  look  for  a restraining  moral  power, 
undertake  deliberately  the  work  of  the 
reckless  and  violent,  then  the  outrage  on 
law  and  right  wears  a singularly  dark 
and  menacing  aspect.  Such  a commu- 
nity may  well  feel  the  foundations  of  so- 
cial order  tottering  beneath  them.  After 


SLAVERY  QUESTION. 


813 


the  mob  of  Philadelphia,  who  wonders 
at  the  mob  of  Harrisburg  ? 

Another  aggravation  of  this  act  was, 
that  the  blameless  character  of  those 
who  had  erected  and  were  occupying  the 
Hall  of  Freedom  was  distinctly  under- 
stood. The  assemblage  thronging  this 
edifice  was  not  made  up  of  profligates, 
of  the  false,  the  lawless,  the  profane. 
On  that  occasion  were  met  together 
citizens  of  Philadelphia  and  visitors 
from  other  cities  and  States,  who  were 
second  to  none  in  purity  of  life  ; and 
they  had  convened  in  obedience  to  what 
they  believed,  however  erroneously,  the 
will  of  God,  and  to  accomplish  what 
seemed  to  them  a great  work  of  justice 
and  humanity.  I doubt  whether,  at  that 
hour,  there  were  collected  in  any  other 
single  spot  of  the  land  so  many  good 
and  upright  men  and  women,  so  many 
sincere  friends  of  the  race.  In  that 
crowd  was  John  G.  Whittier,  a man 
whose  genius  and  virtues  would  do 
honor  to  any  city,  whose  poetry  bursts 
from  the  soul  with  the  fire  and  indig- 
nant energy  of  an  ancient  prophet,  and 
whose  noble  simplicity  of  character  is 
said  to  be  the  delight  of  all  who  know 
him.  In  that  crowd  was  Lucretia 
Mott,  that  beautiful  example  of  woman- 
hood. Who  that  has  heard  the  tones  of 
her  voice,  and  looked  on  the  mild  ra- 
diance of  her  benign  and  intelligent 
countenance,  can  endure  the  thought 
that  such  a woman  was  driven  by  a mob 
from  a spot  to  which  she  had  gone,  as 
she  religiously  believed,  on  a mission  of 
Christian  sympathy  ? There  were  many 
others,  worthy  associates  of  those  whom 
I have  named,  religious  men,  prepared 
to  suffer  in  the  cause  of  humanity,  — de- 
voted women,  whose  hearts  were  bur- 
dened with  the  infinite  indignities  heaped 
on  their  sex  by  slavery.  Such  were 
the  people  who  were  denied  the  protec- 
tion of  the  laws  ; denied  the  privilege 
granted  to  the  most  profligate  political 
party,  and  even  to  a meeting  of  Athe- 
ists ; treated  as  outcasts,  as  the  refuse 
and  off  scouring  of  the  world.  In  them 
was  revived  the  experience  of  the  first 
witnesses  to  the  Christian  faith.  Hap- 
pily, Christianity  has  not  wholly  failed 
to  improve  society.  At  first,  the  disciple 
himself  was  destroyed,  — now  only  his 
edifice  ; and  this  is  certainly  some  prog- 
ress of  the  world. 

And  what  was  the  mighty  cause  of 


this  outrage  ? A general  reply  is,  that 
the  abolitionists  were  fanatics.  Be  it  so. 
Is  fanaticism  a justification  of  this  sum- 
mary justice  ? What  more  common  than 
this  fever  in  our  churches  ? How  does 
it  infect  whole  sects  ! What  more  com- 
mon in  our  political  meetings  ? Must 
the  walls  within  which  fanatics  meet  be 
purged  by  desolating  fire  ? Will  not  then 
the  whole  land  be  lighted  by  the  flames  ? 
Shall  I be  told  that  the  fanaticism  of 
abolitionists  is  of  peculiar  atrocity  ? — 
that  they  are  marked,  set  apart  by 
the  monstrousness  of  their  doctrines  ? 
These  doctrines  are  the  brotherhood  of 
the  human  race,  and  the  right  of  every 
human  being  to  his  own  person  and  to 
the  protection  of  equal  laws  Such  are 
the  heresies  that  must  be  burned  out 
with  fire,  and  buried  under  the  ruins  of 
the  temple  where  they  are  preached  ! 
Undoubtedly  there  may  be  crimes,  so 
unnatural,  so  terrible  to  a community, 
that  a people  may  be  forgiven  if,  deem- 
ing the  usual  forms  of  justice  too  slow, 
they  assume  the  perilous  office  of  inflict- 
ing speedy  punishment.  But  that  the 
processes  of  law,  that  the  chartered 
rights  of  a free  people  should  be  set 
aside  to  punish  men  who  come  together 
to  protest  against  the  greatest  wrong  in 
the  land,  and  whose  fanaticism  consists 
in  the  excess  of  their  zeal  for  the  op- 
pressed ; this  is  a doctrine  which  puts 
to  shame  the  dark  ages,  and  which  can- 
not long  keep  its  ground  in  our  own. 

But  this  general  charge  of  fanaticism 
is  not  the  main  defence  of  this  hall- 
burning. The  old  cry  of  “ danger  to  the 
Union  ” is  set  up.  Abolitionism  was  to 
be  committed  to  the  flames,  because  it 
threatened  to  separate  the  States.  I 
shall  not,  of  course,  repeat  what  I have 
already  said  on  this  topic ; but  I will 
only  ask,  what  will  be  the  effect  of  burn- 
ing up  every  edifice  which  gives  shelter 
to  the  supposed  enemies  of  the  Union  : 
At  this  very  moment,  one  of  these 
twenty-six  States  has  virtually  assumed 
the  right  of  war,  which  the  Constitution 
confers  on  the  general  government,  and 
would  inevitably  drive  us  into  hostilities 
with  one  of  the  most  powerful  nations 
of  Europe,  if  the  insanity  of  the  con- 
test did  not  make  it  next  to  impossible  ; 
and  in  so  doing,  it  has  given  a precedent 
more  menacing  to  the  Union  than  any 
thing  in  our  history,  with  the  single  ex- 
ception of  the  nullification  or  States- 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


814 

rights  movement.  And  shall  all  who 
favor  this  usurpation  be  forbidden  to 
meet  but  at  the  peril  of  mobs  and  flames  ? 
In  this  case,  might  not  some  halls  of 
legislation  meet  the  fate  of  the  Hall  of 
Freedom?  I must  protest  against  the 
disposition  to  make  the  crime  of  endan- 
gering the  Union  a sufficient  cause  for 
house-burning.  The  nerves  of  our  peo- 
ple are  particularly  sensitive  on  this 
point,  and  incendiarism  will  become  the 
fashion  if  this  plea  will  suffice  for  it. 
Every  householder  should  lift  up  his 
voice  against  the  dangerous  doctrine. 

But  we  have  not  yet  touched  the  great 
cause  of  the  conflagration  of  the  Hall 
of  Freedom.  Something  worse  than 
fanaticism  or  separation  of  the  Union 
was  the  impulse  to  this  violence.  We 
are  told  that  white  people  and  black 
sat  together  on  the  benches  of  the  hall, 
and  were  even  seen  walking  together 
in  the  streets  ! This  was  the  unheard- 
of  atrocity  which  the  virtues  of  the 
people  of  Philadelphia  could  not  en- 
dure. They  might  have  borne  the  dis- 
solution of  the  national  tie ; but  this 
junction  of  black  and  white  was  too 
much  for  human  patience  to  sustain. 
And  has  it  indeed  come  to  this?  For 
such  a cause  are  mobs  and  fires  to  be 
let  loose  on  our  persons  and  most  costly 
buildings  ? What ! Has  not  an  Amer- 
ican citizen  a right  to  sit  and  walk  with 
whom  he  will  ? Is  this  common  privi- 
lege of  humanity  denied  us  ? Is  society 
authorized  to  choose  our  associates  ? 
Must  our  neighbor’s  tastes  as  to  friend- 
ship and  companionship  control  our 
own?  Have  the  feudal  times  come 
back  to  us,  when  to  break  the  law  of 
caste  was  a greater  crime  than  to  violate 
the  laws  of  God  ? What  must  Europe 
have  thought  when  the  news  crossed 
the  ocean  of  the  burning  of  the  Hall 
of  Freedom,  because  white  and  colored 
people  walked  together  in  the  streets  ? 
Europe  might  well  open  its  eyes  in 
wonder.  On  that  continent,  with  all 
its  aristocracy,  the  colored  man  mixes 
freely  with  his  fellow-creatures.  He 
passes  for  a man.  He  sometimes  re- 
ceives the  countenance  of  the  rich,  and 
has  even  found  his  way  into  the  palaces 
of  the  great.  In  Europe,  the  doctrine 
would  be  thought  too  absurd  for  refuta- 
tion that  a colored  man  of  pure  morals 
and  piety,  of  cultivated  intellect  and 
refined  manners,  was  not  a fit  com- 


panion for  the  best  in  the  land.  What 
must  Europe  have  said  when  brought 
to  understand  that,  in  a republic  founded 
on  the  principles  of  human  rights  and 
equality,  people  are  placed  beyond  the 
protection  of  the  laws,  for  treating  an 
African  as  a man  ? This  Philadelphia 
doctrine  deserves  no  mercy.  What  an 
insult  is  thrown  on  human  nature,  in 
making  it  a heinous  crime  to  sit  or  walk 
with  a human  being,  whoever  he  may 
be  ? 

It  just  occurs  to  me  that  I have  for- 
gotten the  circumstance  which  filled  to 
overflowing  the  cup  of  abolitionist  wick- 
edness in  Philadelphia.  The  great 
offence  was  this,  that  certain  young 
women,  of  antislavery  faith,  were  seen 
to  walk  the  streets  with  colored  young 
men  ! Of  the  truth  of  this  allegation, 
which  has  been  denied,  I am  not  able 
to  judge  ; but,  allowing  its  correctness, 
I must  think  that  to  violate  the  majesty 
of  the  laws,  and  to  convulse  a whole 
city,  because  a few  young  women 
thought  fit  to  manifest  in  this  way  their 
benevolence  towards  a despised  race, 

* 1 Resembles  ocean  into  tempest  wrought 
To  waft  a feather,  or  to  drown  a fly.” 

Offences  against  manners  are  wisely 
left  to  the  scourge  of  public  opinion, 
which  proves  itself,  in  such  cases,  a 
more  effectual  as  well  as  more  merciful 
discipline  than  burning  or  the  gallows. 
If  ridicule  and  indignation  will  not  put 
down  supposed  misdemeanors  of  this 
class,  what  will  force  avail  ? May  I be 
here  allowed  to  counsel  my  fair  aboli- 
tionist friends  (if  they  have  really  fallen 
into  the  “unpardonable  transgression” 
laid  to  their  charge)  to  respect  hereafter 
the  usages  of  society  in  regard  to  their 
communications  with  the  other  sex.  If 
their  antislavery  zeal  compels  them  to 
bear  testimony  against  the  prejudice 
which  excludes  the  colored  people  from 
the  society  of  the  whites,  let  them 
choose  for  their  associates  the  women 
of  the  despised  caste.  With  less  de- 
fiance of  opinion,  they  will  thus  give 
equal  expression  to  their  interest  in  the 
wronged.  I believe,  however,  that  the 
less  conspicuous  their  zeal  in  this  and 
other  public  movements,  the  better. 
There  are  none  for  whom  I feel  a 
deeper  and  more  affectionate  solicitude 
than  for  the  young  of  the  other  sex ; 
and  when  I think  of  their  inexperience. 


SLAVERY 

and  of  the  strength  of  their  sensibility, 
and  then  consider  how  exposed  they 
are,  on  occasions  of  struggle  and  ex- 
citement, to  unconscious  imprudences 
which  may  throw  a shade  over  their 
characters  not  soon  to  be  dispelled,  and 
which,  in  their  calmer  hours,  may  visit 
them  with  secret  upbraidings,  or  with 
fears  of  having  started  from  the  proper 
path,  I cannot  but  desire  that,  whilst  they 
open  their  hearts  to  all  generous  sympa- 
thies, they  should  postpone  the  public 
manifestation  of  their  zeal  to  a riper  age. 

The  violence  which  was  offered  the 
abolitionists  for  their  reception  of  the 
colored  people  to  freer  social  inter- 
course, was  the  more  aggravated,  be- 
cause, if  they  erred  in  the  matter,  their 
motive  was  a generous  one,  not  got  up 
for  the  occasion,  but  proved  to  be  sin- 
cere by  their  whole  conduct.  They  say 
that  the  colored  race,  ground  as  they 
have  been  in  the  dust  by  long  tyranny, 
and  still  suffering  under  prejudices 
which  forbid  their  elevation,  are  en- 
titled to  peculiar  regard  from  the  dis- 
ciples of  him  who  came  to  raise  the 
fallen,  “to  seek  and  save  the  lost.” 
They  look  on  this  people  with  peculiar 
sympathy,  because  subjected  to  peculiar 
hardships.  With  this  view,  they  are 
anxious  to  break  down  the  distinction, 
or  at  least  to  diminish  the  distance, 
between  the  black  man  and  the  white, 
believing  that  in  this  way  only  the  de- 
grading influences  of  the  injuries  of 
years  can  be  overcome.  Allow  this  to  be 
an  error,  is  it  not  a generous  one  ? Is 
there  nothing  holy  in  sympathy  with  the 
wronged?  Are  feelings  of  benevolent 
concern,  for  whatever  portion  of  our 
race,  to  be  insulted,  and  to  bring  down 
violence  on  our  heads,  because  they 
transgress  conventional  rules  and  the 
forms  of  “good  society”?  That  igno- 
rant and  coarse  people  should  treat  the 
motives  of  the  abolitionists  with  scorn 
cannot  surprise  us  ; but  that  any,  who 
belong  to  what  is  called  the  respectable 
and  refined  class,  should  join  the  fierce 
multitude  in  persecuting  men  of  worth 
and  humanity,  admits  no  excuse.  Does 
it  not  show  that  the  line  of  separation 
between  the  high  and  low  is  not  as 
broad  as  we  sometimes  imagine  ; that 
much  which  passes  for  refinement  is 
mere  gloss  ; and  that  when  the  passions 
are  stirred  up  by  the  concurrence  of 
numbers,  “the  friends  of  order”  can 


QUESTION.  815 

set  laws  at  defiance  as  boldly  as  the 
multitude  ? 

This  outrage,  if  viewed  in  its  political 
aspects,  deserves  severe  reprobation. 
Mob-law,  in  this  country,  ought  always 
to  be  frowned  down.  It  is  an  invasion 
of  the  fundamental  principle  of  our  in- 
stitutions, of  the  sovereignty  of  the 
people,  and  the  more  dangerous,  be- 
cause it  seems  to  the  multitude  to  be 
an  assertion  of  the  principle  which  it 
overthrows.  The  sovereignty  of  the 
people  has  here  but  one  mode  of 
manifestation,  and  that  is  the  laws.  It 
can  express  itself  in  no  other  way  ; and, 
consequently,  a mob,  in  forcibly  sus- 
pending the  laws,  and  in  substituting 
its  own  will  for  that  which  the  legiti- 
mate organs  of  the  people  have  pro- 
claimed, usurps  for  a time  the  sover- 
eignty of  the  state,  and  is  virtually  re- 
bellion. In  a despotism  the  laws  are 
of  less  moment  than  in  a free  country, 
because  in  the  former  there  is  a force 
above  the  laws,  an  irresistible  will,  which 
has  at  its  disposal  a subservient  soldiery 
and  summary  punishments,  to  maintain 
something  like  order  in  the  state.  But 
in  a republic  there  is  nothing  higher 
than  the  laws  ; and  in  shaking  the  au- 
thority of  these,  the  whole  social  edifice 
is  shaken.  Reverence  for  the  laws  is 
the  essential  spirit,  the  guardian  power, 
of  a free  state.  Take  this  away,  and  no 
physical  force  can  take  its  place.  The 
force  is  in  the  excited  multitude,  and  in 
proportion  as  it  is  roused  against  law, 
it  prepares  the  way  and  constitutes  a 
demand  for  a more  regular,  despotic 
power,  which,  bad  as  it  is,  is  better  than 
the  tyranny  of  crowds.  There  is,  in- 
deed, as  I have  intimated,  one  case 
where  popular  commotion  does  com- 
paratively little  harm.  I mean  that 
which  is  excited  by  some  daring  crime 
which  the  laws  sternly  forbid,  and  which 
sends  an  electric  thrill  of  horror  through 
a virtuous  community.  In  such  a case 
the  public  without  law  do  the  work  of 
law,  and  enforce  those  natural,  eternal 
principles  of  right  on  which  all  legisla- 
tion should  rest.  Even  this  violence, 
however,  is  dangerous.  But,  be  it  ever 
so  blameless,  who  can  bring  under  this 
head  the  outrage  offered  to  abolitionists, 
men  who  had  broken  no  law,  and  whose 
distinction  was  that  they  had  planted 
themselves  on  the  ground  of  natural  and 
everlasting  right  ? 


8i6 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


This  outrage  against  the  abolitionists 
made  little  impression  on  the  country 
at  large.  It  was  pronounced  wrong,  of 
course  ; but  then  we  were  told  that  the 
abolitionists  were  so  imprudent,  so  fierce, 
so  given  to  denunciation,  so  intolerant  to- 
wards all  who  differ  from  them,  that  they 
had  no  great  claim  to  sympathy  ! Every- 
where the  excesses  of  the  abolitionists 
are  used  to  palliate  the  persecution  which 
they  suffer.  But  are  they  the  only  in- 
tolerant people  in  the  country  ? Is  there 
a single  political  party  which  does  not 
deal  as  freely  in  denunciation  ? Is  there 
a religious  sect  which  has  not  its  meas- 
ure of  bitterness  ? I ask,  as  before,  if 
fierce  denunciation  is  to  be  visited  with 
flames,  where  will  the  conflagration  stop  ? 

In  thus  speaking,  let  me  not  be  con- 
sidered as  blind  to  the  errors  of  the 
abolitionists.  My  interest  in  their  ob- 
ject increases  my  pain  at  their  defects. 
When  I consider  them  as  having  es- 
poused a just  and  holy  cause,  I am 
peculiarly  grieved  by  the  appearances 
of  passionate  severity  in  their  writing, 
speeches,  and  movements.  Such  men 
ought  to  find  in  the  grandeur,  purity, 
and  benevolence  of  their  end,  irresisti- 
ble motives  to  self-control,  to  a spirit  of 
equity  and  mildness,  to  a calm,  lofty, 
trust  in  God.  I grieve  that  in  an  age 
when  the  power  of  gentleness  and  meek- 
ness is  beginning  to  be  understood,  they 
have  sought  strength  in  very  different 
weapons.  I do  not  deny  their  error  ; 
but  I say,  let  there  be  some  proportion 
between  the  punishment  and  the  offence. 
Is  nothing  to  be  pardoned  to  men  who 
have  meditated  on  great  wrongs  until 
their  spirits  are  deeply  stirred  ? Is 
vehemence  in  such  men  the  unpardon- 
able sin  ? Must  we  rigidly  insist  that 
they  shall  weigh  every  word  before  they 
speak  ? When  all  England  was  on  fire 
with  the  injuries  of  the  slave,  is  it  won- 
derful that  men  in  this  country,  where 
the  evil  is  most  towering,  should  echo 
in  louder  tones  the  cry  which  came  to 
them  over  the  ocean?  Is  it  wonderful 
that  women,  thinking  of  more  than  a 
million  of  their  own  sex,  at  no  great 
distance,  exposed  to  degradation  and 
prostitution,  should,  in  their  grief  and 
indignation,  repel  every  extenuating  plea 
for  the  supporters  of  these  abomina- 
tions ? Was  it  possible  that  none 
should  speak  on  this  subject  but  the 
wise  and  prudent  ? Does  not  every  great 


cause  gather  round  itself  vehement  spir- 
its ? Must  no  evil  be  touched  till  we 
have  assurance  that  it  shall  be  shaken 
and  subverted  by  rule  ? We  bear  ex- 
travagance and  vehemence  elsewhere, 
without  burning  down  men’s  houses. 
Why  this  singular  sensitiveness  to  anti- 
slavery  vehemence,  except  it  be  that 
slavery,  which  so  many  call  an  evil  with 
the  lips,  has  never  come  as  an  evil  to 
their  consciences  and  hearts  ? 

But,  it  is  said,  the  abolitionists  injure 
a good  cause.  Be  it  so.  I think  they 
have  done  it  harm  as  well  as  good.  But 
is  not  this  the  common  course  of  human 
affairs  ? What  good  cause  is  not  harmed, 
and  sometimes  thrown  back,  by  its  best 
friends.  In  the  present  imperfect  state 
of  our  nature,  men  seldom  take  a strong 
hold  of  any  great  object,  without  falling 
into  excess.  Enthusiasm,  by  which  I 
mean  a disproportionate  strength  of  feel- 
ing and  emotion,  such  as  interferes  more 
or  less  with  the  judgment,  seems  almost 
inseparable  from  earnestness.  The  calm 
reason,  the  single  idea  of  right,  the  prin- 
ciple of  pure  love,  such  as  it  exists  in 
God,  serene  and  unimpassioned,  — these 
divine  impulses  seldom  of  themselves 
carry  men  through  great  enterprises. 
Human  passionateness  mixes  with  high- 
er influences.  This  is  to  be  lamented, 
and  much  evil  is  done  ; but  we  must 
endure  enthusiasm  with  its  excesses,  or 
sink  into  a lifeless  monotony.  These 
excesses  we  ought  to  rebuke  and  dis- 
courage ; but  we  must  not  hunt  them 
down  as  the  greatest  crimes.  We  must 
take  heed  lest  in  our  war  against  rash- 
ness we  quench  all  the  generous  senti- 
ments of  human  nature.  It  is  natural 
to  desire  that  evils  should  be  removed 
gently,  imperceptibly,  without  agitation  ; 
and  the  more  of  this  quiet  process  the 
better.  But  it  is  not  ordinarily  by  such 
processes  that  the  mysterious  providence 
of  God  purifies  society.  Religion  and 
freedom  have  made  their  way  through 
struggles  and  storms.  Established  evils 
naturally  oppose  an  iron  front  to  reform  ; 
and  the  spirit  of  reform,  gathering  new 
vehemence  from  oppositions,  pours  itself 
forth  in  passionate  efforts.  Man  is  not 
good  enough  yet  to  join  invincible  cour- 
age, zeal,  and  struggle,  with  all-suffering 
meekness.  But  must  conflict  with  evd 
cease,  because  it  will  be  marred  with 
human  imperfection?  Must  the  burn- 
ing spirit  lock  up  its  sympathies  with 


SLAVERY  QUESTION. 


817 


suffering  humanity,  because  not  sure  of 
being  always  self-possessed  ? Do  we 
forgive  nothing  to  the  warm-hearted  ? 
Should  we  not  labor  to  temper  and  guide 
aright  excessive  zeal  in  a virtuous  cause, 
instead  of  persecuting  it  as  the  worst  of 
crimes  ? 

The  abolitionists  deserve  rebuke  ; but 
let  it  be  proportioned  to  the  offence. 
They  do  wrong  in  their  angry  denun- 
ciation of  slave-holders.  But  is  calling 
the  slave-holder  hard  names  a crime  of 
unparalleled  aggravation  ? Is  it  not,  at 
least,  as  great  a crime  to  spoil  a man  of 
his  rights  and  liberty,  to  make  him  a 
chattel,  and  trample  him  in  the  dust  ? 
And  why  shall  the  latter  offender  escape 
with  so  much  gentler  rebuke  ? I know, 
as  well  as  the  slave-holder,  what  it  is  to 
bear  the  burden  of  hard  names.  The 
South  has  not  been  sparing  of  its  invec- 
tives in  return  for  my  poor  efforts  against 
slavery.  I understand  the  evil  of  re- 
proach ; and  I am  compelled  to  pro- 
nounce it  a very  slight  one,  and  not  to 
be  named  in  comparison  with  bondage  ; 
and  why  is  it  that  he  who  inflicts  the 
former  should  be  called  to  drink  the  cup 
of  wrath  to  the  very  dregs,  whilst  he  who 
inflicts  the  latter  receives  hardly  a mild 
rebuke  ? 

I say  these  things,  not  as  a partisan 
of  the  abolitionists,  but  from  a love  of 
justice.  They  seem  to  me  greatly 
wronged  by  the  unparalleled  persecution 
to  which  they  have  been  exposed  ; and 
the  wronged  should  never  want  a de- 
fender. But  I am  not  of  them.  In  the 
spirit  of  many  of  them  I see  much  to 
condemn.  I utterly  disapprove  their 
sweeping  denunciations.  I fear  that 
their  scorn  of  expediency  may  degener- 
ate into  recklessness.  I fear  that,  as  a 
natural  if  not  necessary  consequence  of 
their  multiplied  meetings,  held  chiefly 
for  excitement,  their  zeal  must  often  be 
forced,  got  up  for  effect, — a product  of 
calculation,  not  a swell  of  the  heart.  I 
confide  in  them  the  less,  the  more  they 
increase.  I fear  that  their  resort  to 
political  action  will  impair  their  single- 
ness of  purpose  and  their  moral  power. 
I distrust  the  system  of  association  and 
agitation  in  a cause  like  this.  But  be- 
cause I see  among  them  somewhat  to 
fear  and  blame,  must  I shut  my  eyes  on 
more  which  I ‘ought  to  commend  ? Must 
not  men  of  pure  and  lofty  aims  be  hon- 
ored, because,  like  every  thing  human, 


they  are  not  free  from  fault  ? I re- 
spect the  abolitionists  for  maintaining 
great  principles  with  courage  and  fervor, 
amidst  scorn  and  violence.  Can  men 
have  a higher  claim  to  respect  ? In 
their  body,  amidst  prejudiced,  narrow- 
minded, conceited,  self-seeking  mem- 
bers, such  as  are  found  in  all  associa- 
tions, there  is  a large  proportion  of 
uncompromising,  single-hearted  friends 
of  truth,  right,  and  freedom  ; and  such 
men  are  securities  against  the  adoption 
of  criminal  ends  or  criminal  means.  In 
their  front  rank  — perhaps  at  their  head 
— is  Gerrit  Smith  ; a man  worthy  of  all 
honor  for  his  overflowing  munificence, 
for  his  calm  yet  invincible  moral  courage, 
for  his  Christian  liberality,  embracing 
men  of  every  sect  and  name,  and  for 
his  deep,  active,  inexhaustible  sympathy 
with  the  sinful,  suffering,  and  oppressed. 
In  their  ranks  may  also  be  found  our 
common  friend,  Charles  Follen,  that 
genuine  man,  that  heroic  spirit,  whose 
love  of  freedom  unites,  in  rare  harmony, 
the  old  Roman  force  with  Christian 
love ; in  whom  we  see  the  generous, 
rash  enthusiasm  of  his  youth,  tempered 
by  time  and  trial  into  a most  sweet  and 
winning  virtue.  I could  name  others, 
honored  and  dear.  I do  not,  for  the 
sake  of  such,  shut  my  eyes  on  the  de- 
fects of  the  association  ; but  that  it 
should  be  selected  for  outrage  and  per- 
secution, is  a monstrous  wrong,  against 
which  solemn  testimony  ought  to  be 
borne. 

There  is  one  consolation  attending 
persecution.  It  often  exalts  the  spirit 
of  the  sufferer,  and  often  covers  with 
honor  those  whom  it  had  destined  to 
shame.  Who  made  Socrates  the  most 
venerable  name  of  antiquity  ? The  men 
who  mixed  for  him  the  cup  of  hemlock, 
and  drove  him  as  a criminal  from  the 
world  which  he  had  enlightened.  Prov- 
idence teaches  us  the  doctrine  of  retri- 
bution very  touchingly  in  the  fact  that 
future  ages  guard  with  peculiar  rever- 
ence the  memories  of  men  who,  in  their 
own  times,  were  contemned,  abhorred, 
hunted  like  wild  beasts,  and  destroyed 
by  fire  or  sword,  for  their  fidelity  to 
trfcth.  That  the  abolitionists  have 
grown  strong  under  outrage,  we  know  ; 
and  in  this  I should  rejoice  were  their 
cause  ever  so  bad  ; because  persecution 
must  be  worse,  and  its  defeat  must  be  a 
good.  I wish  that  persecution,  if  not 


8 1 8 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


checked  by  principle,  may  be  stayed,  by 
seeing  that  it  fights  against  itself,  and 
builds  up  those  whom  it  toils  to  destroy. 
How  long  the  abolitionists  will  be  re- 
membered, I know  not ; but  as  long  as 
they  live  in  history,  they  will  wear  as  a 
crown  the  sufferings  which  they  have  so 
firmly  borne.  Posterity  will  be  just  to 
them ; nor  can  I doubt  what  doom  pos- 
terity will  pronounce  on  the  mobs  or 
single  men  who  have  labored  to  silence 
them  by  brutal  force.  I should  be  glad 
to  see  them  exchanging  their  array  of 
affiliated  societies  for  less  conspicuous 
and  artificial  means  of  action.  But  let 
them  not  do  this  from  subserviency  to 
opinion,  or  in  opposition  to  their  sense  of 
right.  Let  them  yield  nothing  to  fear. 
Let  them  never  be  false  to  that  great 
cause  which  they  have  fought  for  so 
manfully,  — freedom  of  speech.  Let 
them  never  give  countenance  to  the  doc- 
trine, which  all  tyrants  hold,  that  ma- 
terial power,  physical  pain,  is  mightier 
than  the  convictions  of  reason,  than  the 
principle  of  duty,  than  the  love  of  God 
and  mankind.  Sooner  may  they  pine 
and  perish  in  prisons,  sooner  bleed  or 
be  strangled  by  the  executioner,  than 
surrender  their  deliberate  principles  to 
lawless  violence. 

In  the  remarks  now  made  on  the 
recent  outrage  at  Philadelphia,  I have 
felt  myself  bound  to  use  great  plainness 
of  speech.  Had  I consulted  my  feel- 
ings, I should  have  been  silent.  In  that 
city  I have  old  and  dear  friends,  and 
have  received  hospitalities  which  I 
remember  with  gratitude.  But  we  are 
not  allowed  to  “confer  with  flesh  and 
blood.”  I beg,  however,  to  say,  in 
order  to  prevent  misinterpretation,  that 
I have  not  thought  for  a moment  of 
holding  up  Philadelphia  as  the  worst  of 
cities.  I do  not  infer  from  a single  tu- 
mult the  character  of  a vast  population. 
How  many  thousands  of  that  metropolis 
took  no  part  in  the  transaction  under 
consideration  ! And  of  those  who  gave 
it  their  active  or  passive  sanction,  how 
many  thousands  were  hurried  on  by  im- 
itation and  sympathy,  were  swept  away 
by  a common  impulse,  without  compre- 
hending the  import  of  the  deed  ! In*  a 
popular  ferment  individuals  lay  aside 
themselves  for  a time,  and  do  what  they 
would  shrink  from  if  left  to  act  on  their 
separate  responsibility.  In  all  cities,  it 
is  true  of  the  vast  majority  of  men  that 


their  consciences  cannot  stand  alone. 
Their  principles,  as  they  call  them,  are 
echoes  of  general  sentiment.  Their 
sense  of  duty,  unpropped  by  opinion, 
totters,  and  too  often  falls.  One  of  the 
saddest  views  of  society  is  the  almost 
universal  want  of  self-determined,,  self- 
subsistent  virtue.  It  is,  therefore,  no 
sign  of  unparalleled  depravity  that  a 
community  proves  false  to  great  princi- 
ples in  seasons  of  excitement.  All  great 
cities  abound  in  ignorance,  prejudice, 
passion,  selfish  conformity  to  the  world, 
and  moral  corruption  in  its  grosser  and 
more  refined  forms  ; and  that  these  bit- 
ter fountains  should  sometimes  burst 
forth,  is  a matter  of  course.  I ascribe 
to  no  city  precedence  in  virtue  or  crime. 
I would  only  say  that  Philadelphia  has 
placed  herself,  more  conspicuously  than 
other  cities,  on  a bad  eminence,  and  she 
must  hold  it,  until  buildings  devoted  to 
liberty  of  speech  can  stand  unharmed 
on  her  soil. 

I now  finish  this  long  letter.  Your 
patience,  my  dear  Sir,  has  not,  I trust, 
been  exhausted.  Whether  this  com- 
munication will  answer  the  public  ends 
which  I have  proposed,  I know  not ; 
but  it  will  do  one  good,  of  a personal 
nature.  It  will  be  a memorial,  however 
brief,  of  a friendship  which  began  in  our 
youth,  and  which  has  withstood  the 
vicissitudes  of  so  many  years,  that  we 
may  expect  it  to  go  down  with  us  to  our 
graves.  It  pleases  me  that  our  names 
should  be  associated  in  a work  which, 
though  written  in  haste,  and  for  a tem- 
porary exigency,  yet  reflects  something 
of  both  our  minds.  It  is  fit  that  the 
thoughts  unfolded  in  this  letter  should 
be  addressed  to  one  with  whom  I have 
conversed  long  and  familiarly  on  the 
great  interests  of  human  nature.  I owe 
you  much  for  the  light  and  strength  you 
have  given  me,  and  especially  for  the 
faith  and  hope  which,  under  much  per- 
sonal suffering  and  depression,  you  have 
cherished  and  expressed  in  regard  to 
the  destinies  of  our  race.  We  have 
given  much  of  our  sympathy  to  the  mul- 
titude. We  have  felt  more  for  the 
many  who  are  forgotten  than  for  the  few 
who  shine  ; and  our  great  inquiry  has 
been,  how  the  mass  of  men  may  be 
raised  from  ignorance  and  sensuality  to 
a higher  social,  intellectual,  moral,  and 
religious  life.  We  have  rejoiced  to- 
gether in  the  progress  already  made 


SLAVERY  QUESTION. 


by  individuals  and  communities  ; but  a 
voice  has  come  to  us  from  the  depths 
of  human  suffering,  from  the  abuses  of 
the  social  state,  from  the  teachings  of 
Jesus  Christ,  urging  the  need  of  new 
struggle  with  giant  evils,  and  of  new 
efforts  for  the  diffusion  of  comforts, 
refinements,  quickening  truths,  enlight- 
ened piety,  and  disinterested  virtue.  A 
few  years  will  bring  us  to  our  journey’s 
end.  To  the  last,  I trust,  we  shall  speak 
words  of  blessing  to  our  race,  and  words 
of  encouragement  to  all  who  toil  and 
suffer  for  its  good.  Through  God’s 
grace  we  hope  for  another  life  ; but  that 
life,  we  believe,  will,  in  some  respects, 
be  one  with  this.  Our  deep  sympathies 
with  the  great  human  family  will,  we 
believe,  survive  the  grave.  We  shall 
then  rejoice  in  the  interpretation  of  the 
dark  mysteries  of  the  present  state,  of 
the  woes  and  oppressions  now  so  rife  on 
earth.  May  it  not  be  hoped  that,  instead 
of  our  present  poof  and  broken  labors, 
we  shall  then  render  services  to  our 
brethren  worthy  of  that  nobler  life  ? But 
the  future  will  reveal  its  own  secrets.  It 
is  enough  to  know  that  this  human 
world,  of  which  we  form  a portion,  lives, 
suffers,  and  is  moving  onward,  under 
the  eye  and  care  of  the  Infinite  Father. 
Before  his  pure,  omnipotent  goodness, 
all  oppressions  must  fall ; and  under 
his  reign  our  highest  aspirations,  pray- 
ers, and  hopes  for  suffering  humanity 
must,  sooner  or  later,  receive  an  accom- 
plishment, beyond  the  power  of  prophecy 
to  utter  or  of  thought  to  comprehend. 


Notes. 

Note  A.  — As  the  page  here  referred 
to  was  passing  through  the  press,  I un- 
derstood that  it  was  maintained  by  some 
that  the  treatment  which  abolition  peti- 
tions had  received  from  Congress  was 
not  so  peculiar  as  I had  supposed  ; and 
I state  this  that  the  reader  may  inquire 
for  himself.  For  one,  I feel  little  dispo- 
sition to  inquire.  It  is  very  possible 
that,  in  this  world  of  tyranny  and  usur- 
pation, scattered  precedents  may  be 
found,  which,  if  used  for  interpreting 
and  defining  our  rights,  would  reduce 
them  all  to  insignificance.  A man,  jeal- 
ous of  his  rights,  will  not  yield  them  to 
this,  or  any  other  kind  of  logic.  We 
have  here  the  case  of  a great  number  of 
petitions  from  all  parts  of  the  free  States, 


819 

and  from  citizens  of  intelligence  and 
blameless  character,  which,  before  be- 
ing presented,  were  denied,  by  a resolu- 
tion of  Congress,  the  usual  notice  and 
consideration.  It  was  not  the  case  of 
a single  petition,  coming  from  a half- 
insane  man,  from  an  eccentric  schemer, 
bearing  on  its  face  the  marks  of  mental 
aberration,  or  asking  for  something  pal- 
pably absurd  and  unconstitutional.  The 
petitions  of  the  abolitionists  greatly  ex- 
ceeded in  number  all  the  other  petitions 
to  Congress  taken  together.  They  rep- 
resented large  masses  of  citizens,  who 
prayed  for  what  is  pronounced  constitu- 
tional by  our  wisest  men.  And  Con- 
gress resolved,  before  these  petitions 
were  offered,  that,*on  being  presented, 
they  should  be  laid  on  the  table  without 
debate,  and  that  no  member  should  have 
the  privilege  ,of  saying  a word  in  their 
behalf,  or  of  calling  them  up  for  consid- 
eration or  for  any  action  in  relation  to 
them  at  a future  time.  Has  any  thing 
like  this  ever  occurred  before  ? Or,  if  it 
has,  shall  we  go  to  such  precedents  for 
an  interpretation  of  the  right  of  petition  ? 
Is  it  not  plain  that,  after  this  measure, 
party-spirit  can  never  want  pretexts  for 
rejecting  any  and  all  petitions,  be  they 
what  they  may?  To  say,  that  because 
these  petitions  passed  through  the  form 
of  being  laid  on  the  table,  the  right  was 
not  touched,  strikes  me  as  one  of  those 
evasions  which  will  do  for  a court  of 
law,  but  which  it  is  an  insult  to  present 
to  a great  nation.  Suppose  that  Con- 
gress, at  the  beginning  of  a session, 
should  ordain  that  an  aperture  of  certain 
dimensions  should  be  made  on  the  clerk’s 
table,  and  be  connected  by  a tube  with 
the  cellar  or  common  sewer  ; and  should 
then  ordain,  that  by  far  the  greater 
number  of  petitions,  to  be  presented 
during  the  session,  should  be  committed 
to  the  part  of  the  table  occupied  by  the 
opening,  so  as  to  sink  immediately  and 
be  never  heard  of  more.  What  man  of 
common  sense,'  who  knows  the  differ- 
ence between  words  and  things,  or  what 
freeman,  who  cares  a rush  for  his  rights, 
would  not  say  that  the  right  of  petition 
had  been  virtually  annulled  ? Why  not 
openly  reject  the  petitions,  without  this 
mockery  ? Do  we  not  know  that  it  is 
from  side-blows  that  liberty  has  most  to 
fear  ? It  is  very  possible  that  legal  sub- 
tilty  may  find  precedents  for  the  course 
pursued  by  Congress,  just  as  it  may  find 


820 


EMANCIPA  TION 


authorities  to  prove  that  we  have  no  right 
to  our  own  persons,  but  may  be  sold  as 
chattels.  But  such  reasonings  to  a free- 
man carry  their  answer  on  their  own 
front.  Human  rights  are  too  sacred,  too 
substantial,  to  be  refined  and  attenuated 
into  shadows  by  ingenious  comparison 
of  precedents  and  authorities.  1 take 
the  ground  that  the  right  of  petition  is 
something , and  of  course  that  there  is  a 
fatal  fallacy  in  the  reasoning  which  would 
reduce  it  to  nothing . I would  recom- 
mend to  my  readers  a “ Letter  of  the 
Honorable  Caleb  Cushing  to  the  People 
of  Massachusetts/’  in  which  this  subject 
is  discussed  with  great  clearness  and 
ability.  It  should  be  circulated  as  a 
tract.  The  public  are  also  much  in- 
debted to  the  Honorable  J.  Q.  Adams, 
for  his  unshrinking  energy  in  maintain- 
ing the  right  of  petition. 

1 say  this  from  no  particular  interest 
in  the  present  case.  I doubt  whether 
the  agitation  of  slavery  in  Congress  is  to 
do  good  to  the  country  or  to  the  cause 
of  emancipation ; whether  abolition  peti- 
tions bring  the  subject  before  the  people, 
either  at  the  North  or  South,  in  the  man- 
ner most  likely  to  produce  conviction. 
I look  at  the  matter  without  reference 
to  present  parties.  One  of  the  sacred 
rights  of  the  people  has  been  touched, 
and  this  should  never  be  done  without 
expressions  of  jealousy  and  reprobation. 
The  strongest  political  influence  in  this 
country  is  party-spirit, — a selfish,  un- 
righteous, unscrupulous  spirit,  impatient 
of  restraint,  and  always  ready  to  sacri- 
fice the  provisions  of  the  Constitution 


to  present  purposes  and  immediate  tri- 
umph. One  of  the  most  solemn  duties 
of  patriotism  is  to  guard  our  rights  from 
the  touch  of  this  harpy.  No  precedents 
of  encroachment  must  be  yielded  to 
party-spirit,  for  it  will  push  them  to  ex- 
tremes. N o bulwarks,  which  our  fathers 
have  erected  round  our  liberties,  must 
be  surrendered.  The  dangers  of  liberty 
are  always  great  from  human  passions 
and  selfishness,  — great  under  the  freest 
institutions,  and  sometimes  greater  from 
what  is  called  the  popular  party  than 
from  any  other ; and  for  this  plain 
reason,  that  this  party  has  formed  the 
bad  habit  of  calling  itself  “the  people,” 
and  easily  deludes  itself  into  the  belief 
that,  being  “the  people,”  it  may  take 
great  freedoms  with  the  Constitution, 
and  use  its  power  with  little  restraint. 
This  delusion  is  what  constitutes  the 
danger  to  liberty  from  mobs  ; mobs  call 
themselves  “ the  people.” 

Note  B.  — I have  allowed  on  this  page 
that  slavery  wears  a milder  aspect  at  the 
South  than  in  other  countries.  I ought 
to  inform  my  readers  that  this  is  denied 
by  some  who  have  inquired  into  the 
matter.  A pamphlet  or  larger  volume  is 
announced  at  New  York,  in  which  the 
subject  of  the  treatnmit  of  slaves  at  the 
South  is  to  be  particularly  considered. 
The  work  is  said  to  be  the  result  of  pa- 
tient inquiries,  and  full  proofs  of  its 
statements  are  promised.  Those  at  the 
North,  who  believe  in  the  mildness  of 
Southern  slavery,  will  do  well  to  exam- 
ine the  publication. 


EMANCIPATION. 


Introductory  Remarks. 

The  following  tract  grew  almost  in- 
sensibly out  of  the  strong  impressions 
received  from  recent  accounts  of  the 
emancipated  British  Islands.  Joseph 
John  Gurney,  well  known  among  us  as 
a member  and  minister  of  the  Quaker 
denomination,  was  so  kind  as  to  visit  me 
after  his  return  from  the  West  Indies, 
and  then  transmitted  to  me  his  “Famil- 


iar Letters  to  Henry  Clay,”  * describing 
a winter  in  those  regions.  The  satis- 
faction which  I felt  was  so  great  that  I 
could  not  confine  it  to  myself.  I began 
to  write,  as  a man  begins  to  talk  after 
hearing  good  news.  Many  thoughts  con- 
nected with  the  topic  rushed  succes- 
sively into  my  mind  ; and  gradually,  and 

* The  book  is  entitled,  “ Familiar  Letters  to  Henry 
Clay,  of  Kentucky,  describing  a Winter  in  the  West 
Indies.  By  Joseph  John  Gurney.” 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


821 


with  little  labor,  this  slight  work  took 
the  form  it  now  wears.  I am  encour- 
aged to  hope  that  it  is  of  some  little 
value,  from  the  spontaneousness  of  its 
growth. 

This  tract  was  prepared  for  the  press 
some  time  ago,  and  should  have  been 
published  immediately  after  the  appear- 
ance of  Mr.  Gurney’s  “ Letters.”  But 
I was  discouraged  by  the  preoccupation 
of  the  minds 'of  the  whole  community 
with  the  politics  of  the  day.  I was 
obliged  to  wait  for  the  storm  to  pass  ; 
and  I now  send  it  forth  in  the  hope  that 
some,  at  least,  are  at  leisure  to  give  me 
a short  hearing.  Not  that  I expect  to 
be  heard  very  widely.  No  one  knows 
more  than  I do  the  want  of  popularity 
of  the  subject.  Multitudes  would  think 
it  a waste  of  time  to  give  their  thoughts 
to  this  great  question  of  justice  and  hu- 
manity. But  still,  there  are  not  a few  to 
whom  the  truth  will  be  welcome.  Such 
will  find  that  in  these  pages  I am  not 
going  again  over  the  ground  which  I have 
already  travelled  ; and  I hope  they  will 
feel  that,  having  begun  with  “ Slavery,” 
I am  fitly  ending  with  u Emancipation.” 

The  latter  part  of  the  tract  discusses  a 
topic  which  I have  occasionally  touched 
on,  but  which  needs  a more  full  exposi- 
tion, and  on  which  I have  long  wished 
to  communicate  my  views.  The  duties 
of  the  free  States  in  regard  to  slavery 
need  to  be  better  understood,  and  my 
suggestions,  I hope,  will  be  weighed 
with  candor.  As  I have  taken  little  in- 
terest for  years  in  the  politics  of  the 
day,  and  as  my  hope  for  the  country 
rests  not  on  any  party,  but  solely  on  our 
means  of  education,  and  on  moral  and 
religious  influences,  I ought  not  to  be 
accused  of  wishing  to  give  a political 
aspect  to  the  antislavery  cause.  I am 
very  unwilling  that  it  should  take  the 
form  of  a struggle  for  office  and  power. 
Still,  it  has  political  relations  ; and  of 
these  I shall  speak  with  freedom.  The 
topic  is  an  exciting  one  ; but,  as  I look 
at  it  with  perfect  calmness,  I hope  I shall 
not  disturb  the  minds  of  others.  — No- 
vember 15,  1840. 


At  length  a report  of  West  Indian 
emancipation  has  reached  us  to  which 
some  heed  will  be  given  ; and  it  is  so 
cheering  that  I should  be  glad  to  make 
it  more  extensively  known.  We  have 


had  already  faithful  and  affecting  ac- 
counts of  this  great  social  revolution  : 
but,  coming  from  men  who  bear  an  un- 
popular name,  they  have  received  little 
attention.  Here  we  have  the  testimony 
of  a man  in  no  way  connected  with 
American  abolitionists.  In  his  long  resi- 
dence among  us  Mr.  Gurney  has  rather 
shunned  this  party,  — whether  justly  or 
wisely,  I do  not  say.  The  fact  is  stated 
simply  to  prevent  or  remove  a prejudice 
from  which  he  ought  not  to  suffer.  He 
came  to  this  country  on  no  mission  from 
the  enemies  of  slavery  in  his  own  land. 
Nor  did  he  come,  as  so  many  travellers 
do,  to  gather  or  invent  materials  for  a 
marketable  book ; but  to  preach  the 
gospel,  in  obedience  to  what  he  thought 
“a  heavenly  call.”  In  this  character  he 
visited  many  parts  of  our  land,  and  every- 
where secured  esteem  as  a man,  and  won 
no  small  attention  to  his  religious  teach- 
ings. After  many  labors  here,  he  felt 
himself  charged  with  a divine  message 
to  the  West  Indies.  His  first  object  in 
travelling  over  those  islands  was  to 
preach ; but,  in  his  various  journeys 
and  communications  with  individuals,  he 
naturally  opened  his  eyes  and  ears  to  the 
subject  which  there  engrosses  almost 
every  thought,  and  in  which  his  own 
philanthropy  gave  him  special  interest. 
In  his  “ Letters  ” he  furnishes  us  with 
the  details  and  a few  results  of  his  ob- 
servation, interspersed  with  some  per- 
sonal adventure,  and  with  notices  of  the 
natural  appearances  and  productions  of 
regions  s«  new  and  striking  to  an  Eng- 
lishman. The  book  has  the  merit  of 
perfectly  answering  its  end,  which  is, 
not  to  reason  about  emancipation,  but 
to  make  the  reader  a spectator,  and  to 
give  him  facts  for  his  own  reflection. 
It  is  written  with  much  ease,  simplicity, 
clearness,  and  sometimes  with  beauty. 
It  is  especially  distinguished  by  a spirit 
of  kindness.  It  not  only  expresses 
a sincere  Christian  philanthropy,  but 
breathes  a good  humor  which  must  dis- 
arm even  the  most  prejudiced.  They 
who  have  refused  to  read  antislavery 
productions,  because  steeped  in  gall, 
will  find  no  bitter  ingredients  here.  Not 
that  there  is  a spirit  of  compromise  or 
timidity  in  our  author.  He  is  a thor- 
oughly kind-hearted  man,  and  conscien- 
tiously believes  that  he  can  best  serve 
the  cause  of  truth  and  liberty  by  giving 
free  utterance  to  his  own  benignant 


822 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


spirit.  The  book  has  not  only  the  sub- 
stantial merit  of  fidelity  on  a subject  of 
immense  importance,  but  another  claim, 
which  may  operate  more  widely  in  its 
favor.  It  is  entertaining.  It  does  not 
give  us  dull  and  dry  wisdom,  but  the 
quick,  animated  observations  of  a man 
who  saw  with  his  heart  as  well  as  his 
eyes,  who  took  a strong  interest  in  what 
he  describes. 

That  the  book  is  entirely  impartial,  I 
do  not  say.  This  highest  merit  of  a 
book  seems  to  require  more  than  human 
virtue.  To  see  things  precisely  as  they 
are,  with  not  a shade  or  coloring  from 
our  own  prejudices  or  affections,  is  the 
last  triumph  of  self-denial.  The  most 
honest  often  see  what  they  want  to  see  ; 
and  a man  so  honored  as  Mr.  Gurney  is 
very  apt  to  be  told  what  he  wants  to 
hear.  But  the  book  bears  strong  marks 
of  truth.  The  uprightness  of  the  author 
secures  us  against  important  error.  Let 
even  large  deductions  be  made  for  his 
feelings,  as  a Quaker,  against  slavery, 
for  his  sympathy  with  the  negro  and 
the  negro’s  friends  ; after  every  allow- 
ance, the  great  truth  will  come  out,  that 
the  hopes  of  the  most  sanguine  advo- 
cates of  emancipation  have  been  re- 
alized, if  not  surpassed,  in  the  West 
Indies. 

Such  a book  is  much  needed.  There 
has  been  in  this  country  a backwardness, 
almost  an  unwillingness,  to  believe  good 
reports  from  the  West  Indies.  Not  a 
few  have  desired  to  hear  evil,  and  have 
propagated  so  industriously  «every  fic- 
tion or  exaggeration  unfavorable  to  free- 
dom, that  the  honest  and  benevolent 
have  been  misled.  The  general  state  of 
mind  among  us  in  regard  to  West  In- 
dian emancipation  has  been  dishearten- 
ing. So  deadly  a poison  has  Southern 
slavery  infused  into  the  opinions  and 
feelings  of  the  North,  especially  in  the 
larger  cities,  that  few  cordial  wishes  for 
the  success  of  emancipation  have  met 
our  ears.  Stray  rumors  of  the  failure  of 
the  experiment  in  this  or  that  island  have 
been  trumpeted  through  the  country  by 
the  newspapers,  and  the  easy  faith  of 
the  multitude  has  been  practised  on  till 
their  sympathies  with  the  oppressed 
have  become  blunted.  I have  myself 
seen  the  countenance  of  a man  not  want- 
ing in  general  humanity  brighten  at  ac- 
counts of  the  bad  working  of  emancipa- 
tion. In  such  a state  of  feeling  and 


opinion,  a book  like  Mr.  Gurney’s  is  in- 
valuable. The  truth  is  told  simply, 
kindly  ; and,  though  it  may  receive  little 
aid  from  our  newspapers,  must  find  its 
way  into  the  hands  of  many  honest 
readers.  I offer  a few  extracts,  not  to 
take  the  place  of  the  book,  but  in  the 
hope  of  drawing  to  it  more  general  at- 
tention. So  various  and  interesting  are 
the  details,  and  so  suited  to  the  various 
prejudices  and  misapprehensions  com- 
mon in  our  country,  that  my  only  diffi- 
culty is  to  make  a selection,  — to  know 
where  to  stop.  He  first  visited  Tor- 
tola : — 

“ We  could  not  but  feel  an  intense  interest 
in  making  our  first  visit  to  a British  island 
peopled  with  emancipated  negroes.  Out 
of  a population  of  nearly  five  thousand, 
there  are  scarcely  more  than  two  hundred 
white  persons ; but  we  heard  of  no  incon- 
veniences arising  from  this  disparity.  We 
had  letters  to  Dr.  Dyott,  the  stipendiary 
magistrate,  and  to  some  of  the  principal 
planters,  who  greeted  us  with  a warm  wel- 
come, and  soon  relieved  us  from  our  very 
natural  anxiety  by  assuring  us  that  freedom 
was  working  well  in  Tortola.  One  of  our 
first  visits  was  to  a school  for  black  chil- 
dren, under  the  care  of  Alexander  Bott, 
the  pious  minister  of  the  parish  church. 
It  was  in  good  order,  — the  children  an- 
swered our  questions  well.  We  then  pro- 
ceeded to  the  jail ; in  which,  if  my  memory 
serves  me  right,  we  found  only  one  pris- 
oner, with  the  jailer  and  the  judge  ! Our 
kind  friend,  Francis  Spencer  Wigley,  the 
chief  justice  of  the  British  Virgin  Islands, 
happened  to  be  there,  and  cheered  us  with 
the  information  that  crime  had  vastly  de- 
creased since  the  period  of  full  emanci- 
pation.”— p.  25. 

His  next  visit  was  to  St.  Christo- 
pher’s : — 

“ I mounted  one  of  the  governor’s  horses, 
and  enjoyed  a solitary  ride  in  the  country. 
Although  it  was  the  seventh  day  of  the 
week,  usually  applied  by  the  emancipated 
laborers  to  their  private  purposes,  I ob- 
served many  of  them  diligently  at  work  on 
the  cane  grounds,  cutting  the  canes  for  the 
mill.  Their  aspect  was  that  of  physical 
vigor  and  cheerful  contentment,  and  all  my 
questions,  as  I passed  along,  were  answered 
satisfactorily.  On  my  way  I ventured  to 
call  at  one  of  the  estates,  and  found  it  was 
the  home  of  Robert  Claxton,  the  solicitor- 
general  of  the  colony,  a gentleman  of  great 
intelligence  and  respectability.  He  was 
kind  enough  to  impart  a variety  of  useful 
and,  in  general,  cheering  information.  One 
fact  mentioned  by  him  spoke  volumes. 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


Speaking  of  a small  property  on  the  island 
belonging  to  himself,  he  said,  ‘ Six  years 
ago  (that  is,  shortly  before  the  Act  of 
Emancipation)  it  was  worth  only  ^2,000, 
with  the  slaves  upon  it.  Now,  without  a 
single  slave,  it  is  worth  three  times  the 
money.  I would  not  sell  it  for  ^”6,000.’ 
This  remarkable  rise  in  the  value  of  prop- 
erty is  by  no  means  confined  to  particular 
estates.  I was  assured  that,  as  compared 
with  those  times  of  depression  and  alarm 
which  preceded  the  Act  of  Emancipation, 
it  is  at  once  general  and  very  considerable. 
I asked  the  President  Crook,  and  some 
other  persons,  whether  there  was  a single 
individual  on  the  island  who  wished  for  the 
restoration  of  slavery.  Answer,  ‘ Certainly 
not  one,’  ” — p.  34. 

“ ‘They  will  do  an  infinity  of  work,’  said 
one  of  my  informants,  ‘ for  wages? 

“ This  state  of  things  is  accompanied  by 
a vast  increase  in  their  own  comforts.  Our 
friend  Cadman,  the  Methodist  minister,  was 
on  this  station  during  slavery,  in  the  year 
1826.  He  has  now  returned  to  it  under 
freedom.  ‘The  change  for  the  better,’  he 
observed,  ‘ in  the  dress,  demeanor,  and  wel- 
fare of  the  people,  is  prodigious .’  The  im- 
ports are  vastly  increased.  The  duties  on 
them  were  ^1,000  more  in  1838  than  in 
1837  ; and  in  1839,  double  those  of  1838, 
within  ^150.  This  surprising  increase  is 
owing  to  the  demand  on  the  part  of  the 
free  laborers  for  imported  goods,  especially 
for  articles  of  dress.  The  difficulty  ex- 
perienced by  the  gentry  living  in  the  town 
in  procuring  fowls,  eggs,  &c.,  from  the  ne- 
groes is  considerably  increased.  The  reason 
is  well  known, — the  laborers  make  use  of 
them  for  home  consumption.  Marriage  is 
now  become  frequent  amongst  them,  and  a 
profusion  of  eggs  is  expended  on  their  wed- 
ding-cakes ! Doubtless  they  will  soon 
learn  to  exchange  these  freaks  of  luxury 
for  the  gradual  acquisition  of  wealth.”  — 
/•  36- 

He  next  visited  Antigua  : — 

“Our  company  was  now  joined  by  Na- 
thaniel Gilbert,  an  evangelical  clergyman 
of  the  Church  of  England,  and  a large 
pr.oprietor  and  planter  on  the  island.  Both 
he  and  Sir  William  [the  governor]  amply 
confirmed  our  previous  favorable  impres- 
sions respecting  the  state  of  the  colony. 
On  my  inquiring  of  them  respecting  the 
value  of  landed  property,  their  joint  an- 
swer was  clear  and  decided.  ‘At  the  low- 
est computation,  the  land,  without  a single 
slave  upon  it,  is  fully  as  valuable  now  as 
it  was,  including  all  the  slaves,  before 
emancipation.’  In  other  words,  the  value 
of  the  slaves  is  already  transferred  to  the 
land.  Satisfactory  as  is  this  computation, 

I have  every  reason  to  believe  that  it  is 


823 

I much  below  the  mark.  With  respect  to 
real  property  in  the  town  of  St.  John’s,  it 
has  risen  in  value  with  still  greater  rapid- 
ity. A large  number  of  new  stores  have 
been  opened ; new  houses  are  built  or 
building ; the  streets  have  been  cleared 
and  improved  ; trade  is  greatly  on  the  in- 
crease ; and  the  whole  place  wears  the 
appearance  of  progressive  wealth  and  pros- 
perity.” —p.  43. 

“ Extensive  inquiry  has  led  us  to  the  con- 
viction that,  on  most  of  the  properties  of 
Antigua,  and,  in  general,  throughout  the 
West  Indies,  one-third  only  of  the  slaves 
were  operative.  What  with  childhood,  age, 
infirmity,  sickness,  sham  sickness,  and  other 
causes,  full  two-thirds  of  the  negro  popu- 
lation might  be  regarded  as  dead  weight. 
The  pecuniary  saving,  on  many  of  the  es- 
tates in  Antigua,  by  the  change  of  slave 
for  free  labor,  is,  at  least,  thirty  per  cent?* 
—pp.  45,  46. 

“ We  had  appointed  a meeting  at  a coun- 
try village  called  Parham.  It  was  a morn- 
ing of  violent  rain  ; but  about  two  hundred 
negroes  braved  the  weather,  and  united 
with  us  in  public  worship.  It  is  said  that 
they  are  less  willing  to  come  out  to  their 
places  of  worship  in  the  rain  than  was  the 
case  formerly.  The  reason  is  curious. 
They  now  have  shoes  and  stockings , which 
they  are  unwilling  to  expose  to  the  mud.” 
—p.  47. 

“ It  is  a cheering  circumstance,  of  no 
small  importance,  that  there  are  no  less,  as 
we  were  told,  than  seven  thousand  scholars 
in  the  various  charity  schools  of  Antigua. 
In  all  these  schools  the  Bible  is  read  and 
taught.  Who  can  doubt  the  beneficial 
moral  effect  of  these  extensive  efforts  ? ” — 
/.  48. 

“The  vicar  of  St.  John’s,  during  the  last 
seven  years  of  slavery,  married  only  one 
hundred  and  ten  pairs  of  negroes.  In  the 
single  year  of  freedom,  1839,  the  number 
of  pairs  married  by  him  was  185. 

“ With  respect  to  crime,  it  has  been  rap- 
idly diminishing  during  the  last  few  years. 
The  numbers  committed  to  the  house  of 
correction  in  1837 — chiefly  for  petty  of- 
fences, formerly  punished  on  the  estates  — 
were  850;  in  1838,  only  244;  in  1839,  311. 
The  number  left  in  the  prison  at  the  close 
of  1837  was  147  ; at  the  close  of  1839, 
only  35. 

“Nor  can  it  be  doubted  that  the  personal 
comforts  of  the  laborers  have  been  in  the 
mean  time  vastly  increased.  The  duties 
on  imports  in  1833  (the  last  year  of  slavery) 
were  ^13,576;  in  1839  they  were  ,£24,650. 
This  augmentation  has  been  occasioned  by 
the  importation  of  dry  goods  and  other 
articles,  for  which  a demand,  entirely  new, 
has  arisen  among  the  laboring  population. 
The  quantity  of  bread  and  meat  used  as 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


82  4 

food  by  the  laborers  is  surprisingly  in- 
creased. Their  wedding-cakes  and  dinners 
are  extravagant,  even  to  the  point,  at  times, 
of  drinking  champagne  ! 

“ In  connection  with  every  congregation 
in  the  island,  whether  of  the  Church  of 
England  or  among  the  Dissenters,  has  been 
formed  a friendly  society.  The  laborers 
subscribe  their  weekly  pittances  to  these  in- 
stitutions, and  draw  out  comfortable  sup- 
plies, in  case  of  sickness,  old  age,  burials, 
and  other  exigencies.  Thus  is  the  negro 
gradually  trained  to  the  habits  of  prudence 
and  foresight.” — pp.  48,  49. 

“ A female  proprietor  who  had  become 
embarrassed  was  advised  to  sell  off  part  of 
her  property  in  small  lots.  The  experi- 
ment answered  her  warmest  expectations. 
The  laborers  in  the  neighborhood  bought 
up  all  the  little  freeholds  with  extreme 
eagerness,  made  their  payments  faithfully, 
and  lost  no  time  in  settling  on  the  spots 
which  they  had  purchased.  They  soon 
framed  their  houses,  and  brought  their  gar- 
dens into  useful  cultivation  with  yams, 
bananas,  plantains,  pine-apples,  and  other 
fruits  and  vegetables,  including  plots  of 
sugar-cane.  In  this  way  Augusta  and  Li- 
berta  sprang  up  as  if  by  magic.  I visited 
several  of  the  cottages,  in  company  with  the 
rector  of  the  parish,  and  was  surprised  by 
the  excellence  of  the  buildings,  as  well 
as  by  the  neat  furniture  and  cleanly  lit- 
tle articles  of  daily  use  which  we  found 
within.  It  was  a scene  of  contentment  and 
happiness  ; and  I may  certainly  add,  of 
industry  ; for  these  little  freeholders  oc- 
cupied only  their  leisure  hours  in  working 
on  their  own  grounds.  They  were  also 
earning  wages  as  laborers  on  the  neighbor- 
ing estates,  or  working  at  English  Harbor 
as  mechanics.” — pp.  49,  50. 

“We  were  now  placed  in  possession  of 
clear  documentary  evidence  respecting  the 
staple  produce  of  the  island.  The  average 
exports  of  the  last  five  years  of  slavery 
(1829  to  1833,  inclusive)  were  : sugar,  12,189 
hogsheads  ; molasses,  3,308  puncheons  ; and 
rum,  2,468  puncheons.  Those  of  the  first 
five  years  of  freedom  (1834  to  1838,'  inclu- 
sive) were  : sugar,  13,545  hogsheads  ; mo- 
lasses, 8,308  puncheons  ; and  rum,  1,109 
puncheons ; showing  an  excess  of  1,356 
hogsheads  of  sugar,  and  of  5,000  punch- 
eons of  molasses ; and  a diminution  of 
1,359  puncheons  of  rum.  This  comparison 
is  surely  a triumphant  one  ; not  only  does 
it  demonstrate  the  advantage  derived  from 
free  labor  during  a course  of  five  years,  but 
affords  a proof  that  many  of  the  planters 
of  Antigua  have  ceased  to  convert  their 
molasses  into  rum.  It  ought  to  be  observed 
that  these  five  years  of  freedom  included 
two  of  drought,  one  very  calamitous.  The 
statement  for  1839  forms  an  admirable  cli- 


max to  this  account.  It  is  as  follows : 
sugar,  22,383  hogsheads  (10,000  beyond  the 
last  average  of  slavery)  ; 13,433  puncheons 
of  molasses  (also  10,000  beyond  that  aver- 
age) ; and  only  582  puncheons  of  rum ! 
That,  in  the  sixth  year  of  freedom,  after 
the  fair  trial  of  five  years,  the  exports  of 
sugar  from  Antigua  almost  doubled  the 
average  of  the  last  five  years  of  slavery,  is 
a fact  which  precludes  the  necessity  of  all 
other  evidence.  By  what  hands  was  this  vast 
crop  raised  and  realized  ? By  the  hands  of 
that  lazy  and  impracticable  race  (as  they 
have  often  been  described),  the  negroes. 
And  under  what  stimulus  has  the  work 
been  effected  ? Solely  under  that  of  mod- 
erate wages.”  — p.  53. 

He  next  visited  Dominica,  of  which 
he  gives  equally  favorable  accounts ; 
but  I hasten  to  make  a few  extracts 
from  his  notices  of  Jamaica,  the  island 
from  which  the  most  unfavorable  re- 
ports have  come,  and  in  which  the  un- 
wise and  unkind  measures  of  the  pro- 
prietors, particularly  in  regard  to  rents, 
have  done  much  to  counteract  the  good 
influences  of  emancipation  : — 

“We  were  glad  to  observe  that  the  day 
[Sunday]  was  remarkably  well  observed  at 
Kingston, — just  as  it  is  in  many  of  the 
cities  of  your  highly  favored  Union.  A 
wonderful  scene  we  witnessed  that  morn- 
ing in  Samuel  Oughton’s  Baptist  Chapel, 
which  we  attended  without  having  com- 
municated to  the  people  any  previous  no- 
tice of  our  coming.  The  minister  was  so 
obliging  as  to  make  way  for  us  on  the  oc- 
casion, and  to  invite  us  to  hold  our  meet- 
ing with  his  flock  after  the  manner  of 
Friends.  Such  a flock  we  had  not  before 
seen,  consisting  of  nearly  three  thousand 
black  people,  chiefly  emancipated  slaves, 
attired,  after  their  favorite  custom,  in  neat 
white  raiment,  and  most  respectable  and 
orderly  in  their  demeanor  and  appearance. 
They  sat  in  silence  with  us,  in  an  exem- 
plary manner,  and  appeared  both  to  un- 
derstand and  appreciate  the  doctrines  of 
divine  truth  preached  on  the  occasion.  The 
congregation  is  greatly  increased,  both  in 
numbers  and  respectability,  since  the  date 
of  full  freedom.  They  pour  in  from  the 
country,  partly  on  foot,  and  partly  on  mules 
or  horses  of  their  own.  They  now  entirely 
support  the  mission,  and  are  enlarging  their 
chapel  at  the  expense  of  ;£  1,000  sterling. 
Their  subscriptions  to  this  and  other  col- 
lateral objects  are  at  once  voluntary  and 
very  liberal.  *1  have  brought  my  mite  for 
the  chapel,’  said  a black  woman,  once  a 
slave,  to  S.  Oughton,  a day  or  two  before 
our  meeting  ; ‘ I am  sorry  ft  is  no  more  ; ’ 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


she  then  put  into  his  hand  two  pieces  of 
gold  amounting  to  five  dollars.” — pp.  74,  75. 

“ Here  it  may  be  well  to  notice  the  fact, 
that  the  great  majority  of  estates  in  Ja- 
maica belong  to  absentee  proprietors,  who 
reside  in  England.  In  Jamaica,  they  are 
placed  under  the  care  of  some  attorney,  or 
representative  of  the  owner  ; one  attorney 
often  undertaking  the  care  of  numerous 
estates.  Under  the  attorney  is  the  over- 
seer, on  each  particular  property,  on  whom 
the  management  almost  exclusively  de- 
volves. This  state  of  things  is  extremely 
unfavorable  to  the  welfare  of  Jamaica.  If  the 
proprietors  cannot  give  their  personal  atten- 
tion to  their  estates,  it  would  certainly  be  a 
better  plan  to  lease  them  to  eligible  tenants 
on  the  spot,  — a practice  which  has  of  late 
years  been  adopted  in  many  instances.  It 
is  only  surprising  that  estates,  never  visited 
by  the  proprietor,  and  seldom  by  the  at- 
torney, but  left  to  the  care  of  inexperienced 
young  men,  often  of  immoral  character, 
should  prosper  at  all.  Nor  would  they 
prosper,  even  as  they  now  do,  but  for  two 
causes ; first,  the  exuberant  bounty  of  nat- 
ure, and  secondly,  the  orderly,  inoffensive 
conduct  and  patient  industry  of  the  negro 
race.”  — p.  85. 

“The  rapid  diffusion  of  marriage  among 
the  negroes,  and  the  increase  of  it  even 
among  the  white  inhabitants  in  Jamaica,  is 
one  of  the  happiest  results  of  freedom. 
We  were  assured,  on  good  authority,  that 
four  times  as  many  marriages  took  place 
last  year  in  Jamaica  as  in  an  equal  popula- 
tion, on  an  average,  in  England, — a fact 
which  proves  not  only  that  numerous  new 
connections  are  formed,  but  also  that  mul- 
titudes who  were  formerly  living  as  man 
and  wife  without  the  right  sanction  are 
now  convinced  of  the  sinfulness  of  the 
practice,  and  are  availing  themselves  with 
eagerness  of  the  marriage  covenant.  It 
appears  that  upwards  of  sixteen  hundred 
negro  couples  were  married  in  the  Baptist 
churches  alone  during  the  year  1839.”  — 
p.  86. 

“ In  the  parish  (or  county ) of  St.  Mary, 
rent  and  wages  have  been  arranged  quite 
independently  of  each  other,  and  labor  has 
been  suffered  to  find  its  market  without 
obstruction.  The  consequence  is,  that  there 
have  been  no  differences,  and  the  people 
are  working  well.  The  quantity  of  work 
obtained  from  a freeman  there  is  far  beyond 
the  old  task  of  the  slave.  In  the  laborious 
occupation  of  holing,  the  emancipated  ne- 
groes perform  double  the  work  of  the 
slave  in  a day.  In  road-making,  the  day’s 
task  under  slavery  was  to  break  four  bar- 
rels of  stone.  A ro7u,  by  task-work,  a weak 
hand  will  fill  eight  barrels,  a strong  one 
from  ten  to  twelve.” — p.  89. 

“ At  the  Baptist  station  at  Sligoville  we 


825 

spent  several  hours.  It  is  located  on  a lofty 
hill,  and  is  surrounded  by  fifty  acres  of  fer- 
tile mountain  land.  This  property  is  di- 
vided into  one  hundred  and  fifty  freehold 
lots,  fifty  of  which  had  been  already  sold 
to  the  emancipated  laborers,  and  had  proved 
a timely  refuge  for  many  laborers  who  had 
been  driven  by  hard  usage  from  their  former 
homes.  Some  of  them  had  built  good  cot- 
tages ; others,  temporary  huts  ; and  others, 
again,  were  preparing  the  ground  for  build- 
ing. Their  gardens  were  cleared,  or  in 
process  of  clearing,  and  in  many  cases 
already  brought  into  fine  cultivation.  Not 
a hoe,  I believe,  had  ever  been  driven  into 
that  land  before.  Now,  a village  had  risen 
up,  with  every  promise  of  comfort  and  pros- 
perity, and  the  land  was  likely  to  produce 
a vast  abundance  of  nutritious  food.  The 
people  settled  there  were  all  married  pairs, 
mostly  with  families,  and  the  men  em- 
ployed the  bulk  of  their  time  in  working 
for  wages  on  the  neighboring  estates.  The 
chapel  and  the  school  were  immediately  at 
hand,  and  the  religious  character  of  the 
people  stood  high.  Never  did  I witness  a 
scene  of  greater  industry,  or  one  more 
marked  by  contentment  for  the  present  and 
hope  for  the  future.  How  instructive  to 
remember  that  two  years  ago  this  peacful 
village  had  no  existence  ! ” — p.  90. 

“ On  our  return  home  we  visited  two 
neighboring  estates,  of  about  equal  size 
(I  believe)  and  equal  fertility  ; both  among 
the  finest  properties,  for  natural  and  local 
advantages,  which  I anywhere  saw  in  Ja- 
maica. One  was  in  difficulty  ; the  other  all 
prosperity.  The  first  was  the  estate  al- 
ready alluded  to,  which  had  been  deprived 
of  so  many  hands  by  vain  attempts  to  com- 
pel the  labor  of  freemen.  There,  if  I am 
not  mistaken,  I saw,  as  we  passed  by,  the 
clear  marks  of  that  violence  by  which  the 
people  had  been  expelled.  The  second, 
called  ‘ Dawkin’s  Caymanas,’  was  under  the 
enlightened  attorneyship  of  Judge  Bernard, 
who,  with  his  lady,  and  the  respectable 
overseer,  met  us  on  the  spot.  On  this 
property  the  laborers  were  independent 
tenants.  Their  rent  was  settled  according 
to  the  money  value  of  the  tenements  which 
they  occupied,  and  they  were  allowed  to 
take  their  labor  to  the  best  market  they 
could  find.  As  a matter  of  course,  they 
took  it  to  the  home  market ; and  excellently 
were  they  working  on  the  property  of  their 
old  master.  The  attorney,  the  overseer, 
and  the  laborers,  all  seemed  equallysatisfied, 
equally  at  their  ease.  Here,  then,  was  one 
property  which  would  occasion  a bad  report 
of  Jamaica  ; another  which  would  as  surely 
give  rise  to  a good  report.  As  it  regards 
the  properties  themselves,  both  reports  are 
true  ; and  they  are  the  respective  results  of 
two  opposite  modes  of  management. 


826 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


“At  Dawkin’s  Caymanas  we  had  the 
pleasure  of  witnessing  an  interesting  spec- 
tacle ; for  the  laborers  on  the  property,  with 
their  wives,  sons,  and  daughters,  were  on 
that  day  met  at  a picnic  dinner.  The  ta- 
ble, of  vast  length,  was  spread  under  a 
wattled  building  erected  for  the  purpose, 
and  at  the  convenient  hour  of  six  in  the 
evening  (after  the  day’s  work  was  finished) 
was  loaded  with  all  sorts  of  good  fare,  — 
soup,  fish,  fowls,  pigs,  and  joints  of  meat, 
in  abundance.  About  one  hundred  and 
fifty  men  and  women  of  the  African  race, 
attired  with  the  greatest  neatness,  were  as- 
sembled, in  much  harmony  and  order,  to 
partake  of  the  feast ; but  no  drink  was  pro- 
vided stronger  than  water.  It  was  a sober, 
substantial  repast,  — the  festival  of  peace 
and  freedom.  This  dinner  was  to  have 
taken  place  on  New-Year’s  day;  but  it  so 
happened  that  a Baptist  meeting-house  in 
another  part  of  the  island  had  been  de- 
stroyed by  fire ; and,  at  the  suggestion  of 
their  minister,  these  honest  people  agreed 
to  waive  their  dinner,  and  to  subscribe  their 
money,  instead,  to  the  rebuilding  of  the 
meeting-house.  For  this  purpose  they  raised 
a noble  sum  (I  believe  considerably  up- 
wards of  £\oo  sterling)  ; and  now,  in  the 
third  month  of  the  year,  finding  that  mat- 
ters were  working  well  with  them,  they 
thought  it  well  to  indulge  themselves  with 
their  social  dinner.  By  an  unanimous  vote, 
they  commissioned  me  to  present  a mes- 
sage of  their  affectionate  regards  to  Thomas 
Clarkson  and  Thomas  Fowell  Buxton,  the 
two  men  to  whom,  of  all  others,  perhaps, 
they  were  the  most  indebted  for  their  pres- 
ent enjoyment.” — pp . 91,  92. 

“ After  breakfast  we  drove  to  Kelly’s, 
one  of  Lord  Sligo’s  properties.  We  saw 
the  people  on  this  property  busily  engaged 
in  the  laborious  occupation  of  holing, — a 
work  for  which  ploughing  is  now  pretty 
generally  substituted  in  Jamaica.  ‘ How  are 
you  all  getting  along  ? ’ said  my  companion, 
to  a tall,  bright-looking  black  man,  busily 
engaged  with  his  hoe.  ‘ Right  well,  massa, 
right  well,’  he  replied.  ‘ I am  from  America,’ 
said  my  friend,  ‘where  there  are  many 
slaves  ; what  shall  I say  to  them  from  you  ? 
shall  I tell  them  that  freedom  is  working 
well  here  ?’  ‘Yes,  massa,’  said  he,  ‘much 
well  under  freedom, — thank  God  for  it!’ 
‘ Much  well  ’ they  were  indeed  doing,  for 
they  were  earning  a dollar  for  every  hun- 
dred cane  holes  ; a great  effort,  certainly, 
but  one  which  many  of  them  accomplished 
by  four  o’clock  in  the  afternoon.  ‘ How 
is  this  ? ’ asked  the  same  friend,  as  he  felt 
the  lumps  or  welts  on  the  shoulder  of  an- 
other man.  ‘ O,  massa,’  cried  the  negro, 
‘I  was  flogged  when  a slave, — no  more 
whip  now,  — all  free  ! ’ ” — p.  96. 

“The  prosperity  of  the  planters  in  Ja- 


maica must  not  be  measured  by  the  mere 
amount  of  the  produce  of  sugar  or  coffee 
as  compared  with  the  time  of  slavery. 
Even  where  produce  is  diminished,  profit 
will  be  increased  — if  freedom  be  fairly 
tried  — by  the  saving  of  expense.  ‘I  had 
rather  make  sixty  tierces  of  coffee,’  said 
A.  B.,  ‘under  freedom,  than  one  hundred 
and  twenty  under  slavery  ; such  is  the  sav- 
ing of  expense  that  I make  a better  profit 
by  it  ; nevertheless , I mean  to  make  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty,  as  before .’  ” — p.  1 18. 

“ ‘ Do  you  see  that  excellent  new  stone 
wall  round  the  field  below  us  ? ’ said  the 
young  physician  to  me,  as  we  stood  at  A.B.’s 
front  door,  surveying  the  delightful  scenery 
‘ That  wall  could  scarcely  have  been  built 
at  all  under  slavery  or  the  apprenticeship  ; 
the  necessary  labor  could  not  then  have 
been  hired  at  less  than  ^5  currency,  or 
about  $13  per  chain.  Under  freedom  it 
cost  only  from  $3.50  to  $4  per  chain,  — not 
one-third  of  the  amount.  Still  more  re- 
markable is  the  fact  that  the  whole  of  it 
was  built  under  the  stimulus  of  job-work, 
by  an  invalid  negro,  who,  during  slavery, 
had  been  given  up  to  total  inaction.’  This 
was  the  substance  of  our  conversation. 
The  information  was  afterwards  fully  con- 
firmed by  the  proprietor.  Such  was  the 
fresh  blood  infused  into  the  veins  of  this 
decrepid  person  by  the  genial  hand  of  free- 
dom, that  he  had  been  redeemed  from  abso- 
lute uselessness,  had  executed  a noble  work, 
had  greatly  improved  his  master’s  property, 
and,  finally,  had  realized  for  himself  a hand- 
some sum  of  money.  This  single  fact  is 
admirably  and  undeniably  illustrative  of  the 
principles  of  the  case  ; and  for  that  purpose 
is  as  good  as  a thousand.”  — p.  119. 

“ I will  take  the  present  opportunity  of 
offering  to  thy  attention  the  account  of 
exports  from  Jamaica  (as  exhibited  in  the 
return  printed  for  the  House  of  Assembly) 
for  the  last  year  of  the  apprenticeship,  and 
the  first  of  full  freedom  : — 

Hhda. 

Sugar,  for  the  year  ending  9th  month  (Sept.) 

30,  1838  . • • 53)825 

Sugar,  for  the  year  ending  9th  month  (Sept.) 

30,  1839 45)359 

Apparent  diminution  . . 8,466 

“ This  difference  is  much  less  considera- 
ble than  many  persons  have  been  led  to 
imagine  ; the  real  diminution,  however,  is 
still  less  ; because  there  has  lately  taken 
place  in  Jamaica  an  increase  in  the  size  of 
the  hogshead.  Instead  of  the  old  measure, 
which  contained  17  cwt.,  new  ones  have  been 
introduced,  containing  from  20  to  22  cwt., 
— a change  which,  for  several  reasons,  is  an 
economical  one  for  the  planter.  Allowing 
only  five  per  cent  for  this  change,  the  defi- 
ciency is  reduced  from  8,466  hogsheads  to 
5,775;  and  this  amount  is  further  lessened 


EMANCIPA  7 ION. 


by  the  fact  that,  in  consequence  of  freedom, 
there  is  a vast  addition  to  the  consumption 
of  sugar  among  the  people  of  Jamaica  itself, 
and  therefore  to  the  home  sale. 

“ The  account  of  coffee  is  not  so  favora- 
ble : — 

Cwt. 

Coffee,  for  the  year  ending  9th  month  (Sept.) 

30,  1838  . . . II7>3I3 

Coffee,  for  the  year  ending  9th  month  (Sept.) 


3°>  1839 78,759 

Diminution  (about  one-third)  . . 38,554 


“ The  coffee  is  a very  uncertain  crop,  and 
the  deficiency,  on  the  comparison  of  these 
two  years,  is  not  greater,  I believe,  than  has 
often  occurred  before.  We  are  also  to  re- 
member that,  both  in  sugar  and  coffee,  the 
profit  to  the  planter  may  be  increased  by 
the  saving  of  expense,  even  when  the  prod- 
uce is  diminished.  Still,  it  must  be  allowed 
that  some  decrease  has  taken  place  on  both 
the  articles,  in  connection  with  the  change 
of  system.  With  regard  to  the  year  1840, 
it  is  expected  that  coffee  will,  at  least,  main- 
tain the  last  amount ; but  a further  decrease 
on  sugar  is  generally  anticipated. 

“Now,  so  far  as  this  decrease  of  produce 
is  connected  with  the  change  of  system,  it 
is  obviously  to  be  traced  to  a corresponding 
decrease  in  the  quantity  of  labor.  But  here 
comes  the  critical  question,  — the  real  turn- 
ing-point. To  what  is  this  decrease  in  the 
quantity  of  labor  owing  ? I answer  delib- 
erately, but  without  reserve,  ‘ Mainly  to 
causes  which  class  under  slavery,  and  not 
under  freedom.’  It  is,  for  the  most  part, 
the  result  of  those  impolitic  attempts  to 
force  the  labor  of  freemen  which  have  dis- 
gusted the'  peasantry,  and  have  led  to  the 
desertion  of  many  of  the  estates. 

“ It  is  a cheering  circumstance  that  the 
amount  of  planting  and  other  preparatory 
labor  bestowed  on  the  estates  during  the 
autumn  of  1839  has  been  much  greater,  by 
all  accounts,  than  in  the  autumn  of  1838. 
This  is  itself  the  effect  of  an  improved 
understanding  between  the  planters  and  the 
peasants  ; and  the  result  of  it  (if  other  cir- 
cumstances be  equal)  cannot  fail  to  be  a 
considerable  increase  of  produce  in  1841. 
I am  told,  however,  that  there  is  one  cir- 
cumstance which  may  possibly  prevent  this 
result,  as  it  regards  sugar.  It  is,  that  the 
cultivation  of  it  under  the  old  system  was 
forced  on  certain  properties,  which,  from 
their  situation  and  other  circumstances, 
were  wholly  unfit  for  the  purpose.  These 
plantations  afforded  an  income  to  the  local 
agents,  but  to  the  proprietors  were  either 
unprofitable  or  losing  concerns.  On  such 
properties,  under  those  new  circumstances 
which  bring  all  things  to  their  true  level, 
the  cultivation  of  sugar  must  cease. 

“ In  the  mean  time  the  imports  of  the 
island  are  rapidly  increasing ; trade  im- 


§27 

proving  ; the  towns  thriving ; new  villages 
rising  in  every  direction ; property  much 
enhanced  in  value  ; well-managed  estates 
productive  and  profitable ; expenses  of 
management  diminished  ; short  methods  of 
labor  adopted  ; provisions  cultivated  on  a 
larger  scale  than  ever  ; and  the  people, 
wherever  .they  are  properly  treated,  indus- 
trious, contented,  and  gradually  accumu- 
lating wealth.” — pp.  132-134. 

“My  narrative  respecting  the  British 
West  India  Islands  being  now  brought  to 
a close,  I will  take  the  liberty  of  concen- 
trating and  recapitulating  the  principal 
points  of  the  subject  in  a few  distinct 
propositions  : — 

“ 1st.  The  emancipated  negroes  are  working 
well  on  the  estates  of  their  old  masters.  — Nor 
does  Jamaica,  when  duly  inspected  and 
fairly  estimated,  furnish  any  exception  to 
the  general  result.  We  find  that,  in  that 
island,  wherever  the  negroes  are  fairly , 
kindly,  and  wisely  treated,  there  they  are 
working  well  on  the  properties  of  their  old 
masters  ; and  that  the  existing  instances  of 
a contrary  description  must  be  ascribed  to 
causes  which  class  under  slavery,  and  not 
under  freedom.  Let  it  not,  however,  be 
imagined  that  the  negroes  who  are  not 
working  on  the  estates  of  their  old  masters 
are,  on  that  account,  idle.  Even  these  are, 
in  general,  busily  employed  in  cultivating 
their  own  grounds,  in  various  descriptions 
of  handicraft,  in  lime-burning  or  fishing, 
— in  benefiting  themselves  and  the  com- 
munity, through  some  new  but  equally 
desirable  medium.  Besides  all  this,  stone 
walls  are  built,  new  houses  erected,  past- 
ures cleaned,  ditches  dug,  meadows  drained, 
roads  made  and  macadamized,  stores  fitted 
up,  villages  formed,  and  other  beneficial 
operations  effected ; the  whole  of  which, 
before  emancipation,  it  would  have  been  a 
folly  even  to  attempt.  The  old  notion  that 
the  negro  is  by  constitution  a lazy  creature, 
who  will  do  no  work  at  all  except  by  com- 
pulsion, is  now  for  ever  exploded.” — pp. 

137, 138- 

“ 2d.  An  increased  quantity  of  work 
thrown  upon  the  market  is,  of  course,  fol- 
lowed by  the  cheapening  of  labor.” — p. 

‘38- 

“3d.  Real  property  has  risen  and  is  rising 
in  value.  — I wish  it,  however,  to  be  under- 
stood that  the  comparison  is  not  here  made 
with  those  olden  times  of  slavery,  when  the 
soils  of  the  islands  were  in  their  most  pro- 
lific state,  and  the  slaves  themselves  of  a 
corresponding  value  ; but  with  those  days 
of  depression  and  alarm  which  preceded 
the  Act  of  Emancipation.  All  that  I mean 
to  assert  is,  that  landed  property  in  the 
British  colonies  has  touched  the  bottom, 
has  found  that  bottom  solid,  has  already 
risen  considerably,  and  is  now  on  a steady. 


828 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


ascending  march  towards  the  recovery  of 
its  highest  value.  One  circumstance  which 
greatly  contributed  to  produce  its  deprecia- 
tion was  the  cry  of  interested  persons  who 
wished  to  run  it  down  ; and  the  demand  for 
it  which  has  arisen  among  these  very  per- 
sons is  now  restoring  it  to  its  rightful  value. 
Remember  the  old  gentleman  in  Antigua, 
who  is  always  complaining  of  the  effects  of 
freedom,  and  always  buying  land”  — pp.  139, 
140. 

“ 4th.  The  personal  comforts  of  the  labor- 
ing population,  under  freedom,  are  multi- 
plied tenfold.” — p.  140. 

“ 5th.  Lastly,  the  moral  and  religious  im- 
provement of  this  people,  under  freedom,  is 
more  than  equal  to  the  increase  of  their  com- 
forts. Under  this  head  there  are  three  points 
deserving,  respectively,  of  a distinct  place 
in  our  memories.  First,  the  rapid  increase 
and  vast  extent  of  elementary  and  Christian 
education,  — schools  for  infants,  young  per- 
sons, and  adults,  multiplying  in  every  direc- 
tion. Secondly,  the  gradual,  but  decided, 
diminution  of  crime,  amounting,  in  many 
country  districts,  almost  to  its  extinction. 
Thirdly,  the  happy  change  of  the  general 
and  almost  universal  practice  of  concubi- 
nage for  the  equally  general  adoption  of 
marriage.  ‘Concubinage,’  says  Dr.  Stewart, 
in  his  letter  to  me,  ‘the  universal  practice 
of  the  colored  people,  has  wholly  disap- 
peared from  amongst  them.  No  young 
woman  of  color  thinks  of  forming  such 
connections  now.’  What  is  more,  the  im- 
proved morality  of  the  blacks  is  reflecting 
itself  on  the  white  inhabitants  ; even  the 
overseers  are  ceasing,  one  after  another, 
from  a sinful  mode  of  life,  and  are  forming 
reputable  connections  in  marriage.  But 
while  these  three  points  are  confessedly  of 
high  importance,  there  is  a fourth  which  at 
once  embraces  and  outweighs  them  all,  — I 
mean  the  diffusion  of  vital  Christianity.  I 
know  that  great  apprehensions  were  enter- 
tained— especially  in  this  country  — lest, 
on  the  cessation  of  slavery,  the  negroes 
should  break  away  at  once  from  their  mas- 
ters and  their  ministers.  But  freedom  has 
come,  and  while  their  masters  have  not 
been  forsaken,  their  religious  teachers  have 
become  dearer  to  them  than  ever.  Under 
the  banner  of  liberty,  the  churches  and 
meeting-houses  have  been  enlarged  and 
multiplied,  the  attendance  has  become  reg- 
ular and  devout,  the  congregations  have  in 
many  cases  been  more  than  doubled  ; above 
all,  the  conversion  of  souls  (as  we  have 
reason  to  believe)  has  been  going  on  to  an 
extent  never  before  known  in  these  colo- 
nies. In  a religious  point  of  view,  as  I 
have  before  hinted,  the  wilderness,  in  many 
places,  has  indeed  begun  to  ‘ blossom  as  the 
rose.’  ‘ Instead  of  the  thorn  ’ has  ‘ come 
up  the  fir-tree,  and  instead  of  the  brier  ’ has 


* come  up  the  myrtle-tree,  and  it  shall  be  to 
the  Lord  for  a name ; for  an  everlasting 
sign,  that  shall  not  be  cut  off.’  ” — pp.  141, 
142. 

I have  now  given  a few  extracts  from 
Mr.  Gurney’s  book.  They  need  no 
comment.  Indeed,  nothing  can  be  said 
to  convince  or  move  the  reader,  if  these 
simple  records  of  emancipation  do  not 
find  their  way  to  his  heart.  In  the 
whole  history  of  efforts  for  human  hap- 
piness it  is  doubtful  if  another  example 
can  be  found  of  so  great  a revolution 
accomplished  with  so  few  sacrifices  and 
such  immediate  reward.  Compare  with 
this  the  American  Revolution,  which 
had  for  its  end  to  shake  off  a yoke  too 
light  to  be  named  by  the  side  of  domes- 
tic slavery.  Through  what  fields  of 
blood  and  years  of  suffering  did  we 
seek  civil  freedom,  — a boon  insignifi- 
cant in  comparison  with  freedom  from 
an  owner’s  grasp  ! It  is  the  ordinary 
law  of  Providence,  that  great  blessings 
shall  be  gained  by  great  sacrifices,  and 
that  the  most  beneficial  social  changes 
shall  bring  immediate  suffering.  That 
near  a million  of  human  beings  should 
pass  in  a day  from  the  deepest  degrada- 
tion to  the  rights  of  freemen  with  so 
little  agitation  of  the  social  system,  is 
a fact  so  strange  that  we  naturally  sus- 
pect, at  first,  some  tinging  of  the  picture 
from  the  author’s  sympathies  ; and  we 
are  brought  to  full  conviction  only  by 
the  simplicity  and  minuteness  of  his 
details.  For  one,  I should  have  rejoiced 
in  emancipation  as  an  unspeakable  good, 
had  the  immediate  results  worn  a much 
darker  hue.  I wanted  only  to  know 
that  social  order  was  preserved,  that 
the  laws  were  respected,  after  eman- 
cipation. I felt  that,  were  anarchy  es- 
caped, no  evil  worse  than  slavery  could 
take  its  place.  I had  not  forgotten  the 
doctrine  of  our  fathers,  that  human 
freedom  is  worth  vast  sacrifices,  that 
it  can  hardly  be  bought  at  too  great  a 
price. 

I proceed  now  to  offer  a few  remarks 
on  several  topics  suggested  by  Mr. 
Gurney’s  book ; and  I shall  close  by 
considering  the  duties  which  belong  to 
individuals  and  to  the  free  States  in 
relation  to  slavery. 

The  first  topic  suggested  by  our  au- 
thor, and  perhaps  the  most  worthy  of 
note,  is  his  anxiety  to  show  that  eman- 
cipation has  been  accompanied  with 


EM  A NCI  PA  TION 


829 


little  pecuniary  loss,  — that  as  a mon- 
eyed speculation  it  is  not  to  be  con- 
demned. He  evidently  supposes  that 
he  is  writing  for  a people  who  will 
judge  of  this  grand  event  in  history  by 
the  standard  of  commercial  profit  or 
loss.  In  this  view,  his  simple  book 
tells  more  than  a thousand  satires 
against  the  spirit  of  our  times.  In 
speaking  of  West  Indian  emancipation, 
it  has  been  common  for  men  to  say, 
We  must  wait  for  the  facts  ! And  what 
facts  have  they  waited  for  ? They  have 
waited  to  know  that  the  master,  after 
fattening  many  years  on  oppression, 
had  lost  nothing  by  the  triumph  of 
justice  and  humanity  ; that  the  slave, 
on  being  freed,  was  to  yield  as  large  an 
income  as  before  to  his  employer.  This 
delicate  sensibility  to  the  rights  of  the 
wrong-doer,  this  concern  for  property, 
this  unconcern  for  human  nature,  is  a 
sign  of  the  little  progress  made  even 
here  by  free  principles,  and  of  men’s 
ignorance  of  the  great  end  of  social 
union. 

Every  good  man  must  protest  against 
this  mode  of  settling  the  question  of 
emancipation.  It  seems  to  be  taken  for 
granted  by  not  a few,  that  if,  in  conse- 
quence of  this  event,  the  crops  have 
fallen  off,  or  the  number  of  coffee  bags 
or  sugar  hogsheads  is  lessened,  then 
emancipation  is  to  be  pronounced  a 
failure,  and  the  great  act  of  freeing  a 
people  from  the  most  odious  bondage 
is  to  be  set  down  as  folly.  At  the 
North  and  the  South  this  base  doctrine 
has  seized  on  the  public  mind.  It  runs 
through  our  presses,  not  excepting  the 
more  respectable.  The  bright  promises 
of  emancipation  are  too  unimportant  for 
our  newspapers  ; but  the  fearful  intel- 
ligence that  this  or  that  island  has 
shipped  fewer  hogsheads  of  sugar  than 
in  the  days  of  slavery,  is  thought  wor- 
thy to  be  published  far  and  wide  ; and 
emancipation  is  a curse,  because  the 
civilized  world  must  pay  a few  cents 
more  to  bring  tea  or  coffee  to  the  due 
degree  of  sweetness.  It  passes  for  an 
“ ultraism  ” of  philanthropy  to  prize  a 
million  of  human  beings  aoove  as  many 
pounds  of  sugar. 

What  is  the  great  end  of  civilized 
society  ? Not  coffee  and  sugar ; not 
the  greatest  possible  amount  of  mineral, 
vegetable,  or  animal  productions ; but 
the  protection  of  the  rights  of  all  its 


members.  The  sacrifice  of  rights,  es- 
pecially of  the  dearest  and  most  sacred, 
to  increase  of  property,  is  one  of  the 
most  flagrant  crimes  of  the  social  state. 
That  every  man  should  have  his  due, 
not  that  a few  proprietors  should  riot 
on  the  toil,  sweat,  and  blood  of  the 
many,  — this  is  the  great  design  of  the 
union  of  men  into  communities.  Eman- 
cipation was  not  meant  to  increase  the 
crops,  but  to  restore  to  human  beings 
their  birthright,  to  give  to  every  man 
the  free  use  of  his  powers  for  his  own 
and  others’  good. 

That  the  production  of  sugar  would 
be  diminished  for  a time,  in  consequence 
of  emancipation,  was  a thing  to  be  ex- 
pected, if  not  desired.  It  is  in  the 
sugar  culture  that  the  slaves  in  the 
West  Indies  have  been  and  are  most 
overworked.  In  Cuba,  we  are  told  by 
men  who  have  given  particular  attention 
to  that  island,  the  mortality  on  the  sugar 
estates  is  ten  per  cent,  annually,  so  that 
a whole  gang  is  used  up,  swept  off,  in 
ten  years.  Suppose  emancipation  intro , 
duced  into  Cuba.  Would  not  the  pro- 
duction of  sugar  be  diminished  ? Ought 
not  every  man  to  desire  the  diminution  ? 
I do  not  say,  that  such  atrocious  cruelty 
was  common  in  the  British  Islands. 
But  it  was  in  this  department  chiefly 
that  the  slaves  were  exposed  to  exces- 
sive toil.  It  was  to  be  expected,  then, 
that,  when  left  free,  they  would  prefer 
other  modes  of  industry.  Accordingly, 
whilst  the  sugar  is  diminished,  the 
ordinary  articles  of  subsistence  have 
increased.  Some  of  the  slaves  have 
become  small  farmers  ; and  many  more, 
who  hire  themselves  as  laborers,  culti- 
vate small  patches  of  land  on  their  own 
account.  There  is  another  important 
consideration.  Before  freedom,  the 
women  formed  no  inconsiderable  part 
of  the  gangs  who  labored  on  the  sugar 
crops.  These  are  now  very  much,  if 
not  wholly,  withdrawn.  Is  it  a grief  to 
a man,  who  has  the  spirit  of  a man, 
that  woman’s  burdens  are  made  lighter  ? 
Other  causes  of  the  diminution  of  the 
sugar  crop  may  be  found  in  Mr.  Gur- 
ney’s book  ; but  these  are  enough  ta 
show  us  that  this  effect  is  due  in  part 
to  the  good  working  of  emancipation, 
to  a relief  of  the  male  and-female  slave, 
in  which  we  ought  to  rejoice. 

Before  emancipation,  I expected  that 
the  immediate  result  of  the  measure 


EM  A NCI  PA  TI ON. 


830 

Would  be  more  or  less  idleness,  and 
consequently  a diminution  of  produce. 
How  natural  was  it  to  anticipate  that 
men  who  had  worked  under  the  lash, 
and  had  looked  on  exemption  from  toil 
as  the  happiness  of  paradise,  should 
surrender  themselves  more  or  less  to 
sloth,  on  becoming  their  own  masters  ! 
It  is  the  curse  of  a bad  system  to  unfit 
men,  at  first,  for  a better.  That  the 
paralyzing  effect  of  slavery  should  con- 
tinue after  its  extinction,  that  the  slave 
should,  at  the  first,  produce  less  than 
before,  — this,  surely,  is  no  matter  of 
wonder.  The  wonder  is — and  it  is  a 
great  one  — that  the  slaves  in  the  West 
Indies  have,  in  their  new  condition,  been 
so  greatly  influenced  by  the  motives  of 
freemen  ; that  the  spirit  of  industry  has 
so  far  survived  the  system  of  compul- 
sion under  which  they  had  been  trained  ; 
that  ideas  of  a better  mode  of  living 
have  taken  so  strong  a hold  on  their 
minds  ; that  so  many  refined  tastes  and 
wants  have  been  so  soon  developed. 
Here  is  the  wonder ; and  all  this  shows, 
what  we  have  often  heard,  that  the  negro 
is  more  susceptible  of  civilization  from 
abroad  than  any  other  race  of  men. 
That  some,  perhaps  many,  of  the  slaves 
have  worked  too  little  is  not  to  be  denied ; 
nor  can  we  blame  them  much  for  it. 
All  of  us,  I suspect,  under  like  circum- 
stances, would  turn  our  first  freedom 
into  a holiday.  Besides,  when  we  think 
that  they  have  been  sweating  and  bleed- 
ing to  nourish  in  all  manner  of  luxury 
a few  indolent  proprietors,  they  do  not 
seem  very  inexcusable  for  a short  emu- 
lation of  their  superiors.  The  negro 
sleeping  all  day  under  the  shade  of  the 
palm-tree,  ought  not  to  offend  our  moral 
sense  much  more  than  the  “ owner  ” 
stretched  on  his  ottoman  or  sofa.  What 
ought  to  astonish  us  is  the  limitation, 
not  the  existence,  of  the  evil. 

It  is  to  be  desired  that  those  among 
us  who  groan  over  emancipation  because 
the  staples  of  the  Islands  are  diminished, 
should  be  made  to  wear  for  a few  months 
the  yoke  of  slavery,  so  as  to  judge  ex- 
perimentally whether  freedom  is  worth 
or  not  a few  hogsheads  of  sugar.  If, 
knowing  what  this  yoke  is,  they  are 
willing  that  others  should  bear  it,  they 
deserve  themselves,  above  all  others,  to 
be  crushed  by  it.  Slavery  is  the  great- 
est of  wrongs,  the  most  intolerable  of 
all  the  forms  of  oppression.  We  of  this 


country  thought  that  to  be  robbed  of 
political  liberty  was  an  injury  not  to  be 
endured,  and,  as  a people,  were  ready 
to  shed  our  blood  like  water  to  avert  it. 
But  political  liberty  is  of  no  worth  com- 
pared with  personal ; and  slavery  robs 
men  of  the  latter.  Under  the  despotism 
of  modern  Europe,  the  people,  though 
deprived  of  political  freedom,  enjoy 
codes  of  laws  constructed  with  great 
care,  the  fruits  of  the  wisdom  of  ages, 
which  recognize  the  sacredness  of  the 
rights  of  person  and  property,  and  under 
which  those  rights  are  essentially  secure. 
A subject  of  these  despotisms  may  still 
be  a man,  may  better  his  condition,  may 
enrich  his  intellect,  may  fill  the  earth 
with  his  fame.  He  enjoys  essentially 
personal  freedom,  and  through  this* ac- 
complishes the  great  ends  of  his  being. 
To  be  stripped  of  this  blessing,  to  be 
owned  by  a fellow-creature,  to  hold  our 
limbs  and  faculties  as  another’s  prop- 
erty, to  be  subject  every  moment  to 
another’s  will,  to  stand  in  awe  of  anoth- 
er’s lash,  to  have  our  whole  energies 
chained  to  never-varying  tasks  for 
another’s  luxury,  to  hold  wife  and  chil- 
dren at  another’s  pleasure,  — what 
wrong  can  be  compared  with  this  ? 
This  is  such  an  insult  on  human  nature, 
such  an  impiety  towards  the  common 
Father,  that  the  whole  earth  should 
send  up  one  cry  of  reprobation  against 
it ; and  yet  we  are  told  this  outrage 
must  continue,  lest  the  market  of  the 
civilized  world  should  be  deprived  of 
some  hogsheads  of  sugar. 

It  is  hard  to  weigh  human  rights 
against  each  other  ; they  are  all  sacred 
and  invaluable.  But  there  is  no  one 
which  nature,  instinct,  makes  so  dear  to 
us  as  the  right  of  action,  of  free  motion  ; 
the  right  of  exerting,  and  by  exertion 
enlarging,  our  faculties  of  body  and 
mind ; the  right  of  forming  plans,  of 
directing  our  powers  according  to  our 
convictions  of  interest  and  duty;  the 
right  of  putting  forth  our  energies  from 
a spring  in  our  own  breasts.  Self-mo- 
tion, this  is  what  our  nature  hungers  and 
thirsts  for  as  its  true  element  and  life. 
In  truth,  every  thing  that  lives  — the 
bird,  the  insect  — craves  and  delights  in 
freedom  of  action  ; and  much  more  must 
this  be  the  instinct  of  a rational,  moral 
creature  of  God,  who  can  attain  by  such 
freedom  alone  to  the  proper  strength 
and  enjoyment  of  his  nature.  The 


EM  A NCI  PA  TION. 


rights  of  property  or  reputation  are  poor 
compared  with  this.  Of  what  worth 
would  be  the  products  of  the  universe 
to  a man  forbidden  to  use  his  limbs,  or 
shut  up  in  a prison?  To  be  deprived 
of  that  freedom  of  action  which  consists 
with  others’  freedom  ; to  be  forbidden 
to  exert  our  faculties  for  our  own  good  ; 
to  be  cut  off  from  enterprise  ; to  have  a 
narrow  circle  drawn  round  us,  and  to  be 
kept  within  it  by  a spy  and  a lash  ; to 
meet  an  iron  barrier  in  another’s  selfish 
will,  let  impulse  or  desire  turn  where  it 
may;  to  be  systematically  denied  the 
means  of  cultivating  the  powers  which 
distinguish  us  from  the  brute  ; — this  is 
to  be  wounded  not  only  in  the  dearest 
earthly  interests,  but  in  the  very  life  of 
the  soul.  Our  humanity  pines  and  dies, 
rather  than  lives,  in  this  unnatural  re- 
straint. Now,  it  is  the  very  essence  of 
slavery  to  prostrate  this  right  of  action, 
of  self-motion,  not  indirectly,  or  uncer- 
tainly, but  immediately  and  without  dis- 
guise ; and  is  this  right  to  be  weighed 
in  the  scales  against  sugar  and  coffee  ; 
and  are  eight  hundred  thousand  human 
beings  to  be  robbed  of  it  to  increase  the 
luxuries  of  the  world  ? 

What  matters  it  that  the  staples  of 
the  West  Indies  are  diminished  ? Do 
the  people  there  starve  ? Are  they 
driven  by  want  to  robbery  ? Has  the 
negro  passed  from  the  hands  of  the 
overseer  into  those  of  the  hangman  ? 
We  learn  from  Mr.  Gurney  that  the 
prophecies  of  ruin  to  the  West  Indies 
are  fulfilled  chiefly  in  regard  to  the 
prisons.  These  are  in  some  places  fall- 
ing to  decay,  and  everywhere  have  fewer 
inmates.  And  what  makes  this  result 
more  striking  is,  that,  since  emancipa- 
tion, many  offences,  formerly  punished 
summarily  by  the  master  on  the  planta- 
tion, now  fall  under  the  cognizance  of 
the  magistrate,  and  are,  of  course,  pun- 
ishable by  imprisonment.  Do  the  freed 
slaves  want  clothing  ? Do  rags  form 
the  standard  of  emancipation  ? We 
hear  not  only  of  decent  apparel,  but  are 
told  that  negro  vanity,  hardly  surpassed 
by  that  of  the  white  dandy,  suffers  noth- 
ing for  want  of  decoration  or  fashionable 
attire.  There  is  not  a sign  that  the  peo- 
ple fare  the  worse  for  freedom.  Enough 
is  produced  to  give  subsistence  to  an 
improved  and  cheerful  population  ; and 
what  more  can  we  desire  ? In  our  sym- 
pathy with  the  rich  proprietor,  shall  we 


831 

complain  of  a change  which  has  secured 
to  every  man  his  rights,  and  to  thous- 
ands, once  trodden  under  foot,  the’  com- 
forts oflifeand  the  means  of  intellectual 
and  moral  progress  ? Is  it  nothing  that 
the  old,  unfurnished  hut  of  the  slave  is 
in  many  spots  giving  place  to  the  com- 
fortable cottage  ? Is  it  nothing  that  in 
these  cottages  marriage  is  an  indissolu- 
ble tie  ? that  the  mother  presses  her 
child  to  her  heart  as  indeed  her  own  ? 
Is  it  nothing  that  churches  are  spring- 
ing up,  not  from  the  donations  of 
the  opulent,  but  from  the  hard  earnings 
of  the  religious  poor  ? What  if  a few 
owners  of  sugar  estates  export  less  than 
formerly  ? Are  the  many  always  to  be 
sacrificed  to  the  few  ? Suppose  the 
luxuries  of  the  splendid  mansion  to  be 
retrenched.  Is  it  no  compensation  that 
the  comforts  of  the  laborer’s  hut  are 
increased  ? Emancipation  was  resisted 
on  the  ground  that  the  slave,  if  restored 
to  his  rights,  would  fall  into  idleness  and 
vagrancy,  and  even  relapse  into  barbar- 
ism. But  the  emancipated  negro  dis- 
covers no  indifference  to  the  comforts  of 
civilized  life.  He  has  wants  various 
enough  to  keep  him  in  action.  His 
standard  of  living  has  risen.  He  desires 
a better  lodging,  dress,  and  food.  He 
has  begun,  too,  to  thirst  for  accumula- 
tion. As  Mr.  Gurney  says,  “ He  under- 
stands his  interest  as  well  as  a Yankee.” 
He  is  more  likely  to  fall  into  the  civil- 
ized man’s  cupidity  than  into  the  sloth 
and  filth  of  a savage.  Is  it  an  offset 
for  all  these  benefits,  that  the  custom- 
house reports  a diminution  of  the  sta- 
ples of  slavery  ? 

What  a country  most  needs  is,  not 
an  increase  of  its  exports,  but  the  well- 
being of  all  classes  of  ks  population,  and 
especially  of  the  most  numerous  class  ; 
and  these  things  are  not  one  and  the 
same.  It  is  a striking  fact,  that,  while 
the  exports  of  the  emancipated  islands 
have  decreased,  the  imports  are  greater 
than  before.  In  Jamaica,  during  slavery, 
the  industry  of  the  laborers  was  given 
chiefly  to  a staple  which  was  sent  to  ab- 
sentee proprietors,  who  expended  the 
proceeds  very  much  in  a luxurious  life 
in  England.  At  present  not  a little  of 
this  industry  is  employed  on  articles  of 
subsistence  and  comfort  for  the  working 
class  and  their  families  ; and,  at  the  same 
time,  such  an  amount  of  labor  is  sold  by 
this  class  to  the  planter,  and  so  fast  are 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


832 

they  acquiring  a taste  for  better  modes 
of  living,  that  they  need  and  can  pay  for 
great  imports  from  the  mother  country. 
Surely,  when  we  see  the  fruits  of  indus- 
try diffusing  themselves  more  and  more 
through  the  mass  of  a community,  find- 
ing their  way  to  the  very  hovel,  and 
raising  the  multitude  of  men  to  new 
civilization  and  self-respect,  we  cannot 
grieve  much,  even  though  it  should  ap- 
pear that,  on  the  whole,  the  amount  of 
exports  or  even  of  products  is  decreased. 
It  is  not  the  quantity,  but  the  distribu- 
tion, the  use  of  products,  which  deter- 
mines the  prosperity  of  a state.  For 
example,  were  the  grain  which  is  now 
grown  among  us  for  distillation  annually 
destroyed  by  fire,  or  were  every  ship 
freighted  with  distilled  liquors  to  sink 
on  approaching  our  shores,  so  that  the 
crew  might  be  saved,  how  immensely 
would  the  happiness,  honor,  and  real 
strength  of  the  country  be  increased  by 
the  loss,  even  were  this  not  to  be  re- 
placed, as  it  soon  would  be,  by  the 
springing  up  of  a new,  virtuous  indus- 
try, now  excluded  by  intemperance  ! So, 
were  the  labor  and  capital  now  spent  on 
- the  importation  of  pernicious  luxuries  to 
be  employed  in  the  intellectual,  moral, 
and  religious  culture  of  the  whole  people, 
how  immense  would  be  the  gain  in  every 
respect,  though  for  a short  time  material 
products  were  diminished ! A better 
age  will  look  back  with  wonder  and 
scorn  on  the  misdirected  industry  of  the 
present  times.  The  only  sure  sign  of 
public  prosperity  is,  that  the  mass  of  the 
people  are  steadily  multiplying  the  com- 
forts of  life  and  the  means  of  improve- 
ment ; and  where  this  takes  place,  we 
need  not  trouble  ourselves  about  exports 
or  products. 

I am  not  very  anxious  to  repel  the 
charge  against  emancipation  of  diminish- 
ing the  industry  of  the  Islands,  though 
it  has  been  much  exaggerated.  Allow 
that  the  freed  slaves  work  less.  Has 
man  nothing  to  do  but  work  ? Are  not 
too  many  here  overworked  ? If  a peo- 
ple can  live  with  comfort  on  less  toil, 
are  they  not  to  be  envied  rather  than 
condemned  ? What  a happiness  would 
it  be,  if  we  here,  by  a new  wisdom,  a 
new  temperance,  and  a new  spirit  of 
brotherly  love,  could  cease  to  be  the 
care-worn  drudges  which  so  many  in  all 
classes  are,  and  could  give  a greater 
portion  of  life  to  thought,  to  refined 


social  intercourse,  to  the  enjoyment  of 
the  beauty  which  God  spreads  over  the 
universe,  to  works  of  genius  and  art,  to 
communion  with  our  Creator ! Labor 
connected  with  and  aiding  such  a life 
would  be  noble.  How  much  of  it  is 
thrown  away  on  poor,  superficial,  degrad- 
ing gratifications  ! 

We  hear  the  condition  of  Hayti  de- 
plored because  the  people  are  so  idle 
and  produce  so  little  for  exportation. 
Many  look  back  to  the  period  when  a 
few  planters  drove  thousands  of  slaves 
to  the  cane-field  and  sugar-mill  in  order 
to  enrich  themselves  and  to  secure  to 
their  families  the  luxurious  ease  so  cov- 
eted in  tropical  climes,  and  they  sigh 
over  the  change  which  has  taken  place. 

I look  on  the  change  with  very  different 
feelings.  The  negroes  in  that  luxuriant 
island  have  increased  to  above  a million. 
By  slight  toil  they  obtain  the  comforts 
of  life.  Their  homes  are  sacred  ; their 
little  property  in  a good  degree  secure. 
They  live  together  peaceably.  So  little 
inclined  are  they  to  violence,  that  the 
large  amounts  of  specie  paid  by  the 
government  to  France,  as  the  price  of 
independence,  have  been  transported 
through  the  country  on  horseback  with 
comparatively  no  defence,  and  with  a 
safety  which  no  one  would  be  mad 
enough  to  expect  under  such  circum- 
stances in  what  are  called  civilized  lands. 
It  is  true,  their  enjoyments  are  animal 
in  a great  degree.  They  live  much  like 
neglected  children,  making  little  or  no 
progress,  making  life  one  long  day  of 
unprofitable  ease.  I should  rejoice  to 
raise  them  from  children  into  men.  But 
when  I contrast  this  tranquil,  unoffend- 
ing life  with  the  horrors  of  a slave 
plantation,  it  seems  to  me  a paradise. 
What  matters  it  that  they  send  next  to 
no  coffee  or  sugar  to  Europe  ? How 
much  better  that  they  should  stretch 
themselves  in  the  heat  of  the  day  under 
their  gracefully  waving  groves,  than 
sweat  and  bleed  under  an  overseer  for 
others’  selfish  ease ! Hayti  has  one 
curse,  and  that  is,  not  freedom, . but 
tyranny.  Her  president  for  life  is  a 
despot,  under  a less  ominous  name. 
Her  government,  indifferent  or  hostile 
to  the  improvement  of  the  people,  is 
sustained  by  a standing  army,  which 
undoubtedly  is  an  instrument  of  oppres- 
sion. But  in  so  simple  a form  of  society 
despotism  is  not  that  organized  robbery 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


833 


which  has  flourished  in  the  civilized 
world.  Undoubtedly  in  this  rude  state 
of  things  the  laws  are  often  unwise, 
partial,  and  ill  administered.  I have  no 
taste  for  this  childish  condition  of  society. 
Still,  I turn  with  pleasure  from  slavery 
to  the  thought  of  a million  of  fellow- 
beings,  little  instructed  indeed,  but  en- 
joying ease  and  comfort  under  that 
beautiful  sky  and  on  the  bosom  of  that 
exhaustless  soil.  In  one  respect  Hayti 
is  infinitely  advantaged  by  her  change 
of  condition.  Under  slavery  her  colored 
population  — that  is,  the  mass  of  her  in- 
habitants — had  no  chance  of  rising,  could 
make  no  progress  in  intelligence  and  in 
the  arts  and  refinements  of  life.  They 
were  doomed  to  perpetual  degradation. 
Under  freedom  their  improvement  is 
possible.  They  are  placed  within  the 
reach  of  meliorating  influences.  Their 
intercourse  with  other  nations,  and  the 
opportunities  afforded  to  many  among 
them  of  bettering  their  condition,  furnish 
various  means  and  incitements  to  prog- 
ress. If  the  Catholic  church,  which  is 
rendering  at  this  moment  immense  aid 
to  civilization  and  pure  morals  in  Ireland, 
were  to  enter  in  earnest  on  the  work  of 
enlighteningand  regenerating  Hayti,  orif 
(what  I should  greatly  prefer)  any  other 
church  could  have  free  access  to  the 
people,  this  island  might  in  a short  time 
become  an  important  accession  to  the 
Christian  and  civilized  world,  and  the 
dark  cloud  which  hangs  over  the  first 
years  of  her  freedom  would  vanish  be- 
fore the  brightness  of  her  later  history. 

My  maxim  is,  “ Any  thing  but  sla- 
very ! Poverty  sooner  than  slavery  ! ” 
Suppose  that  we  of  this  good  city  of 
Boston  were  summoned  to  choose  be- 
tween living  on  bread  and  water  and 
such  a state  of  things  as  existed  in  the 
West  Indies.  Suppose  that  the  present 
wealth  of  our  metropolis  could  be  con- 
tinued only  on  the  condition  that  five 
thousand  out  of  our  eighty  thousand 
inhabitants  should  live  as  princes,  and 
the  rest  of  us  be  reduced  to  slavery  to 
sustain  the  luxury  of  our  masters. 
Should  we  not  all  cry  out,  Give  us  the 
bread  and  water  ? Would  we  not  rather 
see  our  fair  city  levelled  to  the  earth, 
and  choose  to  work  out  slowly  for  our- 
selves and  our  children  a better  lot,  than 
stoop  our  necks  to  the  yoke  ? So  we 
all  feel  when  the  case  is  brought  home 
to  ourselves.  What  should  we  say  to 


the  man  who  should  strive  to  terrify  us, 
by  prophecies  of  diminished  products 
and  exports,  into  the  substitution  of 
bondage  for  the  character  of  freemen  ? 

In  the  preceding  remarks  I have  in- 
sisted that  emancipation  is  not  to  be 
treated  as  a question  of  profit  and  loss, 
that  its.merits  are  not  to  be  settled  by  its 
influence  on  the  master’s  gains.  Mr. 
Gurney,  however,  maintains  that  the 
master  has  nothing  to  fear,  that  real 
estate  has  risen,  that  free  labor  costs 
less  than  that  of  the  slave.  All  this  is 
good  news,  and  should  be  spread  through 
the  land ; for  men  are  especially  inclined 
to  be  just  when  they  can  serve  them- 
selves by  justice.  But  emancipation 
rests  on  higher  ground  than  the  master’s 
accumulation,  even  on  the  rights  and 
essential  interests  of  the  slave.  And 
let  these  be  held  sacred,  though  the 
luxury  of  the  master  be  retrenched. 

2.  I have  now  finished  my  remarks 
on  a topic  which  was  always  present  to 
the  mind  of  our  author,  — the  alleged 
decrease  of  industry  and  exports  since 
emancipation.  The  next  topic  to  which 
I shall  turn  is  his  notice  of  slavery  in 
Cuba.  He  only  touched  at  this  island, 
but  evidently  received  the  same  sad  im- 
pression which  we  receive  from  those 
who  have  had  longer  time  for  observa- 
tion. He  says  : — 

“ Of  one  feature  in  the  slave-trade  and 
slavery  of  Cuba  I had  no  knowledge  until  I 
was  on  the  spot.  The  importation  consists 
almost  entirely  of  men,  and  we  were  in- 
formed that  on  many  of  the  estates  not  a 
single  female  is  to  be  found.  Natural  in- 
crease is  disregarded.  The  Cubans  import 
the  stronger  animals,  like  bullocks,  work 
them  up,  and  then  seek  a fresh  supply. 
This,  surely,  is  a system  of  most  unnatural 
barbarity.”  — p.  160. 

This  barbarity  is  believed  to  be  un- 
paralleled. The  young  African,  torn 
from  home  and  his  native  shore,  is 
brought  to  a plantation  where  he  is 
never  to  know  a home.  All  the  rela- 
tions of  domestic  life  are  systematically 
denied  him.  Woman’s  countenance  he 
is  not  to  look  upon.  The  child’s  voice 
he  is  no  more  to  hear.  His  owner  finds 
it  more  gainful  to  import  than  to  breed 
slaves;  and,  still  more,  has  made  the 
sad  discovery,  that  it  is  cheaper  to  “work 
up  ” the  servile  laborer  in  his  youth,  and 
to  replace  him  by  a new  victim,  than  to 
let  him  grow  old  in  moderate  toil.  I 

53 


EM  A NCI  PA  TION. 


834 

have  been  told  by  some  of  the  most 
recent  travellers  in  Cuba,  who  gave 
particular  attention  to  the  subject,*  that 
in  the  sugar-making  season  the  slaves 
are  generally  allowed  but  four  out  of 
the  twenty-four  hours  for  sleep.  From 
these,  too,  I learned  that  a gang  of  slaves 
is  used  up  in  ten  years.  Of  the  young 
men  imported  from  Africa,  one  out  of 
ten  dies  yearly.  To  supply  this  enor- 
mous waste  of  life,  above  twenty-five 
thousand  slaves  are  imported  annually 
from  Africa,  f in  vessels  so  crowded 
that  sometimes  one  quarter,  sometimes 
one  half,  of  the  wretched  creatures 
perish  in  agony  before  reaching  land. 
It  is  to  be  feared  that  Cuban  slavery, 
traced  from  the  moment  when  the  Afri- 
can touches  the  deck  to  the  happier 
moment  when  he  finds  his  grave  on  the 
ocean  or  the  plantation,  includes  an 
amount  of  crime  and  misery  not  to  be 
paralleled  in  any  portion  of  the  globe, 
civilized  or  savage.  And  there  are  more 
reasons  than  one  why  I would  bring  this 
horrid  picture  before  the  minds  of  my 
countrymen.  We,  we,  do  much  to  sus- 
tain this  system  of  horror  and  blood. 
The  Cuban  slave-trade  is  carried  on  in 
vessels  built  especially  for  this  use  in 
American  ports.  These  vessels  often 
sail  under  the  American  flag,  and  are 
aided  by  American  merchantmen,  and, 
as  is  feared,  by  American  capital.  And 
this  is  not  all.  The  sugar,  in  producing 
which  so  many  of  our  fellow-creatures 
perish  miserably,  is  shipped  in  great 
quantities  to  this  country.  We  are  the 
customers  who  stimulate  by  our  demands 
this  infernal  cruelty.  And,  knowing  this, 
shall  we  become  accessories  to  the  mur- 
der of  our  brethren  by  continuing  to  use 
the  fruit  of  the  hard-wrung  toil  which 
destroys  them  ? The  sugar  of  Cuba 
comes  to  us  drenched  with  human 
blood.  So  we  ought  to  see  it,  and  to 
turn  from  it  with  loathing.  The  guilt 

* My  accounts  from  Cuba  have  been  received  from 
Dr.  Madden,  and  David  Turnbull,  Esq. ; the  former, 
one  of  the  British  commissioners  resident  at  Havana 
to  enforce  the  treaty  with  Spain  in  re! at  on  to  the  slave 
trade ; the  latter,  a gentleman  who  visited  Cuba  chiefly, 
if  not  solely,  to  inquire  into  slavery.  Mr.  Turnbull’s 
account  of  Cuba,  in  his  “Travels  in  the  West,”  de- 
serves to  be  read-  The  reports  of  such  men,  confirmed 
in  a very  important  particular  by  Mr.  Gurney,  have  an 
authority  which  obliges  me  to  speak  as  I have  done  of 
the  slave  system  of  this  island.  If,  indeed  (what  is. 
most  unlikely),  they  have  fallen  into  errors  on  the  sub- 

{‘ect,  these  can  easily  be  exposed,  and  I shall  rejoice  in 
>eing  the  means  of  bringing  out  the  truth- 

t There  are  different  estimates  of  the  number,  some 
making  it  much  greater  than  the  text. 


which  produces  it  ought  to  be  put  down 
by  the  spontaneous,  instinctive  horror 
of  the  civilized  world. 

There  is  another  fact  worthy  at- 
tention. It  is  said  that  most  of  the 
plantations  in  Cuba  which  have  been 
recently  brought  under  cultivation  be- 
long to  Americans,  that  the  number 
of  American  slave-holders  is  increasing 
rapidly  on  the  island,  and,  consequent- 
ly, that  the  importation  of  human  car- 
goes from  Africa  finds  much  of  its 
encouragement  from  the  citizens  of  our 
republic.  It  is  not  easy  to  speak  in 
measured  terms  of  this  enormity.  For 
men  born  and  brought  up  amidst  sla- 
very many  apologies  may  be  made. 
But  men  born  beyond  the  sound  of  the 
lash,  brought  up  where  human  rights 
are  held  sacred,  who,  in  face  of  all  the 
light  thrown  now  on  slavery,  can  still 
deal  in  human  flesh,  can  become  cus- 
tomers of  the  “ felon  ” who  tears  the 
African  from  his  native  shore,  and  can 
with  open  eyes  inflict  this  deepest  wrong 
for  gain,  and  gain  alone,  — such  “have 
no  cloak  for  their  sin.”  Men  so  hard 
of  heart,  so  steeled  against  the  reproofs 
of  conscience,  so  intent  on  thriving, 
though  it  be  by  the  most  cruel  wrongs, 
are  not  to  be  touched  by  human  expos- 
tulation and  rebuke.  But  if  any  should 
tremble  before  Almighty  justice,  ought 
not  they  ? 

There  is  another  reason  for  dwelling 
on  this  topic.  It  teaches  us  the  little 
reliance  to  be  placed  on  the  impressions 
respecting  slavery  brought  home  by 
superficial  observers.  We  have  seen 
what  slavery  is  in  Cuba  ; and  yet  men 
of  high  character  from  this  country,  who 
have  visited  that  island,  have  returned 
to  tell  us  of  the  mildness  of  the  system. 
Men  who  would  cut  off  their  right  hand 
sooner  than  withdraw  the  sympathy  of 
others  from  human  suffering,  have  virt- 
ually done  so  by  their  representation 
of  the  kindly  working  of  slavery  on  the 
very  spot  where  it  exists  with  peculiar 
horrors.  They  have  visited  some  favored 
plantation,  been  treated  with  hospitality, 
seen  no  tortures,  heard  no  shrieks,  and 
then  come  home  to  reprove  those  who 
set  forth  indignantly  the  wrongs  of  the 
slave.  And  what  is  true  with  regard  to 
the  visitors  of  the  West  Indies  applies 
to  those  who  visit  our  Southern  States.  , 
Having  witnessed  slavery  in  the  families 
of  some  of  the  most  enlightened  and 


EM  A NCI  PA  TION. 


refined  inhabitants,  they  return  to  speak 
of  it  as  no  very  fearful  thing.  Had  they 
inquired  about  the  state  of  society 
through  the  whole  country,  and  learned 
that  more  than  one-fourth  of  the  inhab- 
itants cannot  write  their  own  names, 
they  would  have  forborne  to  make  a 
few  selected  families  the  representatives 
of  the  community,  and  might  have  be- 
lieved in  the  possibility  of  some  of  the 
horrid  details  recorded  in  “ Slavery  as 
it  is.”  For  myself,  I do  not  think  it 
worth  my  while  to  inquire  into  the 
merits  of  slavery  in  this  or  that  region. 
It  is  enough  for  me  to  know  that  one 
human  being  holds  other  human  beings 
as  his  property,  subject  to  his  arbitrary 
and  irresponsible  will,  and  compels  them 
to  toil  for  his  luxury  and  ease.  I know 
enough  of  men  to  know  what  the  work- 
ings of  such  a system  on  a large  scale 
must  be  ; and  I hold  my  understanding 
insulted  when  men  talk  to  me  of  its 
humanity.  If  there  be  one  truth  of 
history  taught  more  plainly  than  any 
other,  it  is  the  tendency  of  human  nat- 
ure to  abuse  power.  To  protect  our- 
selves against  power,  to  keep  this  in 
perpetual  check,  by  dividing  it  among 
many  hands,  by  limiting  its  duration, 
by  defining  its  action  with  sharp  lines, 
by  watching  it  jealously,  by  holding  it 
responsible  for  abuses,  this  is  the  grand 
aim  and  benefit  of  the  social  institutions 
which  are  our  chief  boast.  Arbitrary, 
unchecked  power  is  the  evil  against 
which  all  experience  cries  out  so  loudly 
that  apologies  for  it  may  be  dismissed 
without  a hearing.  But  admit  the  plea 
of  its  apologists.  Allow  slavery  to  be 
ever  so  humane.  Grant  that  the  man 
who  owns  me  is  ever  so  kind.  The 
wrong  of  him  who  presumes  to  talk 
of  owning  me  is  too  unmeasured  to  be 
softened  by  kindness.  There  are  wrongs 
which  can  be  redeemed  by  no  kindness. 
Because  a man  treads  on  me  with  velvet 
foot,  must  I be  content  to  grovel  in  the 
earth  ? Because  he  gives  me  meat  as 
well  as  bread,  whilst  he  takes  my  child 
and  sells  it  into  a land  where  my  chained 
limbs  cannot  follow,  must  I thank  him 
for  his  kindness  ? I do  not  envy  those 
who  think  slavery  no  very  pitiable  a lot, 
provided  its  nakedness  be  covered  and 
its  hunger  regularly  appeased. 

It  is  worthy  of  consideration,  that  the 
slave’s  lot  does  not  improve  with  the 
advance  of  what  is  called  civilization,  — 


835 

that  is,  of  trade  and  luxuries.  Slavery 
is  such  a violation  of  nature,  that  it  is  an 
exception  to  the  general  law  of  progress. 
In  rude  states  of  society,  when  men’s 
wants  and  employments  are  few,  and 
trade  and  other  means  of  gain  hardly 
exist,  the  slave  leads  a comparatively 
easy  life  ; he  partakes  of  the  general 
indolence.  He  lives  in  the  family  much 
as  a member,  and  is  oppressed  by  no 
great  disparity  of  rank.  But  when  soci- 
ety advances,  and  wants  multiply,  and 
the  lust  of  gain  springs  up,  and  prices 
increase,  the  slave’s  lot  grows  harder. 
He  is  viewed  more  and  more  as  a 
machine  to  be  used  for  profit,  and  is 
tasked  like  the  beast  of  burden.  The 
distance  between  him  and  his  master 
increases,  and  he  has  less  and  less  of 
the  spirit  of  a man.  He  may  have  bet- 
ter food  ; but  it  is  that  he  may  work 
the  more.  He  may  be  whipped  less 
passionately  or  frequently  ; but  it  is  be- 
cause the  never-varying  routine  of  toil 
and  the  more  skilful  discipline  which 
civilization  teaches  have  subdued  him 
more  completely.  Thus  to  the  slave  it 
is  no  gain  that  the  community  grow 
richer  and  more  luxurious.  He  has  an 
interest  in  the  return  of  society  to  bar- 
barism, for  in  this  case  he  would  come 
nearer  the  general  level.  He  would 
escape  the  peculiar  ignominy  and  ac- 
cumulated burdens  which  he  has  to  bear 
in  civilized  life. 

3.  I pass  to  another  topic  suggested 
by  Mr.  Gurney’s  book.  What  is  it,  let 
me  ask,  which  has  freed  the  West  India 
slave,  and  is  now  raising  him  to  the 
dignity  of  a man  ? The  answer  is 
most  cheering.  The  great  emancipator 
has  been  Christianity.  Policy,  interest, 
state-craft,  church-craft,  the  low  motives 
which  have  originated  other  revolutions, 
have  not  worked  here.  From  the  times 
of  Clarkson  and  Wilberforce  down  to  the 
present  day,  the  friends  of  the  slave, 
who  have  pleaded  his  cause  and  broken 
his  chains,  have  been  Christians  ; and 
it  is  from  Christ,  the  divine  philanthro- 
pist, from  the  inspiration  of  his  cross, 
that  they  have  gathered  faith,  hope,  and 
love,  for  the  conflict.  This  illustration 
of  the  spirit  and  power  of  Christianity  is 
a bright  addition  to  the  evidences  of  its 
truth.  We  have  here  the  miracle  of  a 
great  nation  rising  in  its  strength,  not 
for  conquest,  not  to  assert  its  own  rights, 
but  to  free  and  elevate  the  most  despised 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


836 

and  injured  race  on  earth  ; and  as  this 
stands  alone  in  human  history,  so  it 
recalls  to  ns  those  wonderful  works  of 
mercy  and  power  by  which  the  divinity 
of  our  religion  was  at  first  confirmed. 

It  is  with  deep  sorrow  that  I am  com- 
pelled to  turn  to  the  contrast  between 
religion  in  England  and  religion  in 
America.  There  it  vindicates  the  cause 
of  the  oppressed.  Here  it  rivets  the 
chain,  and  hardens  the  heart  of  the  op- 
pressor. At  the  South,  what  is  the 
Christian  ministry  doing  for  the  slave  ? 
Teaching  the  rightfulness  of  his  yoke, 
joining  in  the  cry  against  the  men  who 
plead  for  his  freedom,  giving  the  sanc- 
tion of  God’s  name  to  the  greatest  of- 
fence against  his  children.  This  is  the 
saddest  view  presented  by  the  conflict 
with  slavery.  The  very  men  whose 
office  it  is  to  plead  against  all  wrong,  to 
enforce  the  obligation  of  impartial,  in- 
flexible justice,  to  breathe  the  spirit  of 
universal  brotherly  love,  to  resist  at  all 
hazards  the  spirit  and  evil  customs  of 
the  world,  to  live  and  to  die  under  the 
banner  of  Christian  truth,  have  enlisted 
under  the  standard  of  slavery.  Had 
they  merely  declined  to  bring  the  sub- 
ject into  the  church,  on  the  ground  of 
the  presence  of  the  slave,  they  would 
have  been  justified.  Had  they  declined 
to- discuss  it  through  the  press  and  in 
conversation,  on  the  ground  that  the 
public  mind  was  too  furious  to  bear  the 
truth,  they  would  have  been  approved 
by  multitudes  ; though  it  is  wisest  for 
the  minister  to  resign  his  office,  when  it 
can  be  exercised  only  under  menace  and 
unrighteous  restraint,  and  to  go  where 
with  unsealed  lips  he  may  teach  and 
enforce  human  duty  in  its  full  extent. 
But  the  ministers  at  the  South  have  not 
been  content  with  silence.  The  major- 
ity of  them  are  understood  to  have  given 
their  support  to  slavery,  to  have  thrown 
their  weight  into  the  scale  of  the  master. 
That,  in  so  doing,  they  have  belied  their 
clear  convictions,  that  they  have  preached 
known  falsehood,  we  do  not  say.  Few 
ministers  of  Christ,  we  trust,  can  teach 
what  their  deliberate  judgments  con- 
demn. But,  in  cases  like  the  present, 
how  common  is  it  for  the  judgment  to 
receive  a shape  and  hue  from  self-inter- 
est, from  private  affection,  from  the 
tyranny  of  opinion,  and  the  passions  of 
the  multitude  ! Few  ministers,  we  trust, 
can  sin  against  clear,  steady  light.  But 


how  common  is  it  for  the  mind  to  waver 
and  to  be  obscured  in  regard  to  scorned 
and  persecuted  truth  ! When  we  look 
beyond  the  bounds  of  slavery,  we  find 
the  civilized  and  Christian  world,  with 
few  exceptions,  reprobating  slavery,  as 
at  war  with  the  precepts  and  spirit  of 
Christ.  But  at  the  South  his  ministers 
sustain  it,  as  consistent  with  justice, 
equity,  and  disinterested  love.  Can  we 
help  saying  that  the  loud,  menacing, 
popular  voice  has  proved  too  strong  for 
the  servants  of  Christ  ? 

We  hoped  better  things  than  this, 
because  the  prevalent  sects  at  the  South 
are  the  Methodists  and  Baptists,  and 
these  were  expected  to  be  less  tainted 
by  a worldly  spirit  than  other  denomina- 
tions in  which  luxury  and  fashion  bear 
greater  sway.  But  the  Methodists,  for- 
getful of  their  great  founder,  who  cried 
aloud  against  slavery  and  spared  not; 
and  the  Baptists,  forgetful  of  the  sainted 
name  of  Roger  Williams,  whose  love 
of  the  despised  Indian,  and  whose 
martyr  spirit  should  have  taught  them 
fearless  sympathy  with  the  negro,  have 
been  found  in  the  ranks  of  the  foes  of 
freedom.  Indeed,  their  allegiance  to 
slavery  seems  to  know  no  bounds.  A 
Baptist  association  at  the  South  decreed 
that  a slave,  sold  at  a distance  from  his 
wife,  might  marry  again  in  obedience  to 
his  master  ; and  that  he  would  even  do 
wrong  to  disobey  in  this  particular. 
Thus  one  of  the  plainest  precepts  of 
Christianity  has  been  set  at  nought. 
Thus  the  poor  slave  is  taught  to  re- 
nounce his  wife,  however  dear,  to  rupt- 
ure the  most  sacred  social  tie,  that,  like 
the  other  animals,  he  may  keep  up  the 
stock  of  the  estate.  The  General  Meth- 
odist Conference,  during  this  very  year, 
have  decreed  that  the  testimony  of  a 
colored  member  of  their  churches  should 
not  be  received  against  a white  member 
who  may  be  on  trial  before  an  ecclesias- 
tical tribunal.  Thus,  in  church  affairs, 
a multitude  of  disciples  of  Jesus  Christ, 
who  have  been  received  into  Christian 
communion  on  the  ground  of  their  spir- 
itual regeneration,  who  belong,  as  is 
believed,  to  the  church  on  earth  and  in 
heaven,  are  put  down  by  their  brethren 
as  incapable  of  recognizing  the  obliga- 
tion of  truth,  of  performing  the  most 
common  duty  of  morality,  and  are  denied 
a privilege  conceded,  in  worldly  affairs, 
to  the  most  depraved.  Thus  the  relig- 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


ion  of  the  South  heaps  insult  and  injury 
on  the  slave. 

And  what  have  the  Christians  of  the 
North  done  ? We  rejoice  to  say,  that 
from  these  have  gone  forth  not  a few 
testimonies  against  slavery.  Not  a few 
ministers,  in  associations,  conventions, 
presbyteries,  or  conferences,  have  de- 
clared the  inconsistency  of  the  system 
with  the  principles  of  Christianity  and 
with  the  law  of  love.  Still,  the  churches 
and  congregations  of  the  free  States 
have,  in  the  main,  looked  coldly  on  the 
subject,  and  discouraged,  too  effectual- 
ly, the  free  expression  of  thought  and 
feeling  in  regard  to  it  by  the  religious 
teacher.  Under  that  legislation  of  pub- 
lic opinion  which,  without  courts  or 
offices,  sways  more  despotically  than 
Czars  or  Sultans,  the  pulpit  and  the 
press  have,  in  no  small  degree,  been 
reduced  to  silence  as  to  slavery,  es- 
pecially in  cities,  the  chief  seats  of  this 
invisible  power.  Some  fervent  spirits 
among  us,  seeing  religion  in  this  and 
other  cases  so  ready  to  bend  to  worldly 
opinion,  have  been  filled  with  indigna- 
tion. They  have  spoken  of  Christianity 
as  having  no  life  here,  as  a beautiful 
corpse,  laid  out  in  much  state,  wor- 
shipped with  costly  homage,  but  wor- 
shipped very  much  as  were  the  prophets 
whose  tombs  were  so  ostentatiously 
garnished  in  the  times  of  the  Saviour. 
But  this  is  unjust.  Christianity  lives 
and  acts  among  us.  It  imposes  many 
salutary  restraints.  It  inspires  many 
good  deeds.  There  are  not  a few  in 
whom  it  puts  forth  a power  worthy  of  its 
better  days,  and  the  number  of  such  is 
growing.  Let  us  not  be  ungrateful  for 
what  this  religion  is  doing,  nor  shut  our 
ears  against  the  prophecies  which  the 
present  gives  of  its  future  triumphs. 
Still,  as  a general  rule,  the  Christianity 
of  this  day  falls  fearfully  short  of  the 
Christianity  of  the  immediate  followers 
of  our  Lord.  Then  the  meaning  of  a 
Christian  was,  that  he  took  the  cross 
and  followed  Christ,  that  he  counted  not 
his  life  dear  to  him  in  the  service  of  God 
and  man,  that  he  trod  the  world  under 
his  feet.  Now  we  ask  leave  of  the 
world  how  far  we  shall  follow  Christ. 
What  wrong  or  abuse  is  there,  which  the 
bulk  of  the  people  may  think  essential 
to  their  prosperity,  and  may  defend  with 
outcry  and  menace,  before  which  the 
Christianity  of  this  age  will  not  bow  ? 


837 

We  need  a new  John,  who,  with  the  un- 
tamed and  solemn  energy  of  the  wilder- 
ness, shall  cry  out  among  us,  Repent ! 
We  need  that  the  Crucified  should  speak 
to  us  with  a more  startling  voice,  “ He 
that  forsaketh  not  all  things  and  fol- 
loweth  me  cannot  be  my  disciple.”  We 
need  that  the  all-sacrificing,  all-sympa- 
thizing spirit  of  Christianity  should  cease 
to  bow  to  the  spirit  of  the  world.  We 
need  that,  under  a deep  sense  of  want 
and  woe,  the  church  should  cry  out, 
“ Thy  kingdom  come  ! ” and  with  holy 
importunity  should  bring  down  new 
strength,  and  life,  and  love  from  heaven. 

4.  I pass  to  another  topic  suggested 
by  Mr.  Gurney’s  book.  According  to 
this  and  all  the  books  written  on  the 
subject,  emancipation  has  borne  a sin- 
gular testimony  to  the  noble  elements 
of  the  negro  character.  It  may  be 
doubted  whether  any  other  race  would 
have  borne  this  trial  as  well  as  they. 
Before  the  day  of  freedom  came,  the 
West  Indies  and  this  country  foreboded 
fearful  consequences  from  the  sudden 
transition  of  such  a multitude  from 
bondage  to  liberty.  Revenge,  massa- 
cre, unbridled  lust,  were  to  usher  in  the 
grand  festival  of  emancipation,  which 
was  to  end  in  the  breaking  out  of  a new 
Pandemonium  on  earth.  Instead  of 
this,  the  holy  day  of  liberty  was  wel- 
comed by  shouts  and  tears  of  gratitude. 
The  liberated  negroes  did  not  hasten, 
as  Saxon  serfs  in  like  circumstances 
might  have  done,  to  haunts  of  intoxica- 
tion, but  to  the  house  of  God.  Their 
rude  churches  were  thronged.  Their 
joy  found  utterance  in  prayers  and 
hymns.  History  contains  no  record 
more  touching  than  the  account  of  the 
religious,  tender  thankfulness  which  this 
vast  boon  awakened  in  the  negro  breast.* 
And  what  followed  ? Was  this  beauti- 
ful emotion  an  evanescent  transport, 
soon  to  give  way  to  ferocity  and  ven- 
geance ? It  was  natural  for  masters 
who  had  inflicted  causeless  stripes,  and 
filled  the  cup  of  the  slaves  with  bitter- 
ness, to  fear  their  rage  after  liberation. 
But  the  overwhelming  joy  of  freedom 
having  subsided,  they  returned  to  labor. 
Not  even  a blow  was  struck  in  the  ex- 
citement of  that  vast  change.  No  viola- 
tion of  the  peace  required  the  interposi- 
tion of  the  magistrate.  The  new  relation 
was  assumed  easily,  quietly,  without  an 
* See  note  A at  end  of  this  article. 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


838 

act  of  violence.  And  since  that  time,  in 
the  short  space  of  two  years,  how  much 
have  they  accomplished  ! Beautiful  vil- 
lages have  grown  up.  Little  freeholds 
have  been  purchased.  The  marriage  tie 
has  become  sacred.  The  child  is  edu- 
cated. Crime  has  diminished.  There 
are  islands  where  a greater  proportion 
of  the  young  are  trained  in  schools  than 
among  the  whites  of  the  slave  States. 

I ask,  whether  any  other  people  on  the 
face  of  the  earth  would  have  received 
and  used  the  infinite  blessing  of  liberty 
so  well  ? 

The  history  of  West  Indian  eman- 
cipation teaches  us  that  we  are  holding 
in  bondage  one  of  the  Best  races  of  the 
human  family.  The  negro  is  among  the 
mildest,  gentlest  of  men.  He  is  singu- 
larly susceptible  of  improvement  from 
abroad.  His  children,  it  is  said,  receive 
more  rapidly  than  ours  the  elements  of 
knowledge.  How  far  he  can  originate 
improvements  time  only  can  teach.  His 
nature  is  affectionate,  easily  touched  ; 
and  hence  he  is  more  open  to  religious 
impression  than  the  white  man.  The 
European  race  have  manifested  more 
courage,  enterprise,  invention ; but  in 
the  dispositions  which  Christianity  par- 
ticularly honors,  how  inferior  are  they 
to  the  African ! When  I cast  my  eyes 
over  our  Southern  region,  the  land  of 
bowie-knives,  Lynch  law,  and  duels,  of 
“ chivalry,”  “ honor,”  and  revenge  ; and 
when  I consider  that  Christianity  is  de- 
clared to  be  a spirit  of  charity,  “ which 
seeketh  not  its  own,  is  not  easily  pro- 
voked, thinketh  no  evil,  and  endureth 
all  things,”  and  is  also  declared  to  be 
ik  the  wisdom  from  above,  which  is  first 
pure,  then  peaceable,  gentle,  easy  to 
be  entreated,  full  of  mercy  and  good 
fruits  ; ” can  I hesitate  in  deciding  to 
which  of  the  races  in  that  land  Chris- 
tianity is  most  adapted,  and  in  which  its 
noblest  disciples  are  most  likely  to  be 
reared?  It  may  be  said,  indeed,  of  all 
the  European  nations,  that  they  are  dis- 
tinguished by  qualities  opposed  to  the 
spirit  of  Christianity  ; and  it  is  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  events  of  history, 
that  the  religion  of  Jesus  should  have 
struck  root  among  them.  As  yet  it 
has  not  subdued  them.  The  “ law  of 
honor,”  the  strongest  of  all  laws  in  the 
European  race,  is,  to  this  day,  directly 
hostile  to  the  character  and  word  of 
Christ.  The  African  carries  within  him, 


much  more  than  we,  the  germs  of  a 
meek,  long-suffering,  loving  virtue.  A 
short  residence  among  the  negroes  in 
the  West  Indies  impressed  me  with 
their  capacity  of  improvement.  On  all 
sides  I heard  of  their  religious  tenden- 
cies, the  noblest  in  human  nature.  I 
saw,  too,  on  the  plantation  where  I 
resided,  a gracefulness  and  dignity  of 
form  and  motion,  rare  in  my  own  native 
New  England.  And  this  is  the  race 
which  has  been  selected  to  be  trodden 
down  and  confounded  with  the  brutes  ! 
Undoubtedly  the  negroes  are  debased*, 
for,  were  slavery  not  debasing,  I should 
have  little  quarrel  with  it.  But  let  not 
their  degradation  be  alleged  in  proof  of 
peculiar  incapacity  of  moral  elevation. 
They  are  given  to  theft ; but  there  is 
no  peculiar,  aggravated  guilt  in  stealing 
from  those  by  whom  they  are  robbed 
of  all  their  rights  and  their  very  persons. 
They  are  given  to  falsehood;  but  this 
is  the  very  effect  produced  by  op- 
pression on  the  Irish  peasantry.  They 
are  undoubtedly  sensual ; and  yet  the 
African  countenance  seldom  shows  that 
coarse,  brutal  sensuality  which  is  so 
common  in  the  face  of  the  white  man. 

I should  expect  from  the  African  race, 
if  civilized,  less  energy,  less  courage, 
less  intellectual  originality,  than  in  our 
race,  but  more  amiableness,  tranquillity, 
gentleness,  and  content.  They  might 
not  rise  to  an  equality  in  outward  con- 
dition, but  would  probably  be  a much 
happier  race.  There  is  no  reason  for 
holding  such  a race  in  chains ; they 
need  no  chain  to  make  them  harmless.* 
In  the  remarks  now  made  I have 
aimed  only  to  express  my  sympathy 
with  the  wronged.  As  to  the  white 
population  of  the  South,  I have  no 
intention  to  disparage  it.  I have  no 
undue  partiality  to  the  North ; for  I 
believe  that,  were  Northern  men  slave- 
holders, and  satisfied  that  they  could 
grow  richer  by  slave  than  by  free  labor, 
not  a few  would  retain  their  property  in 
human  flesh  with  as  resolute  and  furious 
a grasp  as  their  Southern  brethren.  In 
truth,  until  the  cotton  culture  had  in- 
toxicated the  minds  of  the  South  with 
golden  dreams,  that  part  of  the  country 
seemed  less  tainted  by  cupidity  than 
our  own.  The  character  of  that  region 
is  still  a mixed  one,  impulsive,  pas- 
sionate, vindictive,  sensual ; but  frank, 

* See  note  B at  end  of  this  article. 


EMANCIPA  TION 


courageous,  self-relying,  enthusiastic, 
and  capable  of  great  sacrifices  for  a 
friend.  Could  the  withering  influence 
of  slavery  be  withdrawn,  the  Southern 
character,  though  less  consistent,  less 
based  on  principle,  might  be  more  at- 
tractive and  lofty  than  that  of  the 
North.  The  South  is  fond  of  calling 
itself  Anglo  Saxon.  Judging  fronv  char- 
acter, I should  say  that  this  name  be- 
longs much  more  to  the  North,  the 
country  of  steady,  persevering,  uncon- 
querable energy.  Our  Southern  breth- 
ren remind  me  more  of  the  Normans. 
They  seem  to  have  in  their  veins 
the  burning  blood  of  that  pirate  race, 
who  spread  terror  through  Europe,  who 
seized  part  of  France  as  a prey,  and 
then  pounced  on  England  ; a conquer- 
ing, chivalrous  race,  from  which  most 
of  the  noble  families  of  England  are 
said  to  be  derived.  There  were  cer- 
tainly noble  traits  in  the  Norman  char- 
acter, such  as  its  enthusiasm,  its  defiance 
of  peril  by  sea  and  land,  its  force  of 
will,  its  rude  sense  of  honor.  But  the 
man  of  Norman  spirit,  or  Norman  blood, 
should  never  be  a slave-holder.  He  is 
the  last  man  to  profit  by  this  relation. 
His  pride  and  fierce  passions  need 
restraint,  not  perpetual  nourishment  ; 
whilst  his  indisposition  to  labor,  his 
desire  to  live  by  others’  toil,  demands 
the  stern  pressure  of  necessity  to  rescue 
him  from  dishonorable  sloth.  Under 
kindlier  influences  he  may  take  rank 
among  the  noblest  of  his  race. 

However,  in  looking  at  the  South,  the 
first  thing  which  strikes  my  eyes  is,  not 
the  Anglo-Saxon  or  the  Norman,  but 
the  slave.  I overlook  the  dwellings  of 
the  rich.  My  thoughts  go  to  the  com- 
fortless hut  of  the  negro.  They  go  to 
the  dark  mass  at  work  in  the  fields. 
That  injured  man  is  my  brother,  and 
ought  not  my  sympathies  to  gather 
round  him  peculiarly?  Talk  not  to  me 
of  the  hospitality,  comforts,  luxuries  of 
the  planter’s  mansion.  These  are  all  the 
signs  of  a mighty  wrong.  My  thoughts 
turn  first  to  the  slave.  1 would  not,  how- 
ever, exaggerate  his  evils.  He  is  not  the 
most  unhappy  man  on  that  soil.  True, 
his  powers  are  undeveloped  ; but  there- 
fore he  is  incapable  of  the  guilt  which 
others  incur.  He  has,  as  we  have  seen, 
a generous  nature,  and  his  day  of  im- 
provement, though  long  postponed,  is  to 
come.  When  I see  by  his  side  (and  is 


839 

the  sight  very  rare  ?)  the  self-indulgent 
man  who,  from  mere  love  of  gain  and 
ease,  extorts  his  sweat,  I think  of  the 
fearful  words  which  the  Saviour  has  put 
into  the  lips  of  the  Hebrew  patriarch  in 
the  unseen  world,  “Thou  in  thy  lifetime 
receivedst  thy  good  things,  and  Lazarus 
evil  things  ; but  now  he  is  comforted, 
and  thou  art  tormented.”  Distinctions 
founded  on  wrong  endure  but  for  a day. 
Could  we  now  penetrate  the  future  world, 
what  startling  revelations  would  be  made 
to  us  ! Before  the  all-seeing,  impartial 
justice  of  God,  we  should  see  every 
badge  of  humiliation  taken  off  from  the 
fallen,  crushed,  and  enslaved:  and  where, 
where  would  the  selfish,  unfeeling  op- 
pressor appear  ? 

5.  I shall  advert  but  to  one  more  topic 
suggested  by  Mr.  Gurney’s  book  ; I re- 
fer to  the  kind  and  respectful  manner 
in  which  he  speaks  of  many  slave-hold- 
ers. He  has  no  sympathy  with  those 
who  set  down  this  class  of  men  indis- 
criminately as  the  chief  of  sinners,  but 
speaks  with  satisfaction  of  examples  of 
piety  and  virtue  which  he  found  in  their 
number.  By  some  among  us  this  len- 
ity will  be  ascribed  to  his  desire  to  win 
for  himself  golden  opinions  ; but  he  de- 
serves no  such  censure.  The  opinion  of 
slave-holders  is  of  no  moment  to  him ; 
for  he  has  left  them  for  ever,  and  returns 
to  his  own  country,  where  his  testimony 
to  their  worth  will  find  no  sympathy,  but 
expose  him  to  suspicion,  perhaps  to  re- 
proach. Of  the  justice  of  his  judgment 
I have  no  doubt.  Among  slave-holders 
there  may  be,  and  there  are,  good  men. 
But  the  inferences  from  this  judgment 
are  often  false  and  pernicious.  There 
is  a common  disposition  to  connect  the 
character  of  the  slave-holder  and  the 
character  of  slavery.  Many  at  the  North, 
who  by  intercourse  of  business  or  friend- 
ship have  come  to  appreciate  the  good 
qualities  of  individuals  at  the  South,  are 
led  to  the  secret,  if  not  uttered,  infer- 
ence, that  a system*  sustained  by  such 
people  can  be  no  monstrous  thing.  They 
repel  indignantly  the  invectives  of  the 
abolitionists  against  the  master,  and  by 
a natural  proces's  go  on  to  question  or 
repel  their  denunciation  of  slavery.  Here 
lies  the  secret  of  much  of  the  want  of 
just  feeling  in  regard  to  this  institution. 
People  become  reconciled  to  it  in  a meas- 
ure by  the  virtues  of  its  supporters.  I 
will  not  reply  to  this  error  by  insisting 


840 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


that  the  virtues  which  grow  up  under 
slavery  bear  a small  proportion  to  the 
vices  which  it  feeds.  I take  a broader 
ground.  1 maintain  that  we  can  never 
argue  safely  from  the  character  of  a man 
to  the  system  he  upholds.  It  is  a solemn 
truth,  not  yet  understood  as  it  should  be, 
that  the  worst  institutions  may  be  sus- 
tained, the  worst  deeds  performed,  the 
most  merciless  cruelties  inflicted,  by  the 
conscientious  and  the  good.  History 
teaches  no  truth  more  awful,  and  proofs 
of  it  crowd  on  us  from  the  records  of 
the  earliest  and  latest  times.  Thus,  the 
worship  of  the  immoral  deities  of  heath- 
enism was  sustained  by  the  great  men 
of  antiquity.  The  bloodiest  and  most 
unrighteous  wars  have  been  instigated 
by  patriots.  For  ages  the  Jews  were 
thought  to  have  forfeited  the  rights  of 
men,  as  much  as  the  African  race  at  the 
South,  and  were  insulted,  spoiled,  and 
slain,  not  by  mobs,  but  by  sovereigns 
and  prelates,  who  really  supposed  them- 
selves avengers  of  the  crucified  Saviour. 
Trajan  and  Marcus  Aurelius,  men  of 
singular  humanity,  doomed  Christians  to 
death,  surrendering  their  better  feelings 
to  what  they  thought  the  safety  of  the 
state.  Few  names  in  history  are  more 
illustrious  than  Isabella  of  Castile.  She 
was  the  model,  in  most  respects,  of  a 
noble  woman.  But  Isabella  outstripped 
her  age  in  what  she  thought  pious  zeal 
against  heretics.  Having  taken  lessons 
in  her  wars  against  the  Moors,  and  in 
the  extermination  of  the  Jews,  she  en- 
tered fully  into  the  spirit  of  the  Inqui- 
sition ; and  by  her  great  moral  power 
contributed  more  than  any  other  sover- 
eign to  the  extension  of  its  fearful  influ- 
ence ; and  thus  the  horrible  tortures  and 
murders  of  that  infernal  institution,  in 
her  ill-fated  country,  lie  very  much  at  her 
door.  Of  all  the  causes  which  have  con- 
tributed to  the  ruin  of  Spain,  the  gloomy, 
unrelenting  spirit  of  religious  bigotry 
has  wrought  most  deeply  ; so  that  the 
illustrious  Isabella,  through  her  zeal  for 
religion  and  the  salvation  of  her  sub- 
jects, sowed  the  seeds  of  her  country’s 
ruin.  It  is  remarkable,  that  Spain,  in 
her  late  struggle  for  freedom,  has  not 
produced  one  great  man  ; and  at  this 
moment  the  country  seems  threatened 
with  disorganization ; and  it  is  to  the 
almost  universal  corruption,  to  the  want 
of  mutual  confidence,  to  the  deep  dis- 
simulation and  fraud,  which  the  spirit  of 


the  Inquisition,  the  spirit  of  misguided 
religion,  has  spread  through  society,  that 
this  degradation  must  chiefly  be  traced. 
The  wrongs,  woes,  cruelties,  inflicted 
by  the  religious,  the  conscientious,  are 
among  the  most  important  teachings  of 
the  past.  Nor  has  this  strange  mixture 
of  good  and  evil  ceased.  Crimes,  to 
which  time  and  usage  have  given  sanc- 
tion, are  still  found  in  neighborhood  with 
virtue.  Examples  taken  from  other 
countries  stagger  belief,  but  are  true. 
Thus,  in  not  a few  regions,  the  infant  is 
cast  out  to  perish  by  parents  who  abound 
in  tenderness  to  their  surviving  children. 
Our  own  enormities  are  to  be  understood 
hereafter.  Slavery  is  not,  then,  absolved 
of  guilt  by  the  virtues  of  its  supporters, 
nor  are  its  wrongs  on  this  account  a whit 
less  tolerable.  The  Inquisition  was  not 
a whit  less  infernal  because  sustained  by 
Isabella.  Wars  are  not  a whit  less  mur- 
derous because  waged  for  our  country's 
glory ; nor  was  the  slave-trade  less  a 
complication  of  unutterable  cruelties  be- 
cause our  fathers  brought  the  African 
here  to  make  him  a Christian. 

The  great  truth  now  insisted  on,  that 
evil  is  evil,  no  matter  at  whose  door  it 
lies,  and  that  men  acting  from  conscience 
and  religion  may  do  nefarious  deeds, 
needs  to  be  better  understood,  that  we 
may  not  shelter  ourselves  or  our  institu- 
tions under  the  names  of  the  great  or 
the  good  who  have  passed  away.  It 
shows  us  that,  in  good  company,  we 
may  do  the  work  of  fiends.  It  teaches 
us  how  important  is  the  culture  of  our 
whole  moral  and  rational  nature,  how 
dangerous  to  rest  on  the  old  and  the 
established  without  habitually  and  hon- 
estly seeking  the  truth.  With  these 
views,  I believe  at  once  that  slavery  is 
an  atrocious  wrong,  and  yet  that  among 
its  upholders  may  be  found  good  and 
pious  people.  I do  not  look  on  a slave 
country  as  one  of  the  provinces  of  hell. 
There,  as  elsewhere,  the  human  spirit 
may  hold  communion  with  God,  and  it 
may  ascend  thence  to  heaven.  Still, 
slavery  does  not  lay  aside  its  horrible 
nature  because  of  the  character  of  some 
of  its  supporters.  Persecution  is  a cruel 
outrage,  no  matter  by  whom  carried  on ; 
and  so  slavery,  no  matter  by  whom 
maintained,  works  fearful  evil  to  bond 
and  free.  It  breathes  a moral  taint, 
concaminates  young  and  old,  prostrates 
the  dearest  rights,  and  strengthens  the 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


841 


cupidity,  pride,  love  of  power,  and  self- 
ish sloth,  on  which  it  is  founded.  I 
readily  grant  that  among  slave-holders 
are  to  be  found  upright,  religious  men, 
and,  especially,  pious,  gentle,  disinter- 
ested, noble-minded  women,  who  sin- 
cerely labor  to  be  the  guardians  and 
benefactors  of  the  slaves,  and  under 
whose  kind  control  much  comfort  may 
be  enjoyed.  But  we  must  not  on  this 
account  shut  our  eyes  on  the  evils  of  the 
institution  or  forbear  to  expose  them. 
On  the  contrary,  this  is  the  very  reason 
for  lifting  up  our  voices  against  it ; for 
slavery  rests  mainly  on  the  virtues  of 
its  upholders.  Without  the  sanction  of 
good  and  great  names  it  would  soon 
die.  Were  it  left  as  a monopoly  to  the 
selfish,  cruel,  unprincipled,  it  could  not 
stand  a year.  It  would  become  in  men’s 
view  as  infamous  as  the  slave-trade,  and 
be  ranked  among  felonies.  It  is  a 
solemn  duty  to  speak  plainly  of  wrongs 
which  good  men  perpetrate.  It  is  very 
easy  to  cry  out  against  crimes  which  the 
laws  punish,  and  which  popular  opinion 
has  branded  with  infamy.  What  is 
especially  demanded  of  the  Christian  is, 
a faithful,  honest,  generous  testimony 
against  enormities  which  are  sanctioned 
by  numbers  and  fashion  and  wealth,  and 
especially  by  great  and  honored  names, 
and  which,  thus  sustained,  lift  up  their 
heads  to  heaven,  and  repay  rebuke  with 
menace  and  indignation. 

I know  that  there  are  those  who  con- 
sider all  acknowledgment  of  the  virtues 
of  slave-holders  as  treachery  to  the  cause 
of  freedom.  But  truth  is  truth,  and 
must  always  be  spoken  and  trusted.  To 
be  just  is  a greater  work  than  to  free 
slaves,  or  propagate  religion,  or  save 
souls.  I have  faith  in  no  policy  but  that 
of  simplicity  and  godly  sincerity.  The 
crimes  of  good  men  in  past  times,  of 
which  I have  spoken,  have  sprung  chiefly 
from  the  disposition  to  sacrifice  the  sim- 
ple, primary  obligations  of  truth,  justice, 
and  humanity,  to  some  grand  cause, 
such  as  religion  or  country,  which  has 
dazzled  and  bewildered  their  moral  sense. 
To  free  the  slave,  let  us  not  wrong  his 
master.  Let  us  rather  find  comfort  in 
the  thought  that  there  is  no  unmixed 
evil,  that  a spirit  of  goodness  mixes 
more  or  less  with  the  worst  usages,  and 
that  even  slavery  is  illumined  by  the 
virtues  of  the  bond  and  free. 

I have  now  finished  my  remarks  on 


Mr.  Gurney’s  book,  and  in  doing  so  I 
join  with  many  readers  in  thanking  him 
for  the  good  news  he  has  reported,  and 
in  repeating  his  prayers  for  the  success 
of  emancipation.  I now  proceed  to  a 
different  order  of  considerations  of  great 
importance,  and  which  ought  always  to« 
be  connected  with  such  discussions  as 
have  now  engaged  us.  The  subject  be- 
fore us  is  not  one  of  mere  speculation. 
It  has  a practical  side.  There  are  duties 
which  belong  to  us,  as  individuals,  and 
as  free  States,  in  regard  to  slavery.  To 
these  I now  ask  attention. 

I begin  with  individuals  ; and  thmr 
duty  is,  to  be  faithful  in  their  testimony 
against  this  great  evil,  to  speak  their 
minds  freely  and  fully,  and  thus  to  con- 
tribute what  they  may  to  the  moral  power 
of  public  opinion.  It  is  not  enough  to 
think  and  feel  justly.  Sentiments  not 
expressed  slumber,  and  too  often  die. 
Utterance,  in  some  form  or  other,  is  a 
principal  duty  of  a social  being.  The 
chief  good  which  an  enlightened,  virt- 
uous mind  can  do  is  to  bring  itself  forth. 
Not  a few  among  us  have  refrained  from 
this  duty,  have  been  speechless  in  regard 
to  slavery,  through  disapprobation  of 
what  they  have  called  the  violence  of 
the  abolitionists.  They  have  said  that 
in  this  rage  of  the  elements  it  was  fit  to 
be  still.  But  the  storm  is  passing  away. 
Abolitionism,  in  obedience  to  an  irresist- 
ible law  of  our  nature,  has  parted  with 
much  of  its  original  vehemence.  All 
noble  enthusiams  pass  through  a fe- 
verish stage,  and  grow  wiser  and  more 
serene.  Still  more,  the  power  of  the 
Antislavery  Association  is  not  a little 
broken  by  internal  divisions,  and  by  its 
increasing  reliance  on  political  action. 
It  has  thrown  away  its  true  strength, 
that  is,  moral  influence,  in  proportion  as 
it  has  consented  to  mix  in  the  frays  of 
party.  Now,  then,  when  associations  are 
waning,  it  is  time  for  the  individual  to 
be  heard,  time  for  a free,  solemn  protest 
against  wrong. 

It  is  often  said  that  all  moral  efforts 
to  forward  the  abolition  of  slavery  are 
futile  ; that  to  expect  men  to  sacrifice 
interest  to  duty  is  a proof  of  insanity ; 
that,  as  long  as  slavery  is  a good  pecu- 
niary speculation,  the  South  will  stand 
by  it  to  the  death  ; that,  whenever  slave- 
labor  shall  prove  a drug,  it  will  be  aban- 
doned, and  not  before.  It  is  vain,  we 
are  told,  to  talk,  reason,  or  remonstrate. 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


842 

On  this  ground  some  are  anxious  to 
bring  East  India  cotton  into  competi- 
tion with  the  Southern,  that,  by  driving 
the  latter  from  the  market,  the  exces- 
sive stimulus  to  slave-breeding  and  the 
profits  of  slave-labor  may  cease.  And 
is  this  true  ? Must  men  be  starved 
into  justice  and  humanity  ? Have  truth 
and  religion  and  conscience  no  power  ? 
One  thing  we  know,  that  the  insanity  of 
opposing  moral  influence  to  deep-rooted 
evils  has,  at  least,  great  names  on  its 
side.  The  Christian  faith  is  the  highest 
form  of  this  madness  and  folly,  and  its 
history  shows  that  “ the  foolishness  of 
God  is  stronger  than  men.”  What  an 
insult  is  it  on  the  South,  and  on  human 
nature,  to  believe  that  millions  of  slave- 
holders, of  all  ages,  sexes,  and  con- 
ditions, in  an  age  of  freedom,  intelli- 
gence, and  Christian  faith,  are  proof 
against  all  motives  but  the  very  lowest ! 
Even  in  the  most  hardened,  conscience 
never  turns  wholly  to  stone.  Humanity 
never  dies  out  among  a people.  After 
all,  the  most  prevailing  voice  on  earth 
is  that  of  truth.  Could  emancipation  be 
extorted  only  by  depreciation  of  slave- 
labor,  it  would,  indeed,  be  a good  ; but 
how  much  happier  a relation  would  the 
master  establish  with  the  colored  race, 
if,  from  no  force  but  that  of  principle 
and  kindness,  he  should  set  them  free  ! 
Undoubtedly,  at  the  South,  as  elsewhere, 
the  majority  are  selfish,  mercenary,  cor- 
rupt ; but  it  would  be  easy  to  find  there 
more  than  “ ten  righteous,”  to  find  a 
multitude  of  upright,  compassionate, 
devout  minds,  which,  if  awakened  from 
the  long  insensibility  of  habit  to  the 
evils  of  slavery,  would  soon  overpower 
the  influences  of  the  merely  selfish  slave- 
holder. 

We  are  told,  indeed,  by  the  South, 
that  slavery  is  no  concern  of  ours,  and 
consequently  that  the  less  we  say  of  it 
the  better.  What ! shall  the  wrong- 
doer forbid  lookers-on  to  speak,  because 
the  affair  is  a private  one,  in  which 
others  must  not  interfere  ? Whoever 
injures  a man  binds  all  men  to  remon- 
strate, especially  when  the  injured  is  too 
weak  to  speak  in  his  own  behalf.  Let 
none  imagine  that,  by  seizing  a fellow- 
creature  and  setting  him  apart  as  aciiat- 
tel,  they  can  sever  his  ties  to  God  or  man. 
Spiritual  connections  are  not  so  easily 
broken.  You  may  carry  your  victim  ever 
so  far,  you  may  seclude  him  on  a planta- 


tion or  in  a cell  ; but  you  cannot  trans- 
port him  beyond  the  sphere  of  human 
brotherhood,  or  cut  him  off  from  his 
race.  The  great  bond  of  humanity  is 
the  last  to  be  dissolved.  Other  ties, 
those  of  family  and  civil  society,  are 
severed  by  death.  This,  founded  as  it 
is  on  what  is  immortal  in  our  nature,  has 
an  everlasting  sacredness,  and  is  never 
broken  ; and  every  man  has  a right,  and, 
still  more,  is  bound,  to  lift  up  his  voice 
against  its  violation. 

There  are  many  whose  testimony 
against  slavery  is  very  much  diluted  by 
the  fact  of  its  having  been  so  long  sanc- 
tioned, not  only  by  usage,  but  by  law,  by 
public  force,  by  the  forms  of  civil  author- 
ity. They  bow  before  numbers  and  pre- 
scription. But  in  an  age  of  inquiry  and 
innovation,  when  other  institutions  must 
make  good  their  title  to  continuance,  it 
is  a suspicious  tenderness  which  fears  to 
touch  a heavy  yoke  because  it  has  grown 
by  time  into  the  necks  of  our  fellow- 
creatures.  Do  we  not  know  that  unjust 
monopolies,  cruel  prejudices,  barbarous 
punishments,  oppressive  institutions, 
have  been  upheld  by  law  for  ages  ? Ma- 
jorities are  prone  to  think  that  they  can 
create  right  by  vote,  and  can  legalize 
gainful  crimes  by  calling  the  forms  of 
justice  to  their  support.  But  these  con- 
spiracies against  humanity,  these  insults 
offered  to  the  majesty  and  immutable- 
ness of  truth  and  rectitude,  are  the  last 
forms  of  wickedness  to  be  spared.  Self- 
ish men,  by  combining  into  a majority, 
cannot  change  tyranny  into  right.  The 
whole  earth  may  cry  out  that  this  or 
that  man  was  made  to  be  owned  and 
used  as  a chattel,  or  a brute,  by  his 
brother.  But  his  birthright  as  a man,  as 
a rational  creature  of  God,  cleaves  to 
him  untouched  by  the  clamor.  Crimes, 
exalted  into  laws,  become  therefore  the 
more  odious  ; just  as  the  false  gods  of 
heathenism,  when  set  up  of  old  on  the 
altar  of  Jehovah,  shocked  his  true  wor- 
shippers the  more  by  usurping  so  con- 
spicuously the  honors  due  to  him  alone. 

It  is  important  that  we  should,  each 
of  us,  bear  our  conscientious  testimony 
against  slavery,  not  only  to  swell  that 
tide  of  public  opinion  which  is  to  sweep 
it  away,  but  that  we  may  save  ourselves 
from  sinking  into  silent,  unsuspected 
acquiescence  in  the  evil.  A constant 
resistance  is  needed  to  this  downward 
tendency,  as  is  proved  by  the  tone  of 


EMANCIPA  TJON. 


feeling  in  the  free  States.  What  is  more 
common  among  ourselves  than  a courte- 
ous, apologetic  disapprobation  of  sla- 
very, which  differs  little  from  taking  its 
part  ? This  is  one  of  its  worst  influ- 
ences. It  taints  the  whole  country. 
The  existence,  the  perpetual  presence, 
of  a great,  prosperous,  unrestrained  sys- 
tem of  wrong  in  a community  is  one  of 
the  sorest  trials  to  the  moral  sense  of 
the  people,  and  needs  to  be  earnestly 
withstood.  The  idea  of  justice  becomes 
unconsciously  obscured  in  our  minds. 
Our  hearts  become  more  or  less  seared 
to  wrong.  The  South  says  that  slavery  is 
nothing  to  us  at  the  North.  But  through 
our  trade  we  are  brought  into  constant 
contact  with  it ; we  grow  familiar  with 
it ; still  more,  we  thrive  by  it ; and  the 
next  step  is  easy,  to  consent  to  the  sacri- 
fice of  human  beings  by  whom  we  pros- 
per. The  dead  know  not  their  want  of 
life  ; and  so  a people,  whose  moral  sen- 
timents are  palsied  by  the  interweaving 
of  all  their  interests  with  a system  of 
oppression,  become  degraded  without 
suspecting  it.  In  consequence  of  this 
connection  with  slave  countries,  the  idea 
of  human  rights,  that  great  idea  of  our 
age,  and  on  which  we  profess  to  build  our 
institutions, is  darkened,  weakened  among 
us,  so  as  to  be  to  many  little  more  than  a 
sound.  A country  of  licensed,  legalized 
wrongs  is  not  the  atmosphere  in  which 
the  sentiment  of  reverence  for  these 
rights  can  exist  in  full  power.  In  such 
a community  there  may  be  a respect  for 
the  arbitrary  rights  which  law  creates 
and  may  destroy,  and  a respect  for  his- 
torical rights  which  rest  on  usage.  But 
the  fundamental  rights  which  inhere  in 
man  as  man,  and  which  lie  at  the  foun- 
dation of  a just,  equitable,  beneficent, 
noble  polity,  must  be  imperfectly  com- 
prehended. This  depression  of  moral 
sentiment  in  a people  is  an  evil  the  ex- 
tent of  which  is  not  easily  apprehended. 
It  affects  and  degrades  every  relation  of 
life.  Men  in  whose  sight  human  nature 
is  stripped  of  all  its  rights  and  dignity 
cannot  love  or  honor  any  who  possess 
it  as  they  ought.  In  offering  these  re- 
marks I do  not  forget,  what  I rejoice  to 
know,  that  there  is  much  moral  feeling 
among  us  in  regard  to  slavery.  But 
still,  there  is  a strong  tendency  to  in- 
difference, and  to  something  worse  ; and 
on  this  account  we  owe  it  to  our  own 
moral  health,  and  to  the  moral  life  of 


343 

society,  to  express  plainly  and  strongly 
our  moral  abhorrence  of  this  institution. 

This  duty  is  rendered  more  urgent  by 
the  depraving  tendency  of  our  political 
connections  and  agitations.  It  has  been 
said,  much  too  sweepingly,  but  with  some 
approximation  to  truth,  that  in  this 
country  we  have  hosts  of  politicians, 
but  no  statesmen ; meaning,  by  the  lat- 
ter term,  men  of  comprehensive,  far- 
reaching  views,  who  study  the  permanent 
good  of  the  community,  and  hold  fast, 
under  all  changes,  to  the  great  principles 
on  which  its  salvation  rests.  The  gen- 
erality of  our  public  men  are  mere  politi- 
cians, purblind  to  the  future,  fevered  by 
the  present,  merging  patriotism  in  party- 
spirit,  intent  on  carrying  a vote  or 
election,  no  matter  what  means  they 
use  or  what  precedents  they  establish, 
and  holding  themselves  absolved  from 
a strict  morality  in  public  affairs.  A 
principal  object  of  political  tactics  is,  to 
conciliate  and  gain  over  to  one  or  another 
side  the  most  important  interests  of  the 
country ; and  of  consequence  the  slave 
interest  is  propitiated  with  no  small  care. 
No  party  can  afford  to  lose  the  South. 
The  master’s  vote  is  too  precious  to  be 
hazarded  by  sympathy  with  the  slaves. 
Accordingly  parties  and  office-seekers 
wash  their  hands  of  abolitionism  as  if 
it  were  treason,  and,  without  commit- 
ting themselves  to  slavery,  protest  their 
innocence  of  hostility  to  it.  How  far 
they  would  bow  to  the  slave  power, 
were  the  success  of  a great  election  to 
depend  on  soothing  it,  cannot  be  fore- 
told, especially  since  we  have  seen  the 
party  most  jealous  of  popular  rights 
surrendering  to  this  power  the  right  of 
petition.  In  this  state  of  things  the 
slave-holding  interest  has  the  floor  of 
Congress  very  much  to  itself.  Now 
and  then  a man  of  moral  heroism  meets 
fit  with  erect  front  and  a tone  of  conscious 
superiority.  But  political  life  does  not 
abound  in  men  of  heroic  mould.  Mili- 
tary heroes  may  be  found  in  swarms. 
Thousands  die  fearlessly  on  the  field 
of  battle,  or  the  field  of  “honor.”  But 
the  moral  courage  which  can  stand  cold 
looks,  frowns,  and  contempt,  which  asks 
counsel  of  higher  oracles  than  people 
or  rulers,  and  cheerfully  gives  up  pre- 
ferment to  a just  cause,  is  rare  enough 
to  be  canonized.  In  such  a country  the 
tendency  to  corruption  of  moral  sen- 
timent in  regard  to  slavery  is  strong. 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


844 

Many  are  tempted  to  acquiescence  in 
it ; and  of  consequence  the  good  man, 
the  friend  of  humanity  and  his  country, 
should  meet  the  danger  by  strong,  un- 
compromising reprobation  of  this  great 
wrong. 

I would  close  this  topic  with  observ- 
ing, that  there  is  one  portion  of  the 
community  to  which  I would  especially 
commend  the  cause  of  the  enslaved,  and 
the  duty  of  open  testimony  against  this 
form  of  oppression ; and  that  is,  our 
women.  To  them,  above  all  others, 
slavery  should  seem  an  intolerable  evil, 
because  its  chief  victims  are  women.  In 
their  own  country,  and  not  very  far  from 
them,  there  are  great  multitudes  of  their 
sex  exposed  to  dishonor,  held  as  prop- 
erty by  man , unprotected  by  law,  driven 
to  the  field  by  the  overseer,  and  happy 
if  not  consigned  to  infinitely  baser  uses, 
denied  the  rights  of  wife  and  mother, 
and  liable  to  be  stripped  of  husband  and 
child  when  another's  pleasure  or  interest 
may  so  determine.  Such  is  the  lot  of 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  their  sisters  ; 
and  is  there  nothing  here  to  stir  up 
woman’s  sympathy,  nothing  for  her  to 
remember,  when  she  approaches  God’s 
throne  or  opens  her  heart  to  her  fellow- 
creatures  ? Woman  should  talk  of  the 
enslaved  to  her  husband,  and  do  what 
she  can  to  awaken,  amongst  his  ever- 
thronging  worldly  cares,  some  manly 
indignation,  some  interest  in  human 
freedom.  She  should  breathe  into  her 
son  a deep  sense  of  the  wrongs  which 
man  inflicts  on  man,  and  send  him  forth 
from  her  arms  a friend  of  the  weak  and 
injured.  She  should  look  on  her  daugh- 
ter, and  shudder  at  the  doom  of  so  many 
daughters  on  her  own  shores.  When 
she  meets  with  woman,  she  should  talk 
with  her  of  the  ten  thousand  homes 
which  have  no  defence  against  licen- 
tiousness, against  violation  of  the  most 
sacred  domestic  ties  ; and  through  her 
whole  intercourse,  the  fit  season  should 
be  chosen  to  give  strength  to  that  deep 
moral  conviction  which  can  alone  over- 
come this  tremendous  evil. 

I know  it  will  be  said  that,  in  thus 
doing,  woman  will  wander  beyond  her 
sphere,  and  forsake  her  proper  work. 
What ! Do  I hear  such  language  in  a 
civilized  age,  and  in  a land  of  Christians  ? 
What,  let  me  ask,  is  woman’s  work  ? It 
is,  to  be  a minister  of  Christian  love. 
It  is,  to  sympathize  with  human  misery. 


It  is,  to  breathe  sympathy  into  man’s 
heart.  It  is,  to  keep  alive  in  society 
some  feeling  of  human  brotherhood. 
This  is  her  mission  on  earth.  Woman’s 
sphere,  I am  told,  is  home.  And  why 
is  home  instituted  ? Why  are  domestic 
relations  ordained  ? These  relations 
are  for  a day  ; they  cease  at  the  grave. 
And  what  is  their  great  end  ? To 
nourish  a love  which  will  endure  for 
ever,  to  awaken  universal  sympathy. 
Our  ties  to  our  parents  are  to  bind  us 
to  the  Universal  Parent ; our  fraternal 
bonds,  to  help  us  to  see  in  all  men  our 
brethren.  Home  is  to  be  a nursery  of 
Christians ; and  what  is  the  end  of 
Christianity,  but  to  awaken  in  all  souls 
the  principles  of  universal  justice  and 
universal  charity  ? At  home  we  are  to 
learn  to  love  our  neighbor,  our  enemy, 
the  stranger,  the  poor,  the  oppressed. 
If  home  do  not  train  us  to  this,  then  it 
is  wofully  perverted.  If  home  counter- 
act and  quench  the  spirit  of  Christian- 
ity, then  we  must  remember  the  divine 
Teacher,  who  commands  us  to  forsake 
father  and  mother,  brother  and  sister, 
wife  and  child,  for  his  sake,  and  for  the 
sake  of  his  truth.  If  the  walls  of  home 
are  the  bulwarks  of  a narrow,  clannish 
love,  through  which  the  cry  of  human 
miseries  and  wrongs  cannot  penetrate, 
then  it  is  mockery  to  talk  of  their  sacred- 
ness. Domestic  life  is  at  present  too 
much  in  hostility  to  the  spirit  of  Christ. 
A family  should  be  a community  of  dear 
friends,  strengthening  one  another  for 
the  service  of  their  fellow-creatures. 
Can  we  give  the  name  of  Christian  to 
most  of  our  families  ? Can  we  give  it 
to  women  who  have  no  thoughts  or 
sympathies  for  multitudes  of  their  own 
sex,  distant  only  two  or  three  days’ 
journey  from  their  doors,  and  exposed 
to  outrages  from  which  they  would  pray 
to  have  their  own  daughters  snatched, 
though  it  were  by  death  ? 

Having  spoken  of  the  individual,  I 
proceed  to  speak  of  the  duties  of  the 
free  States,  in  their  political  capacity, 
in  regard  to  slavery ; and  these  may 
be  reduced  to  two  heads,  both  of  them 
negative.  The  first  is,  to  abstain  as 
rigidly  from  the  use  of  political  power 
against  slavery  in  the  States  where  it 
is  established  as  from  exercising  it 
against  slavery  in  foreign  communities. 
The  second  is,  to  free  ourselves  from 
all  obligation  to  use  the  powers  of  the 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


national  or  state  governments  in  any 
manner  whatever  for  the  support  of 
slavery. 

The  first  duty  is  clear.  In  regard  to 
slavery,  the  Southern  States  stand  on 
the  ground  of  foreign  communities. 
They  are  not  subject  or  responsible  to 
us  more  than  these.  No  State  sover- 
eignty can  intermeddle  with  the  in- 
stitutions of  another.  We  might  as 
legitimately  spread  our  legislation  over 
the  schools,  churches,  or  persons  of 
the  South  as  over  their  slaves.  And 
in  regard  to  the  general  government, 
we  know  that  it  was  not  intended  to 
confer  any  power,  direct  or  indirect,  on 
the  free  over  the  slave  States.  Any 
pretension  to  such  power  on  the  part 
of  the  North  would  have  dissolved  im- 
mediately the  convention  which  framed 
the  Constitution.  Any  act  of  the  free 
States,  when  assembled  in  Congress, 
for  the  abolition  of  slavery  in  other 
States,  would  be  a violation  of  the 
national  compact,  and  would  be  just 
cause  of  complaint. 

On  this  account  I cannot  but  regret 
the  disposition  of  a part  of  our  aboli- 
tionists to  organize  themselves  into  a 
political  party.  Were  it,  indeed,  their 
simple  purpose  to  free  the  North  from 
all  obligation  to  give  support  to  slavery, 
I should  agree  with  them  in  their  end, 
though  not  in  their  means.  By  looking, 
as  they  do,  to  political  organization  as 
a means  of  putting  down  the  institution 
in  other  States,  they  lay  themselves  open 
to  reproach.  I know,  indeed,  that  ex- 
cellent men  are  engaged  in  this  move- 
ment, and  I acquit  them  of  all  dis- 
position to  transcend  the  limits  of  the 
federal  Constitution.  But  it  is  to  be 
feared  that  they  may  construe  this  in- 
strument too  literally ; that,  forgetting 
its  spirit,  they  may  seek  to  use  its  powers 
for  purposes  very  remote  from  its  origi- 
nal design.  Their  failure  is  almost  in- 
evitable. By  extending  their  agency 
beyond  its  true  bounds,  they  insure  its 
defeat  in  its  legitimate  sphere.  By  as- 
suming a political  character,  they  lose 
the  reputation  of  honest  enthusiasts,  and 
come  to  be  considered  as  hypocritical 
seekers  after  place  and  power.  Should 
they,  in  opposition  to  all  probability,  be- 
come a formidable  party,  they  would 
unite  the  slave-holding  States  as  one 
man ; and  the  South,  always  able,  when 
so  united,  to  link  with  itself  a party  at 


845 

the  North,  would  rule  the  country  as 
before. 

No  association,  like  the  abolitionists, 
formed  for  a particular  end,  can,  by 
becoming  a political  organization,  rise 
to  power.  If  it  can  contrive  to  perpet- 
uate itself,  it  will  provoke  contempt  by 
the  disproportion  of  its  means  to  its 
ends  ; but  the  probability  is,  that  it  will 
be  swallowed  up  in  the  whirlpool  of  one 
or  the  other  of  the  great  national  par- 
ties, from  whose  fury  hardly  any  thing 
escapes.  These  mighty  forces  sweep 
all  lesser  political  organizations  before 
them.  And  these  are  to  be  robbed  of 
their  pernicious  power,  not  by  forming 
a third  party,  but  by  the  increase  of 
intelligence  and  virtue  in  the  commu- 
nity, and  by  the  silent  flowing  together 
of  reflecting,  upright,  independent  men, 
who  will  feel  themselves  bound  to  throw 
off  the  shackles  of  party  ; who  will  re- 
fuse any  longer  to  neutralize  their  moral 
influence  by  coalition  with  the  self  seek- 
ing, the  hollow-hearted,  and  the  double- 
tongued  ; whose  bond  of  union  will  be 
the  solemn  purpose  to  speak  the  truth 
without  adulteration,  to  adhere  to  the 
right  without  compromise,  to  support 
good  measures  and  discountenance  bad, 
come  from  what  quarter  they  may,  to 
be  just  to  all  parties,  and  to  expose 
alike  the  corruptions  of  all.  There  are 
now  among  us  good  and  true  men 
enough  to  turn  the  balance  on  all  great 
questions,  would  they  but  confide  in 
principle,  and  be  loyal  to  it  in  word  and 
deed.  Under  their  influence,  news- 
papers might  be  established  in  which 
men  and  measures  of  all  parties  would 
be  tried  without  fear  or  favor  by  the 
moral,  Christian  law  ; and  this  revolu- 
tion of  the  press  would  do  more  than 
all  things  else  for  the  political  regenera- 
tion of  the  country.  The  people  would 
learn  from  it  that,  whilst  boasting  of 
liberty,  they  are  used  as  puppets  and 
tools ; that  popular  sovereignty,  with 
all  its  paper  bulwarks,  is  a show  rather 
than  a substance,  as  long  as  party  des- 
potism endures.  It  is  by  such  a broad, 
generous  improvement  of  society,  that 
our  present  political  organizations  are 
to  be  put  down,  and  not  by  a third 
party  on  a narrow  basis,  and  which, 
instead  of  embracing  all  the  interests 
of  the  country,  confines  itself  to  a single 
point. 

I cannot  but  express  again  regret  at 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


846 

the  willingness  of  the  abolitionists  to 
rely  on  and  pursue  political  power. 
Their  strength  has  always  lain  in  the 
simplicity  of  their  religious  trust,  in 
their  confidence  in  Christian  truth. 
Formerly  the  hope  sometimes  crossed 
my  mind  that,  by  enlarging  their  views 
and  purifying  their  spirit,  they  would 
gradually  become  a religious  commu- 
nity, founded  on  the  recognition  of  God 
as  the  common,  equal  Father  of  all  man- 
kind, on  the  recognition  of  Jesus  Christ 
as  having  lived  and  died  to  unite  to  him- 
self and  to  baptize  with  his  spirit  every 
human  soul,  and  on  the  recognition  of 
the  brotherhood  of  all  the  members  of 
God’s  human  family.  There  are  signs 
that  Christians  are  tending,  however 
slowly,  toward  a church  in  which  these 
great  ideas  of  Christianity  will  be  real- 
ized ; in  which  a spiritual  reverence  for 
God,  and  for  the  human  soul,  will  take 
place  of  the  customary  homage  paid  to 
outward  distinctions  ; and  in  which  our 
present  narrow  sects  will  be  swallowed 
up.  I thought  that  I saw,  in  the  princi- 
ples with  which  the  abolitionists  started, 
a struggling  of  the  human  mind  toward 
this  Christian  union.  It  is  truly  a dis- 
appointment to  see  so  many  of  their 
number  becoming  a political  party,  an 
association  almost  always  corrupting, 
and  most  justly  suspected  on  account 
of  the  sacrifices  of  truth  and  honor  and 
moral  independence,  which  it  extorts 
even  from  well-disposed  men.  Their 
proper  work  is,  to  act  on  all  parties,  to 
support  each  as  far  as  it  shall  be  true 
to  human  rights,  to  gather  laborers  for 
the  good  cause  from  all  bodies,  civil 
and  religious,  and  to  hold  forth  this 
cause  as  a universal  interest,  and  not 
as  the  property  or  stepping-stone  of  a 
narrow  association. 

I know  that  it  is  said  that  nothing  but 
this  political  action  can  put  down  sla- 
very. Then  slavery  must  continue  ; and 
if  we  faithfully  do  our  part  as  Chris- 
tians, we  are  not  responsible  for  its  con- 
tinuance. We  are  not  to  feel  as  if  we 
were  bound  to  put  it  down  by  any  and 
every  means.  We  do  not  speak  as 
Christians  when  we  say  that  slavery 
must  and  shall  fall.  Who  are  we,  to 
dictate  thus  to  Omnipotence  ? It  has 
pleased  the  mysterious  providence  of 
God  that  terrible  evils  should  be  left  to 
overshadow  the  earth  for  ages.  “ How 
long,  O Lord  ? ” has  been  the  secret  cry 


extorted  from  good  men  by  the  crimes 
of  the  world  for  six  thousand  years. 
On  the  philanthropist  of  this  age  the 
same  sad  burden  is  laid,  and  it  cannot 
be  removed.  We  must  not  feel  that, 
were  slavery  destroyed,  paradise  would 
be  restored.  As  in  our  own  souls  the 
conquest  of  one  evil  passion  reveals  to 
us  new  spiritual  foes,  so  in  society  one 
great  evil  hides  in  its  shadow  others 
perhaps  as  fearful,  and  its  fall  only  sum- 
mons us  to  new  efforts  for  the  redemp- 
tion of  the  race.  We  know,  indeed, 
that  good  is  to  triumph  over  evil  in  this 
world  ; that  “ Christ  must  reign  till  he 
shall  put  all  enemies  beneath  his  feet,” 
or  until  his  spirit  shall  triumph  over  the 
spirit,  oppressions,  corruptions  of  the 
world.  Let  us,  then,  work  against  all 
wrong,  but  with  a calm,  solemn  earnest- 
ness, not  with  vehemence  and  tumult. 
Let  us  work  with  deep  reverence  and 
filial  trust  toward  God,  and  not  in  the 
proud  impetuosity  of  our  own  wills. 
Happy  the  day  when  such  laborers  shall 
be  gathered  by  an  inward  attraction 
into  one  church  or  brotherhood,  whose 
badge,  creed,  spirit,  shall  be  universal 
love  ! This  will  be  the  true  kingdom  of 
God  on  earth,  and  its  might  will  infi- 
nitely transcend  political  power. 

For  one,  I have  no  desire  to  force 
emancipation  on  the  South.  Had  I 
political  power,  I should  fear  to  use  it 
in  such  a cause.  A forced  emancipation 
is,  on  the  whole,  working  well  in  the 
West  Indies,  because  th$  mother  coun- 
try watches  over  and  guides  it,  and  pours 
in  abundantly  moral  and  religious  influ- 
ences to  calm  and  enlighten  and  soften 
the  minds  newly  set  free.  Here  no  such 
control  can  be  exercised.  Freedom  at 
the  South,  to  work  well,  must  be  the 
gift  of  the  masters.  Emancipation  must 
be  their  own  act  and  deed.  It  must 
spring  from  good-will  and  sense  of  jus- 
tice, or,  at  least,  from  a sense  of  interest, 
and  not  be  extorted  by  a foreign  power  ; 
and  with  this  origin,  it  will  be  more  suc- 
cessful even  than  the  experiment  in  the 
West  Indies.  In  those  islands,  espe- 
cially in  Jamaica,  the  want  of  cordial 
co-operation  on  the  part  of  the  planters 
has  continually  obstructed  the  beneficial 
working  of  freedom,  and  still  throws  a 
doubtfulness  over  its  complete  success. 

I have  said  that  the  free  States  cannot 
rightfully  use  the  power  of  their  own 
legislatures  or  of  Congress  to  abolish 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


slavery  in  the  States  where  it  is  estab- 
lished. Their  first  duty  is  to  abstain 
from  such  acts.  Their  next  and  more 
solemn  duty  is  to  abstain  from  all  action 
for  the  support  of  slavery.  If  they  are 
not  to  subvert,  much  less  are  they  to 
sustain  it.  There  is  some  excuse  for 
communities  when,  under  a generous 
impulse,  they  espouse  the  cause  of  the 
oppressed  in  other  states,  and  by  force 
restore  their  rights  ; but  they  are  with- 
out excuse  in  aiding  other  states  in 
binding  on  men  an  unrighteous  yoke.* 
On  this  subject  our  fathers,  in  framing 
the  Constitution,  swerved  from  the  right. 
We,  their  children,  at  the  end  of  half  a 
century,  see  the  path  of  duty  more 
clearly  than  they,  and  must  walk  in  it. 
To  this  point  the  public  mind  has  long 
been  tending,  and  the  time  has  come  for 
looking  at  it  fully,  dispassionately,  and 
with  manly  and  Christian  resolution. 
This  is  not  a question  of  abolitionism. 
It  has  nothing  to  do  with  putting  down 
slavery.  We  are  simply  called,  as  com- 
munities, to  withhold  support  from  it,  to 
stand  aloof,  to  break  off  all  connection 
with  this  criminal  institution.  The  free 
States  ought  to  say  to  the  South,  “ Sla- 
very is  yours,  not  ours,  and  on  you  the 
whole  responsibility  of  it  must  fall.  We 
wash  our  hands  of  it  wholly.  We  shall 
exert  no  power  against  it ; but  do  not 
call  on  us  to  put  forth  the  least  power  in 
its  behalf.  We  cannot,  directly  or  indi- 
rectly, become  accessories  to  this  wrong. 
We  cannot  become  jailers,  or  a patrol, 
or  a watch,  to  keep  your  slaves  under 
the  yoke.  You  must  guard  them  your- 
selves. If  they  escape,  we  cannot  send 
them  back.  Our  soil  makes  whoever 
touches  it  free.  On  this  point  you  must 
manage  your  own  concerns.  You  must 
guard  your  own  frontier.  In  case  of 
insurrection,  we  cannot  come  to  you, 
save  as  friends  alike  of  bond  and  free. 
Neither  in  our  separate  legislatures,  nor 
in  the  national  legislature,  can  we  touch 
slavery  to  sustain  it.  On  this  point  you 
are  foreign  communities.  You  have 
often  said  that  you  need  not  our  protec- 
tion ; and  we  must  take  you  at  your 
word.  In  so  doing  we  have  no  thought 
of  acting  on  your  fears.  We  think  only  of 
our  duty,  and  this,  in  all  circumstances, 
and  at  all  hazards,  must  be  done.” 

The  people  of  the  North  think  but 
little  of  the  extent  of  the  support  given 
to  slavery  by  the  federal  government ; 


847 

though,  when  it  is  considered  that  “the 
slave-holding  interest  has  a representa- 
tion in  Congress  of  twenty -Jive  members, 
in  addition  to  the  fair  and  equal  repre- 
sentation of  the  free  inhabitants,”  it  is 
very  natural  to  expect  the  exercise  of 
the  powers  of  Congress  in  behalf  of  this 
institution.  The  federal  government 
has  been,  and  is,  the  friend  of  the  slave- 
holder, and  the  enemy  of  the  slave.  It 
authorizes  the  former  to  seize,  in  a free 
State,  a colored  man,  on  the  ground  of 
being  a fugitive,  and  to  bring  him  before 
a justice  of  the  peace  of  his  own  selec- 
tion ; and  this  magistrate,  without  a jury, 
and  without  obligation  to  receive  any 
testimony  but  what  the  professed  master 
offers,  can  deliver  up  the  accused  to  be 
held  as  property  for  life.  The  federal 
government  authorizes  not  only  the  ap- 
prehension and  imprisonment,  in  the 
District  of  Columbia,  of  a negro  sus- 
pected of  being  a runaway,  but  the  sale 
of  him  as  a slave,  if  within  a certain 
time  he  cannot  prove  his  freedom.  It 
sustains  slavery  within  the  District  of 
Columbia,  though  “ under  its  exclusive 
jurisdiction,”  and  allows  this  District  to 
be  one  of  the  chief  slave-marts  of  the 
country.  Not  a slave-auction  is  held 
there  but  by  the  authority  of  Congress. 
The  federal  government  has  endeavored 
to  obtain  by  negotiation  the  restoration 
of  fugitive  slaves  who  have  sought  and 
found  freedom  in  Canada,  and  has  offered 
in  return  to  restore  fugitives  from  the 
West  Indies.  It  has  disgraced  itself  in 
the  sight  of  all  Europe  by  claiming  as 
property  slaves  who  have  been  ship- 
wrecked on  the  British  islands,  and  who 
by  touching  British  soil  had  become 
free.  It  has  instructed  its  representa- 
tive at  Madrid  to  announce  to  the  Span- 
ish court,  “ that  the  emancipation  of  the 
slave  population  of  Cuba  would  be  very 
severely  felt  in  the  adjacent  shores  of 
the  United  States.”  It  has  purchased 
a vast  unsettled  territory  which  it  has 
given  up  to  be  overrun  with  slavery. 
To  crown  all,  it  has,  in  violation  of  the 
Constitution,  and  of  the  right  granted 
even  by  despotism  to  its  subjects,  re- 
fused to  listen  to  petitions  against  these 
abuses  of  power.  After  all  this  humbling 
experience,  is  it  not  time  for  the  free 
States  to  pause,  to  reflect,  to  weigh  well 
what  they  are  doing  through  the  national 
government,  and  to  resolve  that  they  will 
free  themselves  from  every  obligation  to 


EMANCIPA  TION i 


848 

uphold  an  institution  which  they  know 
to  be  unjust  ? * 

The  object  now  proposed  is  to  be 
effected  by  amendments  of  the  Consti- 
tution, and  these  should  be  sought  in 
good  faith  ; that  is,  not  as  the  means  of 
abolishing  slavery,  but  as  a means  of 
removing  us  from  a participation  of  its 
guilt.  The  free  States  should  take  the 
high  ground  of  duty  ; and,  to  raise  them 
to  this  height,  the  press,  the  pulpit,  and 
all  religious  and  upright  men  should  join 
their  powers.  A people  under  so  pure 
an  impulse  cannot  fail.  Such  arrange- 
ments should  be  made  that  the  word 
slavery  need  not  be  heard  again  in  Con- 
gress or  in  the  local  legislatures.  On 
the  principle  now  laid  down,  the  ques- 
tion of  abolition  in  the  District  of  Co- 
lumbia should  be  settled.  Emancipation 
at  the  seat  of  government  ought  to  be 
insisted  on,  not  for  the  purpose  of  influ- 
encing slavery  elsewhere,  but  because 
what  is  done  there  is  done  by  the  whole 
people,  because  slavery  sustained  there 
is  sustained  by  the  free  States.  It  is 
said  that  the  will  of  the  citizens  of  the 
District  is  to  be  consulted.  Were  this 
true,  which  cannot  be  granted,  the  diffi- 
culty may  easily  be  surmounted.  Let 
Congress  resolve  to  establish  itself 
where  it  will  have  no  slavery  to  control 
or  uphold,  and  the  people  of  the  District 
of  Columbia  will  remove  the  obstacle  to 
its  continuance  where  it  is,  as  fast  as 
can  be  desired. 

The  great  difficulty  in  the  way  of  the 
arrangement  now  proposed  is,  the  ar- 
ticle of  the  Constitution  requiring  the 
surrender  and  return  of  fugitive  slaves. 
A State  obeying  this  seems  to  me  to 
contract  as  great  guilt  as  if  it  were  to 
bring  slaves  from  Africa.  No  man  who 
regards  slavery  as  among  the  greatest 
wrongs  can  in  any  way  reduce  his  fel- 
low-creatures to  it.  The  flying  slave 
asserts  the  first  right  of  a*  man,  and 
should  meet  aid  rather  than  obstruction. 
Who  that  has  the  heart  of  a freeman,  or 
breathes  the  love  of  a Christian,  can 
send  him  back  to  his  chain  ? On  this 
point,  however,  the  difficulty  of  an  ar- 
rangement is  every  day  growing  less. 
This  provision  of  the  Constitution  is 

* On  the  subject  of  this  paragraph  the  reader  will 
do  well  to  consult  “ A View  of  the  Action  of  the  Fed- 
eral Government  in  behalf  of  Slavery,  by  William  Jay.’' 
The  author  is  a son  of  Chief  Justice  Jay,  and  a worthy 
representative  of  the  spirit  and  principles  of  his  illus- 
trious father. 


undergoing  a silent  repeal,  and  no  hu- 
man power  can  sustain  it.  Just  in  pro- 
portion as  slavery  becomes  the  object  of 
conscientious  reprobation  in  the  free 
States,  just  so  fast  the  difficulty  of  send- 
ing back  the  fugitive  increases.  In  the 
part  of  the  country  where  I reside  it  is 
next  to  impossible  that  the  slave  who 
has  reached  us  should  be  restored  to 
bondage.  Not  that  our  courts  of  law 
are  obstructed,  — not  that  mobs  would 
rescue  the  fugitive  from  the  magistrate. 
We  respect  the  public  authorities.  Not 
an  arm  would  be  raised  against  the  offi- 
cers of  justice.  But  what  are  laws 
against  the  moral  sense  of  a commu- 
nity ? No  man  among  us,  who  values 
his  character,  would  aid  the  slave-hunter. 
The  slave-hunter  here  would  be  looked 
on  with  as  little  favor  as  the  felonious 
slave-trader.  Those  among  us  who 
dread  to  touch  slavery  in  its  own  region, 
lest  insurrection  and  tumults  should  fol- 
low change,  still  feel  that  the  fugitive 
who  has  sought  shelter  so  far  can  breed 
no  tumult  in  the  land  which  he  has  left, 
and  that,  of  consequence,  no  motive  but 
the  unhallowed  love  of  gain  can  prompt 
to  his  pursuit ; and  when  they  think  of 
slavery  as  perpetuated,  not  for  public 
order,  but  for  gain, n they  abhor  it,  and 
would  not  lift  a finge^  to  replace  the  fly- 
ing bondsman  beneath  the  yoke.  Thus 
this  provision  of  the  Constitution  is  virt- 
ually fading  away  ; and,  as  I have  said, 
no  human  power  can  restore  it.  The 
moral  sentiment  of  a community  is  not 
to  be  withstood.  Make  as  many  con- 
stitutions as  you  will,  — fence  round 
your  laws  with  what  penalties  you  will, 
— the  universal  conscience  makes  them 
as  weak  as  the  threats  of  childhood. 
There  is  a spirit  spreading  through  the 
country  in  regard  to  slavery  which  de- 
mands changes  of  the  Constitution,  and 
which  will  master  if  it  cannot  change  it. 
No  concerted  opposition  to  this  instru- 
ment is  thought  of  or  is  needed.  No 
secret  understanding  among  our  citizens 
is  to  be  feared  at  the  South.  The  sim- 
ple presence  to  their  minds  of  the  great 
truth,  that  man  cannot  rightfully  be  the 
property  of  man,  is  enough  to  shelter 
the  slave.  With  this  conviction,  we  are 
palsy-stricken  when  called  upon  to  re- 
store him  to  bondage.  Our  sinews  are 
relaxed ; our  hands  hang  down ; our 
limbs  will  not  carry  us  a step.  Now 
this  conviction  is  spreading,  and  will 


EMANCIPA  TION. . 


become  the  established  principle  of  the 
free  States.  Politicians,  indeed,  to  an- 
swer a party  end,  may  talk  of  property 
in  man  as  something  established  or  not 
to  be  questioned ; but  the  people  at 
large  do  not  follow  them.  The  people  go 
with  the  civilized  and  Christian  world. 
The  South  should  understand  this, — 
should  look  the  difficulty  in  the  face  ; 
and  they  will  see  that,  from  the  nature 
of  the  case,  resistance  is  idle,  — that 
neither  policy  nor  violence  can  avail. 
And,  what  is  more,  they  have  no  right 
to  reproach  us  with  letting  this  provision 
of  the  Constitution  die  among  us.  They 
have  done  worse.  We  are  passive. 
They  have  actively,  openly,  flagrantly 
violated  the  Constitution.  They  have 
passed  laws  threatening  to  imprison  and 
punish  the  free  colored  citizens  of  the 
North  for  exercising  the  rights  guar- 
antied to  every  citizen  by  the  national 
compact,  — that  is,  for  setting  foot  on 
their  shores  and  using  their  highways. 
This  wrong  has  been  too  patiently 
borne  ; and  in  one  way  we  can  turn  it 
to  good  account.  When  reproached 
with  unfaithfulness  to  the  Constitution, 
we  can  hold  it  up  as  our  shield,  and  cite 
the  greater  disloyalty  of  the  South  as 
an  extenuation  of  our  own. 

It  is  best,  however,  that  neither  party 
should  be  unfaithful.  It  is  best  that 
both,  enlightened  as  to  the  spirit  of  our 
times,  should  make  new  arrangements 
to  prevent  collision,  to  define  the  duties 
of  each  and  all,  to  bring  the  Constitution 
into  harmony  with  the  moral  convictions 
and  with  the  safety  of  North  and  South. 
Until  some  such  arrangements  are 
made,  perpetual  collisions  between  the 
two  great  sections  of  our  country  must 
occur.  Notwithstanding  the  tendencies 
to  a low  tone  of  thought  and  feeling  at 
the  North  in  regard  to  slavery,  there  is 
a decided  increase  of  moral  sensibility 
on  the  subject ; and  in  proportion  as  this 
shall  spread,  the  free  States  will  insist 
more  strenuously  on  being  released  from 
every  obligation  to  give  support  to  what 
they  deliberately  condemn. 

This  liberation  of  the  free  States  from 
all  connection  with  and  action  on  slavery 
would,  indeed,  be  an  immense  boon,  and 
the  removal  of  much  dissension.  Still, 
the  root  of  bitterness  would  remain 
among  us.  Still,  our  union,  that  inesti- 
mable political  good,  will  be  insecure. 
Slavery,  whilst  it  continues,  must  se- 


849 

cretly,  if  not  openly,  mix  with  our  policy, 
sow  jealousies,  determine  the  character 
of  parties,  and  create,  if  not  diversities 
of  interests,  at  least  suspicions  of  them, 
which  may  prove  not  a whit  the  less 
ruinous  because  groundless. 

Slavery  is  unfriendly  to  union,  as  it  is 
directly  hostile  to  the  fundamental  prin- 
ciple on  which  all  our  institutions  rest. 
No  nation  can  admit  an  element  at  war 
with  its  vital,  central  law  without  losing 
something  of  its  stability.  The  idea  of 
human  rights  is  the  grand  distinction  of 
our  country.  Our  chief  boast  as  a peo- 
ple is  found  in  the  fact  that  the  toils, 
sacrifices,  heroic  deeds  of  our  fathers 
had  for  their  end  the  establishment  of 
these.  Here  is  the  unity  which  sums  up 
our  history,  the  glory  which  lights  up 
our  land,  the  chief  foundation  of  the 
sentiment  of  loyalty,  the  chief  spring  of 
national  feeling,  the  grand  bond  of  na- 
tional union  ; and  whatever  among  us  is 
at  war  with  this  principle  weakens  the 
living  force  which  holds  us  together. 

On  this  topic  I cannot  enlarge.  But 
recent  events  compel  me  to  refer  to  one 
influence  more  by  which  slavery  is  un- 
friendly to  union.  It  aggravates  those 
traits  of  character  at  the  South  which 
tend  to  division.  It  inflames  that  proud, 
fiery  spirit  which  is  quick  to  take  offence, 
and  which  rushes  into  rash  and  reckless 
courses.  This  ungoverned  violence  of 
feeling  breaks  out  especially  in  Con- 
gress, the  centre  from  which  impulses 
are  communicated  to  the  whole  people. 
It  is  a painful  thought,  that,  if  any  spot 
in  the  country  is  pre-eminent  for  rude- 
ness and  fierceness,  it  is  the  Hall  of 
Representatives.  Too  many  of  our 
legislators  seem  to  lay  down  at  its  door 
the  common  restraints  of  good  society 
and  the  character  of  gentlemen.  The 
national  chamber  seems  liable  to  become 
a national  nuisance ; and  although  all 
parts  of  the  country  are  in  a measure 
responsible  for  this  wound  inflicted  on 
the  honor  and  union  of  the  country,  we 
do  feel  that  the  evil  is  to  be  imputed 
chiefly  to  the  proud,  impetuous  temper 
of  the  South.  It  is  believed  that  the 
personal  violences  which,  if  repeated, 
will  reduce  the  national  council  to  the 
level  of  a boxing  match  may  be  traced 
to  that  part  of  the  country.  This  evil 
is  too  notorious  to  be  softened  down  by 
apologies  or  explanations  ; nor  is  it  less 
an  evil  because  precedents  and  parallels 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


850 

can  be  found  in  the  legislative  bodies  of 
France  and  England.  It  tends,  not 
merely  to  spread  barbarism  through  the 
community,  but  to  impair  the  authority 
of  legislation,  to  give  new  ferocity  to 
the  conflicts  of  party,  and  thus  to 
weaken  the  national  tie. 

If  slavery,  that  brand  of  discord, 
were  taken  away,  the  peculiarities  of 
Northern  and  Southern  character  would 
threaten  little  or  no  evil  to  the  Union. 
On  the  contrary,  these  two  grand  divi- 
sions of  the  country,  now  estranged 
from  each  other,  would  be  brought  near, 
and  by  acting  on  and  modifying  one 
another  would  produce  a national  char- 
acter of  the  highest  order.  The  South, 
with  more  of  ardor  and  of  bold  and  rapid 
genius,  and  the  North,  with  more  of 
wisdom  and  steady  principle,  furnish 
admirable  materials  for  a state.  Nor  is 
the  union  of  these  to  a considerable  de- 
gree impracticable.  It  is  worthy  of  re- 
mark, that  the  most  eminent  men  at  the 
South  have  had  a large  infusion  of  the 
Northern  character.  Washington,  in 
his  calm  dignity,  his  rigid  order,  his 
close  attention  to  business,  his  reserve 
almost  approaching  coldness,  bore  a 
striking  affinity  to  the  North  ; and  his 
sympathies  led  him  to  choose  Northern 
men  very  much  as  his  confidential 
friends.  Mr.  Madison  had  much  of  the 
calm  wisdom,  the  patient,  studious  re- 
search, the  exactness  and  quiet  manner 
of  our  part  of  the  country,  with  little  of 
the  imagination  and  fervor  of  his  own. 
Chief  Justice  Marshall  had  more  than 
these  two  great  men  of  the  genial,  unre- 
served character  of  a warmer  climate, 
but  so  blended  with  a spirit  of  modera- 
tion and  clear  judgment  and  serene  wis- 
dom as  to  make  him  the  delight  and 
confidence  of  the  whole  land.  There  is 
one  other  distinguished  name  of  the 
South,  which  I have  not  mentioned,  Mr. 
Jefferson  ; and  the  reason  is,  that  his 
character  seemed  to  belong  to  neither 
section  of  the  country.  He  wanted  the 
fiery,  daring  spirit  of  the  South,  and  the 
calm  energy  of  the  North.  He  stood 
alone.  He  was  a man  of  genius,  given 
to  bold,  original,  and  somewhat  vision- 
ary speculation,  and  at  the  same  time  a 
sagacious  observer  of  men  and  events. 
He  owed  his  vast  influence,  second  only 
to  Washington’s,  to  his  keen  insight 
into  the  character  of  his  countrymen 
and  into  the  spirit  of  his  age.  His  op- 


ponents have  set  him  down  as  the  most 
unscrupulous  of  politicians  ; but  one 
merit,  and  no  mean  one,  must  be  ac- 
corded to  him,  that  of  having  adopted 
early,  and  of  having  held  fast  through 
life,  the  most  generous  theory  of  human 
rights,  and  of  having  protested  against 
slavery  as  an  aggravated  wrong.  In 
truth,  it  is  impossible  to  study  the  great 
men  of  the  South,  and  to  consider  the 
force  of  intellect  and  character  which 
that  region  has  developed,  without  feel- 
ings of  respect,  and  without  the  most 
ardent  desire  that  it  may  free  itself,  by 
any  means,  from  an  institution  which 
aggravates  what  is  evil  and  threatening 
in  its  character,  which  cripples  much  of 
its  energy,  which  cuts  it  off  from  the 
sympathies  and  honor  of  the  civilized 
world,  and  which  prevents  it  from  a 
true,  cordial  union  with  the  rest  of  the 
country.  It  is  slavery  which  prevents 
the  two  sections  of  country  from  acting 
on  and  modifying  each  other  for  the  good 
of  both.  This  is  the  great  gulf  between 
us,  and  it  is  constantly  growing  wider 
and  deeper  in  proportion  to  the  spread 
of  moral  feeling,  of  Christian  philan- 
thropy, of  respect  for  men’s  rights,  of 
interest  in  the  oppressed. 

Why  is  it  that  slavery  is  not  thrown 
off  ? We  here  ascribe  its  continuance 
very  much  to  cupidity  and  love  of  power. 
But  there  is  another  cause,  which  is 
certainly  disappearing.  Slavery  at  the 
South  continues,  in  part,  in  consequence 
of  that  want  of  activity,  of  steady  force, 
of  resolute  industry  among  the  free  white 
population,  which  it  has  itself  produced. 
A people  with  force  enough  to  attempt 
a social  revolution,  and  to  bear  its  first 
inconveniences,  would  not  endure  sla- 
very. We  of  the  North,  with  our  char- 
acteristic energy,  would  hardly  tolerate 
it  a year.  The  sluggishness,  the  stu- 
pidity of  the  slaves  would  keep  us  in 
perpetual  irritation.  We  should  run 
over  them,  tread  them  almost  uncon- 
sciously under  foot,  in  our  haste  and 
eagerness  to  accomplish  our  enterprises. 
We  should  feel  the  wastefulness  of  slave 
labor  in  comparison  with  free.  The 
clumsy  mechanic,  the  lagging  house-ser- 
vant, the  slovenly  laborer,  ever  ready 
with  a lying  excuse,  would  be  too  much 
for  our  patience.  Now  there  is  reason 
to  think  that  the  stirring,  earnest,  indus- 
trious spirit  of  the  North  is  finding  its 
way  Southward  ; and  with  this,  a desire 


EM  A NCI  PA  T/ON. 


to  introduce  better  social  relations  can 
hardly  be  repressed. 

We  believe,  too,  that  this  revolution 
would  be  hastened  if  the  South  would 
open  its  ear  to  the  working  of  emanci- 
pation in  other  countries,  and  to  the 
deep  interest  in  the  African  race  which 
is  now  spreading  through  the  world. 
On  these  subjects  very  little  is  yet 
known  at  the  South.  The  newspapers 
there  spread  absurd  rumors  of  the  fail- 
ure of  the  experiment  of  the  West  In- 
dies, but  the  truth  finds  no  organs.  We 
doubt,  too,  whether  one  newspaper  has 
even  made  a reference  to  the  recent 
public  meeting  in  England  for  the  civil- 
ization of  Africa,  the  most  remarkable, 
in  one  respect,  ever  held  in  that  country  ; 
for  it  was  a representation  of  all  ranks 
and  sects,  including  the  greatest  names 
in  church  and  state,  and,  what  was  not 
less  venerable,  a multitude  of  both  sexes 
who  have  made  themselves  dear  and 
honored  by  services  to  humanity.  Who- 
ever considers  this  and  other  signs  of 
the  times  in  Europe,  will  see  the  dawn 
of  a better  era,  when  the  wrongs  of  past 
ages  are  to  be  redressed,  when  the  Afri- 
can is  to  be  lifted  up,  and  the  sentence 
of  moral  outlawry  is  to  be  passed  on 
the  enslavers  of  their  brethren.  Many 
among  us  are  apt  to  smile  and  say  that 
nations  have  but  one  law,  — self-interest. 
But  a new  and  higher  force  is  beginning 
to  act  on  human  affairs.  Religion  is 
becoming  an  active,  diffusive,  unwearied 
principle  of  humanity  and  justice.  All 
the  forces  of  Christianity  are  concen- 
trating themselves  into  a fervent,  all- 
comprehending  philanthropy.  This  is 
at  length  to  be  understood  at  the  South, 
and  it  will  be  felt  there.  In  that  region 
there  are  pious  men  and  women  who 
will  not  endure  to  be  cut  off  from  the  re- 
ligious communion  of  the  world.  There 
are  self-respecting  men  brave  enough  to 
defy  all  personal  danger,  but  not  to  defy 
the  moral  sentiment  of  mankind.  There 
are  the  wise  and  good,  who  will  rejoice 
to  learn  that  emancipation  brings  dignity 
and  happiness  to  the  slave,  and  safety 
and  honor  to  the  free.  Here  is  power 
enough  to  put  down  the  selfish  and  un- 
principled. Here  are  influences  which, 
joined  with  favoring  events  from  God’s 
good  providence,  are,  we  trust,  to  re- 
move the  wrongs  and  evils  of  slavery, 
and  to  give  us  a right  to  hold  up  our 
head  among  Christian  nations. 


85i 

But  if  it  is  not  ordained  that  by  these 
and  like  influences  this  great  wrong  is 
to  be  done  away,  of  one  thing  we  are 
sure,  that  God’s  righteous  providence 
lacks  not  means  for  accomplishing  his 
designs.  He  has  infinite  ministers  for 
humbling  human  pride  and  lifting  up 
the  fallen.  The  solemn  lesson  of  our 
times  is  the  instability  of  all  human 
power.  Despotic  thrones  have  fallen, 
and  surely  private  despotism  cannot  en- 
dure. We  learn  from  history  that,  in 
seasons  apparently  the  most  inauspi- 
cious, the  seeds  of  beneficent  revolu- 
tions have  been  sown  and  have  unfolded 
in  silence.  Much  more,  in  these  days 
of  change  and  progress,  causes  must  be 
at  work  for  the  redemption  of  the  slave. 
Emancipation,  universal  freedom,  must 
come.  May  God  prepare  its  way,  not 
by  earthquakes  and  storms,  but  by  “ the 
still,  small  voice  ” of  truth,  by  breathing 
into  the  hearts  of  this  people  the  spirit 
of  wisdom,  justice,  and  love  ! 

It  is  a solemn  thought  with  which 
I close  these  remarks,  that  a people 
upholding  or  in  any  way  giving  coun- 
tenance to  slavery  contract  guilt  in  pro- 
portion to  the  light  which  is  thrown  on 
the  injustice  and  evils  of  this  institu- 
tion, and  to  the  evidence  of  the  benefits 
of  emancipation ; and  if  so,  then  the 
weight  of  guilt  on  this  nation  is  great 
and  increasing.  Our  fathers  carried  on 
slavery  in  much  blindness.  They  lived 
and  walked  under  the  shadow  of  a dark 
and  bloody  past.  But  the  darkness  is 
gone.  “ The  mystery  of  iniquity  ” is 
now  laid  open.  Slavery,  from  its  birth 
to  its  last  stage,  is  now  brought  to  light. 

The  wars,  the  sacked  and  burning 
villages,  the  kidnapping  and  murders 
of  Africa,  which  begin  this  horrible 
history ; the  crowded  hold,  the  chains, 
stench,  suffocation,  burning  thirst,  and 
agonies  of  the  slave-ship ; the  loath- 
some diseases  and  enormous  waste  of 
life  in  the  middle  passage  ; the  wrongs 
and  sufferings  of  the  plantation,  with 
its  reign  of  terror  and  force,  its  unbridled 
lust,  its  violations  of  domestic  rights 
and  charities  ; — these  all  are  revealed. 
The  crimes  and  woes  of  slavery  come 
to  us  in  moans  and  shrieks  from  the 
Old  World  and  the  New,  and  from  the 
ocean  which  divides  them;  and  we  are 
distinctly  taught,  that  in  no  other  ca- 
lamity are  such  wrongs  and  miseries 
concentrated  as  in  this.  To  put  an  end 


EMANCIPA  TION. 


852 

to  some  of  these  woes,  the  most  power- 
ful nations  have  endeavored,  by  force 
of  laws  and  punishments,  to  abolish  the 
slave-trade  ; but  the  trial  has  proved 
that,  while  slavery  endures,  the  traffic 
which  ministers  to  it  cannot  be  sup- 
pressed. At  length  the  axe  has  been 
laid  at  the  root  of  the  accursed  tree. 
By  the  act  of  a great  nation  nearly  a 
million  of  slaves  have  been  emanci- 
pated; and  the  first  results  have  ex- 
ceeded the  hopes  of  philanthropy.  All 
this  history  of  slavery  is  given  to  the 
world.  The  truth  is  brought  to  our 
very  doors.  And,  still  more,  to  us , 
above  all  people,  God  has  made  known 
those  eternal  principles  of  freedom,  jus- 
tice, and  humanity,  by  which  the  full 
enormity  of  slavery  may  be  compre- 
hended. To  shut  our  eyes  against  all 
this  light ; to  shut  our  ears  and  hearts 
against  these  monitions  of  God,  these 
pleadings  of  humanity  ; to  stand  forth, 
in  this  great  conflict  of  good  with  evil, 
as  the  chief  upholders  of  oppression  ; 
to  array  ourselves  against  the  efforts  of 
the  Christian  and  civilized  world  for  the 
extinction  of  this  greatest  wrong ; to 
perpetuate  it  with  obstinate  madness 
where  it  exists,  and  to  make  new  re- 
gions of  the  earth  groan  under  its  woes  ; 
— this,  surely,  is  a guilt  which  the  jus- 
tice of  God  cannot  wink  at,  and  on  which 
insulted  humanity,  religion,  and  freedom 
call  down  fearful  retribution. 


Notes. 

Note  A.  — On  this  page  I have  spoken 
of  the  manner  in  which  the  slaves  in 
the  West  Indies  received  emancipation. 
This  great  event  took  place,  in  Antigua, 
on  the  first  of  August,  1834.  The  fol- 
lowing account  of  the  manner  in  which 
the  preceding  night  was  kept  is  extracted 
from  Thome  and  Kimball’s  book  on  the 
subject : — 

“The  Wesleyans  kept  ‘watch-night’  in 
all  their  chapels  on  the  night  of  the  31st 
July.  One  of  the  Wesleyan  missionaries 
gave  us  an  account  of  the  watch-meeting 
at  the  chapel  in  St.  John’s.  The  spacious 
house  was  filled  with  the  candidates  for 
liberty.  All  was  animation  and  eagerness. 
A mighty  chorus  of  voices  swelled  the 
song  of  expectation  and  joy ; and,  as  they 
united  in  prayer,  the  voice  of  the  leader 
was  drowned  in  the  universal  acclamation 
of  thanksgiving  and  praise  and  blessing 
and  honor  and  glory  to  God,  who  had  come 


down  for  their  deliverance.  In  such  ex- 
ercises the  evening  was  spent  until  the 
hour  of  twelve  approached.  The  mission- 
ary then  proposed  that,  when  the  clock  on 
the  cathedral  should  begin  to  strike,  the 
whole  congregation  should  fall  upon  their 
knees,  and  receive  the  boon  of  freedom  in 
silence.  Accordingly,  as  the  loud  bell 
tolled  its  first  note,  the  immense  assembly 
fell  prostrate  on  their  knees.  All  was  si- 
lence, save  the  quivering,  half-stifled  breath 
of  the  struggling  spirit.  The  slow  notes  of 
the  clock  fell  upon  the  multitude  ; peal  on 
peal,  peal  on  peal,  rolled  over  the  prostrate 
throng,  in  tones  of  angels’  voices,  thrilling 
among  the  desolate  chords  and  weary  heart- 
strings. Scarce  had  the  clock  sounded  its 
last  note,  when  the  lightning  flashed  vividly 
around,  and  a loud  peal  of  thunder  roared 
along  the  sky,  — God’s  pillar  of  fire,  and 
trump  of  jubilee  ! A moment  of  profound- 
est  silence  passed,  — then  came  the  burst , — 
they  broke  forth  in  prayer  ; they  shouted, 
theysung  ‘Glory!’  ‘Alleluia!’  theyclapped 
their  hands,  leaped  up,  fell  down,  clasped 
each  other  in  their  free  arms,  cried,  laughed, 
and  went  to  and  fro,  tossing  upward  their 
unfettered  hands  ; but  high  above  the  whole 
there  was  a mighty  sound  which  ever  and 
anon  swelled  up  ; it  was  the  utterings,  in 
broken  negro  dialect,  of  gratitude  to  God. 

“ After  this  gush  of  excitement  had  spent 
itself,  and  the  congregation  became  calm, 
the  religious  exercises  were  resumed,  and 
the  remainder  of  the  night  was  occupied  in 
singing  and  prayer,  in  reading  the  Bible, 
and  in  addresses  from  the  missionaries, 
explaining  the  nature  of  the  freedom  just 
received,  and  exhorting  the  free  people  to 
be  industrious,  steady,  obedient  to  the  laws, 
and  to  show  themselves  in  all  things  worthy 
of  the  high  boon  which  God  had  conferred 
upon  them.”  « 

Note  B.  — Ow  reading  to  a friend  my 
remarks  on  the  African  character,  he 
observed  to  me,  that  similar  views  had 
been  taken  by  Alexander  Kinmont,  in 
his  “ Lectures  on  Man : Cincinnati, 
1839.”  This  induced  me  to  examine 
the  “ Lectures  ; ” and  I had  the  satis- 
faction of  finding,  not  only  a coincidence 
of  opinions,  but  that  the  author  had  pur- 
sued the  subject  much  more  thoroughly, 
and  illustrated  it  with  much  strength 
and  beauty.  I would  recommend  this 
work  to  such  as  delight  in  bold  and 
original  thinking.  The  reader,  indeed, 
will  often  question  the  soundness  of  the 
author’s  conclusions  ; but  even  in  these 
cases  the  mind  will  be  waked  up  to  great 
and  interesting  subjects  of  reflection. 
I will  subjoin  a few  extracts  relating 
to  the  African  character  : — 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


" When  the  epoch  of  the  civilization  of 
the  negro  family  arrives,  in  the  lapse  of 
ages,  they  will  display  in  their  native  land 
some  very  peculiar  and  interesting  traits  of 
character,  of  which  we,  a distinct  branch 
of  the  human  family,  can  at  present  form 
no  conception.  It  will  be — indeed,  it  must 
be  — a civilization  of  a peculiar  stamp  ; per- 
haps, we  might  venture  to  conjecture,  not 
so  much  distinguished  by  art  as  a certain 
beautiful  nature  ; not  so  marked  or  adorned 
by  science  as  exalted  and  refined  by  a new 
and  lovely  theology, — a reflection  of  the 
light  of  heaven  more  perfect  and  endearing 
than  that  which  the  intellects  of  the  Cau- 
casian race  have  ever  yet  exhibited.  There 
is  more  of  the  child,  of  unsophisticated 
nature,  in  the  negro  race  than  in  the 
European.” — p.  190. 

“ The  peninsula  of  Africa  is  the  home  of 
the  negro,  and  the  appropriate  and  des- 
tined seat  of  his  future  glory  and  civiliza- 
tion, — a civilization  which,  we  need  not  fear 
to  predict,  will  be  as  distinct  in  all  its  feat- 
ures from  that  of  all  other  races  as  his  com- 
plexion and  natural  temperament  and  genius 
are  different.  But  who  can  doubt  that  here, 
also,  humanity  in  its  more  advanced  and 
millennial  stage  will  reflect,  under  a sweet 


853 

and  mellow  light,  the  softer  attributes  of 
the  divine  beneficence  ? If  the  Caucasian 
race  is  destined,  as  would  appear  from  the 
precocity  of  their  genius,  and  their  natural 
quickness  and  extreme  aptitude  to  the  arts, 
to  reflect  the  lustre  of  the  divine  wisdom, 
or,  to  speak  more  properly,  the  divine 
science,  shall  we  envy  the  negro,  if  a later 
but  far  nobler  civilization  await  him,  — to 
return  the  splendor  of  the  divine  attributes 
of  mercy  and  benevolence  in  the  practice 
and  exhibition  of  all  the  milder  and  gentler 
virtues  ? ” — p.  191. 

“If  there  are  fewer  vivid  manifestations 
of  intellect  in  the  negro  family  than  in 
the  Caucasian,  as  I am  disposed  to  be- 
lieve, does  that  forbid  the  hope  of  the  re- 
turn of  that  pure  and  gentle  state  of  soci- 
ety among  them  which  attracts  the  peculiar 
regard  of  heaven  ? ” — p.  192. 

“The  sweeter  graces  of  the  Christian 
religion  appear  almost  too  tropical  and 
tender  plants  to  grow  in  the  soil  of  the 
Caucasian  mind  ; they  require  a character 
of  human  nature,  of  which  you  can  see  the 
rude  lineaments  in  the  Ethiopian,  to  be  im- 
planted in,  and  grow  naturally  and  beauti- 
fully withal.” — p.  218. 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES; 

Or,  Remarks  suggested  by  the  Case  of  the  “ Creole!' 

[The  Author  is  aware  that  the  following  argument  might  have  been  more  condensed,  had  circumstances 
allowed ; but  he  is  reconciled  to  publishing  it  in  the  present  form  by  the  belief  that  a degree  of 
expansion  and  even  of4  repetition  may  adapt  it  to  its  end,  which  is,  to  bring  the  subject  within  the 
comprehension  of  all  who  desijre  to  know  the  truth.  He  now  presents  the  first  part  of  his  work,  in 
the  hope  that  the  second  will  soon  follow.  — Boston,  March  26,  1842.] 


Part  I. 

I respectfully  ask  your  attention, 
fellow-citizens  of  the  free  States,  to  a 
subject  of  great  and  pressing  impor- 
tance. The  case  of  the  “ Creole,”  taken 
by  itself,  or  separated  from  the  prin- 
ciples which  are  complicated . with  it, 
however  it  might  engage  my  feelings, 
would  not  have  moved  me  to  the  pres- 
ent address.  I am  not  writing  to  plead 
the  cause  of  a hundred  or  more  men, 
scattered  through  the  West  Indies,  and 
claimed  as  slaves.  In  a world  abound- 
ing with  so  much  wrong  and  woe,  we 
at  this  distance  can  spend  but  a few 
thoughts  on  these  strangers.  I rejoice 


that  they  are  free  ; I trust  that  they  will 
remain  so  ; and  with  these  feelings,  I 
dismiss  them  from  my  thoughts.  The 
case  of  the  “ Creole  ” involves  great 
and  vital  principles,  and  as  such  I now 
invite  to  it  your  serious  consideration. 

The  case  is  thus  stated  in  the  letter 
of  the  American  Secretary  of  State  to 
the  American  Minister  in  London  : — - 

“ It  appears  that  the  brig  * Creole,’  of 
Richmond,  Virginia,  Ensor  master,  bound 
to  New  Orleans,  sailed  from  Hampton 
roads  with  a cargo  of  merchandise,  prin- 
cipally tobacco,  and  slaves,  about  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty-five  in  number  ; that,  on 
the  evening  of  the  7th  of  November,  some 
of  the  slaves  rose  upon  the  crew  of 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


854 

the  vessel,  murdered  a passenger  named 
Hewell,  who  owned  some  of  the  negroes, 
wounded  the  captain  dangerously,  and  the 
first  mate  and  two  of  the  crew  severely  ; 
that  the  slaves  soon  obtained  complete 
possession  of  the  brig,  which,  under  their 
direction,  was  taken  into  the  port  of  Nas- 
sau, in  the  island  of  New  Providence, 
where  she  arrived  on  the  morning  of  the 
9th  of  the  same  month ; that,  at  the  re- 
quest of  the  American  consul  in  that  place, 
the  governor  ordered  a guard  on  board,  to 
prevent  the  escape  of  the  mutineers,  and 
with  a view  to  an  investigation  of  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case  ; that  such  investi- 
gation was  accordingly  made  by  two  British 
magistrates,  and  that  an  examination  also 
took  place  by  the  consul  ; that,  on  the  re- 
port of  the  magistrates,  nineteen  of  the 
slaves  were  imprisoned  by  the  local  author- 
ities, as  having  been  concerned  in  the 
mutiny  and  murder  ; and  their  surrender 
to  the  consul,  to  be  sent  to  the  United 
States  for  trial  for  these  crimes,  was  re- 
fused, on  the  ground  that  the  governor 
wished  first  to  communicate  with  the  gov- 
ernment in  England  on  the  subject ; that, 
through  the  interference  of  the  colonial 
authorities,  and  even  before  the  military 
guard  was  removed,  the  greater  number  of 
the  slaves  were  liberated,  and  encouraged 
to  go  beyond  the  power  of  the  master  of 
the  vessel,  or  the  American  consul,  by  pro- 
ceedings which  neither  of  them  could  con- 
trol. This  is  the  substance  of  the  case,  as 
stated  in  two  protests,  one  made  at  Nassau, 
and  one  at  New  Orleans,  and  the  consul’s 
letters,  together  with  sundry  depositions 
taken  by  him  ; copies  of  all  which  are 
herewith  transmitted.” 

This  statement  of  the  case  of  the 
“ Creole  ” is  derived  chiefly  from  the 
testimony  of  the  officers  and  crew  of 
the  vessel,  and  very  naturally  falls  under 
suspicion  of  being  colored,  in  part,  by 
prejudice  and  passion.  We  must  hear 
the  other  side,  and  compare  all  the  wit- 
nesses, before  we  can  understand  the 
whole  case.  The  main  facts,  however, 
cannot  be  misunderstood.  The  shipping 
of  the  slaves  at  Norfolk,  the  rising  of 
a part  of  their  number  against  the 
officers  of  the  vessel,  the  success  of  the 
insurrection,  the  carrying  of  the  vessel 
into  the  port  of  Nassau,  and  the  recog- 
nition and  treatment  of  the  slaves  as 
free  by  the  British  authorities  of  that 
place; — these  material  points  of  the 
case  cannot  be  questioned. 

The  letter  of  our  government,  stating 
these  facts  as  grounds  of  complaint 
against  England,  is  written  with  much 


caution,  and  seems  wanting  in  the  tone 
of  earnestness  and  confidence  which 
naturally  belongs  to  a good  cause.  It 
does  not  go  to  the  heart  of  the  case. 
It  relies  more  on  the  comity  of  nations 
than  on  principles  of  justice  and  natural 
law.  Still,  in  one  respect  it  is  decided. 
It  protests  against,  and  complains  of, 
the  British  authorities,  and  “calls  loudly 
for  redress.”  It  maintains  that  “ it  was 
the  plain  and  obvious  duty  ” of  the 
authorities  at  Nassau  to  give  aid  and 
succor  to  the  officers  of  the  “ Creole  ” 
in  reducing  the  slaves  to  subjection,  in 
resuming  their  voyage  with  their  cargo 
of  men  as  well  as  of  tobacco,  and  in 
bringing  the  insurgents  to  trial  in  this 
country.  It  maintains  that  the  claims 
of  the  American  masters  to  their  slaves 
existed  and  were  in  force  in  the  British 
port,  and  that  these  claims  ought  to 
have  been  acknowledged  and  sustained 
by  the  British  magistrate.  The  plain 
inference  is,  that  the  government  of  the 
United  States  is  bound  to  spread  a 
shield  over  American  slavery  abroad  as 
well  as  at  home.  Such  is  the  letter. 

This  document  I propose  to  examine, 
and  I shall  do  so  chiefly  for  two  rea- 
sons : first,  because  it  maintains  morally 
unsound  and  pernicious  doctrines,  and 
is  fitted  to  deprave  the  public  mind ; 
and  secondly,  because  it  tends  to  com- 
mit the  free  States  to  the  defence  and 
support  of  slavery.  This  last  point  is 
at  this  moment  of  peculiar  importance. 
The  free  States  are  gradually  and  si- 
lently coming  more  and  more  into  con- 
nection with  slavery  ; are  unconsciously 
learning  to  regard  it  as  a national  in- 
terest ; and  are  about  to  pledge  their 
wealth  and  strength,  their  bones  and 
muscles  and  lives,  to  its  defence.  Sla- 
very is  mingling  more  and  more  with 
the  politics  of  the  country,  determining 
more  and  more  the  individuals  who  shall 
hold  office,  and  the  great  measures  on 
which  the  public  weal  depends.  It  is 
time  for  the  free  States  to  wake  up  to 
the  subject ; to  weigh  it  deliberately ; 
to  think  of  it,  not  casually,  when  some 
startling  fact  forces  it  up  into  notice, 
but  with  earnest,  continued,  solemn  at- 
tention ; to  inquire  into  their  duties  in 
regard'  to  it ; to  lay  down  their  princi- 
ples ; to  mark  out  their  course  ; and  to 
resolve  on  acquitting  themselves  right- 
eously towards  God,  towards  the  South, 
I and  towards  themselves.  The  North 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


has  never  come  to  this  great  matter  in 
earnest.  We  have  trifled  with  it.  We 
have  left  things  to  take  their  course. 
We  have  been  too  much  absorbed  in 
pecuniary  interests  to  watch  the  bearing 
of  slavery  on  the  government.  Perhaps 
we  have  wanted  the  spirit,  the  manliness, 
to  look  the  subject  fully  in  the  face. 
Accordingly,  the  slave-power  has  been 
allowed  to  stamp  itself  on  the  national 
policy,  and  to  fortify  itself  with  the  na- 
tional arm.  For  the  pecuniary  injury 
to  our  prosperity  which  may  be  traced 
to  this  source  I care  little  or  nothing. 
There  is  a higher  view  of  the  case. 
There  is  a more  vital  question  to  be 
settled  than  that  of  interest,  the  question 
of  duty;  and  to  this  my  remarks  will 
be  confined. 

The  letter  which  is  now  to  be  ex- 
amined may  be  regarded  either  as  the 
work  of  an  individual,  or  as  the  work 
of  the  government.  I shall  regard  it 
in  the  latter  light  alone.  Its  personal 
bearings  are  of  no  moment.  No  indi- 
vidual will  enter  my  thoughts  in  this 
discussion.  I regard  the  letter  as  is- 
suing from  the  cabinet,  as  an  executive 
document,  as  laying  down  the  principles 
to  which  the  public  policy  is  in  danger 
of  being  conformed,  as  fitted  to  draw 
the  whole  country  into  support  of  an 
institution  which  the  free  States  abhor. 
With  the  opinions  of  an  individual  I 
have  nothing  to  do.  Corrupt  principles 
adopted  by  the  government,  — these, 
and  these  alone,  it  will  be  my  object  to 
expose. 

There  is  a difficulty  lying  at  the 
threshold  of  such  a discussion,  which  I 
should  be  glad  to  remove.  A Northern 
man  writing  on  slavery  is  supposed  to 
write  as  a Northern  man,  to  be  swayed 
by  state  feelings  and  local  biases  ; and 
the  distrust  thus  engendered  is  a bar 
to  the  conviction  which  he  might  other- 
wise produce.  But  the  prejudices  which 
grow  out  of  the  spot  where  we  live  are 
far  from  being  necessary  or  universal. 
There  are  persons  whose  peculiarity, 
perhaps  whose  infirmity  it  is,  to  be  ex- 
ceedingly alive  to  evils  in  their  neigh- 
borhood, to  defects  in  the  state  of  so- 
ciety in  which  they  live,  whilst  their 
imaginations  are  apt  to  cast  rosy  hues 
over  distant  scenes.  There  are  persons 
who,  by  living  in  retirement  and  holding 
intercourse  with  gifted  minds  in  other 
regions,  are  even  in  danger  of  wanting 


855 

a proper  local  attachment,  and  of  being 
unjust  to  their  own  homes.  There  are 
also  worthier  causes  which  counteract 
the  bigotry  of  provincial  feelings.  A 
man,  then,  is  not  necessarily  presumptu- 
ous in  thinking  himself  free  from  local 
biases.  In  truth,  slavery  never  presents 
itself  to  me  as  belonging  to  one  or  an- 
other part  of  the  country.  It  does  not 
come  to  me  in  its  foreign  relations.  I 
regard  it  simply  and  nakedly  in  itself, 
and  on  this  account  feel  that  I have  a 
right  to  discuss  it. 

May  I be  allowed  one  more  prelimi- 
nary remark  ? The  subject  of  slavery  is 
separated  in  my  mind  not  only  from 
local  considerations,  but  from  all  thought 
of  the  individuals  by  whom  it  is  sus- 
tained. I speak  against  this  institution 
freely,  earnestly,  some  may  think  vehe- 
mently ; but  I have  no  thought  of  at- 
taching the  same  reproach  to  all  who 
uphold  it ; and  this  I say,  not  to  propi- 
tiate the  slave-holder,  who  cannot  easily 
forgive  the  irreconcilable  enemy  of  his 
wrong-doing,  but  to  meet  the  preposses- 
sions of  not  a few  among  ourselves, 
who,  from  esteem  towards  the  slave- 
holder, repel  what  seems  to  them  to  in- 
volve an  assault  on  his  character.  I do, 
indeed,  use,  and  cannot  but  use;  strong 
language  against  slavery.  No  greater 
wrong,  no  grosser  insult  on  humanity 
can  well  be  conceived ; nor  can  it  be 
softened  by  the  customary  plea  of  the 
slave-holder’s  kindness.  The  first  and 
most  essential  exercise  of  love  towards 
a human  being  is,  to  respect  his  rights. 
It  is  idle  to  talk  of  kindness  to  a human 
being  whose  rights  we  habitually  tram- 
ple under  foot.  “ Be  just  before  you  are 
generous.”  A human  being  is  not  to  be 
loved  as  a horse  or  a dog,  but  as  a being 
having  rights  ; and  his  first  grand  right 
is  that  of  free  action  ; the  right  to  use 
and  expand  his  powers  ; to  improve  and 
obey  his  higher  faculties  ; to  seek  his 
own  and  others’  good  ; to  better  his  lot ; 
to  make  himself  a home  ; to  enjoy  in- 
violate the  relations  of  husband  and 
parent ; to  live  the  life  of  a man.  An 
institution  denying  to  a being  this  right, 
and  virtually  all  rights,  which  degrades 
him  into  a chattel,  and  puts  him  beneath 
the  level  of  his  race,  is  more  shocking 
to  a calm,  enlightened  philanthropy  than 
most  of  the  atrocities  which  we  shud- 
der at  in  history  ; and  this  for  a plain 
reason.  These  atrocities,  such  as  the 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES . 


856 

burning  of  heretics,  and  the  immolation 
of  the  Indian  woman  on  the  funeral  pile 
of  her  husband,  have  generally  some 
foundation  in  ideas  of  duty  and  religion. 
The  inquisitor  murders  to  do  God  ser- 
vice ; and  the  Hindoo  widow  is  often  for- 
tified against  the  flames  by  motives  of 
inviolable  constancy  and  generous  self- 
sacrifice.  The  Indian  in  our  wilderness, 
when  he  tortures  his  captives,  thinks  of 
making  an  offering,  of  making  compen- 
sation, to  his  own  tortured  friends.  But 
in  slavery,  man  seizes  his  brother,  sub- 
jects him  to  brute  force,  robs  him  of  all 
his  rights,  for  purely  selfish  ends,  — as 
selfishly  as  the  robber  fastens  on  his 
prey.  No  generous  affections,  no  ideas 
of  religion  and  self-sacrifice,  throw  a 
gleam  of  light  over  its  horrors.  As 
such  I must  speak  of  slavery,  when  re- 
garded in  its  own  nature,  and  especially 
when  regarded  in  its  origin.  But  when 
I look  on  a community  among  whom 
this  evil  exists,  but  who  did  not  origi- 
nate it ; who  grew  up  in  the  midst  of  it  ; 
who  connect  it  with  parents  and  friends  ; 
who  see  it  intimately  entwined  with  the 
whole  system  of  domestic,  social,  in- 
dustrial, and  political  life  ; who  are 
blinded  by  long  habit  to  its  evils  and 
abuses  ; and  who  are  alarmed  by  the 
possible  evils  of  the  mighty  change  in- 
volved in  its  abolition  ; I shrink  from 
passing  on  such  a community  the  sen- 
tence which  is  due  to  the  guilty  institu- 
tion. All  history  furnishes  instances  of 
vast  wrongs  inflicted,  of  cruel  institu- 
tions upheld,  by  nations  or  individuals 
who  in  other  relations  manifest  respect 
for  duty.  That  slavery  has  a blighting 
moral  influence  where  it  exists,  is,  in- 
deed, unquestionable  ; but  in  that  bad 
atmosphere  so  much  that  is  good  and 
pure  may  and  does  grow  up  as  to  forbid 
us  to  deny  esteem  and  respect  to  a man 
simply  because  he  is  a slave-holder.  I 
offer  these  remarks  because  I wish  that 
the  subject  may  be  approached  without 
the  association  of  it  with  individuals, 
parties,  or  local  divisions,  which  blind 
the  mind  to  the  truth. 

I now  return  to  the  executive  docu- 
ment with  which  I began.  I am  first  to 
consider  its  doctrines,  to  show  their 
moral  unsoundness  and  inhumanity  ; and 
then  I shall  consider  the  bearing  of  these 
doctrines  on  the  free  States  in  general, 
and  the  interest  which  the  free  States 
have  at  this  critical  moment  in  the  sub- 


ject of  slavery.  Thus  my  work  divides 
itself  into  two  parts,  the  first  of  which 
is  now  offered  to  the  public. 

In  regard  to  the  reasonings  and  doc- 
trines of  the  document,  it  is  a happy 
circumstance  that  they  come  within  the 
comprehension  of  the  mass  of  the  peo- 
ple. The  case  of  the  “ Creole  ” is  a 
simple  one,  which  requires  no  extensive 
legal  study  to  be  understood.  A man 
who  has  had  little  connection  with  pub- 
lic affairs  is  as  able  to  decide  on  it  as  the 
bulk  of  politicians.  The  elements  of  the 
case  are  so  few,  and  the  principles  on 
which  its  determination  rests  are  so  ob- 
vious, that  nothing  but  a sound  moral 
judgment  is  necessary  to  the  discussion. 
Nothing  can  darken  it  but  legal  subtlety. 
None  can  easily  doubt  it,  but  those  who 
surrender  conscience  and  reason  to  ar- 
bitrary rules. 

The  question  between  the  American 
and  English  governments  turns  mainly 
on  one  point.  The  English  government 
does  not  recognize  within  its  bounds  any 
property  in  man.  It  maintains  that 
slavery  rests  wholly  on  local,  municipal 
legislation ; that  it  is  an  institution  not 
sustained  and  enforced  by  the  law  of  nat- 
ure, and,  still  more,  that  it  is  repugnant 
to  this  law  ; and  that,  of  course,  no  man 
who  enters  the  territory  or  is  placed  un- 
der the  jurisdiction  of  England  can  be 
regarded  as  a slave,  but  must  be  treated 
as  free.  The  law  creating  slavery,  it  is 
maintained,  has  and  can  have  no  force 
beyond  the  state  which  creates  it.  No 
other  nation  can  be  bound  by  it.  What- 
ever validity  this  ordinance,  which  de- 
prives a man  of  all  his  rights,  may  have 
within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  community 
in  which  it  had  its  birth,  it  can  have  no 
validity  anywhere  else.  This  is  the  prin- 
ciple on  which  the  English  government 
founds  itself. 

This  principle  is  so  plain  that  it  has 
been  established  and  is  acted  upon 
among  ourselves,  and  in  the  neighbor- 
ing British  provinces.  When  a slave  is 
brought  by  his  master  into  Massachu- 
setts, he  is  pronounced  free,  on  the 
ground  that  the  law  of  slavery  has  no 
force  beyond  the  State  which  ordains  it, 
and  that  the  right  of  every  man  to  liberty 
is  recognized  as  one  of  the  fundamental 
laws  of  the  Commonwealth.  A slave 
flying  from  his  master  to  this  Common- 
wealth is,  indeed,  restored,  but  not  on 
account  of  the  validity  of  the  legislation 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES . 


of  the  South  on  this  point,  but  solely  on 
the  ground  of  a positive  provision  of 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  ; 
and  he  is  delivered,  not  as  a slave,  but 
as  a “ person  held  to  service  by  law  in 
another  state.”  We  should  not  thfnk, 
for  a moment,  of  restoring  a slave  flying 
to  us  from  Cuba  or  Turkey.  We  recog- 
nize no  right  of  a foreign  master  on  this 
soil.  The  moment  he  brings  his  slave 
here  his  claim  vanishes  into  air  ; and 
this  takes  place  because  we  recognize 
freedom  as  the  right  of  every  human 
being. 

By  the  provision  of  the  Constitution, 
as  we  have  said,  the  fugitive  slave  from 
the  South  is  restored  by  us,  or,  at  least, 
his  master’s  claim  is  not  annulled.  But 
we  have  proof  at  our  door  that  this  ex- 
ception rests  on  positive,  not  natural 
law.  Suppose  the  fugitive  to  pass 
through  our  territory  undiscovered,  and 
to  reach  the  soil  of  Canada.  The  mo- 
ment he  touches  it  he  is  free.  The  mas- 
ter finds  there  an  equal  in  his  slave.  The 
British  authority  extends  the  same  pro- 
tection over  both.  Accordingly,  a colony 
of  fugitive  slaves  is  growingup  securely, 
beyond  our  border,  in  the  enjoyment  of 
all  the  rights  of  British  subjects.  And 
this  good  work  has  been  going  on  for 
years,  without  any  complaint  against 
England  as  violating  national  law,  and 
without  any  claim  for  compensation. 
These  are  plain  facts.  We  ourselves 
construe  the  law  of  nature  and  nations 
as  England  does. 

But  the  question  is  not  to  be  settled 
on  the  narrow  ground  of  precedent  alone. 
Let  us  view  it  in  the  light  of  eternal, 
universal  truth.  A grand  principle  is 
involved  in  the  case,  or  rather  lies  at  its 
very  foundation,  and  to  this  I ask  par- 
ticular attention.  This  principle  is,  that 
a man,  as  a man,  has  rights,  has  claims 
on  his  race,  which  are  in  no  degree 
touched  or  impaired  on  account  of  the 
manner  in  which  he  may  be  regarded  or 
treated  by  a particular  clan,  tribe,  or 
nation  of  his  fellow-creatures.  A man, 
by  his  very  nature,  as  an  intelligent, 
moral  creature  of  God,  has  claims  to 
aid  and  kind  regard  from  all  other  men. 
There  is  a grand  law  of  humanity  more 
comprehensive  than  all  others,  and 
under  which  every  man  should  find 
shelter.  He  has  not  only  a right,  but 
is  bound,  to  use  freely  and  improve  the 
powers  which  God  has  given  him  ; and 


857 

other  men,  instead  of  obstructing,  are 
bound  to  assist  their  development  and 
exertion.  These  claims  a man  does  not 
derive  from  the  family  or  tribe  in  which 
he  began  his  being.  They  are  not  the 
growth  of  a particular  soil  ; they  are 
not  ripened  under  a peculiar  sky  : they 
are  not  written  on  a particular  com- 
plexion ; they  belong  to  human  nature. 
The  ground  on  which  one  man  asserts 
them  all  men  stand  on,  nor  can  they  be 
denied  to  one  without  being  denied  to 
all.  We  have  here  a common  interest. 
We  must  all  stand  or  fall  together.  We 
all  have  claims  on  our  race,  claims  ol 
kindness  and  justice,  claims  grounded 
on  our  relation  to  our  common  Father, 
and  on  the  inheritance  of  a common 
nature. 

Because  a number  of  men  invade  the 
rights  of  a fellow-creature,  and  pro- 
nounce him  desitute  of  rights,  his  claims 
are  not  a whit  touched  by  this.  He  is 
as  much  a man  as  before.  Not  a single 
gift  of  God  on  which  his  rights  rest  is 
taken  away.  His  relations  to  the  rest 
of  his  race  are  in  no  measure  affected. 
He  is  as  truly  their  brother  as  if  his 
tribe  had  not  pronounced  him  a brute. 
If,  indeed,  any  change  takes  place,  his 
claims  are  enhanced,  on  the  ground  that 
the  suffering  and  injured  are  entitled  to 
peculiar  regard.  If  any  rights  should 
be  singularly  sacred  in  our  sight,  they 
are  those  which  are  denied  and  trodden 
in  the  dust. 

It  seems  to  be  thought  by  some  that 
a man  derives  all  his  rights  from  the 
nation  to  which  he  belongs.  They  are 
gifts  of  the  state,  and  the  state  may  take 
them  away,  if  it  will.  A man,  it  is 
thought,  has  claims  on  other  men,  not 
as  a man,  but  as  an  Englishman,  an 
American,  or  a subject  of  some  other 
state.  He  must  produce  his  parchment 
of  citzenship,  before  he  binds  other  men 
to  protect  him,  to  respect  his  free  agency, 
to  leave  him  the  use  of  his  powers  ac- 
cording to  his  own  will.  Local,  munici- 
pal law  is  thus  made  the  fountain  and 
measure  of  rights.  The  stranger  must 
tell  us  where  he  was  born,  what  privi- 
leges he  enjoyed  at  home,  or  no  tie 
links  us  to  one  another. 

In  conformity  to  these  views,  it  is 
thought  that  when  one  community  de- 
clares a man  to  be  a slave,  other  com- 
munities must  respect  this  decree  ; that 
the  duties  of  a foreign  nation  to  an  in- 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES . 


858 

dividual  are  to  be  determined  by  a brand 
set  on  him  on  his  own  shores ; that  his 
relations  to  the  whole  race  may  be  af- 
fected by  the  local  act  of  a community, 
no  matter  how  small  or  how  unjust. 

This  is  a terrible  doctrine.  It  strikes 
a blow  at  all  the  rights  of  human  nature. 
It  enables  the  political  body  to  which 
we  belong,  no  matter  how  wicked  or 
weak,  to  make  each  of  us  an  outcast 
from  his  race.  It  makes  a man  nothing 
in  himself.  As  a man,  he  has  no  signi- 
ficance. He  is  sacred  only  as  far  as 
some  state  has  taken  him  under  its  care. 
Stripped  of  his  nationality,  he  is  at  the 
mercy  of  all  who  may  incline  to  lay  hold 
on  him.  He  may  be  seized,  imprisoned, 
sent  to  work  in  galleys  or  mines,  unless 
some  foreign  state  spreads  its  shield 
over  him  as  one  of  its  citizens. 

This  doctrine  is  as  false  as  it  is  terri- 
ble. Man  is  not  the  mere  creature  of 
the  state.  Man  is  older  than  nations, 
and  he  is  to  survive  nations.  There  is 
a law  of  humanity  more  primitive  and 
divine  than  the  law  of  the  land.  He 
has  higher  claims  than  those  of  a citi- 
zen. He  has  rights  which  date  before 
all  charters  and  communities  ; not  con- 
ventional, not  repealable,  but  as  eternal 
as  the  powers  and  laws  of  his  being. 

This  annihilation  of  the  individual  by 
merging  him  in  the  state  lies  at  the 
foundation  of  despotism.  The  nation  is 
too  often  the  grave  of  the  man.  This 
is  the  more  monstrous,  because  the  very 
end  of  the  state  — of  the  organization 
of  the  nation  — is  to  secure  the  individ- 
ual in  all  his  rights,  and  especially  to 
secure  the  rights  of  the  weak.  Here  is 
the  fundamental  idea  of  political  associ- 
ation. In  an  unorganized  society,  with 
no  legislation,  no  tribunal,  no  empire, 
rights  have  no  security.  Force  pre- 
dominates over  right.  This  is  the  grand 
evil  of  what  is  called  the  state  of  nature. 
To  repress  this,  to  give  right  the  as- 
cendency over  force,  this  is  the  grand 
idea  and  end  of  government,  of  country, 
of  political  constitutions.  And  yet  we 
are  taught  that  it  depends  on  the  law  of 
a man’s  country  whether  he  shall  have 
rights,  and  whether  other  states  shall 
regard  him  as  a man.  When  cast  on  a 
foreign  shore,  his  country,  and  not  his 
humanity,  is  to  be  inquired  into,  and  the 
treatment  he  receives  is  to  be  propor- 
tioned to  what  he  meets  at  home. 

Men  worship  power,  worship  great 


organizations,  and  overlook  the  individ- 
ual; and  few  things  have  depraved  the 
moral  sentiment  of  men  more,  or  brought 
greater  woes  on  the  race.  The  state, 
or  the  ruler  in  whom  the  state  is  em- 
bodied, continues  to  be  worshipped, 
notwithstanding  the  commission  of 
crimes  which  would  inspire  horror  in 
the  private  man.  How  insignificant  are 
the  robberies,  murders,  piracies,  which 
the  law  makes  capital,  in  comparison 
with  an  unjust  or  unnecessary  war, 
dooming  thousands,  perhaps  millions, 
of  the  innocent  to  the  most  torturing 
forms  of  death,  or  with  the  law  of  an 
autocrat  or  of  a public  body,  depriving 
millions  of  all  the  rights  of  men ! But 
these,  because  the  acts  of  the  state, 
escape  the  execrations  of  the  world. 

In  consequence  of  this  worship  of 
governments  it  is  thought  that  their 
relations  to  one  another  are  alone  im- 
portant. A government  is  too  great  to 
look  at  a stranger,  except  as  he  is  incor- 
porated with  some  state.  It  can  have 
nothing  to  do  but  with  political  organi- 
zations like  itself.  But  the  humble 
stranger  has  a claim  on  it  as  sacred  as 
another  state.  Standing  alone,  he  yet 
has  rights,  and  to  violate  them  is  as 
criminal  as  to  violate  stipulations  with  a 
foreign  power.  In  one  view  it  is  baser. 
It  is  as  true  of  governments  as  of  indi- 
viduals, that  it  is  base  and  unmanly  to 
trample  on  the  weak.  He  who  invades 
the  strong  shows  a courage  which  does 
something  to  redeem  his  violence  ; but 
to  tread  on  the  neck  of  a helpless,  friend- 
less fellow-creature,  is  to  add  meanness 
to  wrong. 

If  the  doctrine  be  true,  that  the  char- 
acter impressed  on  a man  at  home  fol- 
lows him  abroad,  and  that  he  is  to  be 
regarded,  not  as  a man,  but  as  the  local 
laws  which  he  has  left  regard  him,  why 
shall  not  this  apply  to  the  peculiar  ad- 
vantages as  well  as  disadvantages  which 
a man  enjoys  in  his  own  land  ? Why 
shall  not  he  whom  the  laws  invest  with 
a right  to  universal  homage  at  home 
receive  the  same  tribute  abroad  ? Why 
shall  not  he  whose  rank  exempts  him 
from  the  ordinary  restraints  of  law  on 
his  own  shores  claim  the  same  lawless- 
ness elsewhere  ? Abroad  these  distinc- 
tions avail  him  nothing.  The  local  law 
which  makes  him  a kind  of  deity  deserts 
him  the  moment  he  takes  a step  beyond 
his  country’s  borders  ; and  why  shall 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES . 


859 


the  disadvantages,  the  terrible  wrongs, 
which  that  law  inflicts,  follow  the  poor 
sufferer  to  the  end  of  the  earth  ? 

I repeat  it  (for  the  truth  deserves 
reiteration),  that  all  nations  are  bound 
to  respect  the  rights  of  every  human 
being.  This  is  God’s  law,  as  old  as  the 
world.  No  local  law  can  touch  it.  No 
ordinance  of  a particular  state,  degrading 
a set  of  men  to  chattels,  can  absolve  all 
nations  from  the  obligation  of  regarding 
the  injured  beings  as  men,  or  bind  them 
to  send  back  the  injured  to  their  chains. 
The  character  of  a slave,  attached  to  a 
man  by  a local  government,  is  not  and 
cannot  be  incorporated  into  his  nature. 
It  does  not  cling  to  him,  go  where  he 
will.  The  scar  of  slavery  on  his  back 
does  not  reach  his  soul.  The  arbitrary 
relation  between  him  and  his  master 
cannot  suspend  the  primitive,  indestruc- 
tible relation  by  which  God  binds  him  to 
his  kind. 

The  idea,  that  a particular  state  may 
fix  enduringly  this  stigma  on  a human 
being,  and  can  bind  the  most  just  and 
generous  men  to  respect  it,  should  be 
rejected  with  scorn  and  indignation.  It 
reminds  us  of  those  horrible  fictions  in 
which  some  demon  is  described  as 
stamping  an  indelible  mark  of  hell  on  his 
helpless  victims.  It  was  the  horrible 
peculiarity  of  the  world  in  the  reign  of 
Tiberius,  that  it  had  become  one  vast 
prison.  The  unhappy  man  on  whom 
the  blighting  suspicion  of  the  tyrant  had 
fallen  could  find  no  shelter  or  escape 
through  the  whole  civilized  regions  of 
the  globe.  Everywhere  his  sentence 
followed  him  like  fate.  And  can  the  law 
of  a despot,  or  of  a chamber  of  despots, 
extend  now  the  same  fearful  doom  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth  ? Can  a little  state  at 
the  South  spread  its  web  of  cruel, 
wrongful  legislation  over  both  conti- 
nents ? Do  all  communities  become 
spell-bound  by  a law  in  a single  country 
creating  slavery  ? Must  they  become  the 
slave’s  jailers  ? Must  they  be  less  mer- 
citul  than  the  storm  which  drives  off  the 
bondman  from  the  detested  shore  of 
servitude  and  casts  him  on  the  soil  of 
freedom  ? Must  even  that  soil  become 
tainted  by  an  ordinance  passed  perhaps 
in  another  hemisphere  ? Has  oppres- 
sion this  terrible  omnipresence  ? Must 
the  whole  earth  register  the  slave-hold- 
er’s decree  ? Then  the  earth  is  blighted 
indeed.  Then,  as  some  ancient  sects 


taught,  it  is  truly  the  empire  of  the  prin- 
ciple of  evil,  of  the  power  of  darkness. 
Then  God  is  dethroned  here  ; for  where 
injustice  and  oppression  are  omnipotent 
God  has  no  empire. 

I have  thus  stated  the  great  principle 
on  which  the  English  authorities  acted 
in  the  case  of  the  “ Creole,”  and  on 
which  all  nations  are  bound  to  act.  Sla- 
very is  the  creature  of  a local  law,  having 
power  not  a hand-breadth  beyond  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  country  which  ordains 
it.  Other  nations  know  nothing  of  it,  — • 
are  bound  to  pay  it  no  heed.  I might 
add,  that  other  nations  are  bound  to 
tolerate  it  within  the  bounds  of  a partic- 
ular state  only  on  the  grounds  on  which 
they  suffer  a particular  state  to  establish 
bloody  superstitions,  to  use  the  rack  in 
jurisprudence,  or  to  practise  other  enor- 
mities. They  might  much  more  justifi- 
ably put  down  slavery  where  it  exists 
than  enforce  a foreign  slave-code  within 
their  own  bounds.  Such  is  the  impreg- 
nable principle  which  we  of  the  free 
States  should  recognize  and  earnestly 
sustain.* 

This  principle  our  government  has  not 
explicitly  denied  in  its  letter  to  our  min- 
ister in  London.  The  letter  is  chiefly 
employed  in  dilating  on  various  particu- 
lar circumstances  which,  it  is  said,  en- 
titled the  “Creole”  to  assistance  from 
the  British  authorities  in  the  prosecution 
of  the  voyage  with  her  original  freight 
and  passengers.  The  strength  of  the 
document  lies  altogether  in  the  skilful 
manner  in  which  these  circumstances 
are  put  together.  I shall  therefore  pro- 
ceed to  consider  them  with  some  minute- 
ness. They  are  briefly  these.  The  ves- 
sel was  engaged  in  a voyage  “ perfectly 
lawful.”  She  was  taken  to  a British 
port,  “ not  voluntarily,  by  those  who  had 
the  lawful  authority  over  her,”  but  forci- 
bly and  violently,  “against  the  master’s 
will,”  without  any  agency  or  solicitation 
on  the  part  of  the  great  majority  of  the 
slaves,  and,  indeed,  solely  by  the  few 
“mutineers”  who  had  gained  posses- 
sion of  her  by  violence  and  bloodshed. 
The  slaves  were  “ still  on  board  ” the 
American  vessel.  They  had  not  become 
“ incorporated  with  the  English  popula- 
tion ; ” and  from  these  facts  it  is  argued 
that  they  had  not  changed  their  original 
character,  that  the  vessel  containing 
them  ought  to  have  been  regarded  as 
* See  Note  A at  end  of  this  article. 


86o 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


“ still  on  her  voyage,”  and  should  have 
been  aided  to  resume  it,  according  to 
that  law  of  comity  and  hospitality  by 
which  nations  are  bound  to  aid  one 
another’s  vessels  in  distress. 

It  is  encouraging  to  see  in  this  rea- 
soning of  the  letter  a latent  acknowledg- 
ment that,  had  the  vessel  been  carried 
with  the  slaves  into  the  British  port  by 
the  free  will  of  the  captain,  the  slaves 
would  have  been  entitled  to  liberty. 
The  force  and  crime  involved  in  the 
transaction  form  the  strength  of  the  case 
as  stated  by  ourselves.  The  whole  tone 
of  the  communication  undesignedly  rec- 
ognizes important  rights  in  a foreign 
state  in  regard  to  slaves  carried  volun- 
tarily to  their  shores  ; and  by  this  con- 
cession it  virtually  abandons  the  whole 
ground. 

But  let  us  look  at  the  circumstances 
which,  it  is  said,  bound  the  British  au- 
thorities to  assist  the  captain  in  sending 
back  the  slaves  to  their  chains  ; and 
one  general  remark  immediately  occurs. 
These  circumstances  do  not  touch,  in 
the  slightest  degree,  the  great  principle 
on  which  the  authorities  were  bound  by 
British  and  natural  law  to  act.  This 
principle,  as  we  have  stated,  is,  that  a 
nation  is  bound  by  the  law  of  nature  to 
respect  the  rights  of  every  human  being  ; 
that  every  man  within  its  jurisdiction  is 
entitled  to  its  protection  as  long  as  he 
obeys  its  laws  ; that  the  private  individ- 
ual may  appeal  to  the  broad  law  of  hu- 
manity and  claim  hospitality  as  truly  as 
a state. 

Now,  how  did  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances of  the  “ Creole  ” bear  on  this 
fundamental  view  of  the  case  ? Did 
the  manner  in  which  the  slaves  of  the 
“ Creole  ” were  carried  to  Nassau  in 
any  measure  affect  their  character  as 
men  ? Did  they  cease  to  be  men  be- 
cause the  ship  was  seized  by  violence, 
the  captain  imprisoned,  and  the  vessel 
turned  from  its  original  destination  ? 
Did  the  shifting  of  the  vessel’s  course 
by  a few  points  of  the  compass,  or  did 
the  government  of  the  helm  by  a “ muti- 
neer ” transmute  a hundred  or  more  men 
into  chattels  ? To  the  eye  of  the  British 
officer,  the  slaves  looked  precisely  as 
they  would  have  done  had  they  been 
brought  to  the  island  by  any  other 
means.  He  could  see  nothing  but  hu- 
man beings  ; and  no  circumstances, 
leaving  this  character  on  them,  could 


have  authorized  him  to  deny  them  hu- 
man rights.  It  mattered  nothing  to 
him  how  they  came  to  the  island ; for 
this  did  not  touch  at  all  the  ground  of 
their  claim  to  protection. 

A case,  indeed,  is  imagined  in  the 
document,  in  which  it  is  said  that  the 
manner  of  transportation  of  slaves  to  a 
foreign  port  must  determine  the  char- 
acter in  which  they  shall  be  viewed. 
“ Suppose  an  American  vessel  with 
slaves  lawfully  on  board  were  to  be 
captured  by  a British  cruiser,  as  belong- 
ing to  some  belligerent,  while  the  United 
States  were  at  peace  ; suppose  such 
prize  carried  into  England,  and  the  neu- 
trality of  the  vessel  fully  made  out  in 
the  proceedings  in  Admiralty,  and  a res- 
toration consequently  decreed  ; in  such 
case  must  not  the  slaves  be  restored 
exactly  in  the  condition  in  which  they 
were  when  the  capture  was  made  ? 
Would  any  one  contend  that  the  fact  of 
their  having  been  carried  into  England 
by  force  set  them  free  ? ” I reply,  un- 
doubtedly they  would  be  free  the  mo- 
ment they  should  enter  English  jurisdic- 
tion. A writ  of  habeas  corpus  could  and 
would  and  must  be  granted  them,  if  de- 
manded by  themselves  or  their  friends, 
and  no  court  would  dare  to  remit  them 
to  their  chains  ; and  this  is  not  only 
English  law,  but  in  the  spirit  of  univer- 
sal law.  In  this  case,  however,  com- 
pensation would  undoubtedly  be  made 
by  the  captors  for  the  slaves,  not  on  the 
ground  of  any  claim  in  the  slave-holder, 
but  because  of  the  original  wrong  by 
the  captors,  and  of  their  consequent 
obligation  to  replace  the  vessel,  as  much 
as  possible,  in  the  condition  in  which 
she  was  found  at  the  moment  of  being 
seized  on  the  open  ocean,  where  she  was 
captured  on  groundless  suspicion,  where 
she  had  a right  to  prosecute  her  voyage 
without  obstruction,  and  whence  she 
ought  not  to  have  been  brought  by  the 
capturing  state  within  its  jurisdiction 
and  made  subject  to  its  laws. 

Let  us  now  consider  particularly  the 
circumstances  on  which  the  United 
States  maintain  that  the  British  au- 
thorities were  bound  to  replace  the 
slaves  under  the  master  of  the  “Creole,” 
and  violated  their  duty  in  setting  them 
free. 

It  is  insisted,  first,  that  “the  ‘ Creole  ’ 
was  passing  from  one  port  to  another  in 
a voya gz  perfectly  lawful .”  We  cannot 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES . 


but  lament  that,  to  sustain  this  point  of 
the  lawfulness  of  the  voyage,  it  is  af- 
firmed that  “ slaves  are  recognized  as 
property  by  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States  in  those  States  in  which 
slavery  exists.”  Were  this  true,  it  is 
one  of  those  truths  which  respect  for  our 
country  should  prevent  our  intruding  on 
the  notice  of  strangers.  A child  should 
throw  a mantle  over  the  nakedness  of 
his  parent.  But  the  language  seems  to 
me  stronger  than  the  truth.  The  Con- 
stitution was  intended  not  to  interfere 
with  the  laws  of  property  in  the  States 
where  slaves  had  been  held.  But  the 
recognition  of  a moral  right  in  the  slave- 
holder is  most  carefully  avoided  in  that 
instrument.  Slaves  are  three  times  re- 
ferred to,  but  always  as  persons,  not  as 
property.  The  free  States  are,  indeed, 
bound  to  deliver  up  fugitive  slaves  ; but 
these  are  to  be  surrendered,  not  as 
slaves,  but  as  “persons  held  to  service.” 
The  clause  applies  as  much  to  fugitive 
apprentices  from  the  North  as  to  fugitive 
slaves  from  the  South.  The  history  of 
this  clause  is  singular.  In  the  first 
draught  of  the  Constitution  it  stood 
thus : “ No  person,  legally  held  to 

service  or  labor  in  one  State,  escaping 
into  another,  shall,  in  consequence  of 
regulations  subsisting  therein,  be  dis- 
charged from  such  service  or  labor,  but 
shall  be  delivered  up,”  &c.  Mr.  Madi- 
son tells  us  that  “ the  term  4 legally  ’ was 
struck  out,  and  the  words,  4 under  the 
laws  thereof,’  inserted  after  the  word 
4 State,’  in  compliance  with  the  wish  of 
some  who  thought  the  term  legal  equivo- 
cal, and  favoring  the  idea  that  slavery 
was  legal  in  a moral  view.”  * It  ought 
also  to  be  added,  that,  in  the  debate  in 
the  Convention  on  that  clause  of  the 
Constitution  which  conferred  power  on 
Congress  to  abolish  the  importation  of 
slaves  in  1808,  44  Mr.  Madison  thought 
it  wrong  to  admit  in  the  Constitution 
the  idea  that  there  could  be  property  in 
men.”  f Most  memorable  testimony  to 
the  truth  from  this  greatest  constitu- 
tional authority ! With  the  knowledge 
of  these  facts,  our  government  had  no 
apology  for  holding  up  the  great  na- 
tional charter  as  recognizing  property  in 
man.  ^ The  phraseology  and  history  of 
the  Constitution  afford  us  some  shelter, 
however  insufficient,  from  the  moral 

# Madison  Papers,  p.  1589. 

t Ibid.  pp.  1429,  30. 


86l 

condemnation  of  the  world  ; and  we 
should  not  gratuitously  cast  it  away. 

Whilst,  however,  we  censure  this^ 
clause  in  the  executive  document,  we 
rejoice  that  on  one  point  it  is  explicit. 
It  affirms  that  44  slaves  are  recognized 
as  property  by  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States  in  those  States  in  which 
slavery  exists Here  we  have  the 
limit  precisely  defined  within  which  the 
Constitution  spreads  its  shield  over 
slavery.  These  limits  are,  44  the  States 
in  which  slavery  exists.”  Beyond  these 
it  recognizes  no  property  in  man,  and, 
of  course,  beyond  these  it  cannot  take 
this  property  under  its  protection.  The 
moment  the  slave  leaves  the  States 
within  which  slavery  exists,  the  Con- 
stitution knows  nothing  of  him  as  prop- 
erty. Of  consequence,  the  national  gov- 
ernment has  no  right  to  touch  the  case 
of  the  44  Creole.”  As  soon  as  that  vessel 
passed  beyond  the  jurisdiction  of  the 
State  where  she  received  her  passengers, 
the  slaves  ceased  to  be  property,  in  the 
eye  of  the  Constitution.  The  national 
authorities  were  no  longer  bound  to 
interfere  with  and  to  claim  them  as 
such.  The  nation’s  force  was  no  longer 
pledged  to  subject  them  to  their  masters. 
Its  relation  to  them  had  wholly  ceased. 
On  this  point  we  are  bound  to  adopt  the 
strictest  construction  of  the  instrument. 
The  free  States  should  not  suffer  them- 
selves to  be  carried  a hair’s  breadth 
beyond  the  line  within  which  they  are 
pledged  to  the  dishonorable  office  of 
protecting  slavery. 

But,  leaving  this  clause,  I return  to 
the  first  consideration  adduced  to  sub- 
stantiate the  claim  of  the  44  Creole”  to 
the  assistance  of  the  British  authorities. 
The  voyage,  we  are  told,  was  44  perfectly 
lawful.”  Be  it  so.  But  this  circum- 
stance, according  to  the  principles  of 
the  free  States,  involves  no  obligation 
of  another  community  to  enforce  slavery, 
or  to  withhold  from  the  slave  the  rights 
of  a man.  Suppose  that  the  44  Creole  ” 
had  sailed  to  Massachusetts  with  her 
slaves.  The  voyage  would  have  been 
44  lawful  ; ” but  on  entering  the  port  of 
Boston  her  slaves  would  have  been  pro- 
nounced free.  The  44  right  of  property  ” 
in  them  conferred  by  a slave  State  would 
have  ceased.  The  lawfulness  of  the 
voyage,  then,  gives  the  slave-holder  no 
claim  on  another  government  into  the 
ports  of  which  his  slave  may  be  carried. 


862 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES . 


Again,  what  is  meant  by  the  “ perfect 
lawfulness  ” of  the  voyage  ? Does  it 
mean  that  the  “ Creole  ” shipped  the 
slaves  under  the  law  of  nature  or  the 
law  of  Great  Britain  ? Certainly  not ; 
but  solely  under  the  law  of  America  ; so 
that  the  old  question  recurs,  Whether 
a local,  municipal  law,  authorizing  an 
American  vessel  to  convey  slaves,  binds 
all  nations,  to  whose  territory  these  un- 
happy persons  may  be  carried,  to  regard 
them  as  property,  to  treat  them  as  the 
Parias  of  the  human  race.  This  is  the 
simple  question,  and  one  not  hard  of 
solution. 

“ The  voyage  was  perfectly  lawful,” 
we  are  told.  So  would  be  the  voyage 
of  a Turkish  ship  freighted  with  Chris- 
tian slaves  from  Constantinople.  Sup- 
pose such  a vessel  driven  by  storms  or 
carried  by  force  into  a Christian  port 
Would  any  nation  in  Europe,  or  would 
America,  feel  itself  bound  to  assist  the 
Turkish  slaver,  to  replace  the  chains  on 
Christian  captives  whom  the  elements 
or  their  own  courage  had  set  free,  to 
sacrifice  to  the  comity  and  hospitality 
and  usages  of  nations  the  law  of  hu- 
manity and  Christian  brotherhood  ? 

“ The  voyage,”  we  are  told,  “ was 
perfectly  lawful.”  Suppose,  now,  that 
a slave -holding  country  should  pass  a 
law  ordaining  and  describing  a chain  as 
a badge  of  bondage,  and  authorizing  the 
owner  to  carry  about  his  slave  fastened 
to  himself  by  this  sign  of  property. 
Suppose  the  master  to  go  with  slave 
and  ch3.in  to  a foreign  country.  His 
journey  would  be  “lawful;”  but  would 
the  foreign  government  be  bound  to 
respect  this  ordinance  of  the*  distant 
state  ? Would  the  authorized  chain 
establish  property  in  the  slave  over  the 
whole  earth  ? We  know  it  would  not  ; 
and  why  should  the  authorized  vessel 
impose  a more  real  obligation  ? 

It  seems  to  be  supposed  by  some  that 
there  is  a peculiar  sacredness  in  a ves- 
sel, which  exempts  it  from  all  control 
in  the  ports  of  other  nations.  A vessel 
is  sometimes  said  to  be  “ an  extension 
of  the  territory  ” to  which  it  belongs. 
The  nation,  we  are  told,  is  present  in 
the  vessel,  and  its  honor  and  rights  are 
involved  in  the  treatment  which  its  flag 
receives  abroad.  These  ideas  are  in 
the  main  true  in  regard  to  ships  on  the 
high  seas.  The  sea  is  the  exclusive 
property  of  no  nation.  It  is  subject  to 


none.  It  is  the  common  and  equal  prop- 
erty of  all.  No  state  has  jurisdiction 
over  it.  No  state  can  write  its  laws  on 
that  restless  surface.  A ship  at  sea 
carries  with  her  and  represents  the 
rights  of  her  country,  — rights  equal  to 
those  which  any  other  enjoys.  The 
slightest  application  of  the  laws  of  an- 
other nation  to  her  is  to  be  resisted. 
She  is  subjected  to  no  law  but  that  of 
her  own  country,  and  to  the  law  of  na- 
tions, which  presses  equally  on  all  states. 
She  may  thus  be  called,  with  no  violence 
to  language,  an  extension  of  the  territory 
to  which  she  belongs.  But  suppose  her 
to  quit  the  open  sea  and  enter  a port. 
What  a change  is  produced  in  her  con- 
dition ! At  sea  she  sustained  the  same 
relations  to  all  nations,  — those  of  an 
equal.  Now  she  sustains  a new  and 
peculiar  relation  to  the  nation  which  she 
has  entered.  She  passes  at  once  under 
its  jurisdiction.  She  is  subject  to  its 
laws.  She  is  entered  by  its  officers.  If 
a criminal  flies  to  her  for  shelter,  he  may 
be  pursued  and  apprehended.  If  her 
own  men  violate  the  laws  of  the  land, 
they  may  be  seized  and  punished.  The 
nation  is  not  present  in  her.  She  has 
left  the  open  highway  of  the  ocean, 
where  all  nations  are  equals,  and  en- 
tered a port  where  one  nation  alone  is 
clothed  with  authority.  What  matters 
it  that  a vessel  in  the  harbor  of  Nassau 
is  owned  in  America  ? This  does  not 
change  her  locality.  She  has  contracted 
new  duties  and  obligations  by  being 
placed  under  a new  jurisdiction.  Her 
relations  differ  essentially  from  those 
which  she  sustained  at  home  or  on  the 
open  sea.  These  remarks  apply,  of 
course,  to  merchant  vessels  alone.  A 
ship  of  war  is  “an  extension  of  the  ter- 
ritory ” to  which  she  belongs,  not  only 
when  she  is  on  the  ocean,  but  in  a for- 
eign port.  In  this  respect  she  resem- 
bles an  army  marching  by  consent 
through  a neutral  country.  Neither 
ship  of  war  nor  army  falls  under  the  ju- 
risdiction of  foreign  states.  Merchant 
vessels  resemble  individuals.  Both  be- 
come subject  to  the  laws  of  the  land 
which  they  enter. 

We  are  now  prepared  to  consider  the 
next  circumstance,  on  which  much  stress 
is  laid  to  substantiate  the  claim  of  our 
government.  “ The  vessel  was  taken  to 
a British  port,  not  voluntarily,  by  those 
who  had  the  lawful  authority  over  her, 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


863 


but  forcibly  and  violently,  against  the 
master’s  will,  by  mutineers  and  murder- 
ers,” &c. 

To  this  various  replies  are  contained 
in  the  preceding  remarks.  The  first  is, 
that  the  local  laws  of  one  country  are 
not  transported  to  another,  and  do  not 
become  of  force  there,  because  a vessel 
of  the  former  is  carried  by  violence  into 
the  ports  of  the  latter.  Another  is,  that 
a vessel  entering  the  harbor  of  a foreign 
state,  through  mutiny  or  violence,  is  not 
on  this  account  exempted  from  its  juris- 
diction or  laws.  She  may  not  set  its 
authorities  at  defiance  because  brought 
within  its  waters  against  her  own  will. 
There  may,  indeed,  be  local  laws  in- 
^ tended  to  exclude  foreigners,  which  it 
would  be  manifestly  unjust  and  inhuman 
to  enforce  on  such  as  may  be  driven  to 
the  excluding  state  against  their  own 
consent.  But  as  to  the  laws  of  a country 
founded  on  the  universal  principles  of 
justice  and  humanity,  these  are  binding 
on  foreign  vessels  under  whatever  cir- 
cumstances they  may  be  brought  within 
its  jurisdiction.  There  is  still  another 
view  of  this  subject,  which  I have  already 
urged,  but  which  is  so  important  as  to 
deserve  repetition.  The  right  of  the 
slaves  of  the  “ Creole  ” to  liberation  was 
not  at  all  touched  by  the  mode  in  which 
they  were  brought  to  Nassau.  No  mat- 
ter how  they  got  there,  whether  by  sea, 
land,  or  air,  whether  by  help  of  saint  or 
sinner.  A man’s  right  to  freedom  is 
derived  from  none  of  these  accidents, 
but  inheres  in  him  as  a man,  and  nothing 
which  does  not  touch  his  humanity  can 
impair  it.  The  slaves  of  the  “ Creole  ” 
were  not  a whit  the  less  men  because 
“ mutiny  ” had  changed  their  course  on 
the  ocean.  They  stood  up  in  the  port 
of  Nassau  with  all  the  attributes  of  men, 
and  the  government  could  not  without 
wrong  have  denied  their  character  and 
corresponding  claims. 

We  are  now  prepared  for  the  consid- 
eration of  another  circumstance  in  the 
case  of  the  “ Creole  ” on  which  stress  is 
laid.  We  are  told  by  our  government 
that  they  were  “still  in  the  ship  ” when 
they  were  declared  free,  and  on  this 
account  their  American  character,  that 
is,  the  character  of  slavery,  adhered  to 
them.  This  is  a view  of  the  case  more 
fitted  perhaps  than  any  other  to  impress 
the  inconsiderate.  The  slaves  had  not 
changed  their  position,  — had  not  touched 


the  shore.  The  vessel  was  American. 
They  trod  on  American  planks  ; they 
slept  within  American  walls.  They  of 
course  belonged  to  America,  and  were 
to  be  viewed  only  in  their  American 
character.  To  this  reasoning  the  prin- 
ciples already  laid  down  furnish  an  easy 
answer.  It  is  true  that  the  slaves  were 
in  an  American  ship  ; but  there  is  an- 
other truth  still  more  pregnant ; they 
were  also  in  another  country,  where 
American  law  has  no  power.  The  ves- 
sel had  not  carried  America  to  the  port 
of  Nassau.  The  slaves  had  changed 
countries.  What  though  they  were  there 
in  an  American  ship  ? They  were  there- 
fore not  the  less  within  English  territory 
and  English  jurisdiction.  The  two  or 
three  inches  of  plank  which  separated 
them  from  the  waves  had  no  miraculous 
power  to  prevent  them  from  being  where 
they  were.  The  water  which  embo- 
somed the  vessel  was  English.  The  air 
they  breathed  was  English.  The  laws 
under  which  they  had  passed  were  Eng- 
lish. One  would  think,  from  the  rea- 
soning to  which  I am  replying,  that  the 
space  occupied  by  a vessel  in  a foreign 
port  is  separated  for  a time  from  the 
country  to  which  it  formerly  belonged  ; 
that  it  takes  the  character  of  the  vessel, 
and  falls  under  the  laws  of  the  land  to 
which  she  appertains  ; that  the  author- 
ities which  have  controlled  it  for  ages 
must  not  enter  it,  whilst  the  foreign 
planks  are  floating  in  it,  to  repress  crime 
or  enforce  justice.  But  this  is  all  a fic- 
tion. The  slaves,  whilst  in  the  ship, 
were  in  a foreign  country  as  truly  as  if 
they  had  plunged  into  the  waves  or  set 
foot  on  shore. 

We  will  now  consider  another  circum- 
stance to  which  importance  is  attached 
in  the  document  of  our  executive.  We 
are  told  that  “the  slaves  could  not  be 
regarded  as  having  become  mixed  up  or 
incorporated  with  the  British  population, 
or  as  having  changed  character  at  all, 
either  in  regard  to  country  or  personal 
condition.”  To  this  it  is  replied,  that 
no  one  pretends  that  the  slaves  had 
become  Englishmen,  or  had  formed  a 
‘special  relation  to  Great  Britain,  on  ac- 
count of  which  she  was  compelled  to 
liberate  them.  It  was  not  as  a part  of 
the  British  population  that  they  were 
declared  free.  Had  the  authorities  at 
Nassau  taken  this  ground,  they  might 
have  been  open  to  the  complaints  of 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES . 


864 

our  government.  The  slaves  were  pro- 
nounced free,  not  because  of  any  na- 
tional character  which  they  sustained, 
but  because  they  were  men,  and  be- 
cause Great  Britain  held  itself  bound  to 
respect  the  law  of  nature  with  regard  to 
men.  It  was  not  necessary  for  them 
to  be  incorporated  with  the  British  pop- 
ulation in  order  to  acquire  the  common 
rights  of  human  beings.  One  great 
error  in  the  document  is,  that  a govern- 
ment is  supposed  to  owe  nothing  to  a 
human  being  who  lands  on  its  shores, 
any  farther  than  his  nation  may  re- 
quire. It  is  thought  to  have  nothing  to 
do  but  to  inquire  into  his  nationality  and 
to  fulfil  the  obligations  which  this  im- 
poses. He  has  no  rights  to  set  up,  un- 
less his  own  government  stand  by  him. 
Thus  the  fundamental  principles  of  the 
law  of  nature  are  set  at  naught.  Thus 
all  rights  are  resolved  into  benefactions 
of  the  state,  and  man  is  nothing,  unless 
incorporated,  mixed  up,  with  a popula- 
tion of  a particular  country.  This  doc- 
trine is  too  monstrous  to  be  openly 
avowed,  but  it  lies  at  the  foundation  of 
most  of  the  reasonings  of  the  docu- 
ment. The  man,  I repeat  it,  is  older 
and  more  sacred  than  the  citizen.  The 
slave  of  the  “ Creole  ” had  no  other 
name  to  take.  His  own  country  had 
declared  him  not  to  be  a citizen.  He 
had  been  scornfully  refused  a place 
among  the  American  people.  He  was 
only  a man ; and  was  that  a low  title  on 
which  to  stand  up  among  men  ? Nature 
knows  no  higher  on  earth.  English  law 
knows  no  higher.  Shall  we  find  fault 
with  a country  because  an  outcast  man 
landing  on  its  shore  is  declared  free 
without  the  formality  of  becoming  in- 
corporated with  its  population  ? 

The  slaves,  we  are  told  in  the  argu- 
ment which  we  are  considering,  as  they 
had  no  claim  to  be  considered  as  mixed 
up  with  the  British  population,  had  not, 
therefore,  changed  their  character  either 
in  regard  to  country  or  condition.” 
The  old  sophistry  reigns  here.  It  is 
taken  for  granted  that  a man  has  no 
character  but  that  of  country  and  con- 
dition. In  other  words,  he  must  be  re- 
garded by  foreign  states  as  belonging  to 
a particular  nation,  and  treated  accord- 
ing to  this  view,  and  no  other.  Now  the 
truth  is,  that  there  is  a primitive,  indeli- 
ble “ character”  fastened  on  a man,  far 
more  important  than  that  of  “ country 


or  condition  ; ” and,  looking  at  this.  I 
joyfully  accord  with  our  cabinet  in  say- 
ing that  the  slaves  of  the  “ Creole  ” did 
not  “ change  their  character  ” by  touch- 
ing British  soil.  There  they  stood  with 
the  character  which  God  impressed  on 
them,  and  which  man  can  never  efface. 
The  British  authorities  gave  them  no 
new  character,  but  simply  recognized 
that  which  they  had  worn  from  the  day 
of  their  birth,  — the  only  one  which 
cannot  pass  away. 

I have  now  considered  all  the  cir- 
cumstances stated  in  the  document  as 
grounds  of  complaint,  with  one  excep- 
tion, and  this  I have  deferred  on  ac- 
count of  its  uncertainty,  and  in  the  hope 
of  obtaining  more  satisfactory  informa- 
tion. The  circumstance  is  this,  “ that 
the  slaves  were  liberated  by  the  inter- 
ference of  the  colonial  authorities  ; ” 
that  these  “not  only  gave  no  aid,  but 
did  actually  interfere  to  set  free  the 
slaves,  and  to  enable  them  to  disperse 
themselves  beyond  the  reach  of  the 
master  of  the  vessel  or  their  owners.” 
This  statement  is  taken  from  the  pro- 
test of  the  captain  and  crew  made 
at  New  Orleans,  which,  indeed,  uses 
much  stronger  language,  and  charges 
on  the  British  authorities  much  more 
exceptionable  interference.  This,  as  I 
have  said,  is  to  be  suspected  of  exag- 
geration or  unjust  coloring,  not  on  the 
ground  of  any  peculiar  falseness  in  the 
men  who  signed  it,  but  because  of 
the  tendency  of  passion  and  interest  to 
misconstrue  the  offensive  conduct  of 
others.  But  admitting  the  correctness 
of  the  protest,  we  cannot  attach  impor- 
tance to  the  complaint  of  the  document. 
This  insists  that  the  English  authorities 
“ interfered  to  set  free  the  slaves.”  I 
reply  that  the  authorities  did  not  and 
could  not  set  the  colored  men  free,  and 
for  the  plain  reason,  that  they  were 
in  no  sense  slaves  in  the  British  port. 
The  authorities  found  them  in  the  first 
instance  both  legally  and  actually  free. 
How,  then,  could  they  be  liberated  ? 
They  stood  before  the  magistrates  free 
at  the  first  moment.  They  had  passed 
beyond  the  legislation  of  the  state  which 
had  imposed  their  chains.  They  had 
come  under  a jurisdiction  which  knew 
nothing  of  property  in  man,  nothing  of 
the  relation  of  master  and  slave.  As 
soon  as  they  entered  the  British  waters 
the  legal  power  of  the  captain  over 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES . 


them,  whatever  it  might  have  been, 
ceased.  They  were  virtually  “beyond 
his  reach,”  even  whilst  on  board.  Of 
course,  no  act  of  the  authorities  was 
needed  for  their  liberation. 

But  this  is  not  all.  The  colored  men 
were  not  only  legally  free  on  entering 
the  British  port,  "they  were  so  actually 
and  as  a matter  of  fact.  The  British 
authorities  had  not  the  merit  of  exerting 
the  least  physical  power  to  secure  to 
them  their  right  to  liberty.  The  slaves 
had  liberated  themselves.  They  had 
imprisoned  the  captain.  They  had 
taken  the  command  of  the  vessel.  The 
British  authorities  interfered  to  liberate, 
not  the  colored  people,  but  the  captain  ; 
not  to  uphold,  but  arrest  “the  muti- 
neers.” Their  action  was  friendly  to 
the  officers  and  crew.  In  all  this  action, 
however,  they  did  nothing,  of  course, 
to  reduce  the  slaves  a second  time  to 
bondage.  Had  they,  in  restoring  the 
vessel  to  the  captain,  replaced,  directly 
or  indirectly,  the  liberated  slaves  under 
the  yoke,  they  would  have  done  so  at 
their  peril.  How,  then,  could  they  free 
those  whom  they  knew  only  as  free  ? 
They  simply  declared  them  free,  — de- 
clared a matter  of  fact  which  could  not 
be  gainsaid.  If  they  persuaded  them 
to  leave  the  ship,  they  plainly  acted  in 
this  as  counsellors  and  friends,  and  ex- 
erted no  official  power. 

It  is  said  indeed,  in  the  protest, 
that  the  magistrates  “ commanded  ” the 
slaves  to  go  on  shore.  If  this  be  true, 
and  if  the  command  were  accompanied 
with  any  force,  they  indeed  committed 
a wrong ; but  one,  I fear,  for  which 
our  government  will  be  slow  to  seek 
redress.  They  wronged  the  liberated 
slaves.  These  were  free,  and  owed  no 
bbedience  to  such  a command.  They 
had  a right  to  stay  where  they  were, 
a right  to  return  to  America ; and  in 
being  compelled  to  go  on  shore  they 
received  an  injury  for  which  our  gov- 
ernment, if  so  disposed,  may  make  com- 
plaint. But  the  slaves  alone  were  the 
injured  party.  The  right  of  the  owner 
was  not  violated,  for  he  had  no  right. 
His  claim  was  a nullity  in  the  Biitish 
port.  He  was  not  known  there.  The 
law  on  which  he  stood  in  his  own  coun- 
try was  there  a dead  letter.  Who  can 
found  on  it  a complaint  against  the 
British  government  ? 

It  is  said  that  the  “ comity  of  nations  ” 


865 

forbade  this  interference.  But  this 
comity  is  a vague,  unsettled  law,  and 
ought  not  to  come  into  competition  with 
the  obligations  of  a state  to  injured  men 
thrown  on  its  protection,  and  whose 
lives  and  liberties  are  at  stake. * We 
must  wait,  however,  for  farther  light 
from  Nassau,  to  comprehend  the  whole 
case.  It  is  not  impossible  that  the  au- 
thorities at  that  port  exerted  an  undue 
influence,  and  took  on  themselves  an 
undue  responsibility.  Among  the  lib- 
erated slaves  there  were  undoubtedly 
not  a few  so  ignorant  and  helpless  as 
to  be  poorly  fitted  to  seek  their  fortune 
in  the  West  Indies,  among  strangers 
little  disposed  to  sympathize  with  their 
sufferings  or  aid  their  inexperience. 
These  ought  to  have  been  assured  of 
their  liberty ; but  they  should  have  been 
left  to  follow,  without  any  kind  of  re- 
sistance, their  shrinking  from  an  un- 
known shore,  and  their  desire  to  return 
to  the  land  of  their  birth,  whenever 
these  feelings  were  expressed. 

I know  not  that  I have  overlooked 
any  of  the  considerations  which  are 
urged  in  the  executive  document  in 
support  of  our  complaints  against  Great 
Britain  in  the  case  of  the  “ Creole.”  I 
have  labored  to  understand  and  meet 
their  full  force.  I am  sorry  to  have 
been  obliged  to  enter  into  these  so  mi- 
nutely, and  to  repeat  what  I deem  true 
principles  so  often.  But  the  necessity 
was  laid  on  me.  The  document  does 
not  lay  down  explicitly  any  great  prin- 
ciple with  which  our  claim  must  stand 
or  fall.  Its  strength  lies  in  the  skilful 
suggestion  of  various  circumstances 
which  strike  the  common  reader,  and 
which  must  successively  be  examined, 
to  show  their  insufficiency  to  the  end 
for  which  they  are  adduced.  It  is  pos- 
sible, however,  to  give  something  of  a 
general  form  to  the  opinions  expressed 
in  it,  and  to  detect  under  these  a gen- 
eral principle.  This  I shall  proceed  to 
do,  as  necessary  to  the  full  comprehen- 
sion of  this  paper.  The  opinions  scat- 
tered through  the  document  may  be 
thus  expressed  : — “ Slaves,  pronounced 
to  be  property  by  American  law,  and 
shipped  as  such,  ought  to  be  so  re- 
garded by  a foreign  government  on 
whose  shores  they  may  be  thrown. 
This  government  is  bound  to  regard 
the  national  stamp  set  on  them.  It  has 

* See  Note  B at  end  of  this  article. 


55 


866 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


no  right  to  inquire  into  the  condition 
of  these  persons.  It  cannot  give  to 
them  the  character  or  privileges  of  the 
country  to  which  they  are  carried.  Sup- 
pose a government  to  have  declared 
opium  a thing  in  which  no  property  can 
lawfully  exist  or  be  asserted.  Would 
it,  therefore,  have  a right  to  take  the 
character  of  property  from  opium,  when 
driven  in  a foreign  ship  into  its  ports, 
and  to  cast  it  into  the  sea  ? Certainly 
not.  Neither,  because  it  declares  that 
men  cannot  be  property,  can  it  take  this 
character  from  slaves,  when  they  are 
driven  into  its  ports  from  a country 
which  makes  them  property  by  its  laws. 
They  still  belong  to  the  distant  claimant ; 
his  right  must  not  be  questioned  or  dis- 
turbed; and  he  must  be  aided  in  hold- 
ing them  in  bondage,  if  his  power  over 
them  is  endangered  by  distress  or  mu- 
tiny.” Such  are  the  opinions  of  the 
document,  in  a condensed  form,  and 
they  involve  one  great  principle,  namely, 
this : that  property  is  an  arbitrary  thing, 
created  by  governments  ; that  a govern- 
ment may  make  any  thing  property  at 
its  will ; and  that  what  its  subjects  or 
citizens  hold  as  property,  under  this 
sanction,  must  be  regarded  as  such, 
without  inquiry,  by  the  civilized  world. 
According  to  the  document,  a nation 
may  attach  the  character  of  property  to 
whatever  it  pleases  ; may  attach  it  alike 
to  men  and  women,  beef  and  pork,  cot- 
ton and  rice  ; and  other  nations,  into 
whose  ports  its  vessels  may  pass,  are 
bound  to  respect  its  laws  in  these  par- 
ticulars, and  in  case  of  distress  to  assist 
in  enforcing  them.  Let  our  country, 
through  its  established  government,  de- 
clare our  fathers  or  mothers,  sons  or 
daughters,  to  be  property,  and  they  be- 
come such,  and  the  right  of  the  master 
must  not  be  questioned  at  home  or 
abroad. 

Now  this  doctrine,  stated  in  plain  lan- 
guage, needs  no  labored  refutation  ; it 
is  disproved  by  the  immediate  testi- 
mony of  conscience  and  common-sense. 
Property  is  not  an  arbitrary  thing,  de- 
pendent wholly  on  man’s  will.  It  has 
its  foundation  and  great  laws  in  nature, 
and  these  cannot  be  violated  without 
crime.  It  is  plainly  the  intention  of 
Providence  that  certain  things  should 
be  owned,  — should  be  held  as  property. 
They  fulfil  their  end  only  by  such  appro- 
priation. The  material  world  was  plainly 


made  to  be  subjected  to  human  labor, 
and  its  products  to  be  moulded  by  skill  to 
human  use.  He  who  wins  them  by  .honest 
toil  has  a right  to  them,  and  is  wronged 
when  others  seize  and  consume  them. 
The  document  supposes  a government 
to  declare  that  opium  is  an  article  in 
which  property  cannot  exist  or  be  as- 
serted, and  on  this  ground  to  wrest  it 
from  the  owner  and  throw  it  into  the 
sea ; and  this  it  considers  a parallel 
case  to  the  declaration  that  property  in 
man  cannot  exist.  But  who  does  not 
see  that  the  parallel  is  absurd  ? The 
poppy,  which  contains  the  opium,  is  by 
its  nature  fitted  and  designed  to  be  held 
as  property.  The  man  who  rears  it  by 
his  capital,  industry,  and  skill  thus  es- 
tablishes a right  to  it,  and  is  injured  if 
it  be  torn  from  him,  except  in  the  spe- 
cial case  where  some  higher  right  super- 
sedes that  of  property.  The  poppy  is  not 
wronged  by  being  owned  and  consumed. 
It  has  no  intelligence,  no  conscience  for 
its  own  direction,  no  destiny  to  fulfil  by 
the  wise  use  and  culture  of  its  powers. 
It  has  therefore  no  rights.  By  being 
appropriated  to  an  individual  it  does 
good,  it  suffers  no  wrong. 

Here  are  the  grounds  of  property. 
They  are  found  in  the  nature  of  the  ar- 
ticles so  used  ; and  where  these  grounds 
are  wholly  wanting,  as  in  the  case  of 
human  beings,  it  cannot  exist  or  be  as- 
serted. A man  was  made  to  be  an 
owner,  not  to  be  owned  ; to  acquire,  not 
to  become  property.  He  has  faculties 
for  the  government  of  himself.  He  has 
a great  destiny.  He  sustains  tender  and 
sacred  relations,  especially  those  of  par- 
ent and  husband,  and  with  the  duties 
and  blessings  of  these  no  one  must  in- 
terfere. As  such  a being,  he  has  rights. 
These  belong  to  his  very  nature.  They 
belong  to  every  one  who  partakes  it ; 
all  here  are  equal.  He  therefore  may 
be  wronged,  and  is  most  grievously 
wronged,  when  forcibly  seized  by  a fel- 
low-creature, who  has  no  other  nature 
and  rights  than  his  own,  and  seized  by 
such  an  one  to  live  for  his  pleasure,  to 
be  bowed  to  his  absolute  will,  to  be 
placed  under  his  lash,  to  be  sold,  driven 
from  home,  and  torn  from  parent,  wife, 
and  child,  for  another’s  gain.  Does  any 
parallel  exist  between  such  a being  and 
opium  ?\  Can  we  help  seeing  a distinc- 
tion between  the  nature  of  a plant  and 
a man  which  forbids  their  being  con- 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


founded  under  the  same  character  of 
property?  Is  not  the  distinction  recog- 
nized by  us  in  the  administration  of  our 
laws  ? When  a man  from  the  South 
brings  hither  his  watch  and  trunk,  is  his 
right  to  them  deemed  a whit  the  less 
sacred  because  the  laws  of  his  State 
cease  to  protect  them  ? Do  we  not  rec- 
ognize them  as  his,  as  intuitively  and 
cheerfully  as  if  they  belonged  to  a citi- 
zen of  our  own  State  ? Are  they  not 
his,  here  and  everywhere  ? Do  we  not 
feel  that  he  would  be  wronged  were  they 
torn  from  him  ? But  when  he  brings  a 
slave,  we  do  not  recognize  his  property 
in  our  fellow-creature.  We  pronounce 
the  slave  free.  Whose  reason  and  con- 
science do  not  intuitively  pronounce  this 
distinction  between  a man  and  a watch 
to  be  just  ? 

It  may  be  urged,  however,  that  this 
is  a distinction  for  moralists,  not  for 
governments  ; that,  if  a government  es- 
tablishes property,  however  unjustly,  in 
human  beings,  this  is  its  own  concern, 
and  the  concern  of  no  other  ; and  that 
articles  on  board  its  vessels  must  be 
recognized  by  other  nations  as  what  it 
declares  them  to  be,  without  any  question 
as  to  the  morality  or  fitness  of  its  meas- 
ures. One  nation,  we  are  told,  is  not 
to  interfere  with  another.  I need  not 
repeat,  in  reply,  what  I have  so  often 
said,  that  a government  has  solemn 
duties  towards  every  human  being  en- 
tering its  ports,  — duties  which  no  local 
law  about  property  in  another  country 
can  in  any  degree  impair.  I would  only 
say,  that  a government  is  not  bound  in 
all  possible  cases  to  respect  the  stamp 
put  by  another  government  on  articles 
transported  in  the  vessels  of  the  latter. 
The  comity  of  nations  supposes  that 
in  all  such  transactions  respect  is  paid 
to  common  sense  and  common  justice. 
Suppose  a government  to  declare  cot- 
ton to  be  horses,  to  write  “ Horse  ” on 
all  the  bales  within  its  limits,  and  to 
set  these  down  as  horses  in  its  custom- 
house papers  ; and  suppose  a cargo  of 
these  to  enter  a port  where  the  impor- 
tation of  cotton  is  forbidden.  Will  the 
comity  of  nations  forbid  the  foreign  na- 
tion to  question  the  character  which  has 
been  affixed  by  law  to  the  bales  in  the 
country  to  which  they  belong  ? Can  a 
law  change  the  nature  of  things,  in 
the  intercourse  of  nations?  Must  offi- 
cers be  stone-blind  through  “ comity  ” ? 


867 

Would  it  avail  any  thing  to  say,  that, 
by  an  old  domestic  institution  in  the 
exporting  country,  cotton  was  pro- 
nounced horse,  and  that  such  institu- 
tion must  not  be  interfered  with  by 
foreigners  ? Now,  in  the  estimation  of 
England  and  of  sound  morality,  it  is  as 
hard  to  turn  man  into  property  as  horses 
into  cotton,  and  this  estimation  England 
has  embodied  in  its  laws.  Can  we  ex- 
pect such  a country  to  reverence  the 
stamp  of  property  on  men,  because  at- 
tached to  them  by  a foreign  land  ? 

The  executive  document  not  only 
maintains  the  obligation  of  the  English 
authorities  to  respect  what  the  South 
had  stamped  on  the  slave,  but  main- 
tains earnestly  that  “the  English  au- 
thorities had  no  right  to  inquire  into 
the  cargo  of  the  vessel,  or  the  condi- 
tion of  persons  on  board.”  Now,  it  is 
unnecessary  to  dispute  about  this  right ; 
for  the  British  authorities  did  not  ex- 
ercise it,  — did  not  need  it.  The  truth 
of  the  case,  and  the  whole  truth,  they 
could  not  help  seeing,  even  had  they 
wished  to  remain  blind.  Master,  crew, 
passengers,  colored  people,  declared 
with  one  voice  that  the  latter  were 
shipped  as  slaves.  Their  character 
was  thus  forced  on  the  government, 
which  of  course  had  no  liberty  of  ac- 
tion in  the  case.  By  the  laws  of  Eng- 
land, slavery  could  not  be  recognized 
within  its  jurisdiction.  No  human  be- 
ing could  be  recognized  as  property. 
The  authorities  had  but  one  question 
to  ask  : Are  these  poor  creatures  men  ? 
and  to  solve  this  question  no  right  of 
search  was  needed.  It  solved  itself. 
A single  glance  settled  the  point.  Of 
course  we  have  no  ground  to  complain 
of  a busy  intermeddling  with  cargo  and 
persons,  to  determine  their  character, 
by  British  authorities. 

I have  thus  finished  my  examination 
of  the  document,  and  shall  conclude  with 
some  general  remarks.  And  first,  I 
cannot  but  express  my  sorrow  at  the 
tone  of  inhumanity  which  pervades  it. 
I have  said  at  the  beginning  that  I 
should  make  no  personal  strictures  ; and 
I have  no  thought  of  charging  on  our 
cabinet  any  singular  want  of  human  feel- 
ing. The  document  bears  witness,  not 
to  individual  hardness  of  heart,  but  to 
the  callousness,  the  cruel  insensibility, 
which  has  seized  the  community  at  large. 
Our  contact  with  slavery  has  seared  in 


868 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


a measure  almost  all  hearts.  Were  there 
a healthy  tone  of  feeling  among  us,  cer- 
tain passages  in  this  document  would 
call  forth  a burst  of  displeasure.  For 
example,  what  an  outrage  is  offered  to 
humanity  in  instituting  a comparison 
between  man  and  opium,  in  treating 
these  as  having  equal  rights  and  equal 
sanctity,  in  degrading  an  immortal  child 
of  God  to  the  level  of  a drug,  in  placing 
both  equally  at  the  mercy  of  selfish  leg- 
islators ! To  an  unsophisticated  man 
there  is  not  only  inhumanity,  but  irre- 
ligion,  in  thus  treating  a being  made 
in  the  image  of  God  and  infinitely  dear 1 
to  the  Universal  Father. 

In  the  same  tone,  the  slaves,  who  re- 
gained their  freedom  by  a struggle  which 
cost  the  life  of  a white  man,  and  by 
which  one  of  their  own  number  perished, 
are  set  down  as  “ mutineers  and  mur- 
derers.” Be  it  granted  that  their  vio- 
lence is  condemned  by  the  Christian 
law.  Be  it  granted  that  the  assertion 
of  our  rights  must  not  be  stained  with 
cruelty;  that  it  is  better  for  us  to  die 
slaves  than  to  inflict  death  on  our  op- 
pressor. But  is  there  a man,  having 
a manly  spirit,  who  can  withhold  all 
sympathy  and  admiration  from  men 
who,  having  grown  up  under  the  blight- 
ing influence  of  slavery,  yet  had  the 
courage  to  put  life  to  hazard  for  liberty  ? 
Are  freemen  slow  to  comprehend  and 
honor  the  impulse  which  stirs  men  to 
break  an  unjust  and  degrading  chain  ? 
Would  the  laws  of  any  free  state  pro- 
nounce the  taking  of  life  in  such  a case 
“ murder  ” ? Because  a man,  under  co- 
ercion, whilst  on  his  way  to  a new  yoke, 
and  in  the  act  of  being  carried  by  force 
from  wife  and  children  and  home,  sheds 
blood  to  escape  his  oppressor,  is  he  to 
be  confounded  with  the  vilest  criminals  ? 
Does  a republic,  whose  heroic  age  was 
the  Revolution  of  1 776,  and  whose  illus- 
trious men  earned  their  glory  in  a san- 
guinary conflict  for  rights,  find  no  miti- 
gation of  this  bloodshed  in  the  greater 
wrongs  to  which  the  slave  is  subjected  ? 
This  letter  would  have  lost  nothing  of 
its  force  — it  would  at  least  have  shown 
better  taste  — had  it  consulted  humanity 
enough  to  be  silent  about  “ opium  ” and 
“ murder.” 

I cannot  refrain  from  another  view 
of  the  document.  This  declaration  of 
national  principles  cannot  be  too  much 
lamented  and  disapproved  for  the  dis- 


honor it  has  brought  on  our  country.  It 
openly  arrays  us,  as  a people,  against 
the  cause  of  human  freedom.  It  throws 
us  in  the  way  of  the  progress  of  liberal 
principles  through  the  earth.  The  grand 
distinction  of  our  Revolution  was,  that 
it  not  only  secured  the  independence  of 
a single  nation,  but  asserted  the  rights 
of  mankind.  It  gave  to  the  spirit  of 
freedom  an  impulse  which,  notwithstand- 
ing the  dishonor  cast  on  the  cause  by 
the  excesses  of  France,  is  still  acting 
deeply  and  broadly  on  the  civilized  world. 
Since  that  period  a new  consciousness  of 
what  is  due  to  a human  being  has  been 
working  its  way.  It  has  penetrated  into 
despotic  states.  Even  in  countries 
where  the  individual  has  no  constitu- 
tional means  of  controlling  government, 
personal  liberty  has  a sacredness  and 
protection  never  known  before.  Among 
the  triumphs  of  this  spirit  of  freedom 
and  humanity,  one  of  the  most  signal  is 
the  desire  to  put  an  end  to  slavery.  The 
cry  for  emancipation  swells  and  spreads 
from  land  to  land.  And  whence  comes 
the  opposing  cry  ? From  St.  Peters- 
burg ? From  Constantinople?  From 
the  gloomy,  jealous  cabinets  of  des- 
potism ? No  ; but  from  republican  Amer- 
ica ! from  that  country  whose  Declara- 
tion of  Independence  was  an  era  in 
human  history  1 The  nations  of  the 
earth  are  beginning  to  proclaim  that 
slaves  shall  not  breathe  their  air,  that 
whoever  touches  their  soil  shall  be  free. 
Republican  America  protests  against 
this  reverence  for  right  and  humanity, 
and  summons  the  nations  to  enforce  her 
laws  against  the  slave.  O my  country  ! 
hailed  once  as  the  asylum  of  the  op- 
pressed, once  consecrated  to  liberty, 
once  a name  pronounced  with  tears  of 
joy  and  hope  ! now  a by-word  among 
the  nations,  the  scorn  of  the  very  sub- 
jects of  despotism  ! How  art  thou  fal- 
len, morning-star  of  freedom  ! And 
has  it  come  to  this  ? Must  thy  children 
blush  to  pronounce  thy  name  ? Must 
we  cower  in  the  presence  of  the  Chris- 
tian world  ? Must  we  be  degraded  to 
the  lowest  place  among  Christian  na- 
tions ? Is  the  sword  which  wrought 
out  our  liberties  to  be  unsheathed  now 
to  enforce  the  claims  of  slavery  on 
foreign  states  ? Can  we  bear  this  burn- 
ing shame  ? Are  the  free  States  pre- 
pared to  incur  this  infamy  ajid  crime? 

“ Slaves  cannot  breathe  in  England.” 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


I learned  this  line  when  I was  a boy, 
and  in  imagination  I took  flight  to  the 
soil  which  could  never  be  tainted  by 
slaves.  Through  the  spirit  which  spoke 
in  that  line  England  has  decreed  that 
slaves  cannot  breathe  in  her  islands. 
Ought  we  not  to  rejoice  in  this  new 
conquest  of  humanity  ? Ought  not  the 
tidings  of  it  to  have  been  received  with 
beaming  eyes  and  beating  hearts  ? In- 
stead of  this,  we  demand  that  humanity 
shall  retrace  her  steps,  and  liberty  resign 
# her  trophies.  We  call  on  a great  nation 
to  abandon  its  solemnly  pronounced 
conviction  of  duty,  its  solemnly  pledged 
respect  for  human  rights,  and  to  do 
what  it  believes  to  be  unjust,  inhuman, 
and  base.  Is  there  nothing  of  insult  in 
such  a demand  ? This  case  is  no  com- 
mon one.  It  is  not  a question  of  policy, 
not  an  ordinary  diplomatic  concern.  A 
whole  people,  from  no  thought  of  policy, 
but  planting  itself  on  the  ground  of  jus- 
tice and  of  Christianity,  sweeps  slavery 
from  its  soil,  and  declares  that  no  slave 
shall  tread  there.  This  profound  re- 
ligious conviction,  in  which  all  Christian 
nations  are  joining  her,  we  come  in  con- 
flict with,  openly  and  without  shame. 
Is  this  an  enviable  position  for  a coun- 
try which  would  respect  itself  or  be  re- 
spected by  the  world  ? It  is  idle,  and 
worse  than  idle,  to  say,  as  is  sometimes 
said,  that  England  has  no  motive  but  pol- 
icy in  her  movements  about  slavery.  He 
who  says  so  talks  ignorantly  or  reck- 
lessly. I have  studied  abolitionism  in 
England  enough  to  assure  those  who 
have  neglected  it  that  it  was  the  act, 
not  of  the  politician,  but  of  the  people. 
In  this  respect  it  stands  alone  in  history. 
It  was  a disinterested  movement  of  a 
Christian  nation  in  behalf  of  oppressed 
strangers,  beginning  with  Christians, 
carried  through  by  Christians.  The 
government  resisted  it  for  years.  The 
government  was  compelled  to  yield  to 
the  voice  of  the  people.  No  act  of  the 
English  nation  was  ever  so  national,  so 
truly  the  people’s  act,  as  this.  And 
can  we  hope  to  conquer  the  conscience 
as  well  as  the  now  solemnly  adopted 
policy  of  a great  nation?  Were  Eng- 
land to  concede  this  point,  she  would 
prove  herself  false  to  known,  acknowl- 
edged truth  and  duty.  Her  freshest, 
proudest  laurel  would  wither.  The  toils 
and  prayers  of  her  Wilberforces,  Clark- 
sons, and  a host  of  holy  men,  which  now 


869 

invoke  God’s  blessings  on  her,  would  be 
turned  to  her  reproach  and  shame,  and 
call  down  the  vengeance  of  heaven. 

In  bearing  this  testimony  to  the  spirit 
of  the  English  people  in  the  abolition 
of  the  slave-trade  and  of  slavery, nothing 
is  farther  from  my  mind  than  a dispo- 
sition to  defend  the  public  policy  or  in- 
stitutions of  tnat  country.  In  this  case, 
as  in  most  others,  the  people  are  better 
than  their  rulers.  England  is  one  of 
the  last  countries  of  which  I am  ready 
to  become  a partisan.  There  must  be 
something  radically  wrong  in  the  policy, 
institutions,  and  spirit  of  a nation  which 
all  other  nations  regard  with  jealousy 
and  dislike.  Great  Britain,  with  all  her 
progress  in  the  arts,  has  not  learned  the 
art  of  inspiring  confidence  and  love. 
She  sends  forth  her  bounty  over  the 
earth,  but,  politically  considered,  has 
made  the  world  her  foe.  Her  Chinese 
war,  and  her  wild  extension  of  dominion 
over  vast  regions  which  she  cannot  rule 
well  or  retain,  give  reason  to  fear  that 
she  is  falling  a prey  to  the  disease  under 
which  great  nations  have  so  often  per- 
ished. 

To  a man  who  looks  with  sympathy 
and  brotherly  regard  on  the  mass  of  the 
people,  who  is  chiefly  interested  in  the 
“ lower  classes,”  England  must  present 
much  which  is  repulsive.  Though  a 
monarchy  in  name,  she  is  an  aristoc- 
racy in  fact ; and  an  aristocratical  caste, 
however  adorned  by  private  virtue,  can 
hardly  help  sinking  an  infinite  chasm 
between  itself  and  the  multitude  of  men. 
A privileged  order,  possessing  the  chief 
power  of  the  state,  cannot  but  rule  in 
the  spirit  of  an  order,  cannot  respect 
the  mass  of  the  people,  cannot  feel  that 
for  them  government  chiefly  exists  and 
ought  to  be  administered,  and  that  for 
them  the  nobleman  holds  his  rank  as  a 
trust.  The  condition  of  the  lower  or- 
ders at  the  present  moment  is  a mourn- 
ful commentary  on  English  institutions 
and  civilization.  The  multitude  are  de- 
pressed in  that  country  to  a degree  of 
ignorance,  want,  and  misery  which  must 
touch  every  heart  not  made  of  stone. 
In  the  civilized  world  there  are  few  sad- 
der spectacles  than  the  contrast,  now 
presented  in  Great  Britain,  of  unbounded 
wealth  and  luxury  with  the  starvation  of 
thousands  and  ten  thousands,  crowded 
into  cellars  and  dens  without  ventilation 
or  light,  compared  with  which  the  wig- 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES . 


870 

warn  of  the  Indian  is  a palace.  Misery, 
famine,  brutal  degradation,  in  the  neigh- 
borhood and  presence  of  stately  man- 
sions which  ring  with  gayety  and  dazzle 
with  pomp  and  unbounded  profusion, 
shock  us  as  no  other  wretchedness  does  ; 
and  this  is  not  an  accidental,  but  an  al- 
most necessary  effect  of  the  spirit  of 
aristocracy  and  the  spirit  of  trade  acting 
intensely  together.  It  is  a striking  fact 
that  the  private  charity  of  England, 
though  almost  incredible,  makes  little 
impression  on  this  mass  of  misery  ; thus 
teaching  the  rich  and  titled  to  be  “just 
before  being  generous,”  and  not  to  look 
to  private  munificence  as  a remedy  for 
the  evils  of  selfish  institutions. 

Notwithstanding  my  admiration  of  the 
course  of  England  in  reference  to  sla- 
very, I see  as  plainly  as  any  the  wrongs 
and  miseries  under  which  her  lower 
classes  groan.  I do  not  on  this  account, 
however,  subscribe  to  a doctrine  very 
common  in  this  country,  that  the  poor 
Chartists  of  England  are  more  to  be 
pitied  than  our  slaves.  Ah,  no  ! Mis- 
ery is  not  slavery  ; and,  were  it  greater 
than  it  is,  it  would  afford  the  slave-holder 
no  warrant  for  trampling  on  the  rights 
and  the  souls  of  his  fellow-creatures. 
The  Chartist,  depressed  as  he  is,  is  not 
a slave.  The  blood  would  rush  to  his 
cheek,  and  the  spirit  of  a man  swell  his 
emaciated  form,  at  the  suggestion  of  re- 
lieving his  misery  by  reducing  him  to 
bondage  ; and  this  sensibility  shows  the 
immeasurable  distance  between  him  and 
the  slave.  He  has  rights,  and  knows 
them.  He  pleads  his  own  cause,  and 
just  and  good  men  plead  it  for  him.  Ac- 
cording to  the  best  testimony,  intelli- 
gence is  spreading  among  the  Chartists  ; 
so  is  temperance  ; so  is  self-restraint. 
They  feel  themselves  to  be  men.  Their 
wives  and  children  do  not  belong  to 
another.  They  meet  together  for  free 
discussion,  and  their  speeches  are  not 
wanting  in  strong  sense  and  strong  ex- 
pression. Not  a few  among  them  have 
seized  on  the  idea  of  the  elevation  of 
their  class  by  a new  intellectual  and 
moral  culture,  and  here  is  a living  seed, 
the  promise  of  immeasurable  good.  Shall 
such  men,  who  aspire  after  a better  lot, 
and  among  whom  strong  and  generous 
spirits  are  springing  up,  be  confounded 
with  slaves,  whose  lot  admits  no  change, 
who  must  not  speak  of  wrongs  or  think 
of  redress,  whom  it  is  a crime  to  teach 


to  read,  to  whom  even  the  Bible  is  a 
sealed  book,  who  have  no  future,  no 
hope  on  this  side  death  ? 

I have  spoken  freely  of  England  ; yet 
I do  not  forget  our  debt  or  the  debt  of 
the  world  to  her.  She  was  the  mother 
of  our  freedom.  She  has  been  the  bul- 
wark of  Protestantism.  What  nation  has 
been  more  fruitful  in  great  men,  in  men 
of  genius  ? What  nation  can  compare 
with  her  in  munificence  ? What  nation 
but  must  now  acknowledge  her  unri- 
valled greatness  ? That  little  island 
sways  a wider  empire  than  the  Roman, 
and  has  a power  of  blessing  mankind 
never  before  conferred  on  a people. 
Would  to  God  she  could  learn  — what 
nation  never  yet  learned  — so  to  use 
power  as  to  inspire  confidence,  not  fear, 
so  as  to  awaken  the  world’s  gratitude, 
not  its  jealousy  and  revenge  ! 

But  whatever  be  the  claims  of  Eng- 
land or  of  any  other  state,  I must  cling 
to  my  own  country  with  strong  prefer- 
ence, and  cling  to  it  even  now,  in  this 
dark  day,  this  day  of  her  humiliation, 
when  she  stands  before  the  world 
branded,  beyond  the  truth,  with  dishon- 
esty, and,  too  truly,  with  the  crime  of 
resisting  the  progress  of  freedom  on  the 
earth.  After  all,  she  has  her  glory. 
After  all,  in  these  free  States  a man  is 
still  a man.  He  knows  his  rights,  he 
respects  himself,  and  acknowledges  the 
equal  claim  of  his  brother.  We  have 
order  without  the  display  of  force.  We 
have  government  without  soldiers,  spies, 
or  the  constant  presence  of  coercion. 
The  rights  of  thought,  of  speech,  of  the 
press,  of  conscience,  of  worship,  are  en- 
joyed to  the  full  without  violence  or 
dangerous  excess.  We  are  even  dis- 
tinguished by  kindliness  and  good  tem- 
per amidst  this  unbounded  freedom. 
The  individual  is  not  lost  in  the  mass, 
but  has  a consciousness  of  self-subsist- 
ence, and  stands  erect.  That  character 
which  we  call  manliness  is  stamped  on 
the  multitude  here  as  nowhere  else. 
No  aristocracy  interferes  with  the  natu- 
ral relations  of  men  to  one  another.  No 
hierarchy  weighs  down  the  intellect, 
and  makes  the  church  a prison  to  the 
soul,  from  which  it  ought  to  break  every 
chain.  I make  no  boast  of  my  coun- 
try’s progress,  marvellous  as  it  has 
been.  I feel  deeply  her  defects.  But, 
in  the  language  of  Cowper,  I can  say 
to  her,  — 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


871 


“ Yet,  being  free,  I love  thee  ; for  the  sake 
Of  that  one  feature  can  be  well  content, 
Disgraced  as  thou  hast  been,  poor  as  thou  art, 
To  seek  no  sublunary  rest  beside.” 

Our  country  is  free  ; this  is  its  glory. 
How  deeply  to  be  lamented  is  it  that 
this  glory  is  obscured  by  the  presence 
of  slavery  in  any  part  of  our  territory  ! 
The  distant  foreigner,  to  whom  America 
is  a point,  and  who  communicates  the 
taint  of  a part  to  the  whole,  hears  with 
derision  our  boast  of  liberty,  and  points 
with  a sneer  to  our  ministers  in  London 
not  ashamed  to  plead  the  rights  of  sla- 
very before  the  civilized  world.  He 
ought  to  learn  that  America,  which 
shrinks  in  his  mind  into  a narrow  unity, 
is  a league  of  sovereignties  stretching 
from  the  Bay  of  Fundy  to  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico,  and  destined,  unless  disunited, 
to  spread  from  ocean  to  ocean  ; that  a 
great  majority  of  its  citizens  hold  no 
slaves  ; that  a vast  proportion  of  its 
wealth,  commerce,  manufactures,  and 
arts  belongs  to  the  wide  region  not 
blighted  by  this  evil ; that  we  of  the 
free  States  cannot  touch  slavery,  where 
it  exists,  with  one  of  our  fingers  ; that 
it  exists  without  and  against  our  will ; 
and  that  our  necessity  is  not  our  choice 
and  crime.*  Still  the  cloud  hangs  over 
us  as  a people,  — the  only  dark  and.men- 
acing  cloud.  Can  it  not  be  dispersed? 
Will, not  the  South,  so  alive  to  honor,  so 
ardent  and  fearless,  and  containing  so 
many  elements  of  greatness,  resolve  on 
the  destruction  of  what  does  not  profit 
and  cannot  but  degrade  it  ! Must  sla- 
very still  continue  to  exist,  a firebrand 
at  home  and  our  shame  abroad  ? Can 
we  of  the  free  States  brook  that  it  should 
be  thrust  perpetually  by  our  diplomacy 
on  the  notice  of  a reproving  world  ? that 
it  should  become  our  distinction  among 
the  nations  ? that  it  should  place  us  be- 
hind all  ? Can  we  endure  that  it  should 
control  our  public  councils,  that  it  should 
threaten  war,  should  threaten  to  assert 
its  claims  in  the  thunder  of  our  artillery  ? 
Can  we  endure  that  our  peace  should  be 
broken,  our  country  exposed  to  invasion, 
our  cities  stormed,  our  fields  ravaged, 
our  prosperity  withered,  our  progress 
arrested,  our  sons  slain,  our  homes 
turned  into  deserts,  not  for  rights,  not 
for  liberty,  not  for  a cause  which  human- 
ity smiles  on  and  God  will  bless,  but  to 
rivet  chains  on  fellow-creatures,  to  ex- 
* See  Note  C at  end  of  this  article- 


tend  the  law  of  slavery  throughout  the 
earth  ? These  are  great  questions  for 
the  free  States.  I must  defer  the  an- 
swer of  them  to  another  time.  The 
duties  of  the  free  States  in  relation  to 
slavery  deserve  the  most  serious  regard. 
Let  us  implore  Him  who  was  the  God  of 
our  fathers,  and  who  has  shielded  us  in 
so  many  perils,  to  open  our  minds  and 
hearts  to  what  is  true  and  just  and  good, 
to  continue  our  union  at  home  and  our 
peace  abroad,  and  to  make  our  country 
a living  witness  to  the  blessings  of  free- 
dom, of  reverence  for  right  on  our  own 
shores  and  in  our  intercourse  with  all 
nations. 


Part  II. 

The  first  part  of  this  tract  was  de- 
voted to  an  examination  of  the  affair  of 
the  “ Creole.”  Its  object,  however,  as  the 
reader  may  easily  discern,  was  not  so 
much  to  determine  the  merits  of  a par- 
ticular case  as  to  set  forth  general  prin- 
ciples of  justice  and  humanity  which 
have  been  too  much  overlooked  in  the 
intercourse  of  individuals  and  nations. 
I shall  keep  the  sarge  object  in  view  in 
this  second  part  of  my  remarks,  which 
will  have  no  reference  to  the  “ Creole,” 
but  be  devoted  to  the  consideration  of 
the  duties  of  the  free  States.  My  great 
aim  in  what  I have  written  and  now  write 
on  matters  of  public  interest  is,  to  reunite 
politics  and  morality  ; to  bring  into  har- 
mony the  law  of  the  land  and  the  law  of 
God.  Among  the  chief  causes  of  the 
miseries  of  nations  is  the  divorce  which 
has  taken  place  between  politics  and 
morality ; nor  can  we  hope  for  a better 
day  till  this  breach  be  healed.  Men  in- 
trusted with  government  have  always 
been  disposed  to  regard  themselves  as 
absolved  from  the  laws  of  justice  and 
humanity.  Falsehoods  and  frauds  are 
allowed  them  for  their  country  or  their 
party.  To  maintain  themselves  against 
their  opponents,  they  may  even  involve 
nations  in  war ; and  the  murders  and 
robberies  which  follow  this  crime  are 
not  visited  on  their  heads  by  human  jus- 
tice. In  all  times  government  has  been 
the  grand  robber,  the  grand  murderer, 
and  has  yet  escaped  the  deep  reproba- 
tion which  breaks  forth  against  private 
guilt.  Such  profligacy  pervades  the 
sphere  of  political  action,  that  the  confi- 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


87  2 

dence  of  the  people  is  well-nigh  with- 
drawn from  public  men  ; knd  a virtuous 
statesman  is  involved  in  the  suspicions 
which  his  unprincipled  associates  have 
drawn  upon  his  vocation.  Public  life  is 
thought  to  release  men  not  only  from 
the  obligations  of  justice,  but  from  the 
restraints  of  good  manners  ; and  accord- 
ingly the  debates  of  Congress  are  too 
often  polluted  by  vulgar  abuse,  threats, 
and  brawls.  So  low  is  the  standard  of 
political  life,  that  a man  is  smiled  at  for 
his  simplicity  who  talks  of  introducing 
religion  into  the  conduct  of  public  af- 
fairs. Religion,  it  is  thought,  belongs  to 
Sabbaths  and  churches,  and  would  be  as 
much  out  of  place  in  cabinets  or  halls  of 
legislation  as  a delicate  lady  on  a field 
of  battle.  A stranger  might  be  tempted 
to  think  that  the  sergeant-at-arms  was 
stationed  at  the  doors  of  legislative 
chambers  to  forbid  entrance  to  the  ever- 
lasting law  of  God,  and  that  nothing  but 
man’s  impotence  prevents  the  exclusion 
of  Him  whose  holy  presence  fills  the 
universe. 

Nothing  is  so  needed  as  to  revive,  in 
citizens  and  rulers,  the  conviction  of  the 
supremacy  of  the  moral,  Christian  law. 
Could  this  be  done,  the  earth  would 
cease  to  be  what  in  a measure  it  now 
is,  the  image  of  hell,  and  would  begin  to 
grow  green  again  with  the  plants  of  par- 
adise. Religion,  the  only  true  guide  of 
life,  the  guardian  and  inspirer  of  all  the 
virtues,  should  especially  reign  over  the 
deliberations  of  governments,  by  which 
the  weal  and  woe  of  nations,  the  solemn 
questions  of  peace  and  war,  of  life  and 
death,  are  determined.  On  this  account 
every  man  who  has  studied  human  duty, 
human  perfection,  human  happiness, 
has  a right  and  is  bound  to  speak  on 
matters  of  public  concern,  though  his 
judgment  may  be  contemned  by  hack- 
neyed politicians.  It  seems,  indeed,  to 
be  thought  by  some  that  politics  are 
mysteries,  which  only  the  initiated  must 
deal  with.  But  in  this  country  they 
belong  to  the  people.  Public  questions 
are  and  ought  to  be  subjected  to  the 
moral  judgment  of  the  community. 
They  ought  to  be  referred  to  the  re- 
ligion which  we  profess.  Christianity 
was  meant  to  be  brought  into  actual 
life.  The  high  and  the  low,  private  and 
public  men,  are  alike  to  bow  before  it. 
To  remove  any  sphere  of  human  action 
from  its  cognizance  is  virtually  to  deny 


its  divinity,  and  to  absolve  all  men  from 
its  control.  Under  these  impressions  I 
shall  speak  of  the  duties  of  the  free 
States.  Duties  rank  higher  than  in- 
terests, and  deserve  the  first  regard. 
It  is  my  particular  object  to  consider 
the  obligations  of  the  free  States  in 
regard  to  slavery  ; but  I shall  not  stop 
at  these.  Other  obligations  need  to  be 
pressed.  It  is  not,  indeed,  easy  to  con- 
fine one’s  self  within  rigid  bounds,  when 
the  subject  of  duty  is  discussed  ; and 
accordingly  I shall  add  remarks  on  a 
few  topics  not  intimately  connected 
with  slavery,  though,  in  truth,  this  sub- 
ject will  be  found  to  insinuate  itself  into 
all. 

I am  to  speak  of  the  duty  of  the  free 
States  ; but  it  is  important  to  observe 
that  I mean  by  these,  not  merely  com- 
munities represented  in  legislatures,  but, 
much  more,  the  individuals,  the  people, 
who  compose  them.  I shall  speak,  not 
of  what  we  are  bound  to  do  as  sovereign- 
ties, but  as  men,  as  Christians.  I shall 
speak  not  merely  of  the  action  of  gov- 
ernment, but  of  the  influence  which 
every  man  is  bound  to  exert  in  the 
sphere  in  which  Providence  has  placed 
him  ; of  the  obligations  of  the  individual 
to  bring  public  opinion  and  public  affairs, 
as  fa*  as  he  may,  to  the  standard  of  truth 
and  rectitude. 

I insist  on  this,  because  the  feeling 
of  individual  responsibility  is  very  much 
lost,  in  consequence  of  the  excessive 
deference  of  the  private  man  to  the 
government  under  which  he  lives.  On 
the  subject  of  slavery  in  particular,  the 
responsibility  both  at  the  North  and 
South  is  shifted  very  much  from  the 
individual  to  the  state.  The  private 
conscience  is  merged  in  the  public. 
What  the  government  determines,  the 
multitude  of  men  are  apt  to  think  right. 
We  do  not  exercise  our  moral  judgment 
because  it  has  been  forestalled  by  the 
Constitution  and  by  the  laws.  We  are 
members  of  a community,  and  this  re- 
lation triumphs  over  all  others. 

Now,  the  truth  is,  that  no  decision  of 
the  state  absolves  us  from  the  moral 
law,  from  the  authority  of  conscience. 
It  is  no  excuse  for  our  wrong-doing  that 
the  artificial  organization  called  society 
has  done  wrong.  It  is  of  the  highest 
moment  that  the  prevalent  notions  of  a 
man’s  relation  to  the  state  should  be 
rectified.  The  idea  of  this  relation  is 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


so  exaggerated  and  perverted  as  to  im- 
pair the  force  of  every  other.  A man’s 
country  is  more  thought  of  than  his 
nature.  His  connection  with  a particu- 
lar community  is  more  respected  than 
his  connection  with  God.  His  alliance 
with  his  race  is  reduced  to  a nullity  by 
his  alliance  with  the  state.  He  must  be 
ready  to  give  up  his  race,  to  sacrifice  all 
its  rights  and  interests,  that  the  little 
spot  where  he  was  born  may  triumph  or 
prosper.  The  history  of  nations  is  very 
much  the  history  of  the  immolation  of 
the  individual  to  the  country.  His  na- 
tionality stands  out  before  all  his  other 
attributes.  The  nation,  represented  by 
one  or  a few  individuals,  has  arrogated 
to  itself  the  dignity  of  being  the  fountain 
of  all  his  rights.  It  has  made  his  re- 
ligion for  him.  Its  will,  called  law,  has 
taken  place  of  all  other  laws.  It  has 
seized  on  the  individual  as  its  tool,  and 
doomed  him  to  live  and  die  for  its  most 
selfish  purposes.  The  sacredness  of  the 
individual  is  even  yet  so  little  understood 
that  the  freest  country  on  earth  is  talk- 
ing of  war,  because  a local  law,  enslaving 
the  individual,  is  not  recognized  by  the 
whole  earth.  But  the  nation  is  not 
every  thing.  The  nation  is  not  the 
fountain  of  right.  Our  first  duties  are 
not  to  our  country.  Our  first  allegiance 
is  not  due  to  its  laws.  We  belong  first 
to  God,  and  next  to  our  race.  We  were, 
indeed,  made  for  partial,  domestic,  and 
national  ties  and  affections,  and  these 
are  essential  means  of  our  education  and 
happiness  in  this  first  stage  of  our  being  ; 
but  all  these  are  to  be  kept  in  subjection 
to  the  laws  of  universal  justice  and  hu- 
manity. They  are  intended  to  train  us 
up  to  these.  In  these  consists  our  like- 
ness to  the  Divinity.  From  these  con- 
siderations it  will  be  seen  that  the 
following  remarks  are  not  addressed  to 
bodies  politic  so  much  as  to  individuals. 

The  duty  of  the  free  States  in  regard 
to  slavery  may  be  classed  under  two 
heads.  First,  these  States  are  bound  to 
construe  with  the  utmost  strictness  all 
the  articles  of  the  Constitution  which  in 
any  way  touch  on  slavery,  so  that  they 
may  do  nothing  in  aid  of  this  institution 
but  what  is  undeniably  demanded  by 
that  instrument ; and  secondly,  they  are 
bound  to  seek  earnestly  such  amend- 
ments of  the  Constitution  as  will  remove 
this  subject  wholly  from  the  cognizance 
of  the  general  government  ; such  as  will 


873 

be  just  alike  to  the  North  and  South  ; 
such  as  will  release  the  North  from  all 
obligation  whatever  to  support  or  sanc- 
tion slavery,  and  as  will  insure  the  South 
from  all  attempts  by  the  free  States  to 
stir  up  the  slaves. 

First ; the  free  States  are  bound  to 
confine  all  action  in  regard  to  slavery  to 
the  narrowest  limits  which  will  satisfy 
the  Constitution.  Under  this  head,  our 
attention  is  naturally  drawn  first  to  the 
chief,  and  I may  say  the  only  express, 
provision  of  the  instrument  relating  to 
this  subject.  I refer  to  the  clause  re- 
quiring that  a slave  escaping  into  the 
free  States  shall  be  delivered  up,  on  the 
claim  of  his  master.  This  provision  may 
seem  clear;  but  the  execution  of' it  in 
such  a manner  as  to  accomplish  its  end, 
and  yet  to  prevent  the  encroachments  of 
slavery  on  the  free  States,  is  not  easy. 
The  provision  was  designed  to  give  au- 
thority to  the  master  to  claim  the  fugi- 
tive slave.  But,  in  doing  this,  a far 
higher  good  than  the  recovery  of  a 
thousand  slaves  flying  from  the  South 
is  put  in  peril,  and  that  is,  the  freedom 
of  the  colored  population  of  the  North  ; 
and  we  are  bound  to  insist  that  this  free- 
dom shall  be  placed  beyond  the  reach  of 
peril.  This  danger  is  not  imaginary. 
Kidnapping  in  the  free  States  is  one  of 
the  evils  which  have  grown  out  of  our 
connection  with  slavery,  and  it  has  been 
carried  on  with  circumstances  of  great 
barbarity.  Thus  slavery  has  been  re- 
cruited from  the  North. 

The  law  of  Congress  framed  to  carry 
into  effect  the  constitutional  provision  to 
which  we  have  referred  almost  seems 
to  have  been  designed  to  give  shelter  to 
this  crime.  No  care  has  been  taken  to 
shield  the  colored  man  at  the  North. 
The  slave-holder  or  slave-hunter  may 
carry  him  before  a justice  of  the  peace 
as  a fugitive,  and  may  himself  be  a wit- 
ness in  the  case,  and  this  tribunal  may 
send  the  accused  to  perpetual  bondage. 
We  all  know  how  and  by  whom  a com- 
mission of  justice  of  the  peace  is  often 
obtained.  We  know  that  a claim  of 
more  than  twenty  dollars  is  not  left  to 
the  decision  of  a justice’s  court.  We 
know  the  advantage  which  may  be  en- 
joyed before  such  a magistrate  by  the 
rich  slave-holder  over  a poor,  perhaps 
friendless,  laborer.  And  yet  to  this 
tribunal  it  is  given  to  pass  a sentence 
on  a human  being  as  terrible  as  death. 


the  duty  of  the  free  states. 


874 

An  officer  not  trusted  with  the  adjudica- 
tion of  property  exceeding  twenty  dol- 
lars is  allowed  to  make  a man  a slave 
for  life. 

To  repair  this  great  injustice,  to  pre- 
vent the  transportation  of  our  citizens 
to  slavery,  some  of  the  State  legislatures 
have  held  themselves  bound  to  supply 
the  deficiencies  of  the  law  of  Congress, 
and  for  this  end  have  referred  the  sus- 
pected slave  to  a higher  tribunal,  and 
given  him  the  benefit  of  trial  by  jury. 
To  our  great  sorrow,  this  State  legisla- 
tion has  been  pronounced  unconstitu- 
tional by  a recent  decree  of  the  Supreme 
Court  of  the  United  States  ; so  that  the 
colored  man  is  driven  back  to  the  court 
to  which  he  had  been  unjustly  doomed 
before.  On  this  decree  it  becomes  me 
not  to  pass  sentence  ; but  one  thing  is 
clear,  that  the  free  States  are  now  bound 
to  the  most  earnest  efforts  to  protect 
that  portion  of  their  citizens  exposed  to 
the  peril  of  being  carried  into  bondage. 

The  grand  principle  to  be  laid  down 
is,  that  it  is  infinitely  more  important  to 
preserve  a free  citizen  from  being  made 
a slave  than  to  send  back  a fugitive 
slave  to  his  chain.  This  idea  is  to  rule 
over  and  determine  all  the  legislation  on 
this  subject.  Let  the  fugitive  be  deliv- 
ered up,  but  by  such  processes  as  will 
prevent  a freeman  from  being  delivered 
up  also.  For  this  end  full  provision 
must  be  made.  On  this  point  the  Con- 
stitution, and  a still  higher  law,  that  of 
nature  and  God,  speak  the  same  lan- 
guage ; and  we  must  insist  that  these 
high  authorities  shall  be  revered. 

The  Constitution  opens  with  these 
memorable  words  : “We,  the  people  of 
the  United  States,  in  order  to  form  a 
more  perfect  union,  establish  justice,  in- 
sure domestic  tranquillity,  provide  for 
the  common  defence,  promote  the  gen- 
eral welfare,  and  secure  the  blessings  of 
liberty  to  ourselves  and  our  posterity, 
do  ordain  and  establish  this  Constitution 
for  the  United  States  of  America.”  It 
is  understood  and  conceded  that  this 
preamble  does  not  confer  on  the  national 
government  any  powers  but  such  as  are 
specified  in  the  subsequent  articles  of 
the  instrument ; but  it  teaches,  and  was 
designed  to  teach,  the  spirit  in  which 
these  powers  are  to  be  interpreted  and 
brought  into  action.  “ To  secure  the 
blessings  of  liberty  ” is  enumerated 
among  the  purposes  of  the  national 


compact  ; and  whoever  knows  the  his- 
tory of  the  Constitution  knows  that  this 
was  the  grand  purpose  for  which  the 
powers  of  the  Constitution  were  con- 
ferred. That  the  liberty  of  each  man, 
of  the  obscurest  man,  should  be  invio- 
late, — this  was  the  master-thought  in 
the  authors  of  this  immortal  charter. 
According  to  these  views,  we  have  a 
right  to  demand  of  Congress,  as  their 
highest  constitutional  duty,  to  carry  into 
the  enactment  of  every  law  a reverence 
for  the  freedom  of  each  and  all.  A law 
palpably  exposing  the  freeman  to  be 
made  a slave,  and  even  rendering  his 
subjection  to  this  cruel  doom  nearly 
sure,  is  one  of  the  most  unconstitutional 
acts,  if  the  spirit  of  the  Constitution  be 
regarded,  which  the  national  legislature 
can  commit.  The  Constitution  is  vio- 
lated, not  only  by  the  assumption  of 
powers  not  conceded,  but  equally  by 
using  conceded  powers  to  the  frustration 
of  the  end  for  which  they  were  conferred. 
In  the  law  regulating  the  delivery  of 
supposed  fugitives,  the  great  end  of  the 
national  charter  is  sacrificed  to  an  acci- 
dental provision.  This  Constitution 
was  not  established  to  send  back  slaves 
to  chains.  The  article  requiring  this 
act  of  the  free  States  was  forced  on  them 
by  the  circumstances  of  the  times,  and 
submitted  to  as  a hard  necessity.  It 
did  not  enter  into  the  essence  of  the  in- 
strument ; whilst  the  security  of  freedom 
was  its  great,  living,  all-pervading  idea. 
We  see  the  tendency  of  slavery  to  warp 
the  Constitution  to  its  purposes  in  the 
law  for  restoring  the  flying  bondman. 
Under  this  not  a few,  having  not  only 
the  same  natural  but  legal  rights  with 
ourselves,  have  been  subjected  to  the 
lash  of  the  overseer. 

But  a higher  law  than  the  Constitu- 
tion protests  against  the  act  of  Congress 
on  this  point.  According  to  the  law  of 
nature,  no  greater  crime  against  a hu- 
man being  can  be  committed  than  to 
make  him  a slave.  This  is  to  strike  a 
blow  at  the  very  heart  and  centre  of  all 
his  rights  as  a man  ; to  put  him  beneath 
his  race.  On  the  ground  of  the  immu- 
table law  of  nature,  our  government  has 
pronounced  the  act  of  making  a man  a 
slave  on  the  coast  of  Africa  to  be  piracy, 
— a capital  crime.  And  shall  the  same 
government  enact  or  sustain  a law  which 
exposes  the  freeman  here  to  be  reduced 
to  slavery,  which  gives  facilities  to  the 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


unprincipled  for  accomplishing  this  in- 
finite wrong  ? And  what  is  the  end  for 
which  the  freeman  is  so  exposed  ? It 
is  that  a man  flying  from  an  unjust  yoke 
may  be  forced  back  to  bondage,  — an  end 
against  which  natural  and  divine  justice 
protests  ; so  that,  to  confirm  and  per- 
petuate one  violation  of  the  moral  law, 
another  still  greater  is  left  open  and 
made  easy  to  the  kidnapper. 

There  seems  no  need  of  enlarging  on 
this  point.  Every  man  who  enjoys  lib- 
erty can  understand  what  it  is  to  be 
made  a slave,  to  be  held  and  treated  as 
property,  to  be  subjected  to  arbitrary 
will,  to  arbitrary  punishment,  to  the  loss 
of  wife  and  child,  at  another’s  pleasure. 
Every  man  knows  what  he  would  feel  at 
having  a son  or  a daughter  torn  from 
him  and  sent  to  slavery.  And  liberty  is 
not  a whit  dearer  to  us  than  it  is  to  a 
human  brother  whose  only  misfortune  it 
is  to  wear  a darker  skin.  We  are  bound 
to  extend  to  him  the  same  protection  of 
law  as  to  our  own  child. 

To  condemn  a man  to  perpetual  sla- 
very is  as  solemn  a sentence  as  to  con- 
demn him  to  death.  Before  being  thus 
doomed  he  has  a right  to  all  the  means 
of  defence  which  are  granted  to  a man 
who  is  tried  for  his  life.  All  the  rules, 
forms,  solemnities  by  which  innocence 
is  secured  from  being  confounded  with 
guilt  he  has  a right  to  demand.  In  the 
present  case  the  principle  is  eminently 
applicable,  that  many  guilty  should  es- 
cape rather  than  that  one  innocent  man 
should  suffer  ; because  the  guilt  of  run- 
ning away  from  an  u owner  ” is  of  too 
faint  a color  to  be  seen  by  some  of  the 
best  eyes,  whilst  that  of  enslaving  the 
free  is  of  the  darkest  hue. 

The  Constitution  provides  that  no 
man  shall  “ be  deprived  of  life,  liberty, 
or  property,  without  due  process  of 
law.”  A man  delivered  up  as  a slave  is 
deprived  of  all  property,  all  liberty,  and 
placed  in  a condition  where  life  and  limb 
are  held  at  another’s  pleasure.  Does  he 
enjoy  the  benefits  of  “ a due  process  of 
law,”  when  a common  justice  of  the 
peace,  selected  by  the  master,  and  re- 
ceiving the  master  as  a witness,  passes 
sentence  on  him  without  jury  and  with- 
out appeal  ? 

It  is  of  great  importance  that  a new 
and  satisfactory  law  on  this  subject 
should  be  passed  by  Congress.  It  is  a 
serious  evil  to  perpetuate  legislation 


875 

against  which  the  moral  sense  of  the 
community  protests.  In  this  country 
public  opinion  is  the  strength  of  the 
laws,  is  the  grand  force  with  which  the 
public  authorities  must  surround  them- 
selves. The  present  law  for  the  recov- 
ery of  fugitive  slaves  is  reprobated,  not 
by  the  passions,  but  by  the  deliberate 
moral  judgments  of  large  portions  of  the 
free  States  ; and  such  being  the  case,  it 
cannot  be  executed.  There  are  a thou- 
sand ways  of  evading  it  without  force. 
In  some  parts  of  the  country,  I fear,  it 
might  be  resisted  by  force,  should  its 
execution  be  urged  ; and  although  a law 
demanded  by  justice  should  never  be 
yielded  to  the  fear  of  tumult ; though  we 
ought  to  encounter  violence  rather  than 
make  a sacrifice  of  duty ; yet,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  is  most  unwise  to  uphold 
a palpably  unrighteous  law,  which  by  its 
unrighteousness  endangers  the  public 
peace.  In  such  a case  the  chief  respon- 
sibility for  the  danger  rests  on  the  ob- 
stinacy of  the  legislator.  The  appointed 
guardian  of  social  order  proves  its  foe, 

A trial  by  jury  ought  to  be  granted  to 
the  suspected  fugitive,  as  being  the  most 
effectual  provision  for  innocence  known 
to  our  laws.  It  is  said  that,  under  such 
a process,  the  slave  will  not  be  restored 
to  his  master.  Undoubtedly  the  jury  is 
an  imperfect  tribunal,  and  may  often  fail 
of  a wise  and  just  administration  of  the 
laws.  But,  as  we  have  seen,  the  first 
question  to  be  asked  is,  How  shall  the 
freeman  be  preserved  from  being  sen- 
tenced to  slavery  ? This  is  an  infinitely 
greater  evil  than  the  escape  of  the  fugi- 
tive ; and,  to  avert  this,  a trial  by  jury 
should  be  granted,  unless  some  other 
process  as  safe  and  effectual  can  be 
devised. 

In  these  remarks  I would  not  intimate 
that  the  slave-holders  as  a body  desire 
a loose  law,  which  will  place  the  inno- 
cent at  their  mercy,  in  order  to  be  kid- 
nappers. The  South  is  as  incapable 
of  this  baseness  as  the  North.  But  in 
both  regions  there  are  too  many  men 
profligate  enough  to  use  such  a law  for 
the  perpetration  of  the  greatest  crime. 
We  know  that  the  existing  law  has  been 
so  used  that  the  facilities  and  tempta- 
tions which  it  ministers  to  the  grossest 
violation  of  right  have  whetted  cupidity 
and  instigated  to  cruelty.  Then  it  must 
be  changed. 

The  slave-holder  must  not  say  that  a 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


876 

change  will  annul  his  claim  on  the  flying 
slave.  He  ought  to  consider  that,  in 
insisting  on  processes  for  enforcing  his 
claim  which  cannot  but  result  in  enslav- 
ing the  free,  he  virtually  enrols  himself 
among  kidnappers.  Still  more,  he  should 
understand  that  his  only  chance  of  as- 
serting his  claim  rests  on  the  establish- 
ment of  such  a law  as  will  secure  the 
rights  of  the  colored  man  of  the  free 
States.  There  is  a jealousy  on  this 
point  among  us,  which,  as  it  is  right- 
eous, must  be  respected.  It  is  a spread- 
ing jealousy,  and  will  obstruct  more  and 
more  the  operation  of  the  existing  law. 
It  must  not  be  spoken  of  as  a fever  which 
has  reached  its  height.  It  is  a sign  of 
returning  moral  health,  and  its  progress 
will  be  aided  by  perseverance  in  immoral 
means  of  reclaiming  the  flying  slave. 

Having  shown  how  the  free  States 
are  bound  to  construe  the  clause  of  the 
Constitution  relating  to  fugitive  slaves, 
or,  rather,  “ persons  held  to  service  in 
other  States,’’  I proceed,  in  the  second 
place,  to  show  the  strict  construction 
which  should  be  given  to  those  parts  of 
the  Constitution  under  which  the  gen- 
eral government  has  bee"n  led  to  take 
slavery  into  its  protection,  in  its  in- 
tercourse with  foreign  nations.  This 
agency  is  believed  to  be  wholly  without 
warrant ; and  it  threatens  so  to  extend 
itself,  and  to  disturb  so  much  our  rela- 
tions with  foreign  states,  that  we  are 
bound,  not  only  by  considerations  of 
morality,  but  of  our  essential  interests, 
to  reduce  it  within  the  precise  limits  of 
the  Constitution. 

By  this  instrument  the  powers  of 
declaring  war,  appointing  ambassadors, 
raising  armies,  and  making  treaties  are 
conferred  on  the  national  government. 
The  protection  of  our  rights  against 
foreign  powers  was  undoubtedly  a prin- 
cipal end  of  the  Union.  Every  part  of 
the  country  expects  and  requires  it  “ to 
provide  for  the  common  defence.”  But 
it  is  plain  that  this  duty  of  the  national 
government,  to  watch  over  our  rights 
abroad,  cannot  go  beyond  those  rights. 
It  cannot  seek  redress  but  for  wrongs 
inflicted  by  foreign  powers.  To  insist 
on  groundless,  unreasonable  claims  is 
an  unwarrantable  abuse  of  power  ; and 
to  put  in  peril  our  national  peace  by 
assertion  of  these  is  to  violate  at  once 
the  national  charter,  and  the  higher  law 
of  universal  justice  and  good-will. 


The  grand  principle  to  be  adopted  by 
the  North  is  this,  that,  because  certain 
States  of  this  Union  see  fit  to  pronounce 
certain  human  beings  within  their  terri- 
tory to  be  property,  foreign  nations  are 
not  bound  to  regard  and  treat  these  per- 
sons as  property,  when  brought  within 
their  jurisdiction.  Of  consequence,  the 
national  government  has  no  claim  on 
foreign  governments  in  regard  to  slaves 
carried  beyond  the  limits  of  the  South 
and  found  in  other  countries.  The 
master  has  no  authority  over  them  in 
a foreign  land.  They  appear  there  as 
men.  They  have  rights  there  as  real,  as 
sacred,  as  the  country  has  from  which 
they  came,  and  these  must  on  no  ac- 
count be  sported  with. 

The  rights  of  the  individual  lie  at  the 
very  foundation  of  civil  society ; and 
society,  truly  constituted,  confirms,  in- 
stead of  taking  them  away.  The  simple 
idea  of  a nation  is,  that  it  is  the  union 
of  a multitude  to  establish  and  enforce 
laws  for  the  protection  of  every  right.  A 
nation  is  not  to  depart  from  this,  its  true 
idea,  its  primitive  end,  and  deny  to  human 
beings  entering  its  borders  the  common 
rights  of  humanity,  because  these  men 
have  been  seized  in  another  part  of  the 
world  and  reduced  to  the  condition  of 
chattels  or  brutes.  One  injustice  does 
not  induce  the  necessity  of  another. 
Because  a man  is  wronged  in  one  place, 
it  does  not  follow  that  he  must  be 
wronged  everywhere.  A particular  state 
cannot  by  its  form  of  legislation  bind 
the  whole  earth  to  become  partakers 
with  it  in  a crime.  It  would  seem  as 
if  the  fact  of  a man’s  having  been  in- 
jured on  one  spot  were  rather  a reason 
for  his  enjoying  peculiar  protection  else- 
where. 

The  local,  municipal  law  which  ordains 
slavery  in  a state  does  not  make  it  just, 
does  not  make  man  rightful  property, 
even  in  the  particular  country  where  it 
is  established.  This  law,  however,  is 
to  be  respected  in  a certain  sense  by 
foreign  nations.  These  must  not  enter 
the  slave-holding  country  to  enforce 
emancipation.  But,  in  thus  restraining 
themselves,  they  acknowledge  no  moral 
right  in  the  master,  no  moral  validity  in 
the  law  declaring  man  property.  They 
act  simply  on  the  principle,  that  one 
nation  is  not  to  intermeddle  with  the 
legislation  of  another,  be  it  wise  or  fool- 
ish, just  or  unjust.  Foreign  nations  are 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES . 


not  to  touch  a law  creating  slavery  in  a 
particular  country,  because  they  touch 
none  of  the  laws  there.  If  that  country 
choose  to  ordain  polygamy,  as  in  the 
Eastern  world,  or  stealing,  as  in  Sparta, 
or  prostitution,  as  in  some  established 
religions  of  antiquity,  no  other  nations 
can  interfere  to  repeal  these  ordinances. 
But,  because  unmolested  in  the  place  of 
their  birth,  are  these  institutions  to  be 
carried  beyond  it,  to  be  regarded  as  sacred 
by  other  governments,  and  not  only  to  be 
allowed,  but  to  be  enforced  in  foreign  re- 
gions ? Shall  a M ahometan  country  hold 
itself  wronged  and  declare  war,  because 
one  of  its  subjects,  carrying  with  him  a 
hundred  wives,  cannot  set  up  a harem 
in  a Christian  country,  or  cannot  receive 
the  aid  and  succor  of  the  authorities  of 
a foreign  port  in  recovering  fifty  of  his 
women  who  had  found  their  way  to  the 
shore  ? Are  the  tribunals  of  a country 
to  lend  themselves  to  the  execution  of 
foreign  laws  which  are  opposed  to  its 
own,  and  which  not  only  its  policy  but 
its  religion  and  moral  sense  condemn  ? 

The  sum  of  these  remarks  is,  that 
slavery  is  not  to  be  spoken  of  as  recog- 
nized in  any  sense  whatever  by  nations 
which  disclaim  it ; that  to  them  it  does 
not  exist  as  a right  anywhere  ; that  in 
their  own  jurisdiction  it  cannot  exist  as 
a fact ; and  from  these  views  it  follows 
that  no  nation,  allowing  or  ordaining 
slavery  within  its  limits,  has  a right  to 
demand  any  recognition  of  it  in  any 
shape  or  degree  beyond  its  own  borders. 
To  attempt  to  protect  it  or  to  require 
protection  for  it  in  the  ports  of  another 
country  is  to  set  up  not  merely  a ground- 
less, but  an  iniquitous  claim.  To  charge 
another  country  with  wrong-doing  for 
not  aiding  us  to  retain  this  property 
is  to  do  wrong  ourselves,  and  to  offer 
an  insult,  to  a more  righteous  commu- 
nity. 

The  Constitution,  then,  which  com- 
mits to  the  national  authorities  the 
maintenance  of  our  rights  abroad,  is 
transcended,  its  powers  are  unwarrant- 
ably stretched,  when  the  government 
goes  abroad  to  claim  respect  in  any 
form  or  degree  to  the  slave-laws  of  a 
part  of  this  country,  or  when  it  intro- 
duces slavery  at  all  as  a matter  of  con- 
troversy into  our  discussions  with  foreign 
powers.  To  these  slavery  does  not  ex- 
ist. In  their  own  sphere  they  do  not 
become  accountable  to  us  by  utter  dis- 


877 

regard  of  the  slave-laws  of  the  South, 
or  by  refusing  to  see  any  thing  but  men 
in  the  slaves  of  that  region,  when  car- 
ried by  any  means  whatever  within  their 
bounds.  Slavery  is  a word  which  should 
never  be  uttered  between  us  and  foreign 
states.  It  is  as  local  a matter  as  the 
licensing  of  gambling-houses  at  New 
Orleans,  and  can  with  no  more  fitness 
be  made  a matter  of  diplomacy.  It  is 
we  who  are  guilty  of  encroachment,  when 
we  deny  the  right  of  other  nations  to 
follow  their  own  laws,  rather  than  ours, 
within  their  own  limits,  and  to  regard 
as  men  all  human  beings  who  enter 
their  ports. 

When  we  look  into  the  Constitution, 
we  see  not  one  express  obligation  im- 
posed in  regard  to  slavery.  u Persons 
held  to  service  or  labor  in  one  State 
under  the  laws  thereof,”  and  who  escape 
from  it,  are  to  be  restored.  This  lan- 
guage, as  we  have  seen  in  the  first  part 
of  this  tract,  was  adopted  to  exclude 
the  recognition  of  the  lawfulness  of 
slavery  “ in  a moral  point  of  view.” 
The  Constitution,  in  requiring  the  sur- 
render of  slaves  in  one  case  only,  leaves 
them  in  all  other  cases  to  come  under 
the  operation  of  the  laws  of  the  free 
States,  when  found  within  the  limits  of 
the  same.  Does  not  the  Constitution, 
then,  plainly  expect  that  slaves  from, 
the  South,  if  carried  into  foreign  ports, 
will  fall  under  the  operation  of  the  laws 
established  there  ? 

There  is  still  another  view.  Slavery 
is  limited  in  this  country  to  one  region. 
In  the  rest  of  the  country  it  does  not 
exist ; and,  still  more,  it  is  regarded  as 
a violation  of  the  law  of  nature  and  of 
God.  Now  the  general  government, 
when  it  calls  on  foreign  nations  to  re- 
spect the  claims  of  the  slave-holder, 
speaks  in  the  name,  not  merely  of  the 
slave  States,  but  of  the  free,  — in  the 
name  of  the  whole  people.  And  ought 
the  whole  people  to  be  thus  committed 
to  the  cause  of  slavery,  unless  an  un- 
doubted, unequivocal  obligation  is  im- 
posed on  them  by  the  Constitution  to 
assume  its  defence  ? unless  a clear  case 
can  be  made  out  against  the  free  States  ? 
The  Constitution  is  to  be  explained  in 
part  by  the  known  views  of  its  authors. 
We  have  seen  how  slow  they  were  to 
recognize  a moral  right  in  slavery.  Did 
they  intend  that  we  should  assert  its 
claims  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  ? 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


878 

It  is  true,  the  national  government 
has  interfered  to  claim  slaves  thrown  on 
a foreign  shore,  and  this  consideration 
is  of  weight.  But,  in  so  grave  an  affair, 
it  does  not  decide  the  constitutional 
question.  That  the  administration  of 
the  national  government  has  been  un- 
duly swayed  by  the  slave-holding  portion 
of  the  country  we  of  the  North  believe. 
That  under  this  influence  an  unwarrant- 
able extension  of  constitutional  powers 
has  taken  place  is  very  conceivable. 
False  interpretations  of  such  an  instru- 
ment, which  favor  the  interests  of  one 
part  of  the  people  without  apparently 
touching  the  rest  of  the  community, 
easily  steal  into  the  public  policy.  Time 
alone  exposes  them,  and  time  ought  not 
to  be  alleged  as  a reason  for  their  con- 
tinuance. 

In  interpreting  the  Constitution,  it  is 
not  only  necessary  to  consult  the  history 
of  the  period  of  its  formation,  but  to 
apply  to  it  the  principles  of  universal 
justice.  Its  authors  honored  these,  and 
did  not  intend  to  establish  a government 
in  hostility  to  them.  They  acted  in  the 
spirit  of  reverence  for  human  rights. 
This  is  eminently  the  spirit  of  the  Con- 
stitution, and  by  this  it  should  be  con- 
strued. Doubtful  articles  should  receive 
an  interpretation  which  will  bring  them 
into  harmony  with  the  immutable  laws 
of  duty.  Any  other  construction  virt- 
ually falls  to  the  ground.  It  is  of  no 
force,  for  it  cannot  shake  the  authority 
of  God.  On  these  principles  we  main- 
tain that  the  Constitution  does  not  and 
cannot  bind  the  government  to  demand 
from  the  whole  human  race  respect  to 
the  municipal  law  of  Southern  slavery. 

This  topic  is  not  a merely  speculative 
one,  but  of  great  practical  importance. 
Our  honor  as  a people  is  involved  in 
the  construction  of  the  Constitution 
now  pleaded  for.  This  is  not  the  day 
for  setting  up  pretensions  in  favor  of 
slavery,  for  demanding  from  the  whole 
civilized  world  succor  and  countenance 
in  enforcing  our  property  in  man.  We 
disgrace  ourselves  in  sending  abroad 
ministers  on  such  a message.  We  should 
regard  our  character  too  much  to  thrust 
the  deformity  and  stench  of  slavery  into 
the  eyes  and  nostrils  of  the  world.  We 
should  regard  too  much  the  reputation 
of  honorable  men,  who  represent  us  in 
foreign  countries,  to  employ  them  in  this 
low  work.  An  American,  alive  to  his 


country’s  honor,  cannot  easily  bear  this 
humiliation  abroad.  It  is  enough  that, 
in  our  private  intercourse  with  foreign- 
ers, we  are  set  down  as  citizens  of  a 
slave-holding  country.  But  we  need  not 
and  ought  not  to  hold  up  our  shame  in 
the  blaze  of  courts,  in  the  high  places  of 
the  world.  We  ought  not  industriously 
to  invite  men  everywhere  to  inspect  our 
wounds  and  ulcers.  Let  us  keep  our 
dishonor  at  home.  The  free  States  es- 
pecially should  shrink  from  this  expos- 
ure. They  should  insist  that  slavery 
shall  be  a State  interest,  not  a national 
concern ; that  this  brand  shall  not  be 
fixed  on  our  diplomacy,  on  our  foreign 
policy  ; that  the  name  of  American  shall 
not  become  synonymous  everywhere 
with  oppression. 

But  something  more  than  dishonor  is 
to  be  feared,  if  our  government  shall 
persevere  in  its  efforts  for  maintaining 
the  claims  of  slave-holders  in  foreign 
countries.  Such  claims,  if  asserted  in 
earnest,  must  issue  in  war,  for  they  can- 
not be  acceded  to.  England  has  taken 
her  ground  on  this  matter  ; so  ought  the 
free  States.  On  this  point  we  ought  to 
speak  plainly,  unconditionally,  without 
softening  language.  We  ought  to  say 
to  the  South,  to  Congress,  to  the  world : 
“ We  will  not  fight  for  slavery.  We  can 
die  for  truth,  for  justice,  for  rights.  We 
will  not  die,  or  inflict  death,  in  support 
of  wrongs.”  In  truth,  this  spirit,  this 
determination,  exists  now  so  extensively 
in  the  free  States  that  it  is  utterly  im- 
possible for  a war  to  be  carried  on  in 
behalf  of  slavery ; and,  such  being  the 
fact,  all  diplomacy  in  its  behalf  becomes 
a mockery.  It  is  a disgraceful  show  for 
no  possible  benefit.  Even  could  war  be 
declared  for  this  end,  the  deep  moral 
feeling  of  a large  part  of  the  community 
would  rob  it  of  all  energy,  and.  would  in- 
sure defeat  and  shame.  Bad  as  we  think 
men,  they  cannot  fight  against  their  con- 
sciences. The  physical  nature  finds  its 
strength  in  the  moYal.  , The  rudest  sol- 
diers are  sustained  by  the  idea  of  acting 
under  some  lawful  authority  ; and  on 
this  account  have  an  advantage  over 
pirates,  who  either  cower,  or  abandon 
themselves  to  a desperation  which,  by 
robbing  them  of  a guiding  intelligence, 
makes  them  an  easier  prey.  In  propor- 
tion as  a people  become  enlightened,  and 
especially  in  proportion  as  they  recog- 
nize the  principles  of  Christianity,  it  is 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES . 


harder  to  drive  them  into  a war.  The 
moral  sense,  which  in  an  ignorant  age  or 
community  is  easily  blinded,  cannot  in 
their  case  be  imposed  on  without  much 
skilful  sophistry.  They  take  the  justice 
of  a war  less  and  less  on  trust.  They 
must  see  that  they  have  right  on  their 
side,  or  they  are  no  match  for  a foe. 
This  country  has  the  best  materials  for 
an  army  in  a righteous  cause,  and  the 
worst  in  a wicked  one.  No  martial  law 
could  drive  us  to  battle  for  the  slave- 
holder’s claim  to  the  aid  or  countenance 
of  foreign  powers.  We  could  not  fight 
in  such  a quarrel.  Our  “ hands  would 
hang  down”  as  truly  as  if  loaded  with 
material  chains.  To  fight  for  a cause  at 
which  we  blush  ! for  a cause  which  con- 
science protests  against ! for  a cause  on 
which  we  dare  not  ask  the  blessing  of 
God ! The  thing  is  impossible.  Our 
moral  sympathies  would  desert  to  our  foe. 
We  should  honor  him  for  not  suffering 
a slave  to  tread  his  soil.  God  keep  us 
from  being  plunged  into  a war  of  any 
kind  ! But  if  the  evil  is  to  be  borne, 
let  us  have,  at  least,  the  consolation  that 
our  blood  is  shed  for  undoubted  rights  ; 
that  we  have  truth,  justice,  honor  on  our 
side  ; that  religion,  freedom,  and  hu- 
manity are  not  leagued  with  our  foe. 

11  Thrice  is  he  armed  who  hath  his  quarrel  just, 
And  he  but  naked,  though  locked  up  in  steel, 
Whose  conscience  with  injustice  is  corrupted.” 

I proceed,  in  the  third  place,  to  an- 
other topic,  which  will  complete  my  re- 
marks on  the  duties  of  the  free  States 
in  relation  to  slavery  under  the  present 
provisions  of  the  Constitution.  These 
States  are  bound  to  insist  on  the  aboli- 
tion of  slavery  and  the  slave-trade  in 
the  District  of  Columbia.  Their  power 
in  this  regard  is  unquestionable.  To 
Congress  is  committed  exclusively  the 
government  of  the  District,  and  it  is 
committed  without  any  restrictions.  In 
this  sphere  of  its  action  the  general  gov- 
ernment has  no  limitations,  but  those 
which  are  found  in  the  principles  of  the 
Constitution  and  of  universal  justice. 
1 he  power  of  abolishing  slavery  in  the 
District  is  a rightful  one,  and  must  be 
lodged  somewhere,  and  can  be  exercised 
by  Congress  alone.  And  this  authority 
ought  not  to  sleep. 

Slavery  in  the  District  of  Columbia 
is  not  Southern  slavery.  It  has  no 
local  character.  It  is  the  slavery  of  the 


879 

United  States  ! It  belongs  equally  to 
the  free  and  to  the  slave-holding  por- 
tion of  the  country.  It  is  our  institution 
as  truly  as  if  it  were  planted  in  the  midst 
of  us  ; for  this  District  is  the  common 
ground  of  the  nation.  Its  institutions 
exist  solely  by  authority  of  the  nation. 
They  are  as  truly  expressions  of  the 
national  will  as  any  acts  of  Congress 
whatever.  We  all  uphold  the  slave-code 
under  which  men  are  bought  and  sold 
and  whipped  at  their  masters’  pleasure. 
Every  slave-auction  in  the  District  is 
held  under  our  legislation.  We  are 
even  told  that  the  prison  of  the  District 
is  used  for  the  safe-keeping  of  the  slaves 
who  are  brought  there  for  sale.  In  the 
former  part  of  these  remarks  I said  that 
the  free  States  had  no  participation  in 
this  evil.  I forgot  the  District  of  Co- 
lumbia. There  we  sustain  it  as  truly  as 
we  support  the  navy  or  army.  It  ought, 
then,  to  be  abolished  at  once.  And  in 
urging  this  action  we  express  no  hostility 
towards  Southern  institutions.  We  do 
not  think  of  the  South.  We  see  within 
a spot  under  our  jurisdiction  a great 
wrong  sustained  by  law.  For  this  law 
we  are  responsible.  For  all  its  fruits 
we  must  give  account.  We  owe,  then, 
to  God,  to  conscience,  to  rectitude,  our 
best  efforts  for  its  abolition.  We  have 
no  thought  of  limiting  Southern  institu- 
tions. It  is  our  own  unjust,  unhallowed 
institution  which  we  resolve  no  longer 
to  maintain.  Can  the  free  States  con- 
sent to  continue  their  partnership  in  this 
wrong  ? They  have  not  even  the  poor 
consolation  of  profiting  by  the  crime. 
The  handful  of  slaves  in  the  District 
may  be  of  some  worth  to  a few  masters, 
but  are  utterly  insignificant  in  their 
relation  to  the  country.  They  might  be 
bought  by  the  government  and  set  free 
at  less  expense  than  is  incurred  in  pass- 
ing many  an  act  of  Congress. 

Emancipation  in  the  present  case  is 
opposed  by  the  South,  not  on  account 
of  any  harm  to  be  endured  by  the  Dis- 
trict or  the  country,  but  simply  because 
this  measure  would  be  a public,  formal 
utterance  of  the  moral  conviction  of  the 
free  States  on  the  subject  of  slavery. 
Our  case  is  a hard  one  indeed.  We  are 
required  to  support  what  we  abhor,  be- 
cause by  withdrawing  our  support  we 
shall  express  our  abhorrence  of  it.  We 
must  go  on  sinning,  lest  we  become 
witnesses  against  sin.  Could  we  root 


88o 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


slavery  out  of  the  District  without  de- 
claring it  to  be  evil,  emancipation  would 
be  comparatively  easy;  but  we  are  re- 
quired to  sustain  it  because  we  think  it 
evil,  and  must  not  show  our  thoughts. 
We  must  cling  to  a wrong  because  our 
associates  at  the  South  will  not  consent 
to  the  reproof  implied  in  our  desertion 
of  it.  And  can  it  be  that  we  are  so 
wanting  in  moral  principle  and  force  as 
to  yield  to  these  passionate  partners  ? 
Is  not  our  path  clear?  Can  any  thing 
authorize  us  to  sanction  slavery  by  sol- 
emn acts  of  legislation  ? Are  any  viola- 
tions of  right  so  iniquitous  as  those 
which  are  perpetrated  by  law,  by  that 
function  of  sovereignty  which  has  the 
maintenance  of  right  for  its  foundation 
and  end  ? Can  it  be  that  the  free  States 
send  their  most  illustrious  men  to  Con- 
gress to  set  their  seal  to  slavery  ? that 
the  national  government,  intended  to  be 
the  centre  of  what  is  most  august  and 
imposing  in  our  land,  should  be  turned 
into  a legislature  of  a slave-district,  and 
should  put  forth  its  vast  powers  in  sus- 
taining a barbarous  slave-code  ? If  this 
must  be,  then  does  it  not  seem  fit  that 
the  national  eagle  should  add  the  whip 
of  the  overseer  to  the  arrows  and  olive- 
branch  which  he  now  grasps  in  his 
talons  ? 

But  this  is  not  all.  The  District  of 
Columbia  is  not  only  tainted  with  slavery, 
but  it  is  a great  — I believe  the  greatest 
— slave-market  in  our  country.  To  this 
human  beings  are  driven  as  cattle  ; 
driven  sometimes,  if  not  often,  in  chains. 
It  is  even  reported  that  the  slave-coffle 
is  sometimes  headed  by  the  flag  of  the 
United  States.  To  this  spot  — the 
metropolis  of  our  nation  — are  brought 
multitudes  of  our  fellow-creatures,  torn 
from  their  homes  by  force  and  for  others’ 
gain,  and  heart-stricken  by  the  thought 
of  birthplace  and  friends  to  be  seen  no 
more.  Here  women  are  widowed  and 
children  made  orphans,  whilst  the  hus- 
band and  the  parent  still  live.  A more 
cruel  minister  than  death  has  been  at 
work  in  their  forsaken  huts.  These 
wronged  fellow-beings  are  then  set  up 
for  sale,  and  women,  as  well  as  men, 
are  subjected  to  an  examination  like  that 
which  draught-horses  undergo  at  an 
auction.  That  the  seat  of  the  national 
government  should  be  made  a mart  for 
this  shameful  traffic  is  not  to  be  endured. 
On  this  point  some  deference  is  due  to 


the  free  States  and  the  character  of  the 
country.  The  spot  on  which  we  all 
meet  as  equals,  and  which  is  equally 
under  the  jurisdiction  of  all,  ought  to 
be  kept  clean  from  a irade  which  the 
majority  think  inhuman  and  a disgrace 
to  the  land.  On  this  point  there  can 
be  no  doubt  as  to  the  constitutional 
power  of  Congress.  That  body  may 
certainly  remove  a nuisance  from  a spot 
which  is  subject  to  its  unrestricted  au- 
thority. A common  township  may  abate 
nuisances.  In  many  of  the  States  the 
municipal  authorities  may  prohibit,  if 
they  see  fit,  the  sale  of  ardent  spirits 
within  their  limits.  Congress  may  cer- 
tainly say,  that  the  “ ten-miles  square” 
ceded  to  the  United  States  shall  not  be 
a market  for  slaves.  Washington  holds 
a peculiar  relation  to  the  country.  For- 
eigners repair  to  it  as  the  spot  in  which 
to  observe  our  institutions.  That  sla- 
very, our  chief  stain,  should  be  exposed 
most  ostentatiously  at  the  seat  of  gov- 
ernment is  a violation  of  national  de- 
cency, a sign  of  moral  obtuseness,  of 
insensibility  to  the  moral  judgment  of 
mankind,  which  ought  immediately  to 
cease. 

I have  now  spoken  of  the  duties  of 
the  free  States  under  the  Constitution 
as  it  now  exists.  I proceed  to  a still 
higher  duty  incumbent  on  them,  which 
is,  to  seek  earnestly  and  resolutely  for 
such  amendments  of  the  Constitution 
as  shall  entirely  release  them  from  the 
obligation  of  yielding  support  in  any 
way  or  degree  to  slavery,  and  shall  so 
determine  the  relation  between  the  free 
and  slaves  States  as  to  put  an  end  to 
all  collision  on  this  subject. 

This  I have  said  is  a duty,  and  as 
such  it  should  be  constantly  regarded. 
The  free  States  should  act  in  it  with  the 
calmness  and  inflexibleness  of  principle, 
avoiding  on  the  one  hand  passionateness, 
vehemence,  invective,  and  on  the  other 
a spirit  of  expediency.  It  is  a question, 
not  of  interest,  but  of  rights,  and  conse- 
quently above  expediency.  Happily, 
interest  and  duty  go  together  in  this 
matter  ; and  were  it  not  so,  our  first 
homage  should  be  paid  to  the  right. 
The  free  States  should  say,  calmly, 
but  firmly,  to  the  South  : “ We  cannot 

participate  in  slavery.  It  is  yours, 
wholly  and  exclusively.  On  you  alone 
the  responsibility  rests.  You  must 
maintain  and  defend  it  by  your  own 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES . 


88 1 


arms.  As  respects  slavery  we  are  dis- 
tinct communities,  as  truly  as  in  respect 
to  institutions  for  the  support  of  the 
poor  or  for  the  education  of  our  children. 
Your  slavery  is  no  national  concern, 
The  nation  must  know  nothing  of  it, 
— must  do  nothing  in  reference  to  it. 
We  will  not  touch  your  slaves,  to  free 
or  restore  them.  Our  powers  in  the 
state  or  national  governments  shall  not 
be  used  to  destroy  or  to  uphold  your 
peculiar  institutions.  We  only  ask  such 
modifications  of  the  national  charter  as 
shall  set  us  free  from  all  obligation  to 
uphold  what  we  condemn.  In  regard 
to  slavery,  the  line  between  the  slave 
and  the  free  States  is  a great  gulf.  You 
must  not  pass  it  to  enforce  your  sup- 
posed rights  as  slave-holders,  nor  will 
we  cross  it  to  annul  or  violate  the  laws 
on  which  this  evil  system  rests.” 

The  reasons  for  thus  modifying  the 
Constitution  are  numerous.  The  first 
has  been  again  and  again  intimated. 
The  moral  sentiment  of  the  North  de- 
mands it.  Since  the  adoption  of  the 
Constitution  a new  state  of  mind  in  re- 
gard to  slavery  has  spread  through  the 
civilized  world.  It  is  not  of  American 
growth  only,  but  subsists  and  acts  more 
powerfully  abroad  than  at  home.  Sla- 
very, regarded  formerly  as  a question 
of  great  interest,  is  now  a question  of 
conscience.  Vast  numbers  in  the  free 
States  cannot  without  self-reproach  give 
it  sanction  or  aid.  From  many  family 
altars  the  prayer  rises  to  God  for  our 
brethren  in  bonds.  The  antislavery 
principle  finds  utterance  in  our  churches, 
by  our  firesides,  and  in  our  public  meet- 
ings. Now  the  Constitution  ought  to  be 
brought  into  harmony  with  the  moral 
convictions  of  the  people.  A govern- 
ment resisting  these  deprives  itself  of 
its  chief  support.  If  we  were  to  call 
on  the  South  for  a modification  of  the 
Constitution,  under  the  influence  of  any 
private  motives,  any  interests,  any  pas- 
sions, we  ought  not  to  be  heard.  But 
the  slave-holders,  as  men  of  principle 
and  of  honor,  should  shrink  from  asking 
us  to  do  what  we  deliberately  and  con- 
scientiously condemn.  Allow  it,  that 
Dur  moral  sense  is  too  scrupulous.  We 
must  still  reverence  and  obey  it.  We 
have  no  higher  law  than  our  conviction 
of  duty.  We  ought  especially  not  to  be 
asked  to  resist  it  in  a case  like  the  pres- 
ent, when  our  conscience  is  in  unison 


with  the  conscience  of  the  civilized 
world.  Christendom  responds  to  our 
reprobation  of  slavery ; and  can  we  be 
expected  to  surrender  our  principles  to 
a handful  of  men  personally  interested 
in  the  evil  ? We  say  to  the  South  : 
“ We  are  willing  to  be  joined  with  you 
as  a nation  for  weal  or  for  woe.  We 
reach  to  you  the  hand  of  fellowship. 
We  ask  but  one  thing ; do  not  require 
us  to  surrender  what  is  dearer  than  life 
or  nation,  our  sense  of  duty,  our  loyalty 
to  conscience  and  God.”  Will  an  hon- 
orable people  demand  this  sacrifice  from 
us  ? Great  deference  is  due  to  the 
moral  sense  of  a community.  This 
should  take  rank  above  political  consid- 
erations. To  ask  a people  to  trifle  with 
and  slight  it  is  to  invite  them  to  self- 
degradation. No  profit  can  repay  their 
loss,  no  accession  of  power  can  hide 
their  shame. 

Another  reason  for  modifying  the 
Constitution,  so  that  slavery  shall  be 
wholly  excluded  from  the  class  of  na- 
tional objects,  is  found  in  the  fact  that 
this  interest,  if  allowed  to  sustain  itself 
by  the  national  arm,  will  intertwine  itself 
more  and  more  with  public  measures, 
and  will  color  our  whole  policy,  so  that 
the  free  States  will  be  more  and  more 
compelled  to  link  themselves  with  its 
support.  Could  the  agency  of  the  gov- 
ernment in  regard  to  this  subject  be 
rigidly  defined,  the  evil  would  be  more 
tolerable.  But  it  is  natural  that  the 
slave-holding  States  should  seek  to 
make  the  national  power  as  far  as  pos- 
sible a buttress  of  their  “peculiar  insti- 
tution.” It  is  as  slave-holders,  rather 
than  as  Americans,  that  they  stand  in 
Congress ; slavery  must  be  secured, 
whatever  befall  other  interests  of  the 
country.  The  people  of  the  North  little 
understand  what  the  national  govern- 
ment has  done  for  the  “ peculiar  in- 
stitution ” of  the  South.  It  has  been, 
and  is,  the  friend  of  the  slave-holder, 
and  the  enemy  of  the  slave.  The  na- 
tional government  authorizes  not  only 
the  apprehension  and  imprisonment  in 
the  District  of  Columbia  of  a colored 
man  suspected  of  being  a runaway,  but 
the  sale  of  him  as  a slave,  if  within  a 
certain  time  he  cannot  prove  his  free- 
dom. The  national  government  has 
endeavored  to  obtain  by  negotiation  the 
restoration  of  fugitive  slaves;  who  had 
sought  and  found  freedom  in  Canada, 


882 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


and  has  offered  in  return  to  restore  fu- 
gitives from  the  West  Indies.  It  has 
disgraced  itself  in  the  view  of  all  Eu- 
rope by  claiming,  as  property,  slaves 
who  have  been  shipwrecked  on  the 
British  islands,  and  who,  by  touching 
British  soil,  had  become  free.  It  has 
instructed  its  representative  at  Madrid 
to  announce  to  the  Spanish  Court  “ that 
the  emancipation  of  the  slave  popula- 
tion of  Cuba  would  be  very  severely  felt 
in  the  adjacent  shores  of  the  United 
States.”  It  has  purchased  a vast  un- 
settled territory  which  it  has  given  up 
to  be  overrun  with  slavery.  Are  we 
willing  that  the  national  power,  in  which 
all  the  States  have  a common  interest 
and  share,  and  for  the  use  of  which  we 
are  all  responsible,  should  be  so  em- 
ployed ? 

How  far  slavery  does  and  will  sway 
the  national  government  may  be  judged 
from  the  fact  that  it  is  a bond  of  union 
to  all  who  participate  in  it  ; that  the 
South  is  prepared  by  it  for  a co-opera- 
tion unknown  at  the  North  ; and  that, 
of  consequence,  it  gives  to  the  South, 
in  no  small  degree,  the  control  of  the 
country.  The  jealousies  of  the  slave- 
holder never  sleep.  They  mix  with  and 
determine  our  public  policy  in  matters 
which  we  might  think  least  open  to  this 
pernicious  influence.  Of  late  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  men  in  the  country,* 
the  citizen  of  a free  State,  was  nomi- 
nated as  minister  to  the  English  Court. 
He  had  one  qualification,  perhaps,  above 
any  man  who  could  have  been  selected 
for  the  office,  — that  is,  a thorough  ac- 
quaintance with  our  controversy  with 
Great  Britain  as  to  the  northern  boun- 
dary. His  large  intellectual  culture,  his 
literary  eminence,  his  admirable  powers, 
and  his  experience  in  public  affairs, 
fitted  him  to  represent  the  United  States 
in  the  metropolis  of  Europe,  where  a 
man  of  narrow  education  and  ordinary 
powers  would  dishonor  his  country. 
But  the  nomination  of  this  gentleman 
was  resisted  vehemently  in  the  Senate, 
on  the  ground  that  he  had  expressed 
his  moral  opposition  to  slavery  ; and 
that  he  would  not,  therefore,  plead  the 
cause  of  slavery  at  the  Court  of  St. 
James.  For  a time  his  appointment  was 
despaired  of,  and  it  was  confirmed  at 
last  only  by  a firmness  of  remonstrance 
which  the  South  could  not  safely  oppose. 

* Edward  Everett. 


The  action  of  the  slave-holders  on  this 
subject,  though  not  carried  through,  does 
not  the  less  manifest  their  spirit  and 
policy.  They  have  virtually  expressed 
their  purpose  to  exclude  from  all  places 
of  trust  and  honor  every  man  from  the 
North  who  expresses  his  moral  feelings 
against  slavery.  And  as  these  feelings 
are  spreading  among  us  and  gaining 
strength,  the  slave-holder  has  virtually 
passed  a sentence  of  proscription  on  the 
North.  If  possible,  the  door  of  the 
cabinet  is  to  be  shut  in  our  faces.  The 
executive  power  must  be  lodged  in  other 
hands.  Our  most  enlightened  and  virt- 
uous citizens  must  not  represent  the 
country  abroad.  This  rejection  of  a 
man  on  the  ground  of  a moral  conviction 
which  pervades  the  North  is  equivalent 
to  a general  disfranchisement.  A new 
test  for  office,  never  dreamed  of  before, 
is  to  exclude  us  from  the  service  of  the 
country  in  those  high  public  trusts  which 
are  the  chief  instruments  of  public  influ- 
ence. And  can  we  consent  to  become  a 
proscribed  race  ? Shall  our  adherence 
to  great  principles  be  punished  by  civil 
degradation  ? Can  wre  renounce  all  kin- 
dred with  our  fathers,  and  suffer  our 
very  love  of  freedom  and  justice  to  be  a 
brand  of  disqualification  for  offices  which 
by  the  Constitution  are  thrown  equally 
open  to  all  ? 

The  nomination  of  our  minister  to 
England  was  all  but  rejected,  and  in 
this  we  see  how  slavery  has  complicated 
itself  with  our  most  important  national 
affairs  ; how  it  determines  the  weight- 
iest acts  of  the  general  government ; 
how  it  taints  our  foreign  as  well  as 
domestic  policy.  The  North  cannot 
hope  to  escape  with  lending  a helping 
hand  now  and  then  to  Southern  insti- 
tutions. We  must  put  our  shoulders 
to  the  wheel.  We  must  be  governed 
throughout  with  reference  to  slavery. 
Were  this  the  place,  it  would  be  easy 
to  show  how  the  South,  by  a skilful 
management  of  the  parties  of  the  North, 
has  bent  and  may  continue  to  bend  the 
general  government  to  its  purposes ; 
how  slavery  has  been  made  a means  of 
concentrating  power  into  the  hands  of 
those  who  uphold  it.  This  institution 
is  not  a narrow  interest,  seldom  intrud- 
ing itself,  too  trifling  to  quarrel  about ; 
but  a poisonous  element,  acting  subtly 
on  public  affairs  when  it  seems  to  be 
quiet,  and  sometimes  breaking  out  into 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


violences  dishonorable  to  our  national 
councils  and  menacing  to  the  Union. 
Its  influences  are  not  concealed ; and 
the  time  has  come  for  solemn,  earnest 
effort  to  sever  it  from  the  government 
which  it  would  usurp. 

I proceed  to  offer  another  reason  for 
so  modifying  the  Constitution  as  to  ex- 
clude slavery  from  its  objects,  which 
is  akin  to  the  last,  but  so  important  as 
to  deserve  distinct  consideration.  The 
slave-power  in  Congress  not  only  mixes 
with  and  controls  public  measures,  but 
it  threatens  our  dearest  rights  and  liber- 
ties. It  is  natural  for  every  power  to 
act  and  manifest  itself  according  to 
its  peculiar  character.  We  ought  not, 
then,  to  wonder  that  slavery  should  set 
at  nought  all  rights  with  which  it  comes 
in  conflict.  And  yet  that  it  should  be 
so  bold,  so  audacious  as  it  has  proved 
itself,  awakens  some  astonishment.  We 
believed  that  the  Constitution  had  placed 
some  rights  above  the  reach  of  any  party 
or  power ; yet  on  these  especially  sla- 
very has  laid  its  hand.  The  right  of 
petition  is  one  of  the  last  we  might  sup- 
pose to  be  denied  to  a people.  It  has 
such  a foundation  in  nature  that  it  is 
respected  where  other  rights  are  trod- 
den down.  The  despot  opens  his  ears 
to  the  petitions  of  his  subjects.  But  in 
the  Congress  of  a free  people,  petitions 
and  memorials  from  large  numbers  of 
citizens,  and  even  from  public  bodies, 
have  been  treated  with  indignity,  and 
refused  a hearing.  But  this  is  not  all. 
The  slave-power  has,  if  possible,  taken 
a more  daring  step.  A member  of  the 
House  of  Representatives  * has  been 
censured  by  that  body  for  presenting  a 
series  of  grave  resolutions  asserting  the 
relation  of  the  government  to  slavery, 
and  denying  the  extension  of  its  powers 
to  slaves  removed  beyond  our  jurisdic- 
tion. 

Liberty  of  speech  has  been  secured 
to  us  by  an  express  provision  of  the 
Constitution  ; and  if  this  right  is  es- 
pecially inviolable  in  any  person,  it  is  in 
the  representative  of  the  people  stand- 
ing up  in  Congress  to  utter  his  own 
views  and  those  of  his  constituents  on 
great  questions  of  public  policy.  That 
such  a man  should  be  put  to  silence, 
should  be  subjected  to  censure  for  ex- 
pressing his  conviction  in  the  calmest 
style,  is  a stretch  of  power,  an  excess 
* Joshua  R.  Giddings. 


883 

of  tyranny,  which  would  have  been  pro- 
nounced impossible  a few  years  since. 
This  is  to  invade  liberty  in  her  holiest 
place,  her  last  refuge.  It  was  not  the 
individual  who  was  wronged,  but  the 
constituents  in  whose  name  he  spoke  ; 
the  State  from  which  he  came ; the 
whole  nation,  who  can  only  be  heard 
through  its  representatives. 

This  act  stands  alone,  we  conceive, 
in  representative  bodies.  I have  in- 
quired, and  cannot  learn  that  the  English 
Parliament,  omnipotent  as  it  declares 
itself,  ever  offered  this  outrage  to  free- 
dom, this  insult  to  the  people.  Until 
this  moment  the  liberty  of  speech  in 
Congress  has  been  held  so  sacred  that 
the  representative  in  debate  has  been 
left  to  violate  without  reproof  good 
manners  and  the  decencies  of  social 
life  ; to  bring  dishonor  on  himself  and 
his  country  by  coarseness  and  ribaldry  ; 
to  consume  hour  after  hour,  perhaps  the 
day,  in  declamations  which  have  owed 
their  inspiration  less  to  wisdom  than 
to  wine.  During  this  very  session  we 
have  witnessed  the  spectacle  of  mem- 
bers of  the  House  of  Representatives 
denouncing  and  insulting  the  President 
of  the  United  States,  a co-ordinate 
power  of  the  government,  and  entitled 
to  peculiar  respect,  as  embodying  and 
representing  the  nation  to  foreign  coun- 
tries ; and  this  indecorum  has  been 
submitted  to,  lest  the  freedom  of  speech 
in  that  chamber  should  be  encroached 
on.  But  because  a representative  of 
high  character  has  thought  fit  to  ex- 
press, in  the  most  unexciting  style,  his 
deliberate  convictions  on  a solemn  ques- 
tion which  threatens  the  country  with 
war,  he  has  been  subjected  to  the  in- 
dignity of  a public  rebuke.  And  why 
is  he  selected  above  all  others  for  pun- 
ishment,? Because  he  has  so  interpreted 
the  Constitution  as  to  deny  both  the 
right  and  the  obligation  of  the  govern- 
ment to  protect  slavery  beyond  the  limit 
of  the  United  States.  For  this  sound 
exposition  of  the  national  charter  he  is 
denied  an  immunity  extended  to  the 
brawler  and  traducer.  Can  a precedent 
more  fatal  to  freedom  be  conceived  ? 
Where  is  this  tyranny  to  stop  ? Is  there 
any  doctrine,  any  construction  of  the 
Constitution,  any  vindication  of  the 
rights  of  his  constituents,  that  may 
chance  to  be  unpopular,  for  which  a 
representative  may  not  incur  this  public 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


884 

rebuke  ? Is  the  tameness  of  the  free  1 
States  under  this  usurpation  the  way  to 
suppress  it  ? If  even  in  Congress  un- 
popular truth  may  not  be  spoken,  what 
pledge  have  we  that  it  may  be  uttered 
anywhere  else  ? A blow  has  been 
struck  at  freedom  of  speech  in  all  its 
forms  ; and  in  regard  to  no  other  right 
should  we  be  so  jealous  as  in  regard  to 
this.  As  long  as  we  retain  this  we  re- 
tain the  means  of  defending  all  our 
other  rights,  of  redressing  all  wrongs. 
Take  this  away,  and  we  have  no  redress 
but  in  force. 

By  the  Constitution  each  house  of 
Congress  has  power  to  punish  a member 
for  disorderly  behavior.  In  England, 
too,  members  may  be  punished  for  u con- 
tempt of  the  house.”  But  in  these  cases 
it  is  not  intended  to  lay  the  least  re- 
straint on  the  discussion  of  public  meas- 
ures. In  these  cases  the  sacredness  of 
the  representative  character  is  not  vio- 
lated. On  the  contrary,  the  individual 
is  punished  for  insulting  the  representa- 
tive body,  the  honor  of  which  is,  indeed, 
his  own.  It  is  to  preserve  the  house 
from  disorders  which  would  infringe  its 
privilege  of  free  discussion  that  this 
power  over  its  members  is  chiefly  re- 
quired. The  act  of  punishing  a member 
for  speaking  his  mind  on  general  topics, 
on  the  principles  of  the  Constitution,  is 
an  unprecedented  tyranny,  which  ought 
to  have  raised  a burst  of  indignation 
from  one  end  of  the  country  to  the  other. 
What  right  may  not  be  invaded  next  ? 
If  the  freedom  of  the  press,  if  the  right 
of  worshipping  God,  shall  be  thought  to 
come  in  conflict  with  slavery,  what  rea- 
son have  we  to  hope  that  these,  or  any 
other  of  our  liberties,  will  escape  viola- 
tion ? Nothing  is  more  common  in  life 
than  to  see  men  who  are  accustomed  to 
one  outrage  on  rights  emboldened  to 
maintain  this  by  others  and  more  fla- 
grant. This  experience  of  the  usurpa- 
tions of  the  slave-power  should  teach  us 
to  avoid  all  contact  with  it,  to  exclude  it 
from  our  national  government.  On  this 
point,  of  slavery,  the  two  sections  of 
the  country  should  be  separate  nations. 
They  should  hold  no  communion. 

These  remarks  suggest  another  reason 
for  so  modifying  the  Constitution  as  to 
release  the  free  States  from  all  action  on 
slavery.  It  is  almost  too  plain  a reason 
to  be  named,  and  yet  too  important  to 
be  overlooked.  Until  such  modification 


be  made,  the  country  can  know  no  peace. 
The  free  and  slave-holding  States  will 
meet  in  Congress,  not  to  maintain  peace, 
not  to  provide  for  the  common  liberty, 
the  common  welfare,  the  common  de- 
fence, but  for  war.  Subjects  of  public 
interest  will  not  be  looked  at  simply, 
nakedly,  according  to  their  own  merits, 
but  through  the  medium  of  jealousy  and 
hatred,  and  according  to  their  apparent 
bearing  on  slavery.  The  “ peculiar  in- 
stitution ” of  the  South  is  peculiarly 
sensitive  and  irritable.  It  detects  signs 
and  menaces  of  danger  in  harmless  move- 
ments, and  does  not  weigh  its  words  in 
resenting  supposed  injury.  With  this 
root  of  bitterness  in  our  government,  we 
must  expect  distracted  public  councils  ; 
we  must  witness  fiery  passions  in  the 
place  of  wise  deliberations.  The  differ- 
ent sections  of  the  country  will  become 
hostile  camps. 

It  is  painful  to  advert  to  the  style  of 
debate  which  the  subject  of  slavery  al- 
most always  excites  in  Congress,  be- 
cause it  can  hardly  be  spoken  of  without 
stirring  up  unpleasant  feeling.  On  this 
subject  the  fiery  temperament  of  the 
South  disdains  control.  The  North,  it 
is  true,  has  the  comfort  of  knowing  that 
it  is  better  to  be  insulted  than  to  insult ; 
and  yet  it  is  a position  not  very  favora- 
ble to  the  temper  or  to  self-respect,  to 
be  compelled  to  listen  to  such  language 
as  Northern  men  hear  on  the  floor  of 
Congress.  The  consequences  are  inev- 
itable. Forbearance  has  limits  ; and  re- 
proach awakens  reaction.  Already  a 
venerable  representative  from  a free 
State,*  whose  moral  courage,  in  union 
with  his  great  powers,  places  him  at  the 
head  of  the  public  men  of  the  country, 
has  presented  a front  of  stern  opposi- 
tion to  the  violence  of  the  South.  We 
thank  him  for  his  magnanimity.  It 
is,  perhaps,  the  greatest  public  service 
ever  rendered  in  Congress  to  the  North  ; 
for  no  man  serves  his  country  like  him 
who  exalts  its  spirit.  Still,  we  must 
allow  that  the  eloquence  of  this  illustri- 
ous statesman  has  not  tended  to  heal 
the  wounds  of  the  nation ; and,  as  friends 
of  the  Union,  we  must  earnestly  desire 
to  banish  from  our  public  councils  the 
irritating  subject  which  has  given  birth 
to  the  conflicts  in  which  he  has  borne  so 
distinguished  a part.  No  remedy  short 
of  this  will  meet  the  evil,  nor  can  the 
* John  Quincy  Adams. 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES . 


remedy  be  applied  too  suddenly.  The 
breach  is  widening  every  day.  The  un- 
willingness of  the  North  to  participate 
in  slavery  grows  stronger  every  day. 
The  love  of  the  Union  has  suppressed 
as  yet  the  free  utterance  of  this  feeling ; 
but  the  restraints  of  prudence  are  con- 
tinually giving  way.  Slavery  will  not 
much  longer  have  the  floor  of  the  Sen- 
ate to  itself,  or  rule  the  House  with  an 
iron  hand.  Freedom  will  find  tongues 
there.  The  open  advocates  of  human 
rights,  as  yet  a small,  heroic  band,  will 
spring  up  as  a host.  Is  it  not  the  part 
of  wisdom  to  put  an  end  to  these  deadly 
feuds  ? Is  the  Union  to  become  a name  ? 
Is  its  chief  good,  concord,  to  be  given 
up  in  despair  ? And  must  not  concord 
be  despaired  of  as  long  as  slavery  shall 
enter  into  the  discussions  of  Congress  ? 
The  dissensions  growing  out  of  slavery 
throw  a fearful  uncertainty  over  the  fort- 
unes of  this  country.  Let  us  end  them 
at  once  by  dissolving  wholly  the  con- 
nection between  slavery  and  our  na- 
tional concerns. 

There  is  one  consideration  which 
should  reconcile  the  South  to  such  an 
arrangement.  The  Constitution,  if  not 
so  modified,  can  render  little  service  to 
slavery.  In  this  country  no  law,  no 
constitution,  can  prevail  against  the 
moral  convictions  of  the  people.  These 
are  stronger  than  parchments,  statutes, 
or  tribunals.  There  is  a feeling  in  re- 
gard to  slavery,  spreading  rapidly,  which 
cannot  be  withstood.  It  is  not  a fanati- 
cism, a fever,  but  a calm,  moral,  relig- 
ious persuasion  ; and  whatever  in  our 
institutions  opposes  this  will  be  a dead 
letter.  No  violence  is  needed  to  annul 
a law  which  the  moral  feelings  of  a free 
community  condemn.  The  simple  absti- 
nence of  the  people  from  action  in  favor 
of  an  unrighteous  law,  and  the  displeas- 
ure with  which  they  visit  such  as  are 
officious  in  its  support,  will  avail  more 
than  armies.  The  South,  then,  in  ad- 
mitting such  changes  of  the  Constitu- 
tion as  are  proposed,  will  make  no  great 
sacrifice.  Slavery  must  at  any  rate  cease 
to  look  Northward  for  aid.  Let  it,  then, 
consent  to  retire  within  its  own  bounds. 
Let  it  not  mix  itself  with  our  national 
affairs.  Let  the  word  slavery  no  longer 
be  named  within  the  walls  of  Congress. 
Such  is  the  good  now  to  be  sought.  The 
North  should  be  stirred  up  to  demand 
it  with  one  voice.  Petitions,  memorials, 


885 

directed  to  this  end,  should  be  poured 
in  upon  Congress  as  a flood.  The  free 
States  should  employ  political  action  in 
regard  to  slavery  for  one  purpose  alone, 
and  that  is,  to  prevent  all  future  politi- 
cal action  on  the  subject ; to  sever  it 
wholly  from  the  government ; to  save 
the  country  from  its  disturbing  influ- 
ence. 

Such  seems  to  me  to  be  the  urgent 
duty  of  the  free  States.  But  it  is  not 
their  whole  duty.  They  are  not  to  think 
of  themselves  only  in  the  changes  which 
are  to  be  made.  The  South  has  claims 
as  well  as  ourselves.  Whilst  we  say  we 
cannot  give  aid  in  holding  the  slaves  in 
bondage,  we  are  bound  to  pledge  our- 
selves to  abstain  from  all  action  on  the 
slaves  to  set  them  free.  We  must  not 
use  the  Union  as  a means  of  access  to 
that  part  of  the  Southern  population. 
We  must  regard  them  as  belonging  to 
foreign  states,  and  must  interfere  with 
them  no  more  than  with  the  serfs  of 
Russia  or  the  bondmen  of  Turkey.  On 
this  point  we  should  consent  to  enter 
into  strict  terms  with  the  South.  The 
best  human  feelings  have  tendencies  to 
excess.  The  hostility  to  slavery  at  the 
North  may  pass  its  due  bounds,  and 
adopt  modes  of  action  which  the  South 
has  a right  to  repel ; and  from  these  we 
should  bind  ourselves  to  abstain.  For 
example  ; we  have  heard  of  men  who 
have  entered  the  Southern  States  to  in- 
cite and  aid  the  slave  to  take  flight.  We 
have  also  seen  a convention  at  the  North 
of  highly  respected  men  preparing  and 
publishing  an  address  to  the  slaves,  in 
which  they  are  exhorted  to  fly  from 
bondage,  and  to  feel  no  scruple  in  seiz- 
ing and  using  horse  or  boat  which  may 
facilitate  their  escape.  All  such  inter- 
ference with  the  slave  is  wrong,  and 
should  cease.  It  gives  some  counte- 
nance to  the  predictions  of  cautious  men 
as  to  the  issues  of  the  antislavery  move- 
ment. It  is  a sign  that  the  enemies  of 
slavery  are  losing  their  patience,  calm- 
ness, and  self-controlling  wisdom  ; that 
they  cannot  wait  for  the  blessing  of 
Providence  on  holy  efforts ; that  the 
grandeur  of  the  end  is  in  danger  of 
blinding  them  as  to  the  character  of 
the  means. 

We  are  bound  to  abstain  from  all 
such  action  on  the  slaves,  not  because 
the  master  has  a rightful  property  in 
them,  but  on  the  plain  ground  that  a 


886 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


slave-holding  State  is  a body  politic,  a 
civil  community,  the  peace  and  order  of 
which  must  not  be  invaded  by  the  mem- 
bers of  a foreign  state.  It  is  plain,  that, 
if  the  action  of  a foreign  community  on 
the  slave  begin  and  be  allowed,  no  lim- 
its to  it  can  be  prescribed,  and  insurrec- 
tion and  massacre  are  its  almost  neces- 
sary effects.  I certainly  wish  the  slave 
to  flee,  if  he  can  do  it  without  bloodshed 
and  violence,  and  can  find  a shelter  for 
his  rights  without  exposing  his  charac- 
ter to  overwhelming  temptation.  But 
were  the  free  States  to  incite  the  whole 
mass  of  slaves  to  fly  ; were  one  united, 
thrilling,  exasperating  cry  from  the 
North  to  ring  through  the  South,  and  to 
possess  the  millions  who  are  in  bondage 
with  the  passion  for  escape  ; would  not 
society  be  convulsed  to  its  centre  ? and 
who  of  us  could  avert  the  terrible  crimes 
which  would  be  perpetrated  in  the  name 
of  liberty  ? No.  Earnestly  as  I oppose 
slavery,  I deprecate  all  interference  with 
the  slave  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the 
slave-holding  States.  I will  plead  his 
cause  with  whatever  strength  God  has 
given  me.  But  I can  do  no  more.  God 
forbid  that  I should  work  out  his  deliv- 
erance by  force  and  blood  ! 

These  remarks  are  the  more  important 
because  there  seem  to  be  growing  up 
among  us  looser  ideas  than  formerly 
prevailed  on  the  subject  of  inciting  the 
slaves  to  vindicate  their  rights.  The 
common  language  leads  to  error.  We 
are  told,  and  told  truly,  that  the  slave- 
holder has  no  property  in  the  man  whom 
he  oppresses  ; that  the  slave  has  a right 
to  immediate  freedom  ; and  the  inference 
which  some  make  is,  that  the  slave  is 
authorized  to  use,  without  regard  to 
consequences,  the  means  of  emancipa- 
tion. The  next  inference  is,  that  he  is 
to  be  urged  and  aided  to  break  his  chain. 
But  these  views  are  too  sweeping,  and 
need  important  modifications. 

The  slave  has  a right  to  liberty ; but  a 
right  does  not  imply  that  it  may  be  as- 
serted by  any  and  every  means.  There 
is  a great  law  of  humanity  to  which  all 
are  subject,  the  bond  as  well  as  the  free, 
and  which  we  must  never  lose  sight  of 
in  redressing  wrongs,  or  in  claiming  and 
insisting  on  our  due.  The  slave  cannot 
innocently  adopt  any  and  every  expedi- 
ent for  vindicating  his  liberty.  He  is 
bound  to  waive  his  right,  if  in  maintain- 
ing it  he  is  to  violate  the  law  of  humanity, 


and  to  spread  general  ruin.  Were  I con- 
fined unjustly  to  a house,  I should  have 
no  right  to  free  myself  by  setting  it  on 
fire,  if  thereby  a family  should  be  de- 
stroyed. An  impressed  seaman  cannot 
innocently  withhold  his  service  in  a 
storm,  and  would  be  bound  to  work  even 
in  ordinary  weather,  if  this  were  needed 
to  save  the  ship  from  foundering.  We 
owe  a debt  of  humanity  even  to  him  who 
wrongs  us,  and  especially  to  those  who 
are  linked  with  him,  and  who  must  suf- 
fer, perhaps  perish  with  him,  if  we  seek 
to  redress  our  wrong. 

The  slave  is  not  property.  He  owes 
nothing,  as  a slave,  to  his  master.  On 
the  contrary,  the* debt  is  on  his  master’s 
side.  But,  though  owing  nothing  as  a 
slave,  he  owes  much  as  a man.  He 
must  not,  for  the  sake  of  his  own  liberty, 
involve  a household  in  destruction.  He 
must  not  combine  with  fellow-slaves  and 
expose  a community  of  men,  women, 
children,  to  brutal  outrage  and  massacre. 
When  the  chain  can  be  broken  only  by 
inhumanity,  he  has  no  right  to  break  it. 
A higher  duty  than  that  of  asserting 
personal  rights  is  laid  on  him.  He  is 
bound  by  Divine  authority,  by  the 
Christian  law,  by  enlightened  con- 
science, to  submit  to  his  hard  fate. 

The  slave’s  right  to  liberty,  then,  is  a 
qualified  one  ; qualified,  not  in  the  slight- 
est degree  by  any  right  of  property  in  his 
master,  but  solely  by  the  great  law  of 
humanity.  He  is  a man,  under  all  the 
obligations  of  a -member  of  the  human 
family,  and  therefore  bound  at  all  times 
to  unite  a regard  for  others  with  a regard 
to  himself.  His  master,  indeed,  denies 
his  humanity,  and  treats  him  as  a brute  ; 
and  were  he  what  his  master  deems  him, 
he  might  innocently  at  any  moment  cut 
the  throats  of  his  master  and  master’s 
wife  and  child.  But  his  human  nature, 
though  trampled  on,  endures,  and  lays 
on  him  obligation  to  refrain  from  cruelty. 
From  these  views  we  learn  that  the  right 
of  the  slave  to  free  himself  is  not  to  be 
urged  on  him  without  reserve. 

In  these  remarks  I do  not  mean  to 
say  that  I should  blame  the  slave  for 
rising  at  any  moment  against  his  master. 
In  so  doing  he  would  incur  no  guilt ; for 
in  his  ignorance  he  cannot  comprehend 
why  he  should  forbear.  He  would  vin- 
dicate an  undoubted  right.  His  rude 
conscience  would  acquit  him ; and  far 
be  it  from  me  to  condemn  ! But  we, 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


who  are  more  enlightened,  who  know 
the  consequences  of  revolt,  should  be- 
ware of  rousing  that  wild  mass  of  de- 
graded men  to  the  assertion  of  their 
rights.  Such  consequences  humanity 
commands  us  to  respect.  Were  it  not 
for  these,  I would  summon  that  mass  as 
loudly  as  any  to  escape.  Could  I by 
my  words  so  awaken  and  guide  the 
millions  of  slaves  that  without  violence 
and  bloodshed  they  could  reach  safely  a 
land  of  freedom  and  order,  I would  shout 
in  thunder-tones,  “ Fly  ! Fly  ! ” But  it 
is  not  given  us  thus  to  act  in  human 
affairs.  It  is  not  given  us  to  enter  and 
revolutionize  a state,  to  subvert  old  in- 
stitutions and  plant  new,  without  carry- 
ing with  us  strife,  tumult,  bloodshed, 
horrible  crimes.  The  law  of  humanity, 
then,  restrains  us  from  this  direct  agency 
on  other  states.  It  restrains  us  from 
abandoning  ourselves  to  our  zeal  for  the 
oppressed.  It  restrains  us  from  kind- 
ling the  passions  of  the  slave.  It  com- 
mands us  to  teach  him  patience  and 
love. 

May  I here  be  allowed  a moment's 
digression,  which,  indeed,  has  impor- 
tant connections  with  the  whole  subject  ? 
The  principle  now  laid  down  helps  us  to 
comprehend  the  language  of  the  New 
Testament  on  the  subject  of  slavery. 
The  slave  is  again  and  again  com- 
manded by  the  Apostle  to  obey,  and  for- 
bidden to  purloin,  or  to  answer  rudely  ; 
and  from  such  passages  it  has  been 
argued  that  Christianity  sanctions  sla- 
very. But  the  great  question  is,  On 
what  grounds,  for  what  reasons,  do  the 
Scriptures  enjoin  obedience  on  the  slave  ? 
Do  they  do  so  on  the  ground  of  any 
right  of  property  in  the  master  ? This 
is  the  single  question.  Not  an  intima- 
tion to  this  effect  is  found  in  the  Script- 
ures. They  teach  the  slave  to  obey,  not 
because  he  is  a chattel,  not  because  he 
is  bound  by  human  laws  of  property, 
but  because  he  is  bound  by  the  Chris- 
tian law  of  humanity  and  love  ; because 
he  is  bound  everywhere  to  manifest  a 
spirit  of  mildness  and  charity,  and  in 
this  way  to  express  the  divine,  elevating 
influences  of  his  new  religion. 

At  the  introduction  of  Christianity 
slavery  was  an  unutterable  abomination, 
ymore  horrible  than  what  exists  now. 
Good  and  great  men,  refined  women, 
were  then  liable  to  be  reduced  to  bond- 
age. On  the  conquest  of  a country,  not 


887 

only  were  prisoners  of  war  sold  as  slaves 
without  regard  to  rank  or  character,  but, 
as  in  the  case  of  Judea,  the  mass  of  the 
peaceful  population  were  doomed  to  the 
yoke.  To  suppose  that  the  Apostles  of 
Christ  intended  to  sanction  this  infernal 
system  is  an  insult  to  those  generous 
men,  and  a blasphemy  against  our  pure 
and  merciful  faith.  But  slavery  was 
then  so  inwoven  into  the  institutions  of 
society,  the  dangers  and  horrors  of  a 
servile  war  were  so  great,  the  conse- 
quences  of  a proclamation  of  universal 
liberty  would  have  been  so  terrible,  the 
perils  to  the  cause  of  Christianity,  had 
it  been  so  taught,  would  have  been  so 
imminent,  and  the  motives  for  manifest- 
ing Christianity,  at  its  birth,  as  a spirit 
of  unbounded  meekness  and  love,  were 
so  urgent,  that  the  Apostles  inculcated 
on  the  slaves  an  obedience  free  from 
every  taint  of  dishonesty,  wrath,  or  re- 
venge. Their  great  motive,  as  they 
stated  it,  was,  that  Christianity  might 
not  be  spoken  against,  that  it  might  be 
seen  breathing  love  and  uprightness  into 
men  whose  circumstances  were  pecul- 
iarly fitted  to  goad  them  to  anger  and  re- 
venge. 

To  suppose  that  the  Apostles  recog- 
nized the  right  of  the  master,  because 
they  taught  mildness  and  patience  to 
the  slave,  is  to  show  a strange  ignorance 
of  the  New  Testament.  Our  religion, 
in  its  hostility  to  a spirit  of  retaliation, 
violence,  and  revenge,  enforces  submis- 
sion and  patience  as  strongly  on  the  free 
as  on  the  slave.  It  says  to  us  : “ If  a 
man  smite  thee  on  thy  right  cheek,  turn 
to  him  the  other  also.  If  he  take  away 
thy  coat,  let  him  have  thy  cloak  also. 
And  whosoever  shall  compel  thee  to  go 
a mile,  go  with  him  twain.”  Is  this  a 
recognition  of  our  neighbor’s  right  to 
smite  us,  to  take  our  coat,  and  compel 
us  to  go  a mile  for  his  convenience  ? 

Christianity  has  extended  the  law  of 
humanity  to  a degree  never  dreamed  of 
in  earlier  times,  and  but  faintly  compre- 
hended now.  It  requires  us  all  to  love 
and  serve  our  enemies,  and  to  submit 
to  unjust  government,  in  language  so 
strong  and  unqualified  as  to  furnish  an 
objection  to  its  opposers  ; and  in  all 
these  requisitions  it  has  but  one  end, 
which  is,  to  inspire  the  sufferer  with 
forbearance  and  humanity,  not  to  assert 
a right  in  the  wrong-doer. 

When  I consider  the  tenderness  which 


888 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


Christianity  enjoins  towards  the  injuri- 
ous, I cannot  but  shrink  from  thedight- 
ness  with  which  some  speak  of  insur- 
rection at  the  South.  Were  I to  visit 
the  slave,  I should  in  every  way  dis- 
courage the  spirit  of  violence  and  re- 
venge. I should  say  : “ Resist  not  evil ; 
obey  your  master ; forgive  your  ene- 
mies ; put  off  wrath  and  hatred ; put 
on  meekness  and  love  ; do  not  lie  or 
steal ; govern  your  passions  ; be  kind 
to  one  another ; by  your  example  and 
counsels  lift  up  the  degraded  around 
you  ; be  true  to  your  wives,  and  loving 
to  your  children.  And  do  not  deem 
your  lot  in  every  view  the  worst  on 
earth  ; the  time  is  coming  when  it  will 
be  found  better  to  have  been  a slave 
than  a master  ; better  to  have  borne 
the  yoke  than  to  have  laid  it  on  another. 
God  regards  you  with  mercy  ; he  offers 
you  his  best  blessings ; 4 He  resisteth 
the  proud,  but  giveth  grace  to  the  hum- 
ble.’ ” 

From  all  these  views  I am  bound  to 
discourage  all  action  on  the  slaves  on 
the  part  of  those  who  reside  in  other 
States.  When  the  individual  slave  flees 
to  us,  let  us  rejoice  in  his  safe  and  inno- 
cent flight.  But  with  the  millions  of 
slaves  in  the  land  of  bondage  we  cannot 
intermeddle  without  incurring  imminent 
peril.  The  evil  is  too  vast,  rooted,  com- 
plicated, terrible,  for  strangers  to  deal 
with,  except  by  that  moral  influence 
which  we  are  authorized  and  bound  to 
oppose  firmly  and  fearlessly  to  all  op- 
pression. We  may  and  ought  to  mourn 
over  the  chain  which  weighs  down  mill- 
ions of  our  brethren,  and  to  rouse  the 
sympathies  and  convictions  of  the  world 
in  aid  of  their  violated  rights.  Our 
moral  power  we  must  not  cease  to  op- 
pose to  the  master’s  claim  ; but  the  free 
States  must  not  touch  this  evil  by  legis- 
lation or  physical  power,  or  by  any  direct 
agency  on  the  servile  population.  God 
has  marked  out  our  sphere  of  duty ; 
and  no  passionate  sense  of  injustice,  no 
burning  desire  to  redress  wrong,  must 
carry  us  beyond  it.  Having  fully  done 
the  work  given  us  to  do,  we  must  leave 
the  evil  to  the  control  of  Him  who  has 
infinite  means  of  controlling  it,  whose 
almighty  justice  can  shiver  the  chain  of 
adamant  as  a wreath  of  mist  is  scattered 
by  the  whirlwind. 

I have  thus  set  forth  what  seem  to  me 
the  chief  duties  of  the  free  States  in  re- 


gard to  slavery.  First,  they  must  insist 
on  such  constructions  of  the  Constitu- 
tion as  will  save  our  own  citizens  from 
the  grasp  of  this  institution,  as  will  pre- 
vent the  extension  of  the  powders  of  the 
government  for  its  support  beyond  our 
own  shores,  and  as  will  bring  to  an  end 
slavery  and  the  slave-trade  in  the  Dis- 
trict of  Columbia ; and  secondly,  we 
must  insist  on  such  modifications  of  the 
Constitution  as  will  exempt  us  from  every 
obligation  to  sustain  and  strengthen  sla- 
very, whilst  at  the  same  time  we  give 
every  pledge  not  to  use  our  relation  to 
the  slave-holder  as  a means  of  acting  on 
the  slave.  These  are  solemn  duties,  not 
to  the  slaves  only  or  chiefly,  but  to  our- 
selves also.  They  involve  our  peace  at 
home  and  abroad.  They  touch  alike  our 
rights  and  interests.  On  our  perform- 
ance of  these  depend  the  perpetuity  of 
the  Union  and  our  rank  among  nations. 
Slavery,  if  it  shall  continue  to  be  a na- 
tional concern,  and  to  insinuate  itself 
into  our  domestic  policy,  will  prove  more 
and  more  a firebrand,  a torch  of  the 
Furies.  The  agitation  which  it  has 
produced  is  but  the  beginning  of  evils. 
Nothing  but  the  separation  of  it  from 
our  federal  system  can  give  us  peace. 

The  immediate  purpose  of  these  re- 
marks has  been  answered.  But  the 
topic  of  the  duties  of  the  free  States  in 
relation  to  slavery  has  started  various 
thoughts,  and  brought  to  view  other 
duties  more  or  less  connected  with  my 
primary  object ; and  as  I have  no  desire 
to  communicate  again  my  thoughts  on 
public  affairs,  I shall  be  glad  to  use  this 
opportunity  of  disburdening  my  mind. 
My  thoughts  will  arrange  themselves 
under  three  heads,  which,  however  im- 
perfectly treated,  deserve  serious  at- 
tention. 

In  the  first  place,  the  free  States  are 
especially  called  to  uphold  the  great 
ideas  or  principles  which  distinguish 
our  country,  and  on  which  our  Con- 
stitution rests.  This  may  be  said  to 
be  our  highest  political  duty.  Every 
country  is  characterized  by  certain  gfeat 
ideas  which  pervade  the  people  and  the 
government,  and  by  these  chiefly  its 
rank  is  determined.  When  one  idea 
predominates  strongly  above  all  others, 
it  is  a key  to  a nation’s  history.  The 
great  idea  of  Rome  — that  which  the 
child  drank  in  with  his  mother’s  milk 
— was  dominion.  The  great  idea  of 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


France  is  glory.  In  despotisms,  the 
idea  of  the  king  or  the  church  possesses 
itself  of  the  minds  of  the  people,  and  a 
superstitious  loyalty  or  piety  becomes 
the  badge  of  the  inhabitants.  The  most 
interesting  view  of  this  country  is  the 
grandeur  of  the  idea  which  has  deter- 
mined its  history,  and  which  is  expressed 
in  all  its  institutions.  Take  away  this, 
and  we  have  nothing  to  distinguish 
us.  In  the  refined  arts,  in  manners,  in 
works  of  genius,  we  are  as  yet  surpassed. 
From  our  youth  and  insulated  position, 
our  history  has  no  dazzling  brilliancy. 
But  one  distinction  belongs  to  us.  A 
great  idea  from  the  beginning  has  been 
working  in  the  minds  of  this  people,  and 
it  broke  forth  with  peculiar  energy  in 
our  Revolution.  This  is  the  idea  of 
human  rights.  In  our  Revolution  liberty 
was  our  watchword  ; but  not  a lawless 
liberty,  not  freedom  from  all  restraint, 
but  a moral  freedom.  Liberty  was 
always  regarded  as  each  man’s  right, 
imposing  on  every  other  man  a moral 
obligation  to  abstain  from  doing  it 
violence.  Liberty  and  law  were  always 
united  in  our  minds.  By  government 
we  understood  the  concentration  of  the 
power  of  the  whole  community  to  pro- 
tect the  rights  of  each  and  all  its  mem- 
bers. This  was  the  grand  idea  on  which 
all  our  institutions  were  built.  We 
believed  that  the  rights  of  the  people 
were  safest,  and  alone  safe,  in  their  own 
keeping,  and  therefore  we  adopted  popu- 
lar forms.  We  looked,  indeed,  to  gov- 
ernment for  the  promotion  of  the  public 
welfare,  as  well  as  for  the  defence  of 
rights.  But  we  felt  that  the  former  was 
included  in  the  latter  ; that,  in  securing 
to  every  man  the  largest  liberty,  the 
right  to  exercise  and  improve  all  his 
powers,  to  elevate  himself  and  his  con- 
dition, and  to  govern  himself,  subject 
only  to  the  limitation  which  the  equal 
freedom  of  others  imposes,  we  were 
providing  most  effectually  for  the  com- 
mon good.  It  was  felt  that  under  this 
moral  freedom  men’s  powers  would 
expand,  and  would  secure  to  them  im- 
measurably greater  good  than  could  be 
conferred  by  a government  intermeddling 
perpetually  with  the  subject  and  impos- 
ing minute  restraints. 

These  views  of  human  rights,  which 
pervade  and  light  up  our  history,  may 
be  expressed  in  one  word.  They  are 
summed  up  in  respect  for  the  individual 


889 

man.  In  all  other  countries  the  man 
has  been  obscured,  overpowered  by 
rulers,  merged  in  the  state,  made  a 
means  or  tool.  Here  every  man  has 
been  recognized  as  having  rights  on 
which  no  one  can  trench  without  crime. 
The  nation  has  recognized  something 
greater  than  the  nation’s  prosperity, 
than  outward,  material  interests ; and 
that  is,  individual  right.  In  our  Revo- 
lution a dignity  was  seen  in  human 
nature ; a generous  confidence  was 
placed  in  men.  It  was  believed  that 
they  would  attain  to  greater  nobleness 
by  being  left  to  govern  themselves  ; 
that  they  would  attain  to  greater  piety 
by  being  left  to  worship  God  according 
to  their  own  convictions  ; that  they 
would  attain  to  greater  energy  of  intel- 
lect, and  to  higher  truths,  by  being  left 
to  freedom  of  thought  and  utterance, 
than  by  the  wisest  forms  of  arbitrary 
rule.  It  was  believed  that  a universal 
expansion  of  the  higher  faculties  was  to 
be  secured  by  increasing  men’s  respon- 
sibilities, by  giving  them  higher  interests 
to  watch  over,  by  throwing  them  very 
much  on  themselves.  Such  is  the  grand 
idea  which  lies  at  the  root  of  our  insti- 
tutions ; such  the  fundamental  doctrines 
of  the  political  creed  into  which  we  have 
all  been  baptized. 

It  is  to  the  free  States  that  the  guar- 
dianship of  this  true  faith  peculiarly 
belongs.  Their  institutions  are  most 
in  harmony  with  it ; and  they  need  to 
be  reminded  of  this  duty,  because, 
under  the  happiest  circumstances,  the 
idea  of  human  rights  is  easily  obscured  ; 
because  there  is  always  a tendency  to 
exalt  worldly,  material  interests  above 
it.  The  recent  history  of  the  country 
shows  the  worship  of  wealth  taking  the 
place  of  reverence  for  liberty  and  uni- 
versal justice.  The  free  States  ar& 
called  to  watch  against  this  peril,  to 
regard  government,  not  as  a machine  for 
creating  wealth,  for  subserving  indb 
vidual  cupidity,  for  furnishing  facilities 
of  boundless  speculation,  but  as  a moral 
institution,  designed  to  secure  universal 
right,  to  protect  every  man  in  the  liber- 
ties and  immunities  through  which  he  is 
to  work  out  his  highest  good. 

It  must  not,  however,  be  imagined 
that  the  great  idea  of  our  country  is  to 
be  wrought  out  or  realized  by  govern- 
ment alone.  This  is,  indeed,  an  im- 
portant instrument,  but  it  does  not  cover 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES . 


890 

the  whole  field  of  human  rights.  The 
most  precious  of  these  it  can  hardly 
touch.  Government  is,  after  all,  a 
coarse  machine,  very  narrow  in  its 
operations,  doing  little  for  human  ad- 
vancement in  comparison  with  other  in- 
fluences. A man  has  other  rights  than 
those  of  property  and  person,  which  the 
government  takes  under  its  protection. 
He  has  a right  to  be  regarded  and 
treated  as  a man,  as  a being  who  has 
excellent  powers  and  a high  destiny. 
He  has  a right  to  sympathy  and  defer- 
ence, a right  to  be  helped  in  the  im- 
provement of  his  nature,  a right  to  share 
in  the  intelligence  of  the  community,  a 
right  to  the  means,  not  only  of  bodily,  but 
of  spiritual  well-being.  These  rights  a 
government  can  do  little  to  protect  or  aid. 
Yet  on  these  human  progress  chiefly 
rests.  To  bring  these  into  clear  light,  to 
incorporate  a reverential  feeling  for  these, 
not  only  into  government,  but  into  man- 
ners and  social  life,  — this  is  the  grand 
work  to  which  our  country  is  called. 

In  this  country  the  passion  for  wealth 
is  a mighty  force,  acting  in  hostility  to 
the  great  idea  which  rules  in  our  insti- 
tutions. Property  continually  tends  to 
become  a more  vivid  idea  than  right. 
In  the  struggle  for  private  accumulation 
the  worth  of  every  human  being  is  over- 
looked, the  importance  of  every  man’s 
progress  is  forgotten.  We  must  con- 
tend for  this  great  idea.  They  who 
hold  it  must  spread  it  around  them. 
The  truth  must  be  sounded  in  the  ears 
of  men,  that  the  grand  end  of  society  is, 
to  place  within  reach  of  all  its  members 
the  means  of  improvement,  of  elevation, 
of  the  true  happiness  of  man.  There  is 
a higher  duty  than  to  build  almshouses 
for  the  poor,  and  that  is,  to  save  men 
from  being  degraded  to  the  blighting 
influence  of  an  almshouse.  Man  has  a 
right  to  something  more  than  bread  to 
keep  him  from  starving.  He  has  a 
right  to  the  aids  and  encouragements 
and  culture  by  which  he  may  fulfil  the 
destiny  of  a man  ; and  until  society  is 
brought  to  recognize  and  reverence  this, 
it  will  continue  to  groan  under  its  present 
miseries. 

Let  me  repeat,  that  government  alone 
cannot  realize  the  great  idea  of  this 
country  ; that  is,  cannot  secure  to  every 
man  all  his  rights.  Legislation  has  its 
limits.  It  is  a power  to  be  wielded 
against  a few  evils  only.  It  acts  by 


physical  force,  and.  all  the  higher  im- 
provements of  human  beings  come  from 
truth  and  love.  Government  does  little 
more  than  place  society  in  a condition 
which  favors  the  action  of  higher  powers 
than  its  own.  A great  idea  may  be 
stamped  on  the  government,  and  be 
contradicted  in  common  life.  It  is  very 
possible  under  popular  forms  that  a 
spirit  of  exclusiveness  and  of  contempt 
for  the  multitude,  that  impassable  social 
barriers,  and  the  degradation  of  large 
masses,  may  continue  as  truly  as  under 
aristocratic  forms.  The  spirit  of  soci- 
ety, not  an  outward  institution,  is  the 
mighty  power  by  which  the  hard  lot  of 
man  is  to  be  meliorated.  The  great 
idea,  that  every  human  being  has  a 
right  to  the  means  of  exercising  and 
improving  his  highest  powers,  must 
pass  from  a cold  speculation  into  a 
living  conviction,  and  then  society  will 
begin  in  earnest  to  accomplish  its  end. 
This  great  idea  exists  as  yet  only  as  a 
germ,  in  the  most  advanced  commu- 
nities, and  is  working  faintly.  But  it 
cannot  die.  We  hear,  indeed,  much  de- 
sponding language  about  society.  The 
cant  of  the  day  is  the  cant  of  indiffer- 
ence or  despair.  But  let  it  not  dis- 
courage us.  It  is,  indeed,  possible  that 
this  country  may  sink  beneath  the  work 
imposed  on  it  by  Providence,  and,  in- 
stead of  bringing  the  world  into  its  debt, 
may  throw  new  darkness  over  human 
hope.  But  great  ideas,  once  brought 
to  light,  do  not  die.  The  multitude  of 
men  through  the  civilized  world  are 
catching  some  glimpses,  however  in- 
distinct, of  a higher  lot ; are  waking  up 
to  something  higher  than  animal  good. 
There  is  springing  up  an  aspiration 
among  them,  which,  however  dreaded 
as  a dangerous  restlessness,  .is  the  nat- 
ural working  of  the  human  spirit,  when- 
ever it  emerges  from  gross  ignorance, 
and  seizes  on  some  vague  idea  of  its 
rights.  Thank  God  ! it  is  natural  for 
man  to  aspire  : and  this  aspiration  ceases 
to  be  dangerous  just  in  proportion  as 
the  intelligent  members  of  society  in- 
terpret it  aright,  and  respond  to  it,  and 
give  themselves  to  the  work  of  raising 
their  brethren.  If,  through  self-indul- 
gence or  pride,  they  decline  this  work, 
the  aspiration  will  not  cease  ; but,  grow- 
ing up  under  resistance  or  contempt,  it 
may  become  a spirit  of  hostility,  con- 
flict, revenge. 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES . 


The  fate  of  this  country  depends  on 
nothing  so  much  as  on  the  growth  or 
decline  of  the  great  idea  which  lies  at 
the  foundation  of  all  our  institutions,  — 
the  idea  of  the  sacredness  of  every 
man’s  right,  the  respect  due  to  every 
human  being.  This  exists  among  us. 
It  has  stamped  itself  on  government. 
It  fs  now  to  stamp  itself  on  manners 
and  common  life,  — a far  harder  work. 
It  will  then  create  a society  such  as 
men  have  not  anticipated,  but  which  is 
not  to  be  despaired  of,  if  Christianity 
be  divine,  or  if  the  highest  aspirations 
of  the  soul  be  true.  It  is  only  in  the 
free  States  that  the  great  idea  of  which 
I have  spoken  can  be  followed  out.  It 
is  denied  openly,  flagrantly,  where  sla- 
very exists.  To  be  true  to  it  is  our  first 
political,  social  duty. 

I proceed  to  another  important  topic, 
and  that  is,  the  duty  of  the  free  States 
in  relation  to  the  Union.  They  and  the 
slave-holding  States  constitute  one  peo- 
ple. . Is  this  tie  to  continue,  or  to  be 
dissolved  ? It  cannot  be  disguised  that 
this  subject  is  growing  into  importance. 
The  South  has  talked  recklessly  about 
disunion.  The  more  quiet  North  has 
said  little,  but  thought  more  ; and  there 
are  now  not  a few  who  speak  of  the 
Union  as  doomed  to  dissolution,  whilst 
a few  seem  disposed  to  hasten  the  evil 
day.  Some  approach  the  subject,  not 
as  politicians,  but  as  religious  men, 
bound  first  to  inquire  into  the  moral 
fitness  of  political  arrangements  ; and 
they  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
a union  with  States  sustaining  slavery 
is  unjust,  and  ought  to  be  renounced,  at 
whatever  cost.  That  the  Union  is  in 
danger  is  not  to  be  admitted.  Its 
strength  would  be  made  manifest  by 
the  attempt  to  dissolve  it.  But  any 
thing  which  menaces  it  deserves  atten- 
tion. So  great  a good  should  be  exposed 
to  no  hazard  which  can  be  shunned. 

The  Union  is  an  inestimable  good. 
It  is  to  be  prized  for  its  own  sake,  — to 
be  prized,  not  merely  or  chiefly  for  its 
commercial  benefits  or  any  pecuniary 
advantages,  but  simply  as  union,  simply 
as  a pacific  relation  between  commu- 
nities which  without  this  tie  would  be 
exposed  to  ruinous  collisions.  To  secure 
this  boon  we  should  willingly  make  great 
sacrifices.  So  full  of  crime  and  misery 
are  hostile  relations  between  neighbor- 
ing rival  states  that  a degree  of  mis- 


891 

government  should  be  preferred  to  the 
danger  of  conflict.  Disunion  would  not 
only  embroil  us  with  one  another,  but 
with  foreign  nations  ; for  these  States, 
once  divided,  would  connect  themselves 
with  foreign  powers,  which  would  profit 
by  our  jealousies,  and  involve  our  whole 
policy  in  inextricable  confusion. 

There  are  some  among  us  who  are 
unwilling  to  be  connected  with  States 
sustaining  so  great  a wrong  as  slavery. 
But  if  the  North  can  be  exempted  from 
obligation  to  sustain  it,  we  ought  not  to 
make  its  existence  at  the  South  aground 
of  separation.  The  doctrine,  that  inti- 
mate political  connection  is  not  to  be 
maintained  with  men  practising  a great 
wrong,  would  lead  to  the  dissolution  of 
all  government,  and  of  civil  society. 
Every  nation,  great  or  small,  contains 
multitudes  who  practise  wrongs  ; nor  is 
it  possible  to  exclude  such  from  politi- 
cal power.  Injustice,  if  not  the  ruling 
element  in  human  affairs,  has  yet  a 
fearful  influence.  In  popular  govern- 
ments the  ambitious  and  intriguing  often 
bear  sway.  Men  who  are  ready  to  sac- 
rifice quiet  and  domestic  comforts  and 
all  other  interests  to  political  place  and 
promotion,  will  snatch  the  prize  from 
uncompromising,  modest  virtue.  In  our 
present  low  civilization  a community  has 
no  pledge  of  being  governed  by  its  virtue. 
In  free  governments  parties  are  the 
means  of  power,  and  a country  can  fall 
under  few  more  immoral  influences  than 
party-spirit.  Without  a deep  moral  rev- 
olution in  society,  we  must  continue  to 
be  ruled  very  imperfectly.  In  truth, 
among  the  darkest  mysteries  of  Provi- 
dence are  the  crimes  and  woes  flowing 
from  the  organization  of  men  into  states, 
from  our  subjection  to  human  rule. 
The  very  vices  of  men  which  make 
government  needful  unfit  them  to  gov- 
ern. Government  is  only  to  be  endured 
on  account  of  the  greater  evils  of  anar- 
chy which  it  prevents.  It  is  no  suffi- 
cient reason,  then,  for  breaking  from 
the  slave-holding  States,  that  they  prac- 
tise a great  wrong. 

Besides,  are  not  the  purposes  of  Prov- 
idence often  accomplished  by  the  asso- 
ciation of  the  good  with  the  compara- 
tively bad  ? Is  the  evil  man,  or  the  evil 
community,  to  be  excluded  from  broth- 
erly feeling,  to  be  treated  as  an  outcast 
by  the  more  innocent  ? Would  not  this 
argue  a want  of  faith  and  love,  rather 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


892 

than  a just  abhorrence  of  wrong?  Un- 
doubtedly the  good  are  to  free  them- 
selves from  participation  in  crime  ; but 
they  are  not  therefore  to  sever  human 
ties,  or  renounce  the  means  of  moral 
influence. 

With  whom  can  we  associate,  if  we 
will  have  no  fellowship  with  wrong- 
doing ? Can  a new  confederacy  be 
formed  which  will  exclude  selfishness, 
jealousy,  intrigue  ? Do  not  all  confed- 
eracies provoke  among  their  members 
keen  competitions  for  power,  and  induce 
unjust  means  of  securing  it  ? On  the 
whole,  has  not  our  present  Union  been 
singularly  free  from  the  collisions  which 
naturally  spring  from  such  close  politi- 
cal connection  ? Would  a smaller  num- 
ber of  States  be  more  likely  to  agree  ? 
Do  we  not  owe  to  the  extent  of  the 
Union  the  singular  fact,  that  no  State 
has  inspired  jealousy  by  disproportionate 
influence  or  power  ? 

The  South,  indeed,  is  wedded  to  an 
unjust  institution.  But  the  South  is 
not,  therefore,  another  name  for  injus- 
tice. Slave-holding  is  not  the  only  rela- 
tion of  its  inhabitants.  They  are  bound 
together  by  the  various  and  most  inter- 
esting ties  of  life.  They  are  parents 
and  children,  husbands  and  wives, 
friends,  neighbors,  members  of  the 
state,  members  of  the  Christian  body; 
and  in  all  these  relations  there  may  be 
found  models  of  purity  and  virtue.  How 
many  among  ourselves,  who  must  at  any 
rate  form  part  of  a political  body,  and 
fill  the  highest  places  in  the  state,  fall 
short  of  multitudes  at  the  South  in 
moral  and  religious  principle  ! * 

Form  what  confederacy  we  may,  it 
will  often  pledge  us  to  the  wrong  side. 
Its  powers  will  often  be  perverted.  The 
majority  will  be  seduced  again  and  again 
into  crime  ; and  incorruptible  men,  po- 
litically weak,  wilt  be  compelled  to  con- 
tent themselves  with  what  will  seem 
wasted  remonstrance.  No  paradise 
opens  itself,  if  we  leave  our  union  with 
the  corrupt  South.  A corrupt  North 
will  be  leagued  together  to  act  out  the 
evil,  as  well  as  the  good,  which  is  at 
work  in  its  members.  A mournful 
amount  of  moral  evil  is  to  be  found 
through  this  part  of  the  country.  The 
spirit  of  commerce,  which  is  the  spirit 
of  the  North,  has  lately  revealed  the 
tendencies  to  guilt  which  it  involves. 

* See  Note  E at  end  of  this  article- 


We  are  taught  that,  however  covered 
up  with  the  name  of  honor,  however 
restrained  by  considerations  of  reputa- 
tion and  policy,  trade  may  undermine 
integrity  to  an  extent  which  shakes  the 
confidence  of  the  unthinking  in  all  hu- 
man virtue. 

The  fiery  passions  which  have  broken 
out  at  the  South  since  the  agitation  of 
the  slavery  question  have  alienated  many 
among  us  from  that  part  of  the  country. 
But  these  prove  no  singular  perverseness 
or  corruption.  What  else  could  have 
been  expected  ? Was  it  to  be  imagined 
that  a proud,  fiery  people  could  hear 
patiently  one  of  their  oldest  and  most 
rooted  institutions  set  down  among  the 
greatest  wrongs  and  oppressions  ? that 
men  holding  the  highest  rank  would 
consent  to  bear  the  reproach  of  tramp- 
ling right  and  humanity  in  the  dust  ? 
Do  men  at  the  North,  good  or  bad,  aban- 
don without  a struggle  advantages  con- 
firmed to  them  by  long  prescription  ? 
Do  they  easily  relinquish  gainful  voca- 
tions on  which  the  moral  sentiment  of 
the  community  begins  to  frown  ? Is  it 
easy  to  bring  down  the  exalted  from  the 
chief  seats  in  society  ? to  overcome  the 
pride  of  caste  ? to  disarm  the  prejudices 
of  a sect  ? Is  human  nature  among  our- 
selves easily  dispossessed  of  early  pre- 
possessions, and  open  to  rebuke  ? That 
the  South  should  react  with  violence 
against  antislavery  doctrines  was  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world ; and 
the  very  persons  whose  consciences 
were  the  most  reconciled  to  the  evil, 
who  least  suspected  wrong  in  the  insti- 
tution, were  likely  to  feel  themselves 
most  aggrieved.  The  exasperated  jeal- 
ousies of  the  South  in  regard  to  the 
North  are  such  as  spring  up  universally 
towards  communities  of  different  habits, 
principles,  and  feelings,  which  have  got 
the  start  of  their  neighbors,  and  take 
the  liberty  to  reprove  them.  Allow  the 
South  to  be  passionate.  Passion  is  not 
the  worst  vice  on  the  earth,  nor  are  a 
fiery  people  the  greatest  offenders. 
Such  evils  are  not  the  most  enduring. 
Conflagrations  in  communities,  as  in  the 
forest,  die  out  sooner  or  later. 

Perhaps  we  have  not  felt  enough  how 
tender  are  the  points  which  the  antisla- 
very movement  has  touched  at  the 
South.  The  slave  is  property ; and  to 
how  many  men  everywhere  is  property 
dearer  than  life  ! Nor  is  this  all.  The 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES . 


slave  is  not  only  the  object  of  cupidity, 
but  of  a stronger  passion,  — the  passion 
for  power.  The  slave-holder  is  not 
only  an  owner,  but  a master.  He  rules, 
he  wields  an  absolute  sceptre  ; and  when 
have  men  yielded  empire  without  con- 
flict ? Would  the  North  make  such  a 
sacrifice  more  cheerfully  than  the  South  ? 

To  judge  justly  of  the  violence  of  the 
South,  another  consideration  must  not 
be  overlooked.  It  must  be  acknowl- 
edged that  abundant  fuel  has  been  min- 
istered to  the  passions  of  the  slave- 
holder by  the  vehemence  with  which 
his  domestic  institutions  were  assailed 
at  the  North.  No  deference  was  paid  to 
his  sensitiveness,  his  dignity.  The 
newly-awakened  sympathy  with  the  slave 
not  only  denied  the  rights,  but  set  at 
nought  all  the  feelings  of  the  master. 
That  a gentle  or  more  courteous  ap- 
proach would  have  softened  him  is  not 
said ; but  that  the  whole  truth  might 
have  been  spoken  in  tones  less  offensive 
cannot  be  questioned  ; so  that  we  who 
have  opposed  slavery  are  responsible  in 
part  for  the  violence  which  has  offended 
us. 

No  ! the  spirit  of  the  South  furnishes 
no  argument  for  dissolving  the  Union. 
That  States  less  prosperous  than  our- 
selves should  be  jealous  of  movements 
directed  from  this  quarter  against  their 
institutions  is  not  strange.  We  must 
imagine  ourselves  in  the  position  of  the 
South,  to  judge  of  the  severity  of  the 
trial.  We  must  not  forget  that,  to  the 
multitude  there,  slavery  seems,  if  not 
right  in  itself,  yet  an  irremediable  evil. 
They  look  at  it  in  the  light  of  habit,  and 
of  opinions  which  prevailed  in  times  of 
darkness  and  despotism.  With  such 
prepossessions,  how  could  they  but  repel 
the  zeal  of  Northern  reformers  ? 

It  seems  to  be  thought  by  some  that 
the  diversities  of  character  between  the 
South  and  North  unfit  them  for  political 
union.  That  diversities  exist  is  true  ; 
but  they  are  such  as  by  mutual  action 
and  modification  may  ultimately  form  a 
greater  people.  It  is  by  the  fusion  of 
various  attributes  that  rich  and  noble 
characters  are  formed.  The  different 
sections  of  our  country  need  to  be  mod- 
ified by  one  another’s  influence.  The 
South  is  ardent ; the  North  calmer  and 
more  foreseeing.  The  South  has  quicker 
sympathies  ; the  North  does  more  good. 
The  South  commits  the  individual  more 


893 

to  his  own  arm  of  defence  ; at  the  North 
the  idea  of  law  has  greater  sanctity. 
The  South  has  a freer  and  more  grace- 
ful bearing,  and  a higher  aptitude  for 
genial,  social  intercourse  ; the  North 
has  its  compensation  in  superior  domes- 
tic virtues  and  enjoyments.  The  cour- 
age of  the  South  is  more  impetuous  ; of 
the  North  more  stubborn.  The  South 
has  more  of  the  self-glorifying  spirit  of 
the  French  ; the  North,  like  England, 
is  at  once  too  proud  and  too  diffident  to 
boast.  We  of  the  North  are  a more 
awkward,  shy,  stiff,  and  steady  race, 
with  a liberal  intermixture  of  enthusi- 
asm, enterprise,  reflection,  and  quiet 
heroism ; whilst  the  South  is  franker, 
bolder,  more  fervent,  more  brilliant,  and 
of  course  more  attractive  to  strangers, 
and  more  fitted  for  social  influence. 

Such  comparisons  must,  indeed,  be 
made  with  large  allowances.  The  ex- 
ceptions to  the  common  character  are 
numerous  at  the  North  and  the  South, 
and  the  shades  of  distinction  are  grow- 
ing fainter.  But  climate,  that  mysteri- 
ous agent  on  the  spirit,  will  never  suffer 
these  diversities  wholly  to  disappear  ; 
nor  is  it  best  that  they  should  be  lost. 
A nation  with  these  different  elements 
will  have  a richer  history,  and  is  more 
likely  to  adopt  a wise  and  liberal  policy 
that  will  do  justice  to  our  whole  nature. 
The  diversities  between  the  two  sections 
of  the  community  are  inducements,  rather 
than  objections,  to  union  ; for  narrow 
and  homogeneous  communities  are  apt 
to  injure  and  degrade  themselves  by 
stubborn  prejudices,  and  by  a short- 
sighted, selfish  concern  for  their  special 
interests  ; and  it  is  well  for  them  to 
form  connections  which  will  help  or 
force  them  to  look  far  and  wide,  to 
make  compromises  and  sacrifices,  and 
to  seek  a larger  good. 

We  have  a strong  argument  for  con- 
tinued union  in  the  almost  insuperable 
difficulties  which  would  follow  its  dis- 
solution. To  the  young  and  inexperi- 
enced the  formation  of  new  confederacies 
and  new  governments  passes  for  an  easy 
task.  It  seems  to  be  thought  that  a 
political  union  may  be  got  up  as  easily 
as  a marriage.  But  love  is  the  magician 
which  levels  all  the  mountains  of  diffi- 
culty in  the  latter  case  ; and  no  love, 
too  often  nothing  but  selfishness,  acts 
in  the  former. 

Let  the  Union  be  dissolved,  and  new 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


894 

federal  governments  must  be  framed ; 
and  we  have  little  reason  to  anticipate 
better  than  we  now  enjoy.  Not  that 
our  present  Constitution  is,  what  it  is 
sometimes  called,  the  perfection  of  po- 
litical skill.  It  is  the  first  experiment 
of  a purely  representative  system  ; and 
first  experiments  are  almost  necessarily 
imperfect.  F uture  ages  may  smile  at  our 
blameless  model  of  government.  A more 
skilful  machinery,  more  effectual  checks, 
wiser  distributions  and  modifications  of 
power,  are  probably  to  be  taught  the  world 
by  our  experience.  But  our  experience 
has  as  yet  been  too  short  to  bring  us  this 
wisdom,  whilst  the  circumstances  of  the 
present  moment  are  any  thing  but  pro- 
pitious to  an  improvement  on  the  work 
of  our  fathers. 

The  work  of  framing  a government, 
even  in  favorable  circumstances,  is  one 
of  the  most  arduous  committed  to  man. 
The  construction  of  the  simplest  form 
of  polity,  or  of  institutions  for  a single 
community  in  rude  stages  of  society, 
demands  rare  wisdom  ; and  accordingly 
the  renown  of  legislators  transcends  all 
other  fame  in  history.  But  to  construct 
a government  for  a confederacy  of  states, 
of  nations,  in  a highly  complex  and  arti- 
ficial state  of  society,  is  a Herculean 
task.  The  federal  Constitution  was  a 
higher  achievement  than  the  assertion 
of  our  independence  in  the  field  of  bat- 
tle. If  we  can  point  to  any  portion  of 
our  history  as  indicating  a special  Divine 
Providence,  it  was  the  consent  of  so 
many  communities  to  a frame  of  govern- 
ment combining  such  provisions  for  hu- 
man rights  and  happiness  as  we  now 
enjoy. 

Break  up  this  Union,  reduce  these 
States,  now  doubled  in  number,  to  a 
fragmentary  form,  and  who  can  hope 
to  live  long  enough  to  see  a harmonious 
reconstruction  of  them  into  new  confed- 
eracies ? We  know  how  the  present 
Constitution  was  obstructed  by  the  jeal- 
ousies and  passions  of  States  and  in- 
dividuals. But  if  these  were  so  formid- 
able at  the  end  of  a struggle  against  a 
common  foe  which  had  knit  all  hearts, 
what  is  not  to  be  dreaded  from  the 
distrusts  which  must  follow  the  conflicts 
and  exasperations  of  the  last  fifty  years, 
and  the  agony  of  separation  ? It  is  no 
reproach  on  the  people  to  say,  that 
nearly  fifty  years  of  peace  and  trade 
and  ambition  and  prosperity  have  not 


nourished  as  ardent  a patriotism  as  the 
revolutionary  struggle ; for  this  is  a 
necessary  result  of  the  principles  of 
human  nature.  We  should  come  to 
our  work  more  selfishly  than  our  fathers 
approached  theirs.  Our  interests,  too, 
are  now  more  complicated,  various,  in- 
terfering, so  that  a compromise  would 
be  harder.  We  have  lost  much  of  the 
simplicity  of  a former  time,  and  our 
public  men  are  greater  proficients  in 
intrigue.  Were  there  natural  divisions 
of  the  country  which  would  determine 
at  once  the  new  arrangements  of  power, 
the  difficulty  would  be  less ; but  the 
new  confederacies  would  be  sufficiently 
arbitrary  to  open  a wide  field  to  selfish 
plotters.  Who  that  knows  the  obstacles 
which  passion,  selfishness,  and  corrup- 
tion throw  in  the  way  of  a settled  gov- 
ernment will  desire  to  encounter  the 
chances  and  perils  of  constructing  a 
new  system  under  all  these  disadvan- 
tages ? 

. There  is  another  circumstance  which 
renders  it  undesirable  now  to  break  up 
the  present  order  of  things.  The  minds 
of  men  everywhere  are  at  this  moment 
more  than  usually  unsettled.  There  is 
much  questioning  of  the  past  and  the 
established,  and  a disposition  to  push 
principles  to  extremes,  without  regard 
to  the  modifications  which  other  prin- 
ciples and  a large  experience  demand. 
There  is  a blind  confidence  in  the  power 
of  man’s  will  and  wisdom  over  society, 
an  overweening  faith  in  legislation,  a 
disposition  to  look  to  outward  arrange- 
ments for  that  melioration  of  human 
affairs  which  can  come  only  from  the 
culture  and  progress  of  the  soul,  a hope 
of  Snaking  by  machinery  what  is  and 
must  be  a slow,  silent  growth.  Such  a 
time  is  not  the  best  for  constructing 
governments  and  newr  confederacies. 

We  are,  especially,  passing  through  a 
stage  of  political  speculation  or  opinion, 
which  is,  indeed,  necessary  under  such 
institutions,  and  which  may  be  expected 
to  give  place  to  higher  wisdom,  but 
which  is  not  the  most  propitious  for  the 
formation  of  political  institutions.  I 
refer  to  false  notions  as  to  democracy, 
and  as  to  its  distinctive  benefits,  — no- 
tions which  ought  not  to  surprise  us,  be- 
cause a people  are  slow  to  learn  the  true 
character  and  spirit  of  their  institutions, 
and  generally  acquire  this,  as  all  other 
knowledge,  by  some  painful  experience. 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  TsCEE  STATES. 


It  is  a common  notion  here,  as  else- 
where, that  it  is  a grand  privilege  to 
govern,  to  exercise  political  power  ; and 
that  popular  institutions  have  this  spe- 
cial benefit,  that  they  confer  the  honor 
and  pleasure  of  sovereignty  on  the 
greatest  number  possible.  The  people 
are  pleased  at  the  thought  of  being 
rulers ; and  hence  all  obstructions  to 
their  immediate,  palpable  ruling  are  re- 
garded with  jealousy.  It  is  a grand 
thing,  they  fancy,  to  have  their  share 
of  kingship.  Now  this  is  wrong, — a 
pernicious  error.  It  is  no  privilege  to 
govern,  but  a fearful  responsibility,  and 
seldom  assumed  without  guilt.  The 
great  good  to  be  sought  and  hoped  from 
popular  institutions  is,  to  be  freed  from 
unnecessary  rule,  to  be  governed  with 
no  reference  to  the  glory  or  gratification 
of  the  sovereign  power.  The  grand 
good  of  popular  institutions  is  liberty, 
or  the  protection  of  every  man’s  rights 
to  the  full,  with  the  least  possible  re- 
straint. Sovereignty,  wherever  lodged, 
is  not  a thing  to  be  proud  of,  or  to  be 
stretched  a hand’s-breadth  beyond  need. 
If  I am  to  be  hedged  in  on  every  side, 
to  be  fretted  by  the  perpetual  presence 
of  arbitrary  will,  to  be  denied  the  exer- 
cise of  my  powers,  it  matters  nothing  to 
me  whether  the  chain  is  laid  on  me  by 
one  or  many,  by  king  or  people.  A 
despot  is  not  more  tolerable  for  his 
many  heads. 

Democracy,  considered  in  itself,  is 
the  noblest  form  of  government,  and  the 
only  one  to  satisfy  a man  who  respects 
himself  and  his  fellow-creatures.  But 
if  its  actual  operation  be  regarded,  we 
are  compelled  to  say  that  it  works  very 
imperfectly.  It  is  true  of  people,  as  it 
is  of  king  and  nobles,  that  they  have  no 
great  capacity  of  government.  They 
ought  not  to  exult  at  the  thought  of  be- 
ing rulers,  but  to  content  themselves 
with  swaying  the  sceptre  within  as  nar- 
row limits  as  the  public  safety  may  re- 
quire. They  should  tremble  at  this 
function  of  government,  should  exercise 
it  with  self-distrust,  and  be  humbled  by 
the  defects  of  their  administration. 

I am  not  impatient  of  law.  One  law 
I reverence  — that  divine,  eternal  law 
written  on  the  rational  soul,  and  re- 
vealed with  a celestial  brightness  in  the 
word  and  life  of  Jesus  Christ.  But  hu- 
man rulers,  be  they  many  or  few,  are 
apt  to  pay  little  heed  to  this  law.  They 


895 

do  not  easily  surrender  to  it  their  inter- 
ests and  ambition.  It  is  dethroned  in 
cabinets,  and  put  to  silence  in  halls  of 
legislation.  In  the  sphere  of  politics, 
even  men  generally  good  dispense  un- 
scrupulously with  a pure  morality,  and 
of  consequence  we  all  have  an  interest 
in  the  limitation  of  political  power. 

Such  views  teach  us  that  one  of  the 
first  lessons  to  be  taught  to  a people 
in  a democracy  is  self-distrust.  They 
should  learn  that  to  rule  is  the  most  dif- 
ficult work  on  earth  ; that  in  all  ages 
and  countries  men  have  sunk  under  the 
temptations  and  difficulties  of  the  task ; 
that  no  power  is  so  corrupting  as  public 
power,  and  that  none  should  be  used 
with  greater  fear. 

By  democracy,  we  understand  that  a 
people  governs  itself  ; and  the  primary, 
fundamental  act  required  of  a people  is, 
that  it  shall  lay  such  restraints  on  its 
own  powers  as  will  give  the  best  security 
against  their  abuse.  This  is  the  highest 
purpose  of  a popular  constitution.  A 
constitution  is  not  merely  a machinery 
for  ascertaining  and  expressing  a peo- 
ple’s will,  but  much  more  a provision 
for  keeping  that  will  within  righteous 
bounds.  It  is  the  act  of  a people  im- 
posing limits  on  itself,  setting  guard  on 
its  own  passions,  and  throwing  obstruc- 
tions in  the  way  of  legislation,  so  as  to 
compel  itself  to  pause,  to  deliberate,  to 
hear  all  remonstrances,  to  weigh  all 
rights  and  interests,  before  it  acts.-  A 
constitution  not  framed  on  these  princi- 
ples must  fail  of  its  end.  Now  at  the 
present  moment  these  sound  maxims 
have  lost  much  of  their  authority.  The 
people,  flattered  into  blindness,  have  for- 
gotten their  passionateness,  and  prone- 
ness to  abuse  power.  The  wholesome 
restraints  laid  by  the  present  Constitu- 
tion on  popular  impulse  are  losing  their 
force,  and  we  have  reason  to  fear  that 
new  constitutions  formed  at  the  present 
moment  would  want,  more  than  our 
present  national  charter,  the  checks  and 
balances  on  which  safety  depends. 

A wise  man  knows  himself  to  be 
weak,  and  lays  down  rules  of  life  which 
meet  his  peculiar  temptation.  So  should 
a people  do.  A people  is  in  danger 
from  fickleness  and  passion.  The  great 
evil  to  be  feared  in  a popular  govern- 
ment is  instability,  or  the  sacrifice  of 
great  principles  to  momentary  impulses. 
A constitution  which  does  not  apply 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


896 

checks  and  restraints  to  these  perils 
cannot  stand.  Our  present  Constitution 
has  many  wise  provisions  of  this  char- 
acter. The  division  of  the  legislature 
into  two  branches,  and  the  forms  which 
retard  legislation,  are  of  great  value. 
But  what  constitutes  the  peculiar  ad- 
vantage of  the  distinction  of  legislative 
chambers  is,  that  the  Senate  has  so 
different  a character  from  the  House 
of  Representatives  ; that  it  represents 
States,  not  individuals  ; that  it  is  chosen 
by  legislatures,  not  by  primary  assem- 
blies ; and  that  the  term  of  a senator’s 
service  is  three  times  the  length  of  that 
of  the  popular  branch.  The  Senate  is 
one  of  the  chief  conservative  powers 
in  the  government.  It  has  two  grand 
functions,  — one  to  watch  the  rights  of 
the  several  States,  and  the  other,  not 
less  important,  to  resist  the  fluctuations 
of  the  popular  branch.  The  Senate  is 
a power  raised  for  a time  by  the  people 
above  their  own  passions,  that  it  may 
secure  stability  to  the  administration  of 
affairs.  Now  this  function  of  the  Sen- 
ate has  been  seriously  impaired  by 
the  doctrine  of  “ Instructions,”  — a doc- 
trine destroying  moral  independence, 
and  making  the  senator  a passive  re- 
cipient of  momentary  impulses  which  it 
may  be  his  highest  duty  to  withstand. 
This  doctrine  is  in  every  view  hurtful. 
A man  in  public  life  should  as  far  as 
possible  be  placed  under  influences 
which  give  him  dignity  of  mind,  self- 
respect,  and  a deep  feeling  of  responsi- 
bility. He  should  go  to  the  nation’s 
council  with  a mind  open  to  all  the  light 
which  is  concentrated  there,  to  study 
and  promote  the  broad  interests  of  the 
nation.  He  is  not  to  work  as  a mere 
tool,  to  be  an  echo  of  the  varying  voices 
at  a distance,  but  to  do  what  seems  to 
him  right,  and  to  answer  to  his  constit- 
uents for  his  conduct  at  the  appointed 
hour  for  yielding  up  his  trust.  Yet 
were  new  institutions  to  be  framed  at 
this  moment,  would  not  the  people  for- 
get the  restraint  which  they  should  im- 
pose on  themselves,  and  the  respect  due 
to  their  delegates  ? and,  from  attaching 
a foolish  self-importance  to  the  act  of 
governing,  would  they  not  give  to  their 
momentary  feelings  more  and  more  the 
conduct  of  public  affairs  ? 

The  Constitution  contains  another 
provision  of  wise  self-distrust  on  the 
part  of  the  people,  in  the  power  of  the 


veto  intrusted  to  the  President.  The 
President  is  the  only  representative  of 
the  people’s  unity.  He  is  the  head  of 
the  nation.  He  has  nothing  to  do  with 
Districts  or  States,  but  to  look  with  an 
equal  eye  on  the  whole  country.  To 
him  is  intrusted  a limited  negative  on 
the  two  chambers,  — a negative  not 
simply  designed  to  guard  his  own  power 
from  encroachment,  but  to  correct  par- 
tial legislation,  and  to  be  a barrier 
against  invasions  of  the  Constitution 
by  extensive  combinations  of  interest 
or  ambition.  Every  department  should 
be  a check  on  legislation  ; but  this  salu- 
tary power  there  is  a disposition  to 
wrest  from  the  executive,  and  it  would 
hardly  find  a place  in  a new  confed- 
eracy. 

The  grand  restraining,  conservative 
power  of  the  state  remains  to  be  men- 
tioned; it  is  the  judiciary.  This  is  worth 
more  to  the  people  than  any  other  de- 
partment. The  impartial  administration 
of  a good  code  of  laws  is  the  grand  re- 
sult, the  paramount  good,  to  which  all 
political  arrangements  should  be  subor- 
dinate. The  reign  of  justice,  which  is 
the  reign  of  rights  and  liberty,  is  the 
great  boon  we  should  ask  from  the 
state.  The  judicial  is  the  highest  func- 
tion. The  chief  justice  should  rank  be- 
fore king  or  president.  The  pomp  of  a 
palace  may  be  dispensed  with  ; but  every 
imposing  solemnity  consistent  with  the 
simplicity  of  our  manners  should  be  com- 
bined in  the  hall  where  the  laws  which 
secure  every  man’s  rights  are  admin- 
istered. To  accomplish  the  great  end 
of  government,  nothing  is  so  important 
as  to  secure  the  impartiality  and  moral 
independence  of  judges  ; and  for  this 
end  they  should  be  appointed  for  life, 
subject  to  removal  only  for  violation  of 
duty.  This  is  essential.  A judge  should 
not  hang  on  the  smiles  of  king  or  people. 
In  him  the  people  should  erect  a power 
above  their  own  temporary  will.  There 
ought  to  be  in  the  state  something  to 
represent  the  majesty  of  that  stable, 
everlasting  law  to  which  all  alike  should 
bow ; some  power  above  the  sordid  in- 
terests, and  aloof  from  the  struggles  and 
intrigues  of  ordinary  public  life.  The 
dependence  of  the  judge  on  the  breath 
of  party  or  the  fleeting  passions  of  the 
people  is  a deformity  in  the  state,  for 
which  no  other  excellence  in  popular  in- 
stitutions can  make  compensation.  The 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


897 


p-randest  spectacle  in  this  country  is  the 
judiciary  power,  raised  by  the  people  to 
independence  of  parties  and  temporary 
majorities,  taking  as  its  first  guide  the 
national  charter,  the  fundamental  law, 
which  no  parties  can  touch,  which  stands 
like  a rock  amidst  the  fluctuations  of 
opinion,  and  determining  by  this  the 
validity  of  the  laws  enacted  by  transient 
legislatures.  Here  is  the  conservative 
element  of  the  country.  Yet  it  is  seri- 
ously proposed  to  destroy  the  indepen- 
dence of  the  judiciary  power,  to  make 
the  judge  a pensioner  on  party,  by  mak- 
ing the  office  elective  for  a limited  time  ; 
and  it  is  not  impossible  that  this  perni- 
cious feature  might  be  impressed  on  new 
institutions  which  might  spring  up  at  the 
present  time. 

This  language  will  not  win  me  the 
name  of  Democrat.  But  I am  not  anx- 
ious to  bear  any  name  into  which  gov- 
ernment enters  as  the  great  idea.  I want 
as  little  government  as  consists  with 
safety  to  the  rights  of  all.  I wish  the 
people  to  govern  no  farther  than  they 
must.  I wish  them  to  place  all  checks 
on  the  legislature  which  consist  with 
its  efficiency.  I honor  the  passion  for 
power  and  rule  as  little  in  the  people 
as  in  a king.  It  is  a vicious  principle, 
exist  where  it  may.  If  by  democracy  be 
meant  the  exercise  of  sovereignty  by  the 
people  under  all  those  provisions  and 
self-imposed  restraints  which  tend  most 
to  secure  equal  laws  and  the  rights  of 
each  and  all,  then  I shall  be  proud  to 
bear  its  name.  But  the  unfettered  mul- 
titude is  not  dearer  to  me  than  the  un- 
fettered king.  And  yet  at  the  present 
moment  there  is  a tendency  to  remove 
the  restraints  on  which  the  wise  and 
righteous  exertion  of  the  people’s  power 
depends. 

The  sum  of  what  I have  wished  to 
say  is,  that  the  union  of  these  States 
should,  if  possible,  be  kept  inviolate,  on 
the  ground  of  the  immense  difficulty  of 
constructing  new  confederacies  and  new 
governments.  The  present  state  of 
men’s  minds  is  not  favorable  to  this 
most  arduous  task.  Other  considera- 
tions might  be  urged  against  disunion. 
But  in  all  this  I do  not  mean  that  union 
is  to  be  held  fast  at  whatever  cost.  Vast 
sacrifices  should  be  made  to  it,  but  not 
the  sacrifice  of  duty.  For  one,  I do  not 
wish  it  to  continue,  if,  after  earnest, 
faithful  effort,  the  truth  should  be  made 


clear,  that  the  free  States  are  not  to  be 
absolved  from  giving  support  to  slavery. 
Better  that  we  should  part,  than  be  the 
police  of  the  slave-holder,  than  fight  his 
battles,  than  wage  war  to  uphold  an  op- 
pressive institution. 

So  I say,' let  the  Union  be  dissevered 
rather  than  receive  Texas  into  the  con- 
federacy. This  measure,  besides  en- 
tailing on  us  evils  of  all  sorts,  would 
have  for  its  chief  end  to  bring  the  whole 
country  under  the  slave-power,  to  make 
the  general  government  the  agent  of 
slavery ; and  this  we  are  bound  to  re- 
sist at  all  hazards.  The  free  States 
should  declare  that  the  very  act  of  ad- 
mitting Texas  will  be  construed  as  a dis- 
solution of  the  Union. 

This  act  would  be  unconstitutional. 
The  authors  of  the  Constitution  never 
dreamed  of  conferring  a power  on  Con- 
gress to  attach  a foreign  nation  to  the 
country,  and  so  to  destroy  entirely  the 
original  balance  of  power.  It  is  true 
that  the  people  acquiesced  in  the  ad- 
mission of  Louisiana  to  the  Union  by 
treaty  ; but  the  necessity  of  the  case  rec- 
onciled them  to  that  dangerous  prece- 
dent. It  was  understood  that,  by  fair 
means  or  foul,  by  negotiation  or  war,  the 
Western  States  woiild and  must  possess 
themselves  of  the  Mississippi  and  New 
Orleans.  This  was  regarded  as  a mat- 
ter of  life  or  death  ; and  therefore  the 
people  allowed  this  great  inroad  to  take 
place  in  the  fundamental  conditions  of 
the  union,  without  the'  appeal  which 
ought  to  have  been  made  to  the  several 
State  sovereignties.  But  no  such  ne- 
cessity now  exists,  and  a like  action  of 
Congress  ought  to  be  repelled  as  gross 
usurpation. 

We  are  always  in  danger  of  excessive 
jealousy  in  judging  of  the  motives  of 
other  parts  of  the  country,  and  this 
remark  may  apply  to  the  present  case. 
The  South,  if  true  to  its  own  interests, 
would  see  in  Texas  a rival  rather  than 
an  ally  : but  at  the  North  it  is  suspected 
that  political  motives  outweigh  the  eco- 
nomical. It  is  suspected  that  the  desire 
of  annexing  Texas  has  been  whetted  by 
the  disclosures  of  the  last  census  as  to 
the  increase  of  population  and  wealth  at 
the  North.  The  South,  it  is  said,  means 
to  balance  the  free  States  by  adding  a 
new  empire  to  the  confederacy.  But  on 
this  point  our  slave-holding  brethren 
need  not  be  anxious.  Without  Texas, 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


898 

the  South  will  have  very  much  its  own 
way,  and  will  continue  to  exert  a dis- 
proportionate influence  over  public  af- 
fairs. It  has  within  itself  elements  of. 
political  power  more  efficient  than  ours. 
The  South  has  abler  politicians,  and 
almost  necessarily,  because  its  most 
opulent  class  make  politics  the  business 
of  life.  The  North  may  send  wiser 
statesmen  to  Congress,  but  not  men  to 
marshal  and  govern  parties,  not  political 
leaders.  The  South  surpasses  us,  not 
in  true  eloquence,  which  is  little  known 
anywhere,  but  in  prompt,  bold  speech,  a 
superiority  due  not  only  to  greater  ardor 
of  feeling,  but  to  a state  of  society  en- 
couraging the  habit,  and  stimulating  by 
constant  action  the  faculty,  of  free  and 
strong  utterance  on  political  subjects  ; 
and  such  eloquence  is  no  mean  power 
in  popular  bodies.  The  South  has  a 
bolder  and  more  unscrupulous  character, 
for  which  the  caution  and  prudence  of 
the  North  are  not  a match.  Once  more, 
it  has  union,  common  feeling,  a peculiar 
bond  in  slavery,  to  which  the  divided 
North  can  make  no  adequate  opposition. 
At  the  North  politics  occupy  a second 
place  in  men’s  minds.  Even  in  what 
we  call  seasons  of  public  excitement  the 
people  think  more  of  private  business 
than  of  public  affairs.  We  think  more 
of  property  than  of  political  power  : and 
this,  indeed,  is  the  natural  result  of  free 
institutions.  Under  these  political  power 
is  not  suffered  to  accumulate  in  a few 
hands,  but  is  distributed  in  minute  por- 
tions ; and  even  when  thus  limited,  it  is 
not  permitted  to  endure,  but  passes  in 
quick  rotation  from  man  to  man.  Of 
consequence,  it  is  an  inferior  good  to 
property.  Every  wise  man  among  us 
looks  on  property  as  a more  sure  and 
lasting  possession  to  himself  and  his 
family,  as  conferring  more  ability  to  do 
good,  to  gratify  generous  and  refined 
tastes,  than  the  possession  of  political 
power.  In  the  South  an  unnatural  state 
of  things  turns  men’s  thoughts  to  polit- 
ical ascendancy  ; but  in  the  free  States 
men  think  little  of  it.  Property  is  the 
good  for  which  they  toil  perseveringly 
from  morning  to  night.  Even  the  polit- 
ical partisan  among  us  has  an  ey.e  to 
property,  and  seeks  office  as  the  best, 
perhaps  only  way  of  subsistence.  In 
this  state  of  things,  the  South  has  little 
to  fear  from  the  North.  For  one  thing 
we  may  contend,  that  is,  for  a tariff, 


for  protection  to  our  moneyed  interests  ; 
but  if  we  may  be  left  to  work  and  thrive, 
we  shall  not  quarrel  for  power. 

The  little  sensibility  at  the  North  to 
the  present  movements  on  the  subject 
of  Texas  is  the  best  commentary  on  the 
spirit  of  the  free  States.  That  the 
South  should  be  suffered  to  think  for 
a moment  of  adding  a great  country 
to  the  United  States  for  the  sake  of 
strengthening  slavery,  demonstrates  an 
absence  of  wise  political  jealousy  at  the 
North  to  which  no  parallel  can  be  found 
in  human  history. 

The  union  of  Texas  to  us  must  be 
an  unmixed  evil.  We  do  not  need  it 
on  a single  account.  We  are  already 
too  large.  The  machine  of  government 
hardly  creeps  on  under  the  weight  of  so 
many  diverse  interests  and  such  complex 
functions  as  burden  it  now.  Our  own 
natural  increase  is  already  too  rapid. 
New  States  are  springing  up  too  fast ; 
for  in  these  there  must  exist,  from  the 
nature  of  the  case,  an  excess  of  advent- 
urous, daring  spirits,  whose  influence 
over  the  government  cannot  but  be  per- 
ilous for  a time  ; and  it  is  madness  to 
add  to  us  a new  nation  to  increase  the 
wild  impulses,  the  half-civilized  forces, 
which  now  mingle  with  our  national  leg- 
islation. 

To  unite  with  Texas  would  be  to  iden- 
tify ourselves  with  a mighty  wrong  ; for 
such  was  the  seizure  of  that  province  by 
a horde  of  adventurers.  It  would  be  to 
insure  the  predominance  of  the  slave- 
power,  to  make  slavery  a chief  national 
interest,  and  to  pledge  us  to  the  contin- 
ually increasing  prostitution  of  the  na- 
tional power  to  its  support.  It  would 
be  to  begin  a career  of  encroachment  on 
Mexico  which  would  corrupt  and  dis- 
honor us,  would  complicate  and  disturb 
the  movements  of  government,  would 
create  a wasteful  patronage,  and  enlarge 
our  military  establishments.  It  would 
be  to  plunge  us  into  war,  not  only  with 
Mexico,  but  with  foreign  powers,  which 
will  not  quietly  leave  us  to  add  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico  to  our  vast  stretch  of  territory 
along  the  Atlantic  coast. 

To  unite  Texas  to  ourselves  would 
be  to  destroy  our  present  unity  as  a 
people,  to  sow  new  seeds  of  jealousy. 
It  would  be  to  spread  beyond  bounds 
the  space  over  which  the  national  arm 
must  be  extended ; to  present  new 
points  of  attack  and  new  reasons  for 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


assault,  and  at  the  same  time  to  impair 
the  energy  to  resist  them.  Can  the 
free  States  consent  to  pour  out  their 
treasure  and  blood  like  water  in  order 
to  defend  against  Mexico  and  her  Euro- 
pean protectors  the  slave-trodden  fields 
of  distant  Texas  ? Would  the  South 
be  prompt  to  exhaust  itself  for  the  an- 
nexation to  this  country  of  the  vast 
British  possessions  of  the  North  ? Is 
it  ready  to  pledge  itself  to  carry  the 
“ star-spangled  banner  ” to  the  pole,  in 
exchange  for  our  readiness  to  carry  sla- 
very to  Darien  ? There  must  be  some 
fixed  limits  to  our  country.  We  at  the 
North  do  not  ask  for  Canada.  We 
would  not,  I hope,  accept  it  as  a gift ; 
for  we  could  not  rule  it  well.  And  is 
the  country  to  spread  itself  in  one  direc- 
tion alone  ? Are  we  willing  to  place 
ourselves  under  the  rule  of  adventurers 
whom  a restless  spirit  or  a dread  of  jus- 
tice drives  to  Texas  ? What  possible 
boon  can  we  gain  ? The  free  States 
are  not  only  wanting  in  common  wis- 
dom, but  in  those  instincts  by  which 
other  communities  shrink  from  connec- 
tions that  diminish  their  importance 
and  neutralize  their  power.  We  shall 
deserve  to  be  put  under  guardianship, 
if  we  receive  Texas  to  our  embrace. 
Such  suicidal  policy  would  place  us 
among  those  whom  “ God  infatuates  be- 
fore he  destroys.” 

I have  now  spoken  of  the  national 
Union,  and  of  the  danger  to  which  it 
is  exposed.  The  duty  of  the  free  States 
is,  to  keep  their  attachment  to  it  unim- 
paired by  local  partialities,  jealousies, 
and  dislikes,  by  supposed  inequalities 
of  benefits  or  burdens,  or  by  the  want 
of  self-restraint  manifested  in  the  other 
part  of  the  country.  They  cannot,  how- 
ever, but  see  and  feel  one  immense  de- 
duction from  its  blessings.  They  are 
bound  by  it  to  give  a degree  of  sanction 
and  support  to  slavery,  and  are  threat- 
ened with  the  annexation  of  another 
country  to  our  own  for  the  purpose  of 
strengthening  this  institution.  Their 
duty  is,  to  insist  on  release  from  all 
obligations,  and  on  security  against  all 
connections,  which  do  or  may  require 
them  to  uphold  a system  which  they 
condemn.  No  blessings  of  the  Union 
can  be  a compensation  for  taking  part 
in  the  enslaving  of  our  fellow-creatures  ; 
nor  ought  this  bond  to  be  perpetuated, 
if  experience  shall  demonstrate  that  it 


899 

can  only  continue  through  our  partici- 
pation in  wrong-doing.  To  this  con- 
viction the  free  States  are  tending  ; and 
in  this  view  their  present  subserviency 
to  the  interests  of  slavery  is  more  en- 
durable. 

I proceed,  in  the  last  place,  to  offer 
a few  remarks  on  the  duties  of  the  free 
States  as  to  a subject  of  infinite  impor- 
tance,— the  subject  of  war.  To  add 
to  the  distresses  of  the  country,  a war- 
cry  is  raised ; and  a person  unaccus- 
tomed to  the  recklessness  with  which 
the  passions  of  the  moment  break  out 
among  us  in  conversation  and  the  news- 
papers would  imagine  that  we  were  on 
the  brink  of  a conflict  with  the  most 
powerful  nation  on  earth.  That  we  are 
indeed  to  fight  cannot  easily  be  believed. 
That  two  nations  of  a common  origin, 
having  so  many  common  interests,  united 
by  so  many  bonds,  speaking  one  lan- 
guage, breathing  the  same  free  spirit, 
holding  the  same  faith,  to  whom  war 
can  bring  no  good,  and  on  whom  it 
must  inflict  terrible  evils ; that  such 
nations  should  expose  themselves  and 
the  civilized  world  to  the  chances, 
crimes,  and  miseries  of  war,  for  the 
settlement  of  questions  which  may  be 
adjusted  honorably  and  speedily  by 
arbitration ; this  implies  such  an  ab- 
sence of  common-sense,  as  well  as  of 
moral  and  religious  principle,  that,  bad 
as  the  world  is,  one  can  hardly  believe, 
without  actual  vision,  that  such  a result 
can  take  place.  Yet  the  history  of  the 
world,  made  up  of  war,  teaches  us  that 
we  may  be  too  secure  ; and  no  excite- 
ment of  warlike  feeling  should  pass 
without  a word  of  warning. 

In  speaking  of  our  duties  on  this  sub- 
ject I can  use  but  one  language,  that  of 
Christianity.  I do  believe  that  Chris- 
tianity was  meant  to  be  a law  for  soci- 
ety, — meant  to  act  on  nations  ; and, 
however  I may  be  smiled  at  for  my 
ignorance  of  men  and  things,  I can  pro- 
pose no  standard  of  action  to  individuals 
or  communities  but  the  law  of  Christ, 
the  law  of  eternal  rectitude,  the  law, 
not  only  of  this  nation,  but  of  all  worlds. 

The  great  duty  of  God’s  children  is 
to  love  one  another.  This  duty  on 
earth  takes  the  name  and  form  of  the 
law  of  humanity.  We  are  to  recognize 
all  men  as  brethren,  no  matter  where 
born,  or  under  what  sky  or  institution 
or  religion  they  may  live.  Every  man 


goo 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


belongs  to  the  race,  and  owes  a duty  to 
mankind.  Every  nation  belongs  to  the 
family  of  nations,  and  is  to  desire  the 
good  of  all.  Nations  are  to  love  one 
another.  It  is  true  that  they  usually 
adopt  towards  one  another  principles 
of  undisguised  selfishness,  and  glory  in 
successful  violence  or  fraud.  But  the 
great  law  of  humanity  is  unrepealed. 
Men  cannot  vote  this  out  of  the  universe 
by  acclamation.  The  Christian  pre- 
cepts, “ Do  to  others  as  you  would 
they  should  do  to  you,”  “Love  your 
neighbor  as  yourself,”  “ Love  your  ene- 
mies,” apply  to  nations  as  well  as  indi- 
viduals. A nation  renouncing  them  is 
a heathen,  not  a Christian  nation.  Men 
cannot,  by  combining  themselves  into 
narrower  or  larger  societies,  sever  the 
sacred,  blessed  bond  which  joins  them 
to  their  kind.  An  evil  nation,  like  an 
evil  man,  may,  indeed,  be  withstood, 
but  not  in  hatred  and  revenge.  The 
law  of  humanity  must  reign  over  the 
assertion  of  all  human  rights.  The 
vindictive,  unforgiving  spirit  which  pre- 
vails in  the  earth  must  yield  to  the  mild, 
impartial  spirit  of  Jesus  Christ. 

I know  that  these  principles  will  re- 
ceive little  hearty  assent.  Multitudes 
who  profess  to  believe  in  Christ  have 
no  faith  in  the  efficacy  of  his  spirit,  or 
in  the  accomplishment  of  that  regener- 
ating work  which  he  came  to  accom- 
plish. There  is  a worse  scepticism  than 
what  passes  under  the  name  of  infidelity, 
a scepticism  as  to  the  reality  and  the 
power  of  moral  and  Christian  truth ; 
and  accordingly  a man  who  calls  on  a 
nation  to  love  the  great  family  of  which 
it  is  a part,  to  desire  the  weal  and  the 
progress  of  the  race,  to  blend  its  own 
interests  with  the  interests  of  all,  to  wish 
well  to  its  foes,  must  pass  for  a vision- 
ary, — perhaps  in  war  would  be  called 
a traitor.  The  first  teacher  of  universal 
love  was  nailed  to  the  cross  for  with- 
standing the  national  spirit,  hopes,  and 
prejudices  of  Judea.  His  followers,  in 
these  better  days,  escape  with  silent 
derision  or  neglect. 

It  is  a painful  thought,  that  our  re- 
lations to  foreign  countries  are  deter- 
mined chiefly  by.  men  who  are  signally 
wanting  in  reverence  for  the  law  of 
Christ,  — the  law  of  humanity.  Should 
we  repair  to  the  seat  of  government,  and 
listen  to  the  debates  of  Congress,  we 
should  learn  that  the  ascendant  influ- 


ence belongs  to  men  who  have  no  com- 
prehension of  the  mild  and  generous 
spirit  of  our  religion  ; who  exult  in  what 
they  are  pleased  to  call  a quick  sense 
of  honor,  which  means  a promptness  to 
resent,  and  a spirit  of  vengeance.  And 
shall  Christians  imbrue  their  hands  in 
the  blood  of  their  brethren  at  the  bid- 
ding of  such  men  ? 

At  this  moment  our  chief  exposure  to 
war  arises  from  sensibility  to  what  is 
called  the  honor  of  the  nation.  A nation 
cannot,  indeed,  be  too  jealous  of  its 
honor.  But,  unhappily,  few  communi- 
ties know  what  this  means.  There  is 
but  one  true  honor  for  men  or  nations. 
This  consists  in  impartial  justice  and 
generosity  ; in  acting  up  fearlessly  to  a 
high  standard  of  right.  The  multitude 
of  men  place  it  chiefly  in  courage ; and 
in  this,  as  in  all  popular  delusions,  there 
is  a glimpse  of  truth.  Courage  is  an 
essential  element  of  true  honor.  A na- 
tion or  an  individual  without  it  is  noth- 
ing worth.  Almost  any  thing  is  better 
than  a craven  spirit.  Better  be  slaugh- 
tered than  be  cowardly  and  tame. 
What  is  the  teaching  of  Christianity 
but  that  we  must  be  ready  at  any  mo- 
ment to  lay  down  life  for  truth,  human- 
ity, and  virtue  ? All  the  virtues  are 
naturally  brave.  The  just  and  disinter- 
ested man  dreads  nothing  that  man  can 
do  to  him.  But  courage  standing  alone, 
animal  courage,  the  courage  of  the  rob- 
ber, pirate,  or  duellist,  this  has  no  honor. 
This  only  proves  that  bad  passions  are 
strong  enough  to  conquer  the  passion 
of  fear.  Yet  this  low  courage  is  that  of 
which  nations  chiefly  boast,  and  in  which 
they  make  their  honor  to  consist. 

Were  the  spirit  of  justice  and  human- 
ity to  pervade  this  country,  we  could 
not  be  easily  driven  into  war.  England 
and  Mexico,  the  countries  with  which 
we  are  in  danger  of  being  embroiled, 
have  an  interest  in  peace.  The  ques- 
tions on  which  we  are  at  issue  touch  no 
vital  point,  no  essential  interest  or  right, 
which  we  may  not  put  to  hazard  ; and 
consequently  they  are  such  as  may  and 
ought  to  be  left  to  arbitration. 

There  has  of  late  been  a cry  of  war 
with  Mexico ; and  yet,  if  the  facts  are 
correctly  stated  in  the  papers,  a more 
unjust  war  cannot  be  conceived.  It 
seems  that  a band  of  Texans  entered 
the  territory  of  Mexico  during  a state  of 
war  between  the  two  countries.  They 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


901 


entered  it  armed.  They  were  met  and 
conquered  by  a Mexican  force  ; and  cer- 
tain American  citizens,  found  in  the  num- 
ber, were  seized  and  treated  as  prisoners 
of  war.  This  is  pronounced  an  injury 
which  the  nation  is  bound  to  resent. 
We  are  told  that  the  band  in  which  the 
Americans  were  found  was  engaged  in 
a trading,  not  a military  expedition. 
Such  a statement  is,  of  course,  very  sus- 
picious ; but  allow  it  to  be  true.  Must 
not  the  entrance  of  an  armed  band  from 
one  belligerent  country  into  the  other 
be  regarded  as  a hostile  invasion  ? Must 
not  a citizen  of  a neutral  state,  if  found 
in  this  armed  company,  be  considered  as 
a party  to  the  invasion  ? Has  he  not, 
with  eyes  open,  engaged  in  an  expedition 
which  cannot  but  be  regarded  as  an  act 
of  war  ? That  our  nation  should  demand 
the  restoration  of  such  a person  as  a 
right,  which  must  not  be  denied  without 
the  hazard  of  a war,  would  seem  to  show 
that  we  have  studied  international  law 
in  a new  edition,  revised  and  corrected 
for  our  special  benefit.  It  is  the  weak- 
ness of  Mexico  which  encourages  these 
freedoms  on  our  part.  Yet  their  weak- 
ness is  a claim  on  our  compassion.  We 
ought  to  look  on  that  distracted  country 
as  an  older  brother  on  a wayward  child, 
and  should  blush  to  make  our  strength 
a ground  for  aggression. 

There  is  another  ground,  we  are  told, 
for  war  with  Mexico.  She  has  treated 
our  citizens  cruelly,  as  well  as  made  them 
prisoners  of  war.  She  has  condemned 
them  to  ignominious  labor  in  the  streets. 
This  is  not  unlikely.  Mexico  sets  up  no 
pretension  to  signal  humanity,  nor  has 
it  been  fostered  by  her  history.  Per- 
haps, however,  she  is  only  following, 
with  some  exaggerations,  the  example  of 
Texas ; for  after  the  great  victory  of 
San  Jacinto  we  were  told  that  the  Tex- 
ans set  their  prisoners  to  work.  At  the 
worst,  here  is  no  cause  for  war.  If  an 
American  choose  to  take  part  in  the 
hostile  movements  of  another  nation,  he 
must  share  the  fate  of  its  citizens.  If 
Mexico  indeed  practices  cruelties  tow- 
ards her  prisoners,  of  whatever  country, 
we  are  bound  by  the  law  of  humanity  to 
remonstrate  against  them  ; but  we  must 
not  fight  to  reform  her.  The  truth,  how- 
ever, is,  that  we  can  place  no  great  reli- 
ance on  what  we  hear  of  Mexican  cru- 
elty. The  press  of  Texas  and  the 
South,  in  its  anxiety  to  involve  us  in 


war  with  that  country,  does  not  speak 
under  oath.  In  truth,  no  part  of  our 
country  seems  to  think  of  Mexico  as 
having  the  rights  of  a sovereign  state. 
We  hear  the  politician  in  high  places 
| exhorting  us  to  take  part  in  raising  “ the 
single  Star  of  Texas  ” above  the  city  of 
Montezuma,  and  to  gorge  ourselves  with 
the  plunder  of  her  churches  ; and  we  see 
armed  bands  from  the  South  hurrying 
in  time  of  peace  towards  that  devoted 
land,  to  realize  these  dreams  of  unprin- 
cipled cupidity.  That  Mexico  is  more 
sinned  against  than  sinning,  that  she  is 
as  just  as  her  foes,  one  can  hardly  help 
believing. 

We  proceed  to  consider  our  difficul- 
ties with  Great  Britain,  which  are  nu- 
merous enough  to  alarm  us,  but  which 
are  all  of  a character  to  admit  arbitra- 
tion. The  first  is  the  North-east  boun- 
dary question.  This,  indeed,  may  be 
said  to  be  settled  in  the  minds  of  the 
people.  As  a people,  we  have  no  doubt 
that  the  letter  of  the  treaty  marks  out 
the  line  on  which  we  insist.  The  great 
majority  also  believe  that  England  in- 
sists on  another,  not  from  respect  for 
the  stipulations  of  the  treaty,  but  because 
she  needs  it  to  secure  a communication 
between  her  various  provinces.  The 
land,  then,  is  legally  ours,  and  ought 
not  to  be  surrendered  to  any  force.  But 
in  this,  as  in  other  cases,  we  are  bound 
by  the  law  of  humanity  to  look  beyond 
the  letter  of  stipulations,  to  inquire,  not 
for  legal,  but  for  moral  right,  and  to  act 
up  to  the  principles  of  an  enlarged  jus- 
tice and  benevolence.  The  territory 
claimed  by  England  is  of  great  impor- 
tance to  her ; of  none,  comparatively,  to 
us  ; and  we  know  that,  when  the  treaty 
was  framed,  no  thought  existed  on  either 
side  of  carrying  the  line  so  far  to  the 
North  as  to  obstruct  the  free  and  safe 
communication  between  her  provinces. 
The  country  was  then  unexplored.  The 
precise  effect  of  the  stipulation  could 
not  be  foreseen.  It  was  intended  to 
secure  a boundary  advantageous  to  both 
parties.  Under  these  circumstances,  the 
law  of  equity  and  humanity  demands 
that  Great  Britain  be  put  in  possession 
of  the  territory  needed  to  connect  her 
provinces  together.  Had  nations  risen 
at  all  to  the  idea  of  generosity  in  their 
mutual  dealings,  this  country  might  be 
advised  to  present  to  England  the  land 
she  needs.  But  prudence  will  stop  at 


902 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


the  suggestion  that  we  ought  to  offer  it 
to  her  on  terms  which  impartial  men 
may  pronounce  just.  And  in  doing  this 
we  should  not  merely  consult  equity  and 
honor,  but  our  best  interest.  It  is  the 
interest  of  a nation  to  establish,  on  all 
sides,  boundaries  which  will  be  satisfac- 
tory alike  to  itself  and  its  neighbors. 
This  is  almost  essential  to  enduring 
peace.  Wars  have  been  waged  without 
number  for  the  purpose  of  uniting  the 
scattered  provinces  of  a country,  of  giv- 
ing it  compactness,  unity,  and  the  means 
of  communication.  A nation  prizing 
peace  should  remove  the  irritations 
growing  out  of  unnatural  boundaries  ; 
and  this  we  can  do  in  the  present  case 
without  a sacrifice. 

According  to  these  views,  one  of  the 
most  unwise  measures  ever  adopted  in 
this  country  was  the  rejection  of  the 
award  of  the  King  of  the  Netherlands. 
A better  award  could  not  have  been 
given.  It  ceded  for-  us  what  a wise 
policy  teaches  us  to  surrender,  gave  us 
a natural  boundary,  and  gave  us  com- 
pensation for  the  territory  to  be  surren- 
dered. If  now  some  friendly  power 
would  by  its  mediation  effectually  rec- 
ommend to  the  two  countries  this  award 
as  the  true  interest  of  both,  it  would 
render  signal  service  to  justice  and  hu- 
manity. 

Still,  it  is  true  that  the  territory  that  we 
claim  is  ours.  The  bargain  made  by 
England  was  a hard  one  ; but  an  honest 
man  does  not  on  this  account  shrink 
from  his  contract ; nor  can  England  lay 
hands  on  what  she  unwisely  surren- 
dered, without  breach  of  faith,  without 
committing  herself  to  an  unrighteous 
war. 

A way  of  compromise  in  a case  like 
this  is  not  difficult  to  honest  and  friendly 
nations.  For  example,  let  impartial  and 
intelligent  commissioners,  agreed  to  by 
both  countries,  repair  to  the  disputed 
territory  with  the  treaty  in  their  hands, 
and  with  the  surveys  made  by  the  two 
governments  ; and  let  them  go  with  full 
authority  to  determine  the  line  which 
the  treaty  prescribes,  to  draw  another 
line,  if  such  shall  seem  to  them  required 
by  principles  of  equity,  or  by  the  true 
interests  of  both  countries,  and  to  make 
ample  compensation  to  the  nation  which 
shall  relinquish  part  of  its  territory.  It 
is  believed  that,  generally  speaking, 
men  of  distinguished  honor,  integrity, 


and  ability  would  execute  a trust  of  this 
nature  more  wisely,  impartially,  and 
speedily  than  a third  government,  and 
that  the  employment  of  such  would 
facilitate  the  extension  of  arbitration  to 
a greater  variety  of  cases  than  can  easily 
be  comprehended  under  the  present  sys- 
tem. I have  suggested  one  mode  of 
compromise.  Others  and  better  may  be 
devised,  if  the  parties  will  approach  the 
difficulty  in  a spirit  of  peace. 

The  case  of  the  “ Caroline  ” next 
presents  itself.  In  this  case  our  terri- 
tory was  undoubtedly  violated  by  Eng- 
land. But  the  question  arises,  whether 
nothing  justified  or  mitigated  the  viola- 
tion. According  to  the  law  of  nations, 
when  a government  is  unable  to  restrain 
its  subjects  from  continued  acts  of  hos- 
tility towards  a neighboring  state,  this 
state  is  authorized  to  take  the  defence 
of  its  rights  into  its  own  hands,  and 
may  enter  the  territory  of  the  former 
power  with  such  a force  as  may  be  re- 
quired to  secure  itself  against  aggres- 
sion. The  question  is,  Did  such  a state 
of  things  exist  on  the  Canadian  frontier  ? 
That  we  Americans,  if  placed  in  the  con- 
dition of  the  English,  would  have  done 
as  they  did  admits  little  doubt.  This, 
indeed,  is  no  justification  of  the  act  ; 
for  both  nations  in  this  condition  would 
act  more  from  impulse  than  reason.  But 
it  shows  us  that  the  question  is  a com- 
plicated one,  — such  a question  as  even 
well-disposed  nations  cannot  easily  set- 
tle by  negotiation,  and  which  may  and 
ought  to  be  committed  to  an  impartial 
umpire. 

I will  advert  to  one  more  difficulty  be- 
tween this  country  and  England,  which 
is  intimately  connected  with  the  subject 
of  this  tract.  I refer  to  the  question 
whether  England  may  visit  our  vessels 
to  ascertain  their  nationality,  in  cases 
where  the  American  flag  is  suspected  of 
being  used  by  foreigners  for  the  prose- 
cution of  the  slave-trade.  On  this  sub- 
ject we  have  two  duties  to  perform. 
One  is  to  protect  our  commerce  against 
claims  on  the  part  of  other  nations, 
which  may  silently  be  extended,  and 
may  expose  it  to  interference  and  hin- 
drance injurious  alike  to  our  honor  and 
prosperity.  The  other,  not  less  clear 
and  urgent,  is  to  afford  effectual  assist- 
ance to  the  great  struggle  of  European 
nations  for  the  suppression  of  the  slave- 
trade,  and  especially  to  prevent  our  flag 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


903 


from  being  made  a cover  for  the  nefari- 
ous traffic.  These  are  two  duties  which 
we  can  and  must  reconcile.  We  must  not 
say  that  the  slave-trade  is  to  be  left  to  it- 
self, and  that  we  have  no  obligation  to 
take  part  in  its  abolition.  We  cannot, 
without  shame  and  guilt,  stand  neutral  in 
this  war.  The  slave-trade  is  an  enormous 
crime,  a terrible  outrage  on  humanity,  an 
accumulation  of  unparalleled  wrongs  and 
woes,  and  the  civilized  world  is  waking 
up  to  bring  it  to  an  end.  Every  nation 
is  bound  by  the  law  of  humanity  to  give 
its  sympathies,  prayers,  and  co-operation 
to  this  work.  Even  had  our  commerce 
no  connection  with  this  matter,  we  should 
be  bound  to  lend  a helping  hand  to  the 
cause  of  the  human  race.  But  the  fact  is, 
that  the  flag  of  our  country,  prostituted 
by  infamous  foreigners,  is  a principal 
shelter  to  the  slave-trade.  Vile  men 
wrap  themselves  up  in  our  garments, 
and  in  this  guise  go  forth  to  the  work  of 
robbery  and  murder.  Shall  we  suffer 
this  ? Shall  the  nations  of  the  earth, 
when  about  to  seize  these  outlaws,  be 
forbidden  to  touch  them,  because  they 
wear  the  American  garb  ? It  is  said, 
indeed,  that  foreign  powers,  if  allowed 
to  visit  our  vessels  for  such  a purpose, 
will  lay  hands  on  our  own  citizens,  and 
invade  our  commercial  rights.  But 
vague  suspicions  of  this  kind  do  not 
annul  a plain  obligation.  Uncertain 
consequences  do  not  set  aside  what  we 
know  ; and  one  thing  we  know,  that  the 
slave-trade  ought  not  to  be  left  to  live 
and  grow  under  the  American  flag.  We 
are  bound  some  way  or  other  to  stay 
this  evil.  We  ought  to  say  to  Europe  : 
“ We  detest  this  trade  as  much  as  you. 
We  will  join  heart  and  hand  in  its  de- 
struction. We  will  assent  to  the  mutual 
visitation  which  you  plead  for,  if  arrange- 
ments can  be  made  to  secure  it  against 
abuse.  We  will  make  sacrifices  for  this 
end.  We  will  shrink  from  no  reasona- 
ble concession.  Your  efforts  shall  not 
be  frustrated  by  the  prostitution  of  our 
flag.”  If  in  good  faith  we  follow  up 
these  words,  it  can  hardly  be  doubted 
that  a safe  and  honorable  arrangement 
may  be  made  with  foreign  powers. 

Some  of  our  politicians  protest  vehe- 
mently against  the  visitation  of  vessels 
bearing  our  flag  for  the  purpose  of  de- 
termining their  right  to  assume  it.  They 
admit  that  there  are  cases,  such  as  sus- 
picion of  piracy,  in  which  such  visita- 


tion is  authorized  by  the  law  of  nations. 
But  this  right,  they  say,  cannot  be  ex- 
tended at  pleasure  by  the  union  of  sev- 
eral nations  in  treaties  or  conventions 
which  can  only  be  executed  by  visiting 
the  vessels  of  other  powers.  This  is  un- 
doubtedly true.  Nations,  by  union  for 
private  advantage,  have  no  right  to  sub- 
ject the  ships  of  other  powers  to  incon- 
venience, or  to  the  possibility  of  molesta- 
tion, in  order  to  compass  their  purpose. 
But  when  several  nations  join  together 
to  extirpate  a widely  extended  and  fla- 
grant crime  against  the  humanvrace,  to 
put  down  a public  and  most  cruel  wrong, 
they  have  a right  to  demand  that  their 
labors  shall  not  be  frustrated  by  the 
fraudulent  assumption  of  the  flags  of 
foreign  powers.  Subjecting  their  own 
ships  to  visitation  as  a means  of  prevent- 
ing this  abuse  of  their  flags,  they  are 
authorized  to  expect  a like  subjection 
from  other  states,  on  condition  that  they 
proffer  every  possible  security  against 
the  abuse  of  the  power.  A state,  in  de- 
clining such  visitation,  virtually  with- 
draws itself  from  the  commonwealth  of 
nations.  Christian  states  may  be  said, 
without  any  figure,  to  form  a common- 
wealth. They  are  bound  together  by 
a common  faith,  the  first  law  of  which 
is  universal  good-will.  They  recognize 
mutual  obligations.  They  are  united  by 
interchange  of  material  and  intellectual 
products.  Through  their  common  re- 
ligion and  literature,  and  their  frequent 
intercourse,  they  have  attained  to  many 
moral  sympathies  ; and  when  by  these 
any  portion  of  them  are  united  in  the 
execution  of  justice  against  open,  fear- 
ful crime,  they  have  a right  to  the  good 
wishes  of  all  other  states  ; and  especially 
a right  to  be  unobstructed  by  them  in 
their  efforts.  In  the  present  case  we 
have  ourselves  fixed  the  brand  of  piracy 
on  the  very  crime  which  certain  pbwers 
of  Europe  have  joined  to  suppress. 
Ought  we  not  to  consent  that  vessels 
bearing  our  flag,  but  falling  under  just 
suspicion  of  assuming  it  for  the  perpe- 
tration of  this  piracy,  should  be  visited, 
according  to  stipulated  forms,  that  their 
nationality  may  be  judged  ? Have  we 
any  right,  by  denying  this  claim,  to  give 
to  acknowledged,  flagrant  crime  an  aid 
and  facility  under  which  it  cannot  but 
prevail  ? There  seems  no  reason  for 
apprehension  that  in  assenting  to  visita- 
tion we  shall  expose  ourselves  to  great 


904 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


wrongs.  From  the  nature  of  the  case, 
strict  and  simple  rules  of  judgment  may 
be  laid  down,  and  the  responsibility  of 
the  visiting  officers  may  be  made  so 
serious  as  to  give  a moral  certainty 
of  caution.  Undoubtedly  injuries  may 
chance  to  be  inflicted,  as  is  the  case  in 
the  exercise  of  the  clearest  rights  ; but 
the  chance  is  so  small,  whilst  the  effects 
of  refusing  visitation  are  so  fatal  and  so 
sure,  that  our  country,  should  it  resist 
the  claim,  will  take  the  attitude  of  hos- 
tility to  the  human  race,  and  will  de- 
serve tq  be  cut  off  from  the  fellowship 
of  the  Christian  world. 

It  is  customary,  I know,  to  meet  these 
remarks  by  saying  that  the  crusade  of 
England  against  this  traffic  is  a mere 
show  of  philanthropy ; that  she  is  serv- 
ing only  her  own  ends  ; and  that  there 
is  consequently  no  obligation  to  co-op- 
erate with  her.  This  language  might  be 
expected  from  the  South,  where  almost 
universal  ignorance  prevails  in  regard 
to  the  antislavery  efforts  of  England ; 
but  it  does  little  honor  to  the  North, 
where  the  means  of  knowledge  are  pos- 
sessed. That  England  is  blending  pri- 
vate views  with  the  suppression  of  the 
slave-trade  is  a thing  to  be  expected  ; 
for  states,  like  individuals,  seldom  act 
from  unmixed  motives.  But  when  we 
see  a nation  for  fifty  years  keeping  in 
sight  a great  object  of  humanity  ; when 
we  see  this  enterprise,  beginning  with 
the  peaceful  Quaker,  adopted  by  Chris- 
tians of  other  names,  and  thus  spreading 
through  and  moving  the  whole  popula- 
tion ; when  we  see  the  reluctant  govern- 
ment compelled  by  the  swelling  sensi- 
bility of  the  people  to  lend  itself  to  the 
cause,  and  to  forward  it  by  liberal  ex- 
penditure and  vast  efforts  on  sea  and 
land  ; can  we  help  feeling  that  the  moral 
sentiment  of  the  nation  is  the  basis  and 
spring  of  this  great  and  glorious  effort  ? 
On  this  subject  I may  speak  from  knowl- 
edge. In  England,  many  years  ago,  I 
met  the  patriarchs  of  the  antislavery 
cause.  I was  present  at  a meeting  of 
the  abolition  committee,  — a body  which 
has  won  an  imperishable  name  in  his- 
tory. I saw  men  and  women,  eminent  for 
virtue  and  genius,  who  had  abstained 
from  the  products  of  slave-labor  to  com- 
pel the  government  to  suppress  the  traffic 
in  men.  If  ever  Christian  benevolence 
wrought  a triumph,  it  was  in  that  strug- 
gle ; and  the  efforts  of  the  nation  from 


that  day  to  this  have  been  hallowed  by 
the  same  generous  feeling.  Alas  ! the 
triumphs  of  humanity  are  not  so  numer- 
ous that  we  can  afford  to  part  with  this. 
History  records  but  one  example  of  a 
nation  fighting  the  battle  of  the  oppress- 
ed with  the  sympathy,  earnestness,  and 
sacrifices  of  a generous  individual ; and 
we  will  not  give  up  our  faith  in  this. 
And  now  is  our  country  prepared  to 
throw  itself  in  the  way  of  these  holy 
efforts  ? Shall  our  flag  be  stained  with 
the  infamy  of  defending  the  slave-trade 
against  the  humanity  of  other  countries  ? 
Better  that  it  should  disappear  from  the 
ocean  than  be  so  profaned. 

It  must  not  be  said  that  the  slave- 
trade  cannot  be  annihilated.  The  pros- 
pect grows  brighter.  One  of  its  chief 
marts,  Cuba,  is  now  closed.  The  ports 
of  Brazil,  we  trust,  will  next  be  shut 
against  it ; and  these  measures  on  land, 
aided  by  well-concerted  operations  at 
sea,  will  do  much  to  free  the  world  from 
this  traffic.  It  must  not  find  its  last 
shelter  under  the  American  flag.  We 
must  not  talk  of  difficulties.  Let  the 
nation’s  heart  be  opened  to  the  cry  of 
humanity,  to  the  voice  of  religion,  and 
difficulties  will  vanish.  In  every  good 
work  for  the  freedom  and  melioration  of 
the  world  we  ought  to  bear  our  part. 
We  ought  to  be  found  in  the  front  rank 
of  the  war  against  that  hideous  traffic 
which  we  first  branded  as  piracy.  God 
save  us  from  suffering  our  flag  to  be 
spread  as  a screen  between  the  felon, 
the  pirate,  the  kidnapper,  the  murderer, 
and  the  ministers  of  justice,  of  human- 
ity, sent  forth  to  cut  short  his  crimes  ! 

We  have  thus  considered  the  most 
important  of  our  difficulties  with  Mexico 
and  England  which  have  been  thought 
to  threaten  war.  With  a spirit  of  jus- 
tice and  peace,  it  seems  impossible  that 
we  should  be  involved  in  hostilities. 
The  duties  of  the  free  States,  and  of 
all  the  States,  are  plain.  We  should 
cherish  a spirit  of  humanity  towards  all 
countries.  We  should  resist  the  false 
notions  of  honor,  the  false  pride,  the 
vindictive  feelings,  which  are  easily  ex- 
cited by  supposed  injuries  from  foreign 
powers,  and  are  apt  to  spread  like  a 
pestilence  from  breast  to  breast,  till 
they  burst  forth  at  length  in  a fierce, 
uncontrollable  passion  for  war. 

I have  now  finished  my  task.  I have 
considered  the  duties  of  the  free  States 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


905 


in  relation  to  slavery,  and  to  other  sub- 
jects of  great  and  immediate  concern. 
In  this  discussion  I have  constantly 
spoken  of  duties  as  more  important 
than  interests ; but  these  in  the  end 
will  be  found  to  agree.  The  energy  by 
which  men  prosper  is  fortified  by  noth- 
ing so  much  as  by  the  lofty  spirit  which 
scorns  to  prosper  through  abandonment 
of  duty. 

I have  been  called  by  the  subjects 
here  discussed  to  speak  much  of  the 
evils  of  the  times  and  the  dangers  of 
the  country ; and  in  treating  of  these 
a writer  is  almost  necessarily  betrayed 
into  what  may  seem  a tone  of  despond- 
ence. His  anxiety  to  save  his  country 
from  crime  or  calamity  leads  him  to  use 
unconsciously  a language  of  alarm  which 
may  excite  the  apprehension  of  inevi- 
table misery.  But  I would  not  infuse 
such  fears.  I do  not  sympathize  with 
the  desponding  tone  of  the  day.  It 
may  be  that  there  are  fearful  woes  in 
store  for  this  people ; but  there  are 
many  promises  of  good  to  give  spring 
to  hope  and  effort ; and  it  is  not  wise 
to  open  our  eyes  and  ears  to  ill  omens 
alone.  It  is  to  be  lamented  that  men 
who  boast  of  courage  in  other  trials 
should  shrink  so  weakly  from  public 
difficulties  and  dangers,  and  should 
spend  in  unmanly  reproaches  or  com- 
plaints the  strength  which  they  ought 
to  give  to  their  country’s  safety.  But 
this  ought  not  to  surprise  us  in  the 
present  case  ; for  our  lot  until  of  late 
has  been  singularly  prosperous,  and 
great  prosperity  enfeebles  men’s  spirits, 
and  prepares  them  to  despond  when  it 
shall  have  passed  away.  The  country, 
we  are  told,  is  “ ruined.”  What ! the 
country  ruined,  when  the  mass  of  the 
population  have  hardly  retrenched  a 
luxury  ? We  are  indeed  paying,  and 
we  ought  to  pay,  the  penalty  of  reckless 
extravagance,  of  wild  and  criminal  spec- 
ulation, of  general  abandonment  to  the 
passion  for  sudden  and  enormous  gains. 
But  how  are  we  ruined  ? Is  the  kind, 
nourishing  earth  about  to  become  a 
cruel  step-mother  ? Or  is  the  teeming 
soil  of  this  magnificent  country  sinking 
beneath  our  feet  ? Is  the  ocean  dried 
up  ? Are  our  cities  and  villages,  our 
schools  and  churches,  in  ruins  ? Are 
the  stout  muscles  which  have  conquered 
sea  and  land  palsied  ? Are  the  earnings 
of  past  years  dissipated,  and  the  skill 


which  gathered  them  forgotten  ? I open 
my  eyes  on  this  ruined  country,  and  I 
see  around  me  fields  fresh  with  verdure, 
and  behold  on  all  sides  the  intelligent 
countenance,  the  sinewy  limb,  the  kindly 
look,  the  free  and  manly  bearing,  which 
indicate  any  thing  but  a fallen  people. 
Undoubtedly  we  have  much  cause  to 
humble  ourselves  for  the  vices  which 
our  recent  prosperity  warmed  into  being, 
or  rather  brought  out  from  the  depths 
of  men’s  souls.  But  in  the  reprobation 
which  these  vices  awaken  have  we  no 
proof  that  the  fountain  of  moral  life  in 
the  nation’s  heart  is  not  exhausted  ? In 
the  progress  of  temperance,  of  educa- 
tion, and  of  religious  sensibility  in  our 
land,  have  we  no  proof  that  there  is 
among  us  an  impulse  towards  improve- 
ment which  no  temporary  crime  or  ca- 
lamity can  overpower  ? 

I shall  be  pointed  undoubtedly  to  our 
political  corruptions,  to  the  inefficiency 
and  party  passions  which  dishonor  our 
present  Congress,  and  to  the  infamy 
brought  on  the  country  by  breach  of 
faith  and  gross  dishonesty  in  other  leg' 
islatures.  In  sight  of  this  an  American 
must  indeed  “ blush,  and  hang  his  head.” 
Still  it  is  true,  and  the  truth  should  be 
told,  that,  in  consequence  of  the  long 
divorce  between  morality  and  politics, 
public  men  do  not  represent  the  char- 
acter of  the  people  ; nor  can  we  argue 
from  profligacy  in  public  affairs  to  a 
general  want  of  private  virtue.  Besides, 
we  all  know  that  it  is  through  errors, 
sins,  and  sufferings  that  the  individual 
makes  progress  ; and  so  does  a people. 
A nation  cannot  learn  to  govern  itself 
in  a day.  New  institutions  conferring 
great  power  on  a people  open  a door  to 
many'  and  great  abuses,  from  which 
nothing  but  the  slow  and  painful  dis- 
cipline of  experience  can  bring  deliver- 
ance. After  all,  there  is  a growing 
intelligence  in  this  community ; there 
is  much  domestic  virtue ; there  is  a 
deep  working  of  Christianity ; there  is 
going  on  a struggle  of  higher  truths 
with  narrow  traditions,  and  of  a wider 
benevolence  with  social  evils  ; there  is 
a spirit  of  freedom,  a recognition  of  the 
equal  rights  of  men ; there  are  profound 
impulses  received  from  our  history,  from 
the  virtues  of  our  fathers,  and  especially 
from  our  revolutionary  conflict ; and 
there  is  an  indomitable  energy,  which, 
after  rearing  an  empire  in  the  wilderness, 


THE  DUTY  OF  THE  FREE  STATES. 


906 

is  fresh  for  new  achievements.  Such  a 
people  are  not  ruined  because  Congress 
leaves  the  treasury  bankrupt  for  weeks 
and  months,  and  exposes  itself  to  scorn 
by  vulgar  manners  and  ruffian  abuse. 
In  that  very  body  how  many  men  may 
be  found  of  honor,  integrity,  and  wis- 
dom, who  watch  over  their  country  with 
sorrow,  but  not  despair,  and  who  meet 
an  answer  to  their  patriotism  in  the 
breasts  of  thousands  of  their  country- 
men ! 

There  is  one  duty  of  the  free  States  of 
which  I have  not  spoken  ; it  is  the  duty 
of  faith  in  the  intellectual  and  moral 
energies  of  the  country,  in  its  high  des- 
tiny, and  in  the  good  Providence  which 
has  guided  it  through  so  many  trials  and 
perils  to  its  present  greatness.  We  in- 
deed suffer  much,  and  deserve  to  suffer 
more.  Many  dark  pages  are  to  be  writ- 
ten in  our  history.  But  generous  seed 
is  still  sown  in  this  nation's  mind.  No- 
ble impulses  are  working  here.  We  are 
called  to  be  witnesses  to  the  world  of  a 
freer,  more  equal,  more  humane,  more 
enlightened  social  existence  than  has 
yet  been  known.  May  God  raise  us  to 
a more  thorough  comprehension  of  our 
work  ! May  he  give  us  faith  in  the  good 
which  we  are  summoned  to  achieve  ! 
May  he  strengthen  us  to  build  up  a pros- 
perity not  tainted  by  slavery,  selfishness, 
or  any  wrong  ; but  pure,  innocent,  right- 
eous, and  overflowing,  through  a just 
and  generous  intercourse,  on  all  the  na- 
tions of  the  earth ! 


Notes. 

Note  A.  — To  the  preceding  remarks 
it  is  in  vain  to  oppose  “the  comity  of 
nations.”  England,  in  her  public  acts, 
having  pronounced  slavery  unjust,  pro- 
nounces also  that  “ comity  ” cannot  pre- 
vail against  justice.  And  is  not  this 
right  and  true  ? Can  a nation  be  bound 
by  comity  to  recognize  within  its  borders, 
and  to  carry  into  effect  by  its  judicial  or 
executive  machinery,  the  laws  of  another 
country  which  it  holds  to  be  violations 
of  the  law  of  nature  or  of  God  ? Would 
not  our  own  courts  indignantly  refuse  to 
enforce  a contract  or  relation  between 
foreigners  here,  which,  however  valid  in 
their  own  land  where  it  was  made,  is 
contrary  to  our  own  institutions,  or  to 
the  acknowledged  precepts  of  morality 
and  religion  ? 


Note  B.  — “ It  is  said  that  this  alleged 
interference  by  the  British  authorities 
was  contrary  to  the  comity  of  nations, 
and  that  therefore  the  British  govern- 
ment is  bound  to  indemnify  the  owners 
of  the  slaves.  But  indemnity  for  what  ? 
for  their  asserted  property  in  these  men  ? 
But  that  government  does  not  recognize 
property  in  men.  Suppose  the  slaves 
were  dispersed  by  reason  of  its  interfer- 
ence ; yet  the  master  and  owners  re- 
ceived no  damage  thereby,  for  they  had 
no  title  to  the  slaves.  Their  property 
had  ceased  when  these  men  came  under 
the  benign  influence  of  English  law.” 

Note  C.  — I have  spoken  of  the  great 
majority  in  our  country  who  have  no 
participation  whatever  in  slavery.  In- 
deed, it  is  little  suspected  at  home,  any 
more  than  abroad,  how  small  is  the 
number  of  slave-holders  here.  I learn 
from  a judicious  correspondent  at  the 
South  that  the  slave-holders  in  that  re- 
gion cannot  be  rated  at  more  than 
300,000.  Some  make  them  less.  Sup- 
posing each  of  them  to  be  the  head 
of  a family,  and  each  family  to  con- 
sist of  five  members  ; then  there  will  be 
1,500,000  having  a direct  interest  in 
slaves  as  property.  This  is  about  one- 
eleventh  of  the  population  of  the  United 
States.  The  300,000  actual  slave-hold- 
ers are  about  a fifty-seventh  part  of  our 
whole  population.  These  govern  the 
South  entirely,  by  acting  in  concert,  and 
by  the  confinement  of  the  best  education 
to  their  ranks  ; and,  still  more,  to  a con- 
siderable extent  they  have  governed  the 
whole  country.  Their  cry  rises  above 
all  other  sounds  in  the  land.  Few  as 
they  are,  their  voices  well-nigh  drown 
the  quiet  reasonings  and  remonstrances 
of  the  North  in  the  House  of  Represen- 
tatives. 

Note  D.  — In  the  first  part  of  these 
remarks  I said  that  the  freedom  of 
speech  and  of  the  press  was  fully  en- 
joyed in  this  country.  I overlooked  the 
persecutions  to  which  the  abolitionists 
have  been  exposed  for  expressing  their 
opinions.  That  I should  have  forgot- 
ten this  is  the  more  strange,  because  my 
sympathy  with  these  much-injured  per- 
sons has  been  one  motive  to  me  for 
writing  on  slavery.  The  free  States,  as 
far  as  they  have  violated  the  rights  of 
the  abolitionists,  have  ceased  to  be  fully 
free.  They  have  acted  as  the  tools  of 
‘ slavery,  and  have  warred  against  free- 


ADDRESS  ON  EMANCIPATION  IN  THE  WEST  INDIES.  $07 


dom  in  its  noblest  form.  No  matter 
what  other  liberties  are  conceded,  if 
liberty  of  speech  and  the  press  be  denied 
us.  We  are  robbed  of  our  most  precious 
right,  of  that  without  which  all  other 
rights  are  unprotected  and  insecure. 

Note  E.  — Since  the  publication  of  the 
first  edition  of  this  tract,  I have  been 
sorry  to  learn  that  this  paragraph  has 
been  considered  by  some  as  showing  an 
insensibility  to  the  depraving  influences 
of  slavery.  My  purpose  was,  to  be  just 
to  the  South  ; and  I did  not  dream  that 
in  doing  this  I was  throwing  a veil  over 
the  deformity  of  its  institutions.  I feel 
deeply,  what  I have  again  and  again  said, 
that  slavery  does  and  must  exert  an  ex- 
ceedingly depraving  influence.  So  wrong- 
ful an  exercise  of  power  cannot  but  injure 
the  character.  All  who  sustain  the  rela- 
tion are  the  worse  for  it.  But  it  is  a 
plain  fact,  taught  by  all  history  and  ex- 
perience, that  under  depraving  institu- 
tions much  virtue  may  exist ; and  were 
not  this  the  case,  the  condition  of  our 
race  would  be  hopeless  indeed,  for 
everywhere  such  institutions  are  found. 
The  character  is  not  determined  by  a 
single  relation  or  circumstance  in  our 
lot.  Most  of  us  believe  that  Roman 


Catholicism  exerts  many  influences  hos- 
tile to  true  Christianity,  and  yet  how 
many  sincere  Christians  have  grown  up 
under  that  system ! In  the  midst  of 
feudal  barbarism,  in  the  palaces  of 
despotism,  noble  characters  have  been 
formed.  Slavery,  I believe,  does  incal- 
culable harm  to  the  slave-holders.  It 
spreads  licentiousness  of  manners  to  a 
fearful  extent ; and  in  the  case  of  the 
good  it  obscures  their  perception  of 
those  most  important  teachings  of  Chris- 
tianity which  unfold  the  intimate  rela- 
tion of  man  to  man,  and  which  enjoin 
universal  love.  Still,  it  cannot  be  de- 
nied that,  under  all  these  disadvantages, 
God  finds  true  worshippers  within  the 
bounds  of  slavery,  that  many  deeds  of 
Christian  love  are  performed  there,  and 
that  there  are  not  wanting  examples  of 
eminent  virtue.  This  is  what  I meant 
to  say.  I am  bound,  however,  to  add, 
that  the  more  I become  acquainted  with 
the  slave-holding  States,  the  more  I am 
impressed  with  the  depraving  influence 
of  slavery ; and  I shall  grieve  if  my 
desire  to  be  just  to  the  South,  and  my 
joy  at  witnessing  virtue  there,  should 
be  construed  as  a negative  testimony  in 
favor  of  this  corrupting  institution. 


AN  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT  LENOX, 

On  the  First  of  August,  1842,  being  the  Anniversary  of  Emancipation 
in  the  British  West  Indies . 


Introductory  Remarks. 

I have  been  encouraged  to  publish 
the  following  address  by  the  strong  ex- 
pressions of  sympathy  with  which  it 
was  received.  I do  not,  indeed,  suppose 
that  those  who  listened  to  it  with  in- 
terest, and  who  have  requested  its  pub- 
lication, accorded  with  me  in  every 
opinion  which  it  contains.  Such  entire 
agreement  is  not  to  be  expected  among 
intelligent  men  who  judge  for  them- 
selves. But  I am  sure  that  the  spirit 
and  substance  of  the  address  met  a 
hearty  response.  Several  paragraphs, 
which  I wanted  strength  to  deliver,  are 
now  published,  and  for  these  of  course 
I am  alone  responsible. 


I dedicate  this  address  to  the  men 
and  women  of  Berkshire.  I have  found 
so  much  to  delight  me  in  the  magnificent 
scenery  of  this  region,  in  its  peaceful 
and  prosperous  villages,  and  in  the  rare 
intelligence  and  virtues  of  the  friends 
whose  hospitality  I have  here  enjoyed, 
that  I desire  to  connect  this  little  work 
with  this  spot.  I cannot  soon  forget 
the  beautiful  nature  and  the  generous 
spirits  with  which  I have  been  privileged 
to  commune  in  the  valley  of  the  Housa- 
tonic.  — Lenox,  Mass.,  Aug . 9,  1842. 


Address. 

This  day  is  the  anniversary  of  one  of 
the  great  events  of  modern  times,  — the 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  ANNIVERSARY  OF 


908 

emancipation  of  the  slaves  in  the  British 
West  India  Islands.  This  emancipation 
began  August  1st,  1834,  but  it  was  not 
completed  until  August  1st,  1838.  The 
event,  indeed,  has  excited  little  attention 
in  our  country,  partly  because  we  are  too 
much  absorbed  in  private  interests  and 
local  excitements  to  be  alive  to  the  tri- 
umphs of  humanity  at  a distance,  partly 
because  a moral  contagion  has  spread 
from  the  South  through  the  North,  and 
deadened  our  sympathies  with  the  op- 
pressed. But  West  India  emancipation, 
though  received  here  so  coldly,  is  yet  an 
era  in  the  annals  of  philanthropy.  The 
greatest  events  do  not  always  draw  most 
attention  at  the  moment.  When  the 
“ Mayflower,”  in  the  dead  of  winter, 
landed  a few  pilgrims  on  the  ice-bound, 
snow-buried  rocks  of  Plymouth,  the  oc- 
currence made  no  noise.  Nobody  took 
note  of  it,  and  yet  how  much  has  that 
landing  done  to  change  the  face  of  the 
civilized  world ! Our  fathers  came  to 
establish  a pure  church ; they  little 
thought  of  revolutionizing  nations.  The 
emancipation  in  the  West  Indies,  whether 
viewed  in  itself,  or  in  its  immediate  re- 
sults, or  in  the  spirit  from  which  it  grew, 
or  in  the  light  of  hope  which  it  sheds 
on  the  future,  deserves  to  be  commemo- 
rated. In  some  respects  it  stands  alone 
in  human  history,  I therefore  invite  to 
it  your  serious  attention. 

Perhaps  I ought  to  begin  with  some 
apology  for  my  appearance  in  this  place  ; 
for  I stand  here  unasked,  uninvited.  I 
can  plead  no  earnest  solicitation  from 
few  or  many  for  the  service  I now  ren- 
der. I come  to  you  simply  from  an 
impulse  in  my  own  breast ; and,  in 
truth,  had  I been  solicited,  I probably 
should  not  have  consented  to  speak. 
Had  I found  here  a general  desire  to 
celebrate  this  day,  I should  have  felt 
that  another  speaker  might  be  enlisted 
in  the  cause,  and  I should  have  held  my 
peace.  But  finding  that  no  other  voice 
would  be  raised,  I was  impelled  to  lift 
up  my  own,  though  too  feeble  for  any 
great  exertion.  I trust  you  will  accept 
with  candor  what  I have  been  obliged 
to  prepare  in  haste,  and  what  may  have 
little  merit  but  that  of  pure  intention. 

I have  said  that  I speak  only  from  the 
impulse  of  my  own  mind.  I am  the 
organ  of  no  association,  the  representa- 
tive of  no  feelings  but  my  own.  But  I 
wish  it  to  be  understood  that  I speak 


from  no  sudden  impulse,  from  no  pas- 
sionate zeal  of  a new  convert,  but  from 
deliberate  and  long-cherished  convic- 
tion. In  truth,  my  attention  was  directed 
to  slavery  fifty  years  ago,  — that  is,  be- 
fore most  of  you  were  born  ; and  the  first 
impulse  came  from  a venerable  man, 
formerly  of  great  reputation  in  this  part 
of  our  country  and  in  all  our  churches, 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Hopkins,  who  removed 
more  than  a century  ago  from  Great 
Barrington  to  my  native  town,  and  there 
bore  open  and  strong  testimony  against 
the  slave-trade,  — a principal  branch  of 
the  traffic  of  the  place.  I am  reminded 
by  the  spot  where  I now  stand  of  another 
incident  which  may  show  how  long  I 
have  taken  an  interest  in  this  subject 
More  than  twenty  years  ago  I had  an 
earnest  conversation  with  that  noble- 
minded  man  and  fervent  philanthropist, 
Henry  Sedgwick,  so  well  and  honorably 
known  to  most  who  hear  me,  on  which 
occasion  we  deplored  the  insensibility 
of  the  North  to  the  evils  of  slavery,  and 
inquired  by  what  means  it  might  be  re- 
moved. The  circumstance  which  par- 
ticularly gave  my  mind  a direction  to 
this  subject  was  a winter’s  residence  in 
a West  Indian  island  more  than  eleven 
years  ago.  I lived  there  on  a plantation. 
The  piazza  in  which  I sat  and  walked 
almost  from  morning  to  night  overlooked 
the  negro  village  belonging  to  the  estate. 
A few  steps  placed  me  in  the  midst  of 
their  huts.  Here  was  a volume  on  sla- 
very opened  always  before  my  eyes, 
and  how  could  I help  learning  some  of 
its  lessons  ? The  gang  on  this  estate 
(for  such  is  the  name  given  to  a company 
of  slaves)  was  the  best  on  the  island, 
and  among  the  best  in  the  West  Indies. 
The  proprietor  had  labored  to  collect 
the  best  materials  for  it.  His  gang  had 
been  his  pride  and  boast.  The  fine 
proportions,  the  graceful  and  sometimes 
dignified  bearing  of  these  people,  could 
hardly  be  overlooked.  Unhappily,  mis- 
fortune had  reduced  the  owner  to  bank- 
ruptcy. The  estate  had  been  mortgaged 
to  a stranger,  who  could  not  personally 
superintend  it ; and  I found  it  under 
the  care  of  a passionate  and  licentious 
manager,  in  whom  the  poor  slaves  found 
a sad  contrast  to  the  kindness  of  former 
days.  They  sometimes  came  to  the 
house  where  I resided,  with  their  mourn- 
ful or  indignant  complaints  : but  were 
told  that  no  redress  could  be  found  from 


EMANCIPA  TION  IN  THE  BRITISH  WEST  INDIES . 909 


the  hands  of  their  late  master.  In  this 
case  of  a plantation  passing  into  strange 
hands,  I saw  that  the  mildest  form  of 
slavery  might  at  any  time  be  changed 
into  the  worst.  On  returning  to  this 
country  I delivered  a discourse  on  sla- 
very, giving  the  main  views  which  I 
have  since  communicated  ; and  this  was 
done  before  the  cry  of  abolitionism  was 
heard  among  us.  I seem,  then,  to  have 
a peculiar  warrant  for  now  addressing 
you.  I am  giving  you,  not  the  ebulli- 
tions of  new,  vehement  feelings,  but  the 
results  of  long  and  patient  reflection  ; 
not  the  thoughts  of  others,  but  my  own 
independent  judgments.  I stand  alone  ; 
I speak  in  the  name  of  no  party.  I 
have  no  connection,  but  that  of  friend- 
ship and  respect,  with  the  opposers  of 
slavery  in  this  country  or  abroad.  Do 
not  mix  me  up  with  other  men,  good  or 
bad ; but  listen  to  me  as  a separate  wit- 
ness, standing  on  my  own  ground,  and 
desirous  to  express  with  all  plainness 
what  seems  to  be  the  truth. 

On  this  day,  a few  years  ago,  eight 
hundred  thousand  human  beings  were 
set  free  from  slavery ; and  to  compre- 
hend the  greatness  of  the  deliverance,  a 
few  words  must  first  be  said  of  the  evil 
from  which  they  were  rescued.  You 
must  know  slavery  to  know  emancipa- 
tion. But  in  a single  discourse  how  can 
I set  before  you  the  wrongs  and  abom- 
inations of  this  detestable  institution  ? I 
must  pass  over  many  of  its  features,  and 
will  select  one  which  is  at  present  vividly 
impressed  on  my  mind.  Different  minds 
are  impressed  with  different  evils.  Were 
I asked,  what  strikes  me  as  the  greatest 
evil  inflicted  by  this  system,  I should 
say,  it  is  the  outrage  offered  by  slavery 
to  human  nature.  Slavery  does  all  that 
lies  in  human  power  to  unmake  men,  to 
rob  them  of  their  humanity,  to  degrade 
men  into  brutes  ; and  this  it  does  by 
declaring  them  to  be  property.  Here  is 
the  master  evil.  Declare  a man  a chattel, 
something  which  you  may  own  and  may 
turn  to  your  use,  as  a horse  or  a tool  ; 
strip  him  of  all  right  over  himself,  of  all 
right  to  use  his  own  powers,  except 
what  you  concede  to  him  as  a favor  and 
deem  consistent  with  your  own  profit ; 
and  you  cease  to  look  on  him  as  a man. 
You  may  call  him  such  ; but  he  is  not 
to  you  a brother,  a fellow-being,  a par- 
taker of  your  nature,  and  your  equal  in 
the  sight  of  God.  You  view  him,  you 


treat  him,  you  speak  to  him,  as  infinitely 
beneath  you,  as  belonging  to  another 
race.  You  have  a tone  and  a look 
towards  him  which  you  never  use  tow- 
ards a man.  Your  relation  to  him 
demands  that  you  treat  him  as  an  in- 
ferior creature.  You  cannot,  if  you 
would,  treat  him  as  a man.  That  he 
may  answer  your  end,  that  he  may  con- 
sent to  be  a slave,  his  spirit  must  be 
broken,  his  courage  crushed ; he  must 
fear  you.  A feeling  of  his  deep  inferi- 
ority must  be  burnt  into  his  soul.  The 
idea  of  his  rights  must  be  quenched  in 
him  by  the  blood  of  his  lashed  and 
lacerated  body.  Here  is  the  damning 
evil  of  slavery.  It  destroys  the  spirit, 
the  consciousness  of  a man.  I care 
little,  in  comparison,  for  his  hard  out- 
ward lot,  his  poverty,  his  unfurnished 
house,  his  coarse  fare  ; the  terrible 
thing  in  slavery  is  the  spirit  of  a slave, 
the  extinction  of  the  spirit  of  a man. 
He  feels  himself  owned,  a chattel,  a 
thing  bought  and  sold,  and  held  to  sweat 
for  another’s  pleasure,  at  another’s  will, 
under  another’s  lash,  just  as  an  ox  or 
horse.  Treated  thus  as  a brute,  can  he 
take  a place  among  men  ? A slave  ! Is 
there  a name  so  degraded  on  earth,  a 
name  which  so  separates  a man  from  his 
kind  ? And  to  this  condition  millions 
of  our  race  are  condemned  in  this  land 
of  liberty. 

In  what  is  the  slave  treated  as  a man  ? 
The  great  right  of  a man  is,  to  use, 
improve,  expand  his  powers,  for  his 
own  and  others’  good.  The  slave’s 
powers  belong  to  another,  and  are  hem- 
med in,  kept  down,  not  cherished,  or 
suffered  to  unfold.  If  there  be  an 
infernal  system,  one  especially  hostile 
to  humanity,  it  is  that  which  deliberately 
wars  against  the  expansion  of  men’s 
faculties  ; and  this  enters  into  the 
essence  of  slavery.  The  slave  cannot 
be  kept  a slave,  if  helped  or  allowed  to 
improve  his  intellect  and  higher  nature. 
He  must  not  be  taught  to  read.  The 
benevolent  Christian,  who  tries,  by 
giving  him  the  use  of  letters,  to  open 
to  him  the  word  of  God  and  other  good 
books,  is  punished  as  a criminal.  The 
slave  is  hedged  round  so  that  philan- 
thropy cannot  approach  him  to  awaken 
in  him  the  intelligence  and  feelings  of  a 
man.  Thus  his  humanity  is  trodden 
under  foot. 

Again,  a man  has  the  right  to  form 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  ANNIVERSARY  OF 


910 

and  enjoy  the  relations  of  domestic  life. 
The  tie  between  the  brute  and  his  young 
endures  but  a few  months.  Man  was 
made  to  have  a home,  to  have  a wife  and 
children,  to  cleave  to  them  for  life,  to 
sustain  the  domestic  relations  in  con- 
stancy and  purity,  and  through  these 
holy  ties  to  refine  and  exalt  his  nature. 
Such  is  the  distinction  of  a man.  But 
slavery  violates  the  sanctity  of  home. 
It  makes  the  young  woman  property, 
and  gives  her  no  protection  from  licen- 
tiousness. It  either  disallows  marriage, 
or  makes  it  a vain  show.  It  sunders 
husband  and  wife,  sells  them  into  dis- 
tant regions,  and  then  compels  thejn  to 
break  the  sacred  tie,  and  contract  new 
alliances,  in  order  to  stock  the  plantation 
with  human  slaves.  Scripture  and  nature 
say,  “ What  God  hath  joined,  let  not 
man  put  asunder  ; ” but  slavery  scorns 
God’s  voice  in  his  word  and  in  the  human 
heart.  Even  the  Christian  church  dares 
not  remonstrate  against  the  wrong,  but 
sanctions  it,  and  encourages  the  poor 
ignorant  slave  to  form  a new,  adulterous 
connection,  that  he  may  minister  to  his 
masters  gain.  The  slave-holder  enters 
the  hut  of  his  bondsman  to  do  the  work 
which  belongs  only  to  death,  and  to  do 
it  with  nothing  of  the  consolatory,  heal- 
ing influences  which  Christianity  sheds 
round  death.  He  goes  to  tear  the  wife 
from  the  husband,  the  child  from  the 
mother,  to  exile  them  from  one  another, 
and  to  convey  them  to  unknown  masters. 
Is  this  to  see  a man  in  a slave  ? Is  not 
this  to  place  him  beneath  humanity  ? 

Again,  it  is  the  right,  privilege,  and 
distinction  of  a man,  not  only  to  be  con- 
nected with  a family,  but  with  his  race. 
He  is  made  for  free  communion  with 
his  fellow-creatures.  One  of  the  sorest 
evils  of  life  is  to  be  cut  off  from  the 
mass  of  men,  from  the  social  body  ; to 
be  treated  by  the  multitude  of  our  fel- 
low-creatures as  outcasts,  as  Parias,  as 
a fallen  race,  unworthy  to  be  approached, 
unworthy  of  the  deference  due  to  men  ; 
and  this  infinite  wrong  is  done  to  the 
slave.  A slave  ! that  name  severs  all 
his  ties  except  with  beings  as  degraded 
as  himself.  He  has  no  country,  no  pride 
or  love  of  nation,  no  sympathy  with  the 
weal  or  woe  of  the  land  which  gave  him 
birth,  no  joy  in  its  triumphs,  no  gener- 
ous sorrow  for  its  humiliation,  no  feel- 
ing of  that  strong  unity  with  those 
around  him  which  common  laws,  a com- 


mon government,  and  a common  history 
create.  He  is  not  allowed  to  go  forth, 
as  other  men  are,  and  to  connect  him- 
self with  strangers,  to  form  new  alliances 
by  means  of  trade,  business,  conversa- 
tion. Society  is  every  where  barred 
against  him.  An  iron  wall  forbids  his 
access  to  his  race.  The  miscellaneous 
intercourse  of  man  with  man,  which 
strengthens  the  feeling  of  our  common 
humanity,  and  perhaps  does  more  than 
all  things  to  enlarge  the  intellect,  is  de- 
nied him.  The  world  is  nothing  to  him  ; 
he  does  not  hear  of  it.  The  plantation 
is  his  world.  To  him  the  universe  is 
narrowed  down  almost  wholly  to  the  hut 
where  he  sleeps,  and  the  fields  where 
he  sweats  for  another’s  gain.  Beyond 
these  he  must  not  step  without  leave  ; 
and  even  if  allowed  to  wander,  who  has 
a respectful  look  or  word  for  the  slave  ? 
In  that  name  he  carries  with  him  an 
atmosphere  of  repulsion.  It  drives  men 
from  him  as  if  he  were  a leper.  How- 
ever gifted  by  God,  however  thirsting 
for  some  higher  use  of  his  powers,  he 
must  hope  for  no  friend  beyond  the  ig- 
norant, half-brutalized  caste  with  which 
bondage  has  united  him.  To  him  there 
is  no  race,  as  there  is  no  country.  In 
truth,  so  fallen  is  he  beneath  sympa- 
thy that  multitudes  will  smile  at  hear- 
ing him  compassionated  for  being  bereft 
of  these  ties.  Still,  he  suffers  great 
wrong.  Just  in  proportion  as  you  sever 
a man  from  his  country  and  race  he 
ceases  to  be  a man.  The  rudest  sav- 
age, who  has  a tribe  with  which  he 
sympathizes,  and  for  which  he  is  ready 
to  die,  is  far  exalted  above  the  slave. 
How  much  more  exalted  is  the  poorest 
freeman  in  a civilized  land,  who  feels 
his  relation  to  a wide  community  ; who 
lives  under  equal  laws  to  which  the 
greatest  bow  ; whose  social  ties  change 
and  enlarge  with  the  vicissitudes  of  life  ; 
whose  mind  and  heart  are  open  to  the 
quickening,  stirring  influences  of  this 
various  world  ! Poor  slave  ! humanity’s 
outcast  and  orphan  ! to  whom  no  door 
is  open,  but  that  of  the  naked  hut  of  thy 
degraded  caste  ! Art  thou,  indeed,  a 
man  ? Dost  thou  belong  to  the  human 
brotherhood  ? What  is  thy  whole  life 
but  continued  insult  ? Thou  meetest  no 
look  which  does  not  express  thy  hope- 
less exclusion  from  human  sympathies. 
Thou  mayest,  indeed,  be  pitied  in  sick- 
ness and  pain  ; and  so  is  the  animal. 


EMANCIPATION  IN  THE  BRITISH  WEST  INDIES . 91 1 


The  deference  due  to  a man,  and  which 
keeps  alive  a man’s  spirit,  is  unknown 
to  thee.  The  intercourse  which  makes 
the  humblest  individual  in  other  spheres 
partaker  more  or  less  in  the  improve- 
ments of  his  race,  thou  must  never  hope 
for.  May  I not  say,  then,  that  nothing 
extinguishes  humanity  like  slavery  ? 

In  reply  to  these  and  other  represen- 
tations of  the  wrongs  and  evils  of  this  in- 
stitution, we  are  told  that  slaves  are  well 
fed,  well  clothed,  at  least  better  than  the 
peasantry  and  operatives  in  many  other 
countries  ; and  this  is  gravely  adduced  as 
a vindication  of  slavery.  A man  capable 
of  offering  it  ought,  if  any  one  ought,  to 
be  reduced  to  bondage.  A man  who 
thinks  food  and  raiment  a compensation 
for  liberty,  who  would  counsel  men  to 
sell  themselves,  to  become  property,  to 
give  up  all  rights  and  power  over 
themselves,  for  a daily  mess  of  pottage, 
however  savory,  is  a slave  in  heart.  He 
has  lost  the  spirit  of  a man  ; and  would 
be  less  wronged  than  other  men  if  a 
slave's  collar  were  welded  round  his 
neck. 

The  domestic  slave  is  well  fed,  we  are 
told,  and  so  are  the  domestic  animals. 
A nobleman’s  horse  in  England  is  better 
lodged  and  more  pampered  than  the 
operatives  in  Manchester.  The  grain 
which  the  horse  consumes  might  sup- 
port a starving  family.  How  sleek  and 
shining  his  coat ! How  gay  and  rich 
his  caparison!  But  why  is  he  thus  cur- 
ried and  pampered  and  bedecked  ? To 
be  bitted  and  curbed  ; and  then  to  be 
mounted  by  his  master,  who  arms  him- 
self with  whip  and  spur  to  put  the  ani- 
mal to  his  speed  ; and  if  any  accident 
mar  his  strength  or  swiftness,  he  is  sold 
from  his  luxuriant  stall  to  be  flayed, 
overworked,  and  hastened  out  of  life 
by  the  merciless  drayman.  Suppose  the 
nobleman  should  say  to  the  half-starved, 
ragged  operative  of  Manchester,  “ I will 
give  up  my  horse,  and  feed  and  clothe 
you  with  like  sumptuousness,  on  condi- 
tion that  I may  mount  you  daily  with 
lash  and  spurs,  and  sell  you  when  I can 
make  a profitable  bargain.”  Would  you 
have  the  operative,  for  the  sake  of  good 
fare  and  clothes,  take  the  lot  of  the 
brute  ? or,  in  other  words,  become  a 
slave  ? What  reply  would  the  heart  of 
an  Old  England  or  New  England  la- 
borer make  to  such  a proposal  ? And 
yet,  if  there  be  any  soundness  in  the 


argument  drawn  from  the  slave’s  com- 
forts, he  ought  to  accept  it  thankfully 
and  greedily. 

Such  arguments  for  slavery  are  in- 
sults. The  man  capable  of  using  them 
ought  to  be  rebuked  as  mean  in  spirit, 
hard  of  heart,  and  wanting  all  true  sym- 
pathy with  his  race.  I might  reply,  if  I 
thought  fit,  to  this  account  of  the  slave’s 
blessings,  that  there  is  nothing  very 
enviable  in  his  food  and  wardrobe,  that 
his  comforts  make  no  approach  to  those 
of  the  nobleman’s  horse,  and  that  a 
laborer  of  New  England  would  prefer 
the  fare  of  many  an  almshouse  at  home. 
But  I cannot  stoop  to  such  reasoning. 
Be  the  comforts  of  the  slave  what  they 
may,  they  are  no  compensation  for  the 
degradation,  insolence,  indignities,  igno- 
rance, servility,  scars,  and  violations  of 
domestic  rights  to  which  he  is  exposed. 

I have  spoken  of  what  seems  to  me 
the  grand  evil  of  slavery,  — the  outrage 
it  offers  to  human  nature.  It  would  be 
easy  to  enlarge  on  other  fatal  tendencies 
and  effects  of  this  institution.  But  I 
forbear,  not  only  for  want  of  time,  but 
because  I feel  no  need  of  a minute  ex- 
position of  its  wrongs  and  miseries  to 
make  it  odious.  I cannot  endure  to  go 
through  a labored  proof  of  its  iniquitous 
and  injurious  nature.  No  man  wants 
such  proof.  He  carries  the  evidence 
in  his  own  heart.  I need  nothing  but 
the  most  general  view  of  slavery  to 
move  my  indignation  towards  it.  I am 
more  and  more  accustomed  to  throw 
out  of  sight  its  particular  evils,  its  de- 
tails of  wrong  and  suffering,  and  to  see 
in  it  simply  an  institution  which  deprives 
men  of  freedom  ; and  when  I thus  view 
it,  I am  taught  immediately,  by  an  un- 
erring instinct,  that  slavery  is  an  in- 
tolerable wrong.  Nature  cries  aloud 
for  freedom  as  our  proper  good,  our 
birthright  and  our  end,  and  resents 
nothing  so  much  as  its  loss.  It  is  true 
that  we  are  placed  at  first  in  subjection 
to  others’  wills,  and  spend  childhood 
and  youth  under  restraint.  But  we  are 
governed  at  first  that  we  may  learn  to 
govern  ourselves  ; we  begin  with  lead- 
ing-strings that  we  may  learn  to  go  alone. 
The  discipline  of  the  parent  is  designed 
to  train  up  his  children  to  act  for  them- 
selves, and  from  a principle  of  duty  in 
their  own  breasts.  The  child  is  not 
subjected  to  his  father  to  be  a slave, 
but  to  grow  up  to  the  energy,  responsi- 


912 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  ANNIVERSARY  OF 


bility,  relations,  and  authority  of  a man. 
Freedom,  courage,  moral  force,  effi- 
ciency, independence,  the  large,  gen- 
erous action  of  the  soul,  these  are  the 
blessings  in  store  for  us,  the  grand  ends 
to  which  the  restraints  of  education,  of 
family,  of  school,  and  college  are  directed. 
Nature  knows  no  such  thing  as  a per- 
petual yoke.  Nature  bends  no  head  to 
the  dust,  to  look  for  ever  downward. 
Nature  makes  no  man  a chattel.  Nat- 
ure has  implanted  in  all  souls  the  thirst, 
the  passion  for  liberty.  Nature  stirs 
the  heart  of  the  child,  and  prompts  it 
to  throw  out  its  little  limbs  in  restless- 
ness and  joy,  and  to  struggle  against 
restraint.  Nature  impels  the  youth  to 
leap,  to  run,  to  put  forth  all  his  powers, 
to  look  with  impatience  on  prescribed 
bounds,  to  climb  the  steep,  to  dive  into 
the  ocean,  to  court  danger,  to  spread 
himself  through  the  new  world  which 
he  was  born  to  inherit.  Nature’s  life, 
nature’s  impulse,  nature’s  joy  is  free- 
dom. A greater  violence  to  nature  can- 
not be  conceived  than  to  rob  man  of 
liberty. 

What  is  the  end  and  essence  of  life  ? 
It  is  to  expand  all  our  faculties  and 
affections.  It  is  to  grow,  to  gain  by 
exercise  new  energy,  new  intellect,  new 
love.  It  is  to  hope,  to  strive,  to  bring 
out  what  is  within  us,  to  press  towards 
what  is  above  us.  In  other  words,  it 
is  to  be  free.  Slavery  is  thus  at  war 
with  the  true  life  of  human  nature. 
Undoubtedly  there  is  a power  in  the 
soul  which  the  loss  of  freedom  cannot 
always  subdue.  There  have  been  men 
doomed  to  perpetual  bondage  who  have 
still  thought  and  felt  nobly,  looked  up 
to  God  with  trust,  and  learned  by  ex- 
perience that  even  bondage,  like  all  other 
evils,  may  be  made  the  occasion  of  high 
virtue.  But  these  are  exceptions.  In 
the  main,  our  nature  is  too  weak  to 
grow  under  the  weight  of  chains. 

To  illustrate  the  supreme  importance 
of  freedom,  I would  offer  a remark 
which  may  sound  like  a paradox,  but 
will  be  found  to  be  true.  It  is  this,  that 
even  despotism  is  endurable  only  be- 
cause it  bestows  a degree  of  freedom. 
Despotism,  bad  as  it  is,  supplants  a 
greater  evil,  and  that  is  anarchy ; and 
anarchy  is  worse,  chiefly  because  it  is 
more  enslaving.  In  anarchy  all  restraint 
is  plucked  from  the  strong,  who  make  a 
prey  of  the  weak  ; subduing  them  by 


terror,  seizing  on  their  property,  and 
treading  every  right  under  foot.  When 
the  laws  are  prostrated,  arbitrary,  pas- 
sionate, lawless  will,  the  will  of  the 
strongest,  exasperated  by  opposition, 
must  prevail ; and  under  this  the  rights 
of  person  as  well  as  property  are  cast 
down,  and  a palsying  fear  imposes  on 
men’s  spirits  a heavier  chain  than  was 
ever  forged  by  an  organized  despot- 
ism. In  the  whole  history  of  tyranny 
in  France,  liberty  was  never  so  crushed 
as  in  the  reign  of  terror  in  the  Revolu- 
tion, when  mobs  and  lawless  combina- 
tions usurped  the  power  of  the  state. 
A despot,  to  be  safe,  must  establish  a 
degree  of  order,  and  this  implies  laws, 
tribunals,  and  some  administration  of 
justice,  however  rude; -and,  still  more, 
he  has  an  interest  in  protecting  industry 
and  property  to  some  degree,  in  order 
that  he  may  extort  the  more  from  his 
people’s  earnings  under  the  name  of 
revenue.  Thus  despotism  is  an  advance 
towards  liberty  ; and  in  this  its  strength 
very  much  lies ; for  the  people  have  a 
secret  consciousness  that  their  rights 
suffer  less  under  one  than  under  many 
tyrants,  under  an  organized  absolutism 
than  under  wild,  lawless,  passionate 
force  ; and  on  this  conviction,  as  truly 
as  on  armies,  rests  the  despot’s  throne. 
Thus  freedom  and  rights  are  ever  cher- 
ished goods  of  human  nature.  Man 
keeps  them  in  sight  even  when  most 
crushed  ; and  just  in  proportion  as  civ- 
ilization and  intelligence  advance  he 
secures  them  more  and  more.  This  is 
infallibly  true,  notwithstanding  opposite 
appearances.  The  old  forms  of  despot- 
ism may,  indeed,  continue  in  a progres- 
sive civilization,  but  their  force  declines  ; 
and  public  opinion,  the  will  of  the  com- 
munity, silently  establishes  a sway  over 
what  seems  and  is  denominated  abso- 
lute power.  We  have  a striking  exam- 
ple of  this  truth  in  Prussia,  where  the 
king  seems  unchecked,  but  where  a 
code  of  wise  and  equal  laws  insures  to 
every  man  his  rights  to  a degree  ex- 
perienced in  few  other  countries,  and 
where  the  administration  of  justice  can- 
not safely  be  obstructed  by  the  will  of 
the  sovereign.  Thus  freedom,  man’s 
dearest  birthright,  is  the  good  towards 
which  civil  institutions  tend.  It  is  at 
once  the  sign  and  the  means,  the  cause 
and  the  effect  of  human  progress.  It 
exists  in  a measure  under  tyrannical 


EMANCIPATION  IN  THE  BRITISH  WEST  INDIES.  91 3 


governments,  and  gives  them  their 
strength.  Nowhere  is  it  wholly  bro- 
ken down  but  under  domestic  slavery. 
Under  this,  man  is  made  property. 
Here  lies  the  damning  taint,  the  ac- 
cursed, blighting  power,  the  infinite  evil 
of  bondage. 

On  this  day,  four  years  ago,  eight 
hundred  thousand  human  beings  were 
set  free  from  the  terrible  evil  of  which 
I have  given  a faint  sketch.  Eight 
hundred  thousand  of  our  brethren,  who 
had  lived  in  darkness  and  the  shadow 
of  death,  were  visited  with  the  light  of 
liberty.  Instead  of  the  tones  of  abso- 
lute, debasing  command,  a new  voice 
broke  on  their  ears,  calling  them  to 
come  forth  to  be  free.  They  were  un- 
doubtedly too  rude,  too  ignorant,  to 
comprehend  the  greatness  of  the  bless- 
ing conferred  on  them  this  day.  Free- 
dom to  them  undoubtedly  seemed  much 
what  it  is  not.  Children  in  intellect, 
they  seized  on  it  as  a child  on  a holiday. 
But  slavery  had  not  wholly  stifled  in 
them  the  instincts,  feelings,  judgments 
of  men.  They  felt  on  this  day  that  the 
whip  of  the  brutal  overseer  was  broken  ; 
and  was  that  no  cause  for  exulting  joy  ? 
They  felt  that  wife  and  child  could  no 
longer  be  insulted  or  scourged  in  their 
sight,  and  they  be  denied  the  privilege 
of  lifting  up  a voice  in  their  behalf. 
Was  that  no  boon  ? They  felt  that 
henceforth  they  were  to  work  from  their 
own  wills,  for  their  own  good,  that  they 
might  earn  perhaps  a hut,  which  they 
might  call  their  own,  and  which  the  foot 
of  a master  could  not  profane,  nor  a 
master’s  interest  lay  waste.  Can  you 
not  conceive  how  they  stretched  out 
their  limbs,  and  looked  on  them  with  a 
new  joy,  saying,  “ These  are  our  own  ” ? 
Can  you  not  conceive  how  they  leaped 
with  a new  animation,  exulting  to  put 
forth  powers  which  were  from  that  day 
to  be  “ their  own  ” ? Can  you  not  con- 
ceive how  they  looked  round  them  on 
the  fields  and  hills,  and  said  to  them- 
selves, “ We  can  go  now  where  we 
will  ” ? and  how  they  continued  to  live 
in  their  huts  with  new  content,  because 
they  could  leave  them  if  they  would? 
Can  you  not  conceive  how  dim  ideas  of 
a better  lot  dawned  on  their  long-dor- 
mant minds  ; how  the  future,  once  a 
blank,  began  to  brighten  before  them; 
how  hope  began  to  spread  her  unused 
pinions  ; how  the  faculties  and  feelings 


of  men  came  to  a new  birth  within  them  ? 
The  father  and  mother  took  their  child 
to  their  arms  and  said,  “ Nobody  can 
sell  you  from  us  now.”  Was  not  that 
enough  to  give  them  a new  life  ? The 
husband  and  wife  began  to  feel  that 
there  was  an  inviolable  sanctity  in  mar- 
riage ; and  a glimpse,  however  faint,  of 
a moral,  spiritual  bond  began  to  take 
place  of  the  loose  sensual  tie  which  had 
held  them  together.  Still  more,  and 
what  deserves  special  note,  the  colored 
man  raised  his  eyes  on  this  day  to  the 
white  man,  and  saw  the  infinite  chasm 
between  himself  and  the  white  race  grow- 
ing narrower  ; saw  and  felt  that  he,  too, 
was  a man  ; that  he,  too,  had  rights  ; 
that  he  belonged  to  the  common  Father, 
not  to  a frail,  selfish  creature ; that, 
under  God,  he  was  his  own  master.  A 
rude  feeling  of  dignity,  in  strange  con- 
trast with  the  abjectness  of  the  slave,  gave 
new  courage  to  that  look,  gave  a firmer 
tone,  a manlier  tread.  This,  had  I been 
there,  would  have  interested  me  espe- 
cially. The  tumult  of  joyful  feeling 
bursting  forth  in  the  broken  language 
which  slavery  had  taught  I should  have 
sympathized  with.  But  the  sight  of  the 
slave  rising  into  a man,  looking  on  the 
white  race  with  a steady  eye,  with 
the  secret  consciousness  of  a common 
nature,  and  beginning  to  comprehend 
his  heaven-descended,  inalienable  rights, 
would  have  been  the  crowning  joy. 

It  was  natural  to  expect  that  die  slaves, 
on  the  first  of  August,  receiving  the  vast, 
incomprehensible  gift  of  freedom,  would 
have  rushed  into  excess.  It  would  not 
have  surprised  me  had  I heard  of  in- 
temperance, tumult,  violence.  Liberty, 
that  mighty  boon,  for  which  nations  have 
shed  rivers  of  their  best  blood,  for  which 
they  have  toiled  and  suffered  for  years, 
perhaps  for  ages,  was  given  to  these  poor, 
ignorant  creatures  in  a day,  and  given 
to  them  after  lives  of  cruel  bondage,  im- 
measurably more  cruel  than  any  politi- 
cal oppression.  Would  it  have  been 
wonderful  if  they  had  been  intoxicated 
by  the  sudden,  vast  transition  ? if  they 
had  put  to  shame  the  authors  of  their 
freedom  by  an  immediate  abuse  of  it  ? 
Happily,  the  poor  negroes  had  enjoyed 
one  privilege  in  their  bondage.  They 
had  learned  something  of  Christianity ; 
very  little  indeed,  yet  enough  to  teach 
them  that  liberty  was  the  gift  of  God. 
That  mighty  power,  religion,  had  be- 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  ANNIVERSARY  OF 


914 

gun  a work  within  them.  The  African 
nature  seems  singularly  susceptible  of 
this  principle.  Benevolent  missionaries, 
whom  the  antislavery  spirit  of  England 
had  sent  into  the  colonies,  had  for  some 
time  been  working  on  the  degraded 
minds  of  the  bondmen,  and  not  wholly 
in  vain.  The  slaves,  whilst  denied  the 
rank  of  men  by  their  race,  had  caught 
the  idea  of  their  relation  to  the  Infinite 
Father.  That  great  doctrine  of  the 
universal,  impartial  love  of  God,  em- 
bracing the  most  obscure,  dishonored, 
oppressed,  had  dawned  on  them.  Their 
new  freedom  thus  became  associated 
with  religion,  the  mightiest  principle  on 
earth,  and  by  this  it  was  not  merely 
saved  from  excess,  but  made  the  spring 
of  immediate  elevation. 

Little  did  I imagine  that  the  emanci- 
pation of  the  slaves  was  to  be  invested 
with  holiness  and  moral  sublimity.  Lit- 
tle did  I expect  that  my  heart  was  to  be 
touched  by  it  as  by  few  events  in  his- 
tory. But  the  emotions  with  which  I 
first  read  the  narrative  of  the  great  gift 
of  liberty  in  Antigua  are  still  fresh  in 
my  mind.  Let  me  read  to  you  the  story  ; 
none,  I think,  can  hear  it  unmoved.  It 
is  the  testimony  of  trustworthy  men, 
who  visited  the  West  Indies  to  observe 
the  effects  of  emancipation  : — 

“To  convey  to  the  reader  some  account 
of  the  way  in  which  the  great  crisis  passed, 
we  here  give  the  substance  of  several  ac- 
counts which  were  related  to  us  in  different 
parts  of  the  island  by  those  who  witnessed 
them. 

“The  Wesleyans  kept  ‘watch-night’  in 
all  their  chapels  on  the  night  of  the  31st 
July.  One  of  the  Wesleyan  missionaries 
gave  us  an  account  of  the  watch-meeting 
at  the  chapel  in  St.  John’s.  The  spacious 
house  was  filled  with  the  candidates  for 
liberty.  All  was  animation  and  eagerness. 
A mighty  chorus  of  voices  swelled  the  song 
of  expectation  and  joy ; and,  as  they  united 
in  prayer,  the  voice  of  the  leader  was 
drowned  in  the  universal  acclamation  of 
thanksgiving  and  praise  and  blessing  and 
honor  and  glory  to  God,  who  had  come 
down  for  their  deliverance.  In  such  exer- 
cises the  evening  was  spent  until  the  hour 
of  twelve  approached.  The  missionary 
then  proposed  that,  when  the  clock  on  the 
cathedral  should  begin  to  strike,  the  whole 
congregation  should  fall  upon  their  knees, 
and  receive  the  boon  of  freedom  in  silence. 
Accordingly,  as  the  loud  bell  tolled  its  first 
note,  the  immense  assembly  fell  prostrate 
on  their  knees.  All  was  silence,  save  the 


quivering,  half-stifled  breath  of  the  strug- 
gling spirit.  The  slow  notes  of  the  clock 
fell  upon  the  multitude  ; peal  on  peal,  peal 
on  peal,  rolled  over  the  prostrate  throng, 
in  tones  of  angels’  voices,  thrilling  among 
the  desolate  chords  and  weary  heart-strings. 
Scarce  had  the  clock  sounded  its  last  note, 
when  the  lightning  flashed  vividly  around, 
and  a loud  peal  of  thunder  roared  along 
the  sky,  — God’s  pillar  of  fire,  and  trump 
of  jubilee  ! A moment  of  profoundest  si- 
lence passed,  — then  came  the  burst,  — 
they  broke  forth  in  prayer ; they  shouted, 
they  sung  ‘ Glory  ! ’ ‘ Alleluia  ! ’ they 

clapped  their  hands,  leaped  up,  fell  down, 
clasped  each  other  in  their  free  arms,  cried, 
laughed,  and  went  to  and  fro,  tossing 
upward  their  unfettered  hands  ; but  high 
above  the  whole  there  was  a mighty  sound 
which  ever  and  anon  swelled  up ; it  was 
the  utterings,  in  broken  negro  dialect,  of 
gratitude  to  God. 

“ After  this  gush  of  excitement  had 
spent  itself,  and  the  congregation  became 
calm,  the  religious  exercises  were  resumed, 
and  the  remainder  of  the  night  was  oc- 
cupied in  singing  and  prayer,  in  reading  the 
Bible,  and  in  addresses  from  the  mission- 
aries, explaining  the  nature  of  the  freedom 
just  received,  and  exhorting  the  free  people 
to  be  industrious,  steady,  obedient  to  the 
laws,  and  to  show  themselves  in  all  things 
worthy  of  the  high  boon  which  God  had 
conferred  upon  them. 

“The  first  of  August  came  on  Friday, 
and  a release  was  proclaimed  from  all  work 
until  the  next  Monday.  The  day  was  chiefly 
spent,  by  the  great  mass  of  negroes,  in 
the  churches  and  chapels.  Thither  they 
flocked  in  clouds,  and  as  doves  to  their 
windows.  The  clergy  and  missionaries 
throughout  the  island  were  actively  en- 
gaged, seizing  the  opportunity  in  order  to 
enlighten  the  people  on  all  the  duties  and 
responsibilities  of  their  new  situation,  and, 
above  all,  urging  them  to  the  attainment 
of  that  higher  liberty  with  which  Christ 
maketh  his  children  free.  In  every  quarter 
we  were  assured  that  the  day  was  like  a 
Sabbath.  Work  had  ceased  ; the  hum  of 
business  was  still ; and  noise  and  tumult 
were  unheard  in  the  streets.  Tranquillity 
pervaded  the  towns  and  country.  A Sab- 
bath indeed  ! when  the  wicked  ceased  from 
troubling,  and  the  weary  were  at  rest,  and 
the  slave  was  freed  from  the  master  ! The 
planters  informed  us  that  they  went  to  the 
chapels  where  their  own  people  were  as- 
sembled, greeted  them,  shook  hands  with 
them,  and  exchanged  most  hearty  good 
wishes.”* 

Such  is  the  power  of  true  religion  on 
the  rudest  minds.  Such  the  deep  foun- 

* See  “ Emancipation  in  the  West  Indies,”  by 
Thome  and  Kimball. 


EMANCIPATION  IN  THE  BRITISH  WEST  INDIES \ 91 5 


tain  of  feeling  in  the  African  soul.  Such 
the  race  of  men  whom  we  are  tramp- 
ling in  the  dust.  How  few  of  our  as- 
semblies, with  all  our  intelligence  and 
refinement,  offer  to  God  this  overflow- 
ing gratitude,  this  profound,  tender, 
rapturous  homage  ! True,  the  slaves 
poured  out  their  joy  with  a child-like 
violence  ; but  we  see  a childhood  full 
of  promise.  And  why  do  we  place  this 
race  beneath  us  ? Because  nature  has 
burnt  on  them  a darker  hue.  But  does 
the  essence  of  humanity  live  in  color  ? 
Is  the  black  man  less  a man  than  the 
white  ? Has  he  not  human  powers,  hu- 
man rights  ? Does  his  color  reach  to 
his  soul  ? Is  reason  in  him  a whit 
blacker  than  in  us  ? Have  his  con- 
science and  affections  been  dipped  in  an 
inky  flood  ? To  the  eye  of  God  are  his 
pure  thoughts  and  kind  feelings  less 
fair  than  our  own  ? We  are  apt  to  think 
this  prejudice  of  color  founded  in  nature. 
But  in  the  most  enlightened  countries  in 
Europe  the  man  of  African  descent  is 
received  into  the  society  of  the  great 
and  good  as  an  equal  and  friend.  It  is 
here  only  that  this  prejudice  reigns ; 
and  to  this  prejudice,  strengthened  by 
our  subjection  to  Southern  influence, 
must  be  ascribed  our  indifference  to  the 
progress  of  liberty  in  the  West  Indies. 
Ought  not  the  emancipation  of  nearly  a 
million  of  human  beings,  so  capable  of 
progress  as  the  African  race,  to  have 
sent  a thrill  of  joy  through  a nation  of 
freemen  ? But  this  great  event  was  re- 
ceived in  our  country  with  indifference. 
Humanity,  justice,  Christian  sympathy, 
the  love  of  liberty,  found  but  few  voices 
here.  Nearly  a million  of  men,  at  no 
great  distance  from  our  land,  passed 
from  the  most  degrading  bondage  into 
the  ranks  of  freedom  with  hardly  a wel- 
come from  these  shores. 

Perhaps  you  will  say  that  we  are 
bound  to  wait  for  the  fruits  of  emanci- 
pation, before  we  celebrate  it  as  a great 
event  in  history.  I think  not  so.  We 
ought  to  rejoice  immediately,  without 
delay,  whenever  an  act  of  justice  is 
done,  especially  a grand  public  act,  sub- 
verting the  oppression  of  ages.  We 
ought  to  triumph,  when  the  right  pros- 
pers, without  waiting  for  consequences. 
We  ought  not  to  doubt  about  conse- 
quences, when  men,  in  obedience  to 
conscience,  and  in  the  exercise  of  their 
best  wisdom,  redress  a mighty  wrong. 


If  God  reigns,  then  the  subversion  of  a 
vast  crime,  then  the  breaking  of  an  un- 
righteous yoke,  must  in  its  final  results 
be  good.  Undoubtedly  an  old  abuse 
which  has  sent  its  roots  through  society 
cannot  be  removed  without  inconven- 
ience or  suffering.  Indeed,  no  great 
social  change,  however  beneficial,  can 
occur  without  partial,  temporary  pain. 
But  must  abuses  be  sheltered  without 
end,  and  human  progress  given  up  in 
despair,  because  some  who  have  fattened 
on  wrongs  will  cease  to  prosper  at  the 
expense  of  their  brethren?  Undoubt- 
edly slavery  cannot  be  broken  up  with- 
out deranging  in  a measure  the  old 
social  order.  Must,  therefore,  slavery 
be  perpetual  ? Has  the  Creator  laid  on 
any  portion  of  his  children  the  neces- 
sity of  everlasting  bondage  ? Must 
wrong  know  no  end  ? Has  oppression 
a charter  from  God,  which  is  never  to 
grow  old  ? What  a libel  on  God,  as  well 
as  on  man,  is  the  supposition  that  so- 
ciety cannot  subsist  without  perpetuat- 
ing the  degradation  of  a large  portion  of 
the  race  ! Is  this,  indeed,  the  law  of 
the  creation,  that  multitudes  must  be 
oppressed  ? that  states  can  subsist  and 
prosper  only  through  crime  ? Then 
there  is  no  God.  Then  an  evil  spirit 
reigns  over  the  universe.  It  is  an  im- 
pious error  to  believe  that  injustice  is  a 
necessity  under  the  government  of  the 
Most  High.  It  is  disloyalty  to  princi- 
ple, treachery  to  virtue,  to  suppose  that 
a righteous,  generous  work,  conceived 
in  a sense  of  duty,  and  carried  on  with 
deliberate  forethought,  can  issue  in  mis- 
ery, in  ruin.  To  this  want  of  faith  in 
rectitude  society  owes  its  woes,  owes  the 
licensed  frauds  and  crimes  of  statesmen, 
the  licensed  frauds  of  trade,  the  continu- 
ance of  slavery.  Once  let  men  put  faith 
in  rectitude,  let  them  feel  that  justice  is 
strength,  that  disinterestedness  is  a sun 
and  a shield,  that  selfishness  and  crime 
are  weak  and  miserable,  and  the  face  of 
the  earth  would  be  changed,  the  groans 
of  ages  would  cease.  We  ought  to 
shout  for  joy,  not  shrink  like  cowards, 
when  justice  and  humanity  triumph  over 
established  wrongs. 

The  emancipation  of  the  British  Is- 
lands ought,  then,  to  have  called  forth 
acclamation  at  its  birth.  Much  more 
should  we  rejoice  in  it  now,  when  time 
has  taught  us  the  folly  of  the  fears  and 
the  suspicions  which  it  awakened,  and 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  ANN/ VERSA RV  OF 


916 

taught  us  the  safety  of  doing  right. 
Emancipation  has  worked  well.  By 
this  I do  not  mean  that  it  has  worked 
miracles.  I have  no  glowing  pictures 
to  exhibit  to  you  of  the  West  Indian 
Islands.  An  act  of  the  British  parlia- 
ment declaring  them  free  has  not 
changed  them  into  a paradise.  A few 
strokes  of  the  pen  cannot  reverse  the 
laws  of  nature,  or  conquer  the  almost 
omnipotent  power  of  early  and  long-con- 
tinued habit.  Even  in  this  country, 
where  we  breathe  the  air  of  freedom 
from  our  birth,  and  where  we  have 
grown  up  amidst  churches  and  school- 
houses,  and  under  wise  and  equal  laws, 
even  here  we  find  no  paradise.  Here 
are  crime  and  poverty  and  woe  ; and  can 
you  expect  a poor  ignorant  race,  born  to 
bondage,  scarred  with  the  lash,  unedu- 
cated, and  unused  to  all  the  motives 
which  stimulate  industry,  can  you  ex- 
pect these  to  unlearn  in  a day  the  les- 
sons of  years,  and  to  furnish  all  at  once 
themes  for  eloquent  description  ? Were 
you  to  visit  those  islands,  you  would 
find  a slovenly  agriculture,  much  igno- 
rance, and  more  sloth  than  you  see  at 
home  ; and  yet  emancipation  works  well, 
— far  better  than  could  have  been  an- 
ticipated. To  me  it  could  hardly  have 
worked  otherwise  than  well.  It  ban- 
ished slavery,  that  wrong  and  curse  not 
to  be  borne.  It  gave  freedom,  the  dear 
birthright  of  humanity  ; and  had  it  done 
nothing  more,  I should  have  found  in  it 
cause  for  joy.  Freedom,  simple  freedom, 
is  “in  my  estimation  just,  far  prized 
above  all  price.”  I do  not  stop  to  ask 
if  the  emancipated  are  better  fed  and 
clothed  than  formerly.  They  are  free  ; 
and  that  one  word  contains  a world  of 
good,  unknown  to  the  most  pampered 
slave. 

But  emancipation  has  brought  more 
than  naked  liberty.  The  emancipated 
are  making  progress  in  intelligence, 
comforts,  purity ; and  progress  is  the 
great  good  of  life.  No  matter  where 
men  are  at  any  given  moment ; the  great 
question  about  them  is,  Are  they  going 
forward  ? do  they  improve  ? Slavery 
was  immovable,  hopeless  degradation. 
It  is  the  glory  of  liberty  to  favor  prog- 
ress, and  this  great  blessing  emancipa- 
tion has  bestowed.  We  were  told, 
indeed,  that  emancipation  was  to  turn 
the  green  islands  of  the  West  Indies 
into  deserts  ; but  they  still  rise  from  the 


tropical  sea  as  blooming  and  verdant  as 
before.  We  were  told  that  the  slaves, 
if  set  free,  would  break  out  in  universal 
massacre  ; but  since  that  event  not  a 
report  has  reached  us  of  murder  perpe- 
trated by  a colored  man  on  the  white 
population.  We  were  told  that  crimes 
would  multiply  ; but  they  are  diminished 
in  every  emancipated  island,  and  very 
greatly  in  most.  We  were  told  that  the 
freed  slave  would  abandon  himself  to 
idleness  ; and  this  I did  anticipate,  to  a 
considerable  degree,  as  the  first  result. 
Men  on  whom  industry  had  been  forced 
by  the  lash,  and  who  had  been  taught  to 
regard  sloth  as  their  master’s  chief  good, 
were  strongly  tempted  to  surrender  the 
first  days  of  freedom  to  indolent  indul- 
gence. But  in  this  respect  the  evil  has 
been  so  small  as  to  fill  a reflecting  man 
with  admiration.  In  truth,  no  race  but 
the  African  could  have  made  the  great 
transition  with  so  little  harm  to  them- 
selves and  others.  In  general,  they  re- 
sumed their  work  after  a short  burst  of 
joy.  The  desire  of  property,  of  better- 
ing their  lot,  at  once  sprang  up  within 
them  in  sufficient  strength  to  counter- 
balance the  love  of  ease.  Some  of  them 
have  become  proprietors  of  the  soil. 
New  villages  have  grown  up  under  their 
hands  ; their  huts  are  more  comfortable  ; 
their  dress  more  decent,  sometimes  too 
expensive.  When  I tell  you  that  the 
price  of  real  estate  in  these  islands  has 
risen,  and  that  the  imports  from  the 
mother  country,  especially  those  for  the 
laborer’s  use,  have  increased,  you  will 
judge  whether  the  liberated  slaves  are 
living  as  drones.  Undoubtedly  the 
planter  has  sometimes  wanted  workmen, 
and  the  staple  product  of  the  islands, 
sugar,  has  decreased.  But  this  can  be 
explained  without  much  reproach  to  the 
emancipated.  The  laborer,  who  in  sla- 
very was  overtasked  in  the  cane-field 
and  sugar-mill,  is  anxious  to  buy  or  hire 
land  sufficient  for  his  support,  and  to 
work  for  himself,  instead  of  hiring  him- 
self to  another.  A planter  from  British 
Guiana  informed  me,  a few  weeks  ago, 
that  a company  of  colored  men  had  paid 
down  seventy  thousand  dollars  for  a 
tract  of  land  in  the  most  valuable  part  of 
that  colony.  It  is  not  sloth,  so  much  as 
a spirit  of  manly  independence,  which 
has  withdrawn  the  laborer  from  the 
plantation  ; and  this  evil,  if  so  it  must 
be  called,  has  been  increased  by  his  un- 


EMANCIPATION  IN  THE  BRITISH  WEST  INDIES.  917 


willingness  to  subject  his  wife  and 
daughter  to  the  toils  of  the  field  which 
they  used  to  bear  in  the  days  of  slavery. 
Undoubtedly  the  colored  population 
might  do  more,  but  they  do  enough  to 
earn  a better  lot  than  they  ever  enjoyed, 
and  the  work  of  improvement  goes  on 
among  them. 

I pass  to  a still  brighter  view.  The 
spirit  of  education  has  sprung  up  among 
the  people  to  an  extent  worthy  of  admi- 
ration. We  despise  them  ; and  yet  there 
is  reason  to  believe  that  a more  general 
desire  to  educate  their  children  is  to  be 
found  among  them  than  exists  among 
large  portions  of  the  white  population 
in  the  slave  States  of  the  South.  They 
have  learned  that  their  ignorance  is  the 
great  barrier  between  them  and  the  white 
men,  and  this  they  are  in  earnest  to  pros- 
trate. It  has  been  stated  that,  in  one 
island,  not  a child  above  ten  years  of 
age  was  unable  to  read.  Human  history 
probably  furnishes  no  parallel  of  an 
equal  progress  in  a half-civilized  com- 
munity. 

To  this  must  be  added  their  interest 
in  religious  institutions.  Their  expen- 
ditures for  the  support  of  these  are  such 
as  should  put  to  shame  the  backward- 
ness of  multitudes  in  countries  calling 
themselves  civilized.  The}7  do  more  than 
we,  in  proportion  to  their  means.  Some 
of  them  have  even  subscribed  funds  for 
the  diffusion  of  the  gospel  in  Africa,  — 
an  instance  of  their  zeal,  rather  than 
their  wisdom ; for  they  undoubtedly 
need  all  they  can  spare  for  their  own  in- 
struction. Their  conceptions  of  religion 
are,  of  course,  narrow  and  rude,  but  their 
hearts  have  been  touched  by  its  simpler 
truths  ; and  love  is  the  key  to  higher 
knowledge.  To  this  let  me  add,  that 
marriage  is  acquiring  sanctity  in  their 
eyes,  that  domestic  life  is  putting  on  a 
new  refinement,  and  you  will  see  that 
this  people  have  all  the  elements  of 
social  progress.  Property,  marriage, 
and  religion  have  been  called  the  pillars 
of  society,  and  of  these  the  liberated 
slave  has  learned  the  value. 

The  result  of  all  these  various  im- 
provements is  what  every  wise  friend  of 
humanity  must  rejoice  in.  Their  social 
position  is  changed.  They  have  taken 
rank  among  men.  They  are  no  longer  de- 
graded by  being  looked  on  as  degraded. 
They  no  longer  live  under  that  wither- 
ing curse,  the  contempt  of  their  fellow- 


beings.  The  tone  in  which  they  are 
spoken  to  no  longer  expresses  their  in- 
finite and  hopeless  depression.  They 
are  treated  as  men  ; some  of  them  en- 
gage in  lucrative  pursuits  ; all  the  paths 
of  honor  as  well  as  of  gain  are  open  to 
them ; they  are  found  in  the  legislatures ; 
they  fill  civil  offices  ; they  have  military 
appointments ; and  in  all  these  con- 
ditions acquit  themselves  honorably. 
Their  humanity  is  recognized ; and  with- 
out this  recognition  men  pine  and  had 
better  be  left  to  perish. 

I have  no  thought  of  painting  these 
islands  as  Edens.  That  great  ignorance 
prevails  among  the  emancipated  people, 
that  they  want  our  energy,  that  the  deg- 
radation of  slavery  has  not  vanished 
all  at  once  with  the  name,  this  I need 
not  tell  you.  No  miracle  has  been 
wrought  on  them.  But  their  present  lot, 
compared  with  slavery,  is  an  immense 
good  ; and  when  we  consider  that  as  yet 
we  have  seen  comparatively  nothing  of 
the  blessed  influences  of  freedom,  we 
ought  to  thank  God  with  something  of 
their  own  fervor  for  the  vast  deliverance 
which  he  hath  vouchsafed  them. 

We  commemorate  with  transport  the 
redemption  of  a nation  from  political 
bondage ; but  this  is  a light  burden 
compared  with  personal  slavery.  The 
oppression  which  these  United  States 
threw  off  by  our  revolutionary  struggle 
was  the  perfection  of  freedom,  when 
placed  by  the  side  of  the  galling,  crush- 
ing, intolerable  yoke  which  bowed  the 
African  to  the  dust.  Thank  God,  it  is 
broken  ! Thank  God,  our  most  injured 
brethren  have  risen  to  the  rank  of  men  ! 
Thank  God,  eight  hundred  thousand 
human  beings  have  been  made  free  ! 

These  are  the  natural  topics  suggested 
by  this  day  ; but  there  are  still  higher 
views,  to  which  I invite  your  attention. 
There  are  other  grounds  on  which  this 
first  of  August  should  be  hailed  with 
gratitude  by  the  Christian.  If  I saw 
in  the  emancipation  which  we  celebrate 
only  the  redemption  of  eight  hundred 
thousand  fellow-creatures  from  the  great- 
est wrong  on  earth,  I should,  indeed,  re- 
joice ; but  I know  not  that  I should 
commemorate  it  by  public  solemnities. 
This  particular  result  moves  me  less 
than  other  views,  which,  though  less 
obvious,  are  far  more  significant  and 
full  of  promise. 

When  I look  at  West  Indian  emanci- 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  ANNIVERSARY  OF 


918 

pation,  what  strikes  me  most  forcibly 
and  most  joyfully  is,  the  spirit  in  which 
it  had  its  origin.  What  broke  the  slaves’ 
chain  ? Did  a foreign  invader  summon 
them  to  his  standard,  and  reward  them 
with  freedom  for  their  help  in  conquer- 
ing their  masters  ? Or  did  they  owe 
liberty  to  their  own  exasperated  valor ; 
to  courage  maddened  by  despair ; to 
massacre  and  unsparing  revenge  ? Or 
did  calculations  of  the  superior  profit  of 
free  labor  persuade  the  owner  to  eman- 
cipation, as  a means  of  superior  gain  ? 
No  ! West  Indian  emancipation  was 
the  fruit  of  Christian  principle  acting 
on  the  mind  and  heart  of  a great  people. 
The  liberator  of  those  slaves  was  Jesus 
Christ.  That  voice  which  rebuked  dis- 
ease and  death,  and  set  their  victims 
free,  broke  the  heavier  chain  of  slavery. 
The  conflict  against  slavery  began  in 
England  about  fifty  years  ago.  It 
began  with  Christians.  It  was  at  its 
birth  a Christian  enterprise.  Its  power 
was  in  the  consciences  and  generous 
sympathy  of  men  who  had  been  trained 
in  the  school  of  Christ.  It  was  resisted 
by  prejudice,  custom,  interest,  opulence, 
pride,  and  the  civil  power.  Almost  the 
whole  weight  of  the  commercial  class 
was  at  first  thrown  into  the  opposite 
scale.  The  politician  dreaded  the  effects 
of  abolition  on  the  wealth  and  revenue 
of  the  nation.  The  king  did  not  disguise 
his  hostility ; and  I need  not  tell  you 
that  it  found  little  favor  with  the  aristoc- 
racy. The  titled  and  proud  are  not  the 
first  to  sympathize  with  the  abject.  The 
cause  had  nothing  to  rely  on  but  the 
spirit  of  the  English  people  ; and  that 
people  did  respond  to  the  reasonings, 
pleadings,  rebukes  of  Christian  philan- 
thropy as  nation  never  did  before.  The 
history  of  this  warfare  cannot  be  read 
without  seeing  that,  once  at  least,  a 
great  nation  was  swayed  by  high  and 
disinterested  principles.  Men  of  the 
world  deride  the  notion  of  influencing 
human  affairs  by  any  but  selfish  mo- 
tives ; and  it  is  a melancholy  truth,  that 
the  movements  of  nations  have  done 
much  to  confirm  the  darkest  views  of 
human  nature.  What  a track  of  crime, 
desolation,  war,  we  are  called  by  history 
to  travel  over ! Still,  history  is  lighted 
up  by  great  names,  by  noble  deeds,  by 
patriots  and  martyrs  ; and  especially  in 
emancipation  we  see  a great  nation  put- 
ting forth  its  power  and  making  great 


sacrifices  for  a distant,  degraded  race  of 
men,  who  had  no  claims  but  those  of 
wronged  and  suffering  humanity.  Some, 
and  not  a few,  have  blamed  as  superflu- 
ous the  compensation  given  by  England 
to  the  planter  for  the  slaves.  On  one 
account  1 rejoice  at  it.  It  is  a testimony 
to  the  disinterested  motives  of  the  na- 
tion. A people  groaning  under  a debt 
which  would  crush  any  other  people  bor- 
rowed twenty  million  pounds  sterling,  a 
hundred  million  of  dollars,  and  paid  it  as 
the  price  of  the  slaves’  freedom.  This 
act  stands  alone  in  the  page  of  history ; 
and  emancipation  having  such  an  origin 
deserves  to  be  singled  out  for  public 
commemoration. 

What  gave  peculiar  interest  to  this 
act  was  the  fallen,  abject  state  of  the 
people  on  whom  freedom  was  conferred 
at  such  a cost.  They  were  not  English- 
men. They  had  no  claim  founded  on 
common  descent,  on  common  history, 
or  any  national  bond.  There  was 
nothing  in  their  lot  to  excite  the  im- 
agination. They  had  done  nothing  to 
draw  regard.  They  weighed  nothing  in 
human  affairs.  They  belonged  to  no 
nation.  They  were  hardly  recognized 
as  men.  Humanity  could  hardly  wear 
a more  abject  form.  But  under  all  this 
abjectness,  under  that  black  skin,  under 
those  scars  of  the  lash,  under  those 
half-naked  bodies  put  up  at  auction  and 
sold  as  cattle,  the  people  of  England 
saw  the  lineaments  of  humanity,  saw 
fellow-creatures,  saw  the  capacities  and 
rights  and  immortal  destinies  of  men, 
and  in  the  spirit  of  brotherhood,  and 
from  reverence  for  humanity,  broke 
their  chains. 

When  I look  at  this  act,  I do  not 
stop  at  its  immediate  results,  at  the 
emancipation  of  eight  hundred  thousand 
human  beings,  nor  do  I look  at  the  act 
as  standing  alone.  I look  at  the  spirit 
from  which  it  sprung,  and  see  here  a 
grand  and  most  cheering  foundation  of 
human  hope.  I see  that  Christianity 
has  not  come  into  the  world  in  vain.  I 
see  that  the  blood  of  the  cross  was  not 
shed  in  vain.  I see  that  the  prophecies 
in  the  Scriptures  of  a mighty  change  in 
human  affairs  were  not  idle  words.  It 
is  true  that  Christianity  has  done  little, 
compared  with  these  predictions.  The 
corruptions  of  our  age  who  is  so  blind 
as  not  to  see  ? But  that  a new  prin- 
ciple, derived  from  Christianity  and 


EMANCIPATION  IN  THE  BRITISH  WEST  INDIES.  919 


destined  to  renovate  the  earth,  is  at 
work  among  these  various  elements ; 
that,  silently,  a new  spirit  of  humanity, 
a new  respect  for  human  nature,  a new 
comprehension  of  human  rights,  a new 
feeling  of  brotherhood,  and  new  ideas 
of  a higher  social  state,  have  been  and 
are  unfolding  themselves  under  the  in- 
fluences of  Christian  truth  and  Chris- 
tian civilization,  who  can  deny  ? Society 
is  not  what  it  once  was.  Amidst  all  the 
stir  of  selfish  passion,  the  still  voice  of 
Christianity  is  heard  ; a diviner  spirit 
mixes,  however  imperfectly,  with  the 
workings  of  worldliness ; and  we  are 
beginning  to  learn  the  mighty  revolution 
which  a heavenly  faith  is  to  accomplish 
here  on  earth. 

Christianity  is  the  hope  of  the  world, 
and  we  ought  to  regard  every  conspicuous 
manifestation  of  its  spirit  and  power  as 
an  era  in  human  history.  We  are  daz- 
zled by  revolutions  of  empires  ; we 
hops  much  from  the  rise  or  fall  of 
governments.  But  nothing  but  Chris- 
tianity can  regenerate  the  earth  ; and 
accordingly  we  should  hail  with  joy 
every  sign  of  a clearer  comprehension 
and  a deeper  feeling  of  its  truths. 
Christianity,  truly  understood,  has  a 
direct  tendency  to  that  renovation  of  the 
world  which  it  foretells.  It  is  not  an 
abstract  system,  secluding  the  disciple 
from  his  kind  ; but  it  makes  him  one 
with  his  race,  breaks  down  all  barriers 
between  him  and  his  brethren,  arms  him 
with  a martyr’s  spirit  in  the  cause  of 
humanity,  sends  him  forth  to  be  a saviour 
of  the  lost ; and  just  as  far  as  Chris- 
tianity is  thus  viewed  and  felt  by  its 
followers,  the  redemption  of  the  world 
draws  nigh.  These  views  of  religion 
are  making  their  way.  They  dawn  upon 
us,  not  only  in  emancipation,  but  in 
many  other  movements  of  our  age  ; not 
that  they  have  ever  been  wholly  ob- 
scured ; but  the  rank  which  they  hold 
in  the  Christian  system,  and  the  vast 
social  changes  which  they  involve,  have 
not  until  the  present  day  been  dreamed 
of. 

All  the  doctrines  of  Christianity  are 
more  and  more  seen  to  be  bonds  of  close, 
spiritual,  reverential  union  between  man 
and  man  ; and  this  is  the  most  cheering 
view  of  our  time.  Christianity  is  a 
revelation  of  the  infinite,  universal  pa- 
rental love  of  God  towards  his  human 
family,  comprehending  the  most  sinful,  I 


descending  to  the  most  fallen,  and  its 
aim  is  to  breathe  the  same  love  into  its 
disciples.  It  shows  us  Christ  tasting 
death  for  every  man,  and  it  summons  us 
to  take  his  cross,  or  to  participate  of 
his  sufferings,  in  the  same  cause.  Its 
doctrine  of  immortality  gives  infinite 
worth  to  every  human  being ; for  every 
one  is  destined  to  this  endless  life. 
The  doctrine  of  the  “ Word  made  flesh  ” 
shows  us  God  uniting  himself  most 
intimately  with  our  nature,  manifesting 
himself  in  a human  form,  for  the  very 
end  of  making  us  partakers  of  his  own 
perfection.  The  doctrine  of  grace,  as 
it  is  termed,  reveals  the  Infinite  Father 
imparting  his  Holy  Spirit  — the  best  gift 
he  can  impart  — to  the  humblest  human 
being  who  implores  it.  Thus  love  and 
reverence  for  human  nature  — a love 
for  man  stronger  than  death  — is  the 
very  spirit  of  Christianity.  Undoubtedly 
this  spirit  is  faintly  comprehended  by 
the  best  of  us.  Some  of  its  most  strik- 
ing expressions  are  still  derided  in 
society.  Society  still  rests  on  selfish 
principles.  Men  sympathize  still  with 
the  prosperous  and  great,  not  the  ab- 
ject and  down-trodden.  But  amidst  this 
degradation  brighter  glimpses  of  Chris- 
tianity are  caught  than  before.  There 
are  deeper,  wider  sympathies  with  man- 
kind. The  idea  of  raising  up  the  mass 
of  human  beings  to  intellectual,  moral, 
and  spiritual  dignity  is  penetrating  many 
minds.  Among  the  signs  of  a brighter 
day  perhaps  the  West  Indian  emancipa- 
tion is  the  most  conspicuous  ; for  in  this 
the  rights  of  the  most  despised  men 
have  been  revered. 

There  are  some  among  us  at  the 
present  moment  who  are  waiting  for  the 
speedy  coming  of  Christ.  They  expect, 
before  another  year  closes,  to  see  him 
in  the  clouds,  to  hear  his  voice,  to  stand 
before  his  judgment-seat.  These  illu- 
sions spring  from  misinterpretation  of 
Scripture  language.  Christ  in  the  New 
Testament  is  said  to  come , whenever  his 
religion  breaks  out  in  new  glory,  or 
gains  new  triumphs.  He  came  in  the 
Holy  Spirit  on  the  day  of  Pentecost. 
He  came  in  the  destruction  of  Jerusa- 
lem, which,  by  subverting  the  old  ritual 
law,  and  breaking  the  power  of  the 
worst  enemies  of  his  religion,  insured  to 
it  new  victories.  He  came  in  the  Refor- 
mation of  the  church.  He  came  on  this 
day,  four  years  ago,  when,  through  his 


920 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  ANNIVERSARY  OF 


religion,  eight  hundred  thousand  men 
were  raised  from  the  lowest  degradation, 
to  the  rights,  and  dignity,  and  fellowship 
of  men.  Christ’s  outward  appearance  is 
of  little  moment,  compared  with  the 
brighter  manifestation  of  his  spirit. 
The  Christian,  whose  inward  eyes  and 
ears  are  touched  by  God,  discerns  the 
coming  of  Christ,  hears  the  sound  of 
his  chariot-wheels  and  the  voice  of  his 
trumpet,  when  no  other  perceives  them. 
He  discerns  the  Saviour's  advent  in  the 
dawning  of  higher  truth  on  the  world,  in 
new  aspirations  of  the  church  after  per- 
fection, in  the  prostration  of  prejudice 
and  error,  in  brighter  expressions  of 
Christian  love,  in  more  enlightened  and 
intense  consecration  of  the  Christian  to 
the  cause  of  humanity,  freedom,  and 
religion.  Christ  comes  in  the  conver- 
sion, the  regeneration,  the  emancipation 
of  the  world. 

You  here  see  why  it  is  that  I rejoice 
in  the  great  event  which  this  day  com- 
memorates. To  me  this  event  does  not 
stand  alone.  It  is  a sign  of  the  triumph 
of  Christianity,  and  a presage  and  her- 
ald of  grander  victories  of  truth  and  hu- 
manity. Christianity  did  not  do  its  last 
work  when  it  broke  the  slave’s  chain. 
No  ; this  was  but  a type  of  what  it  is  to 
achieve.  Since  the  African  was  eman- 
cipated the  drunkard  has  been  set  free. 
We  may  count  the  disenthralled  from 
intemperance  by  hundreds  of  thousands, 
almost  by  millions,  and  this  work  has 
been  achieved  by  Christian  truth  and 
Christian  love.  In  this  we  have  a new 
proof  of  the  coming  of  Christ  in  his 
kingdom ; and  the  grand  result  of  these 
and  other  kindred  movements  of  our 
times  should  be  to  give  us  a new  faith 
in  what  Christianity  is  to  accomplish. 
We  need  this  faith.  We  are  miserably 
wanting  in  it.  We  scarcely  believe  what 
we  see  of  the  triumphs  of  the  cross. 
This  is  the  most  disastrous  unbelief  of 
our  times.  I am  pointed  now  and  then 
to  an  infidel,  as  he  is  called,  — a man  who 
denies  Christianity.  But  there  is  a sad- 
der sight.  It  is  that  of  thousands  and 
millions  who  profess  Christianity,  but 
have  no  faith  in  its  power  to  accomplish 
the  work  to  which  it  is  ordained,  , no  faith 
in  the  power  of  Christ  over  the  passions, 
prejudices,  and  corrupt  institutions  of 
men,  no  faith  in  the  end  of  his  mission, 
in  the  regenerating  energy  of  his  spirit 
and  truth.  Let  this  day,  my  friends, 


breathe  into  all  our  souls  a new  trust  in 
the  destinies  of  our  race.  Let  us  look 
on  the  future  with  new  hope.  I see,  in- 
deed, numberless  obstructions  to  the 
regeneration  of  the  world.  But  is  not  a 
deep  feeling  of  the  corruptions  of  the 
world  fermenting  in  many  breasts  ? Is 
there  not  a new  thirst  for  an  individual 
and  social  life  more  in  harmony  with 
Jesus  Christ  than  has  yet  existed  ? Can 
great  truths,  after  having  been  once  de- 
veloped, die  ? Is  not  the  human  soul 
opening  itself  more  and  more  to  the 
divine  perfection  and  beauty  of  Christ’s 
character?  And  who  can  foretell  what 
this  mighty  agency  is  to  accomplish  in 
the  world  ? The  present  day  is,  indeed, 
a day  of  distrust,  complaint,  and  anxious 
forebodings.  On  every  side  voices  of 
fear  and  despondency  reach  us.  Let  us 
respond  to  them  with  a voice  of  faith 
and  hope.  Let  us  not  shut  our  eyes  un- 
gratefully on  the  good  already  wrought 
in  our  times  ; and,  seeing  in  this  the 
pledge  of  higher  blessings,  let  us  arm 
ourselves  with  manly  resolution  to  do  or 
suffer,  each  in  his  own  sphere,  whatever 
may  serve  to  prepare  the  way  for  a 
holier  and  happier  age.  It  may  be,  as 
some  believe,  that  this  age  is  to  be  pre- 
ceded by  fearful  judgments,  by  “ days  of 
vengeance,”  by  purifying  lire  ; but  the 
triumphs  of  Christianity,  however  de- 
ferred, are  not  the  less  surely  announced 
by  what  it  has  already  achieved. 

I have  now  given  the  more  general 
views  which  belong  to  this  occasion  ; 
but  I cannot  close  this  address  without 
coming  nearer  home,  and  touching,  how- 
ever slightly,  some  topics  of  a more  per- 
sonal character,  and  in  which  we  have  a 
more  particular  interest. 

I am  a stranger  among  you  ; but, 
when  I look  round,  I feel  as  if  the  sub- 
ject of  this  address  peculiarly  befitted 
this  spot.  Where  am  I now  pleading 
the  cause  and  speaking  the  praises  of 
liberty?  Not  in  crowded  cities,  where, 
amidst  men’s  works  and  luxuries  and 
wild  speculations  and  eager  competi- 
tions for  gain,  the  spirit  of  liberty  often 
languishes  ; but  amidst  towering  moun- 
tains, embosoming  peaceful  vales. 
Amidst  these  vast  works  of  God  the 
soul  naturally  goes  forth,  and  cannot 
endure  the  thought  of  a chain.  Your 
free  air,  which  we  come  to  inhale  for 
health,  breathes  into  us  something  bet- 
ter than  health,  even  a freer  spirit. 


EMANCIPATION  IN  THE  BRITISH  WEST  INDIES.  92 1 


Mountains  have  always  been  famed  for 
nourishing  brave  souls  and  the  love  of 
liberty.  At  Thermopylae,  in  many  a 
fastness  of  Switzerland,  in  the  gorges  of 
mountains,  the  grand  battles  of  liberty 
have  been  fought.  Even  in  this  country 
slavery  hardly  sets  foot  on  the  moun- 
tains. She  curses  the  plain  ; but  as  soon 
as  you  begin  to  ascend  the  highlands  of 
the  South  slavery  begins  to  disappear. 
West  Virginia  and  East  Tennessee  are 
cultivated  chiefly  by  the  muscles  of  free- 
men ; and  could  these  districts  be 
erected  into  States,  they  would  soon 
clear  themselves  of  the  guilt  and  shame 
of  enslaving  their  brethren.  Men  of 
Berkshire  ! whose  nerves  and  souls  the 
mountain  ajr  has  braced,  you  surely  will 
respond  to  him  who  speaks  of  the  bless- 
ings of  freedom  and  the  misery  of 
bondage.  I feel  as  if  the  feeble  voice 
which  now  addresses  you  must  find 
an  echo  amidst  these  forest-crowned 
heights.  Do  they  not  impart  something 
of  their  own  power  and  loftiness  to 
men’s  souls  ? Should  our  Common- 
wealth ever  be  invaded  by  victorious 
armies,  freedom’s  last  asylum  would  be 
here.  Here  may  a free  spirit,  may  rev- 
erence for  all  human  rights,  may  sympa- 
thy for  all  the  oppressed,  may  a stern, 
solemn  purpose  to  give  no  sanction  to 
oppression,  take  stronger  and  stronger 
possession  of  men’s  minds,  and  from 
these  mountains  may  generous  impulses 
spread  far  and  wide  ! 

The  joy  of  this  occasion  is  damped 
by  one  thought.  Our  own  country  is, 
in  part.,  the  land  of  slavery  ; and  slavery 
becomes  more  hideous  here  than  any- 
where else  by  its  contrast  with  our  free 
institutions.  It  is  deformity  married  to 
beauty.  It  is  as  if  a flame  from  hell 
were  to  burst  forth  in  the  regions  of  the 
blessed.  No  other  evil  in  our  country 
but  this  should  alarm  us.  Our  other 
difficulties  are  the  mists,  dimming  our 
prospects  for  a moment.  This  is  a dark 
cloud,  scowling  over  our  whole  land  ; 
and  within  it  the  prophetic  ear  hears 
the  low  muttering  of  the  angry  thunder. 
We  in  the  free  States  try  to  escape  the 
reproach  which  falls  on  America  by 
saying  that  this  institution  is  not  ours, 
that  the  foot  of  the  slave  never  pressed 
our  soil ; but  we  cannot  fly  from  the 
shame  or  guilt  of  the  institution  as  long 
as  we  give  it  any  support.  Most  unhap- 
pily, there  are  provisions  of  the  Consti- 


tution binding  us  to  give  it  support. 
Let  us  resolve  to  free  ourselves  from 
these.  Let  us  say  to  the  South,  “We 
shall  use  no  force  to  subvert  your  sla- 
very ; neither  will  we  use  it  to  uphold 
the  evil.”  Let  no  temptations,  no  love 
of  gain,  seduce  us  to  abet  or  sanction 
this  wrong.  There  is  something  worse 
than  to  be  a slave.  It  is,  to  make  other 
men  slaves.  Better  be  trampled  in  the 
dust  than  trample  on  a fellow-creature. 
Much  as  I shrink  from  the  evils  inflicted 
by  bondage  on  the  millions  who  bear  it, 
I would  sooner  endure  them  than  inflict 
them  on  a brother.  Freemen  of  the 
mountains  ! as  far  as  you  have  power, 
remove  from  yourselves,  from  our  dear 
and  venerable  mother,  the  Common- 
wealth of  Massachusetts,  and  from  all 
the  free  States,  the  baseness  and  guilt 
of  ministering  to  slavery,  of  acting  as 
the  slave-holder’s  police,  of  lending  him 
arms  and  strength  to  secure  his  victim. 
I deprecate  all  political  action  on  sla- 
very except  for  one  end,  and  this  end  is 
to  release  the  free  States  from  all  con- 
nection with  this  oppressive  institution, 
to  sever  slavery  wholly  from  the  national 
government,  to  make  it  exclusively  the 
concern  of  the  States  in  which  it  exists. 
For  this  end  memorials  should  be  poured 
in  upon  Congress  to  obtain  from  that 
body  such  modifications  of  the  laws,  and 
such  propositions  to  amend  the  Consti- 
tution, as  will  set  us  free  from  obligation 
to  sanction  slavery.  This  done,  politi- 
cal action  on  the  subject  ought  to  cease. 
We  shall  then  have  no  warrant  to  name 
slavery  in  Congress,  or  any  duty  to  per- 
form with  direct  reference  to  it,  except  by 
that  moral  influence  which  every  man  is 
bound  to  exert  against  every  form  of  evil. 

There  are  some  people  here,  more 
kind  than  wise,  who  are  unwilling  that 
any  action  or  sensibility  on  the  subject 
of  slavery  should  spring  up  at  the  North 
from  their  apprehensions  of  the  danger 
of  emancipation.  The  danger  of  eman- 
cipation ! this  parrot-phrase,  caught  from 
the  South,  is  thought  by  many  a sufficient 
answer  to  all  the  pleas  that  can  be  urged 
in  favor  of  the  slave.  But  the  lesson  of 
this  day  is,  the  safety  of  emancipation. 
The  West  Indian  Islands  teach  us  this 
lesson  with  a thousand  tongues.  Eman- 
cipation can  hardly  take  place  under 
more  unfavorable  circumstances  than  it 
encountered  in  those  islands.  The  mas- 
ter abhorred  it,  repelled  it  as  long  as 


922 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  ANNIVERSARY  OF 


possible,  submitted  to  it  only  from  force, 
and  consequently  did  little  to  mitigate 
its  evils,  or  to  conciliate  the  freed  bond- 
man.  In  those  islands  the  slaves  were 
eight  or  ten  times  more  numerous  than 
the  whites.  Yet  perfect  order  has  fol- 
lowed emancipation.  Since  this  event 
the  military  force  has  been  reduced,  and 
the  colored  men,  instead  of  breaking 
into  riot,  are  among  the  soldiers  by 
whom  it  is  to  be  suppressed.  In  this 
country,  the  white  population  of  the 
South  exceeds  in  number  the  colored  ; 
and  who  that  knows  the  two  classes  can 
apprehend  danger  from  the  former  in 
case  of  emancipation  ? Holding  all  the 
property,  all  the  intellectual,  the  civil, 
the  military  power,  and  distinguished  by 
courage,  it  seems  incredible  that  the 
white  race  should  tremble  before  the 
colored,  should  be  withheld  by  fear  from 
setting  them  free.  If  the  alarm  be  real, 
it  can  be  explained  only  by  the  old  ob- 
servation, that  the  injurious  are  prone 
to  fear,  that  men  naturally  suspect  and 
dread  those  whom  they  wrong.  All 
tyrants  are  jealous,  and  persuade  them- 
selves that,  were  they  to  loosen  the 
reins,  lawlessness,  pillage,  murder,  would 
disorganize  society.  But  emancipation 
conferred  deliberately  and  conscien- 
tiously is  safe.  So  say  facts,  and  rea- 
son says  the  same.  Chains  are  not  the 
necessary  bonds  of  society.  Oppression 
is  not  the  rock  on  which  states  rest.  To 
keep  the  peace,  you  need  not  make  the 
earth  a province  of  Satan ; in  other 
words,  you  need  not  establish  wrong 
and  outrage  by  law.  The  way  to  keep 
men  from  cutting  your  throats  is,  not 
to  put  them  under  the  lash,  to  extort 
their  labor  by  force,  to  spoil  them  of 
their  earnings,  to  pamper  yourselves  out 
of  their  compelled  toil,  and  to  keep  them 
in  brutal  ignorance.  Do  not,  do  not 
believe  this.  Believe,  if  you  will,  that 
seeds  of  thistles  will  yield  luxuriant 
crops  of  wheat ; believe  that  drought 
will  fertilize  your  fields ; but  do  not 
believe  that  you  must  rob  and  crush 
your  fellow-creatures,  to  make  them 
harmless,  to  keep  the  state  in  order  and 
peace.  Oh,  do  not  imagine  that  God 
has  laid  on  any  one  the  necessity  of 
doing  wrong ; that  He,  who  secures  the 
blessed  harmony  of  the  universe  by  wise 
and  beneficent  laws,  has  created  a world 
in  which  all  pure  and  righteous  laws 
must  be  broken  to  preserve  the  show  of 


peace  ! I honor  free  inquiry,  and  will- 
ingly hear  my  cherished  opinions  ques- 
tioned ; but  there  are  certain  truths 
which  I can  no  more  doubt  than  my  own 
existence.  That  God  is  just  and  good, 
and  that  justice  and  goodness  are  his 
laws,  and  are  at  once  the  safety  and 
glory  of  his  creatures,  I can  as  little 
question  as  that  the  whole  is  greater 
than  the  part.  When  I am  told  that 
society  can  only  subsist  by  robbing  men 
of  their  dearest  rights,  my  reason  is  as 
much  insulted  as  if  I were  gravely  taught 
that  effects  require  no  cause,  or  that  it 
is  the  nature  of  yonder  beautiful  stream 
to  ascend  these  mountains,  or  to  return 
to  its  source.  The  doctrine  that  vio- 
lence, oppression,  inhumanity,  is  an  es- 
sential element  of  society,  is  so  revolting, 
that,  did  I believe  it,  I would  say,  let 
society  perish,  let  man  and  his  works 
be  swept  away,  and  the  earth  be  aban- 
doned to  the  brutes.  Better  that  the 
globe  should  be  tenanted  by  brutes  than 
brutalized  men.  No!  it  is  safe  to  be 
just,  to  respect  men’s  rights,  to  treat  our 
neighbors  as  ourselves  ; and  any  doc- 
trine hostile  to  this  is  born  of  the  Evil 
One.  Men  do  not  need  to  be  crushed. 
A wise  kindness  avails  with  them  more 
than  force.  Even  the  insane  are  dis- 
armed by  kindness.  Once  the  madhouse, 
with  its  dens,  fetters,  strait-waistcoats, 
whips,  horrible  punishments,  at  which 
humanity  now  shudders  and  the  blood 
boils  with  indignation,  was  thought  just 
as  necessary  as  slavery  is  now  deemed 
at  the  South.  But  we  have  learned,  at 
last,  that  human  nature,  even  when 
robbed  of  reason,  can  be  ruled,  calmed, 
restored,  by  wise  kindness  ; that  it  wa$ 
only  maddened  and  made  more  desperate 
by  the  chains  imposed  to  keep  it  from 
outrage  and  murder.  Treat  men  as 
men,  and  they  will  not  prove  wild  beasts. 
We  first  rob  them  of  their  humanity, 
and  then  chain  them  because  they  are 
not  human.  What  a picture  of  slavery 
is  given  by  the  common  argument  for  its 
continuance  ! The  slaves,  we  are  told, 
must  be  kept  under  the  lash,  or  they 
will  turn  murderers.  Two  millions  and 
a half  of  our  fellow-creatures  at  the 
South,  we  are  assured,  have  the  seeds 
of  murder  in  their  hearts,  and  must  be 
stripped  of  all  human  rights  for  the 
safety  of  their  neighbors.  If  such  be  a 
slave-country,  the  sooner  it  is  depopu- 
lated the  better.  But  it  is  not  true.  A 


EMANCIPATION  IN  THE 

more  innocent  race  than  the  African 
does  not  exist  on  the  earth.  They  are 
less  given  to  violence  and  murder  than 
we  Anglo-Saxons.  But  when  did  wrong 
ever  want  excuse  ? When  did  oppres- 
sion ever  fail  to  make  out  a good  cause 
in  its  own  eyes  ? 

The  truth  is,  that  slavery  is  perpetu- 
ated at  the  South,  not  from  the  fear  of 
massacre,  but  from  a stronger  principle. 
A respected  slave-holder  said  to  me  not 
long  ago,  “ The  question  of  slavery  is 
a question  of  property,  and  property  is 
dearer  to  a man  than  life.”  The  master 
holds  fast  his  slave  because  he  sees  in 
him,  not  a wild  beast,  but  a profitable 
chattel.  Mr.  Clay  has  told  us  that  the 
slaves  are  worth  in  the  market,  I think, 
twelve  hundred  millions  of  dollars, 
and  smiles  at  the  thought  of  calling 
men  to  surrender  such  a mass  of  prop- 
erty. It  is  not  because  they  are  so 
fierce,  but  so  profitable,  that  they  are 
kept  in  chains.  Were  they  meek  angels 
from  God’s  throne,  imprisoned  for  a 
while  in  human  frames,  and  were  they 
at  the  same  time  worth  twelve  hundred 
millions  of  dollars  in  the  market,  com- 
paratively few,  I fear,  would  be  suffered 
to  return  to  their  native  skies,  as  long 
as  the  chain  could  fetter  them  to  the 
plantation.  I know  that  there  are  gen- 
erous exceptions  to  the  spirit  of  slavery 
as  now  portrayed  ; but  this  spirit  in  the 
main  is  mercenary.  I know  that  other 
considerations  than  this  of  property, 
that  considerations  of  prudence  and 
benevolence,  help  to  confirm  the  slave- 
holder in  his  aversion  to  emancipation. 
There  are  mixed  motives  for  perpetu- 
ating slavery,  as  for  almost  all  human 
actions.  But  the  grand  motive  is  gain, 
the  love  of  money,  the  unwillingness  to 
part  with  property  ; and  were  this  to 
yield  to  justice  and  humanity,  the  dread 
of  massacre  would  not  long  retard 
emancipation. 

My  friends,  your  compassion  is  often 
called  forth  by  predictions  of  massa- 
cre, of  butchered  children,  of  violated 
women,  in  case  of  emancipation.  But  do 
not  waste  your  sympathies  on  possible 
evils,  which  wisdom  and  kindness  may 
avert.  Keep  some  of  your  tears  and 
tenderness  for  what  exists  ; for  the  poor 
girl  whose  innocence  has  no  protection  ; 
for  the  wife  and  mother  who  may  be 
widowed  and  made  childless  before 
night  by  a stroke  of  the  auctioneer’s 


BRITISH  WEST  INDIES.  923 

hammer  ; for  the  man  subjected  to  the 
whip  of  a brutal  overseer,  and  hunted, 
if  he  flies,  by  blood-hounds,  and  shot 
down,  if  he  outstrips  his  pursuers.  For 
the  universe,  I would  not  let  loose  mas- 
sacre on  the  Southern  States,  or  on  any 
population.  Sooner  would  I have  all 
the  slaves  perish  than  achieve  their 
freedom  by  promiscuous  carnage.  But 
I see  no  necessity  of  carnage.  I am 
sure  that  to  treat  men  with  justice  and 
humanity  is  not  the  way  to  turn  them 
into  robbers  or  assassins.  Undoubtedly 
wisdom  is  to  be  used  in  conferring  this 
great  good.  We  ask  no  precipitate 
action  at  the  South  ; we  dictate  no  mode 
of  conferring  freedom.  We  ask  only  a 
settled  purpose  to  bring  slavery  to  an 
end  ; and  we  are  sure  that  this  will 
devise  a safe  and  happy  way  of  exercis- 
ing justice  and  love. 

Am  I asked  what  is  the  duty  of  the 
North  in  regard  to  slavery?  On  this 
subject  I have  lately  written ; I will  only 
say  I recommend  no  crusade  against 
slavery,  no  use  of  physical  or  legislative 
power  for  its  destruction,  no  irruption 
into  the  South  to  tamper  with  the  slave, 
or  to  repeal  or  resist  the  laws.  Our 
duties  on  this  subject  are  plain.  First, 
we  must  free  ourselves,  as  I have  said, 
from  all  constitutional  or  legal  obliga- 
tions to  uphold  slavery.  In  the  next 
place,  we  must  give  free  and  strong  ex- 
pression to  our  reprobation  of  slavery. 
The  North  has  but  one  weapon,  — moral 
force,  the  utterance  of  moral  judgment, 
moral  feeling,  and  religious  conviction. 
I do  not  say  that  this  alone  is  to  subvert 
slavery.  Providence  never  accomplishes 
its  ends  by  a single  instrument.  All 
social  changes  come  from  mixed  mo- 
tives, from  various  impulses,  and  slavery 
is  to  fall  through  various  causes.  But 
among  these  a high  place  will  belong  to 
the  general  conviction  of  its  evils  and 
wrongs.  Opinion  is  stronger  than  kings, 
mobs,  Lynch  laws,  or  any  other  laws  for 
repressing  thought  and  speech.  Who- 
ever spreads  through  his  circle,  be  it 
wide  or  narrow,  just  opinions  and  feel- 
ings in  regard  to  slavery,  hastens  its  fall. 
There  is  one  point  on  which  your  moral 
influence  may  be  exerted  with  imme- 
diate effect.  Should  a slave-hunter  ever 
profane  these  mountainous  retreats  by 
seeking  here  a flying  bondman,  regard 
him  as  a legalized  robber.  Oppose  no 
force  to  him  ; you  need  not  do  it.  Your 


924  ADDRESS  ON  EMANCIPA 

contempt  and  indignation  will  be  enough 
to  disarm  the  “ man-stealer  ” of  the  un- 
holy power  conferred  on  him  by  unright- 
eous laws. 

I began  this  subject  in  hope,  and  in 
hope  i end.  I have  turned  aside  to 
speak  of  the  great  stain  on  our  country 
which  makes  us  the  by-word  and  scorn 
of  the  nations  ; but  I do  not  despair. 
Mighty  powers  are  at  work  in  the  world. 
Who  can  stay  them  ? God’s  word  has 
gone  forth,  and  “it  cannot  return  to 
him  void.’’  A new  comprehension  of 
the  Christian  spirit,  — a new  reverence 
for  humanity,  a new  feeling  of  brother- 
hood, and  of  all  men’s  relation  to  the 
common  Father,  — this  is  among  the 
signs  of  our  times.  We  see  it  ; do  we 
not  feel  it  ? Before  this  all  oppressions 
are  to  fall.  Society,  silently  pervaded 


ION  IN  THE  WEST  INDIES . 

by  this,  is  to  change  its  aspect  of  uni- 
versal warfare  for  peace.  The  power  of 
selfishness,  all-grasping  and  seemingly 
invincible,  is  to  yield  to  this  diviner 
energy.  The  song  of  angels,  “ On  earth 
peace,”  will  not  always  sound  as  fiction. 
O come,  thou  kingdom  of  heaven,  for 
which  we  daily  pray ! Come,  Friend 
and  Saviour  of  the  race,  who  didst  shed 
thy  blood  on  the  cross  to  reconcile  man 
to  man,  and  earth  to  heaven ! Come, 
ye  predicted  ages  of  righteousness  and 
love,  for  which  the  faithful  have  so  long 
yearned  ! Come,  Father  Almighty,  and 
crown  with  thine  omnipotence  the  hum- 
ble strivings  of  thy  children  to  subvert 
oppression  and  wrong,  to  spread  light 
and  freedom,  peace  and  joy,  the  truth 
and  spirit  of  thy  Son.  through  the  whole 
earth  ! 


INDEX 


TO 

CHANNING’S  WORKS. 


Abolitionists,  characterized,  731.  Their  fanat- 
icism, 732.  Narrowness  and  bitterness,  732. 
Bravery  and  firmness,  744.  Violence  against 
them,  745.  Charge  of  stirring  up  insurrection 
at  the  South,  746.  And  of  endangering  the 
Union,  746.  Their  intolerance,  747.  Oppos- 
ers,  748.  Errors,  816. 

Age,  the  present,  earnestness  of,  272.  Scepti- 
cism, 273.  Greatness,  159.  Tendency  to  ex- 
pansion, 159.  Seen  in  science,  160.  In  litera- 
ture, 161.  In  the  fine  arts,  162.  In  education, 
162.  In  public  speaking,  163.  In  religious 
movements,  163.  In  government,  165.  In  in- 
dustry, 165.  Perils,  166.  Great  movements 
of,  not  dangerous,  167.  Love  of  property  con- 
servative, 168.  Needs  improvement,  170.  Dis- 
cord, 170.  A better  age  coming,  171.  A 
mighty  age,  171. 

Alexander  the  Great,  a great  robber,  674. 

Ambition,  the  crime  of,  551. 

America,  greatness  of,  870.  Freedom  her  glory, 
871.  Hope  of,  905.  Political  corruptions, 
905.  Her  leading  feature  is  human  rights,  888. 
Respect  for  the  individual  man,  889.  Destiny 
of,  776. 

Aristocracy,  in  this  age,  provokes  to  anarchy,  55. 

Asceticism,  origin  of,  5. 

Associations,  prevalence  of  united  effort  now, 
139.  Facilities  of  intercourse  favor  co-opera- 
tion, 139.  Arguments  for,  139.  Natural  and 
artificial,  145.  Inferiority  of  the  artificial  illus- 
trated, 145.  True  principle,  147.  Criterion, 
147.  Tendency  to  crush  individual  liberty,  148. 
Danger  of  sectarian  associations,  148.  Atone- 
ment, the,  379,  395-398,  402- 


Benevolence,  120.  The  true  spirit  and  glory 
of  Christianity,  164. 

Bible,  the,  what  it  is,  367.  The  most  obvious 
meaning  of  a passage  often  false,  333.  Lead- 
ing principle  of  interpretation,  368.  Need  of 
reason,  368.  An  improved  version  needed,  151. 
Value  of  Bible  societies,  150. 

Bonaparte,  Napoleon,  Scott’s  Life  of  — defects, 
522.  Impartiality,  522.  Importance  of  a true 
estimate  of  his  character,  522.  Early  influences 
under  which  it  was  formed,  (523.  First  cam- 
paign in  Italy,  523.  Usurpation  in  Italy,  525. 
Expedition  to  Egypt,  525.  Self-exaggeration, 


525,  538.  Claim  to  the  character  of  a prophet, 
525.  The  massacre  of  Jaffa,  526.  Usurpation 
and  tyranny  in  France,  526.  Employment  of 
leading  men  of  all  parties,  527.  Means  for 
giving  stability  to  his  power,  527-530.  Energy 
displayed  in  crossing  the  Alps,  527.  His  sys- 
tem of  espionage,  the  police,  528.  Fettering 
the  press,  528.  The  terror  spread  by  his  sever- 
ity, 528.  Attempt  to  re-establish  the  Catholic 
religion  in  France,  529-530.  The  Republic 
abolished  and  the  Empire  established,  531. 
Grandeur  of  his  public  works,  530.  Praised  for 
his  new  code  of  laws,  530.  His  project  of  univer- 
sal empire,  531.  Want  of  sagacity,  532.  Force 
and  corruption  his  great  engines,  533.  His  vul- 
garity, 535.  The  retreat  from  Moscow,  535. 
His  fall,  535-536.  Rapidity  of  thought,  537. 
Ambition,  537.  Love  of  fame,  537.  Lack  of 
moral  sensibility,  539.  Thirst  for  praise,  540. 
The  love  of  power  consumed  him,  540.  His 
greatness  only  of  the  third  order,  541.  At  St. 
Helena,  542.  His  fall  a blessing  to  the  world, 
544- 

Books,  good  and  worthless,  51.  Multiplication 
of,  a great  blessing,  24.  Diffusion,  161.  Re- 
ligious, commonly  dull,  559.  Their  poverty 
caused  by  the  suppression  of  freedom,  561. 
Productions  of  the  Church  of  England,  560. 

Brotherhood  of  man,  grounds  of,  7,  68.  Equality, 
69,  693. 


Cabot,  George,  the  leader  of  the  Federal  party, 
640. 

Calvinism,  concise  statement  of,  461.  Inconsist- 
ent with  the  Divine  perfections,  461.  Not 
Christianity,  467.  Its  foes,  468.  Softening  of, 
461,  468. 

Catechisms,  bad  for  children,  450. 

Catholic  Church,  Roman,  her  great  names,  563. 
Spiritual  tyranny,  564.  Keeps  alive  the  idea  of 
a true  Catholic  Church,  436.  Sectarianism, 

438* 

Catholicism,  fears  of  its  spread,  471.  Its  foe  the 
progress  of  society,  471.  Flexibility  of,  472. 
How  to  be  successfully  opposed,  473. 

Channing,  childhood  of,  at  Newport,  421.  Last 
prophetic  words,  at  Lenox,  924. 

Character,  perfection  of,  343.  Greatness  of,  ac- 
cessible, 31 1. 


INDEX ; 


926 

Cheverus,  Bishop,  benevolence  and  worth  of,  563. 

Children,  duty  of,  to  parents,  489.  Spiritual  con- 
dition, 448.  Christianity  suited  to,  448.  How 
religion  should  be  taught  to,  449.  The  end 
parents  should  propose,  582. 

Christ,  character  of,  an  evidence  of  his  religion, 
302.  First  appearance  and  teaching,  303.  Orig- 
inal, 304.  Origin  not  in  imposture,  304.  Sub- 
limity, 304.  Reality,  305.  Origin  not  in  en- 
thusiasm, 305.  Calmness  and  self-possession, 
306.  Lowliness,  307.  Humanity,  308.  Sym- 
pathy, 219,  308.  Imi table,  313.  Greatness, 

3*5* 

Christ,  Divinity  of,  401. 

, Love  to,  founded  in  our  nature,  317.  Not 

dependent  on  views  of  his  person,  317.  Grounds 
of  his  claim  to,  317.  The  knowledge  of  him 
necessary,  318.  His  benevolence,  319.  Self- 
sacrifice,  320.  Perfect  goodness,  321.  Blessed- 
ness, 322.  Low  and  defective  kinds,  324-325. 

, Example  of,  power,  31 1.  Happiness  in 

following  it,  315. 

, Preaching,  what?  329.  His  religion,  329. 

Narrowness  in  the  way  it  is  done,  330.  Why 
to  be  preached,  331. 

, Saviour,  the  greatest  function  of,  247. 

Christianity,  breadth  of,  330.  A religion  of  free- 
dom, 208.  The  great  purpose  of,  246.  Ele- 
vates and  enlarges  the  soul,  250.  Harmony  of 
its  truths,  239.  With  external  nature,  240. 
With  the  soul,  241.  Universality,  242.  Calm- 
ness, 243.  Imperfect  without  Christ,  323. 
What  it  is  to  do  for  civilization,  63.  Means 
of  promoting,  254-257.  The  hope  of  the 
world,  919.  Its  triumph,  920.  Its  history  the 
grandest  historical  theme,  561 . See  ‘ 1 Evidences 

- of . 5 ’ 

Church,  the,  428.  Undue  importance  attached 
to,  429.  No  definite  plan  laid  down  by  Christ, 
429.  Early  forms  have  passed  away,  430. 
Beautiful  features  of  the  early,  431.  True  idea 
and  purpose,  431.  The  only  essential  thing, 
432.  Same  spirit  in  different  forms,  432.  Not 
essential  to  salvation,  433.  The  true  influence 
of,  found  in  all,  432.  Character,  not  ordination 
of  the  minister,  433.  Character  of  the  mem- 
bers, 434.  The  Church  universal,  435.  All 
real  Christians  in  it,  436.  Great  names  in  all, 
438.  Rites  and  ceremonies  secondary,  440. 
Claims  of  exclusive  churches,  439.  The  noblest 
of  all  associations,  442.  Variety  in  unity,  444. 
Worldiiness  of,  837.  Dedication,  384,  400. 

Cities,  why  men  are  gathered  into  them,  578. 
Unhappiness  of  their  separation  into  classes, 
579.  The  glory  and  happiness  of,  580.  Man 
the  greatest  thing  in,  580.  A brotherhood  of 
temptation  and  danger,  582.  Intelligence  an‘d 
virtue  better  than  population  and  prosperity, 
584.  The  ministry  at  large,  584. 

Civilization,  benefits  and  perils  of,  178.  De- 
mands religion,  178. 

Clay,  Henry,  letter  to,  752. 

Clarke,  Samuel,  a Unitarian,  407. 

Colonization  Society,  784. 

Columbia,  District  of,  slavery  national  in,  879. 

Commentaries,  use  of,  452. 

Commerce,  a noble  calling,  165.  Spirit  of,  tends 
to  guilt,  892. 

Confession,  noticed,  475. 

Conscience,  needs  the  intellect,  43. 

Constitution,  American,  and  slavery,  873.  The 
spirit  of,  freedom,  874.  Open  to  change,  880. 


Country,  love  of,  686.  Prayer  for,  in  danger, 
685. 

Courage,  false  and  true,  658.  In  times  of  trial, 

687. 

Creeds,  extracts  from  a letter  on,  486. 

Creole,  the,  854. 

Crime,  prevention  of,  184,  581.  How  far  society 
is  chargeable,  581. 

Crucifixion,  self,  a great  error  when  carried  too 
far,  567.  Of  the  mind,  a crime,  568.  Of  the 
body,  to  be  limited,  568. 

Cuba,  unparalleled  severity  of  slavery  in,  833-835. 
Culture,  for  all,  on  the  ground  of  manhood,  19. 
Benefit  to  laborers,  32. 

Scientific,  blindness  of,  81.  In  harmony 

with  religious,  82. 


Democracy,  false  notions  of,  895.  The  noblest 
form  of  government,  895.  What  it  is,  895. 
Instability  the  great  evil  to  be  feared,  895. 
Checks  necessary,  897. 

Depravity,  total,  244. 

Despotism,  military,  the  curse  of,  526. 

Dickens,  Charles,  his  broad  sympathy,  162. 
Discussion,  free,  the  right  of;  784. 

Disunion.  See  “ Union.’ ’ 

Duty,  the  greatest  thing  in  conduct,  688.  The 
foundation  of  human  rights,  698. 


Earnestness,  power  of,  in  self-culture,  33.  In 
a minister,  273. 

Economy,  importance  of,  to  the  laboring  classes, 

59- 

Education,  influence  of  parents  on,  117.  Foolish 
economy  in,  118.  Narrow  views  of,  121.  Of 
laborers’  children,  62. 

Edwards,  Jonathan,  noticed,  285. 

Emancipation,  821-853.  In  the  West  Indies,  a 
social  revolution,  828.  Shame  of  judging  the 
measure  by  its  influence  on  the  crops,  829. 
The  spirit  of  industry  survived,  830.  Signs  of 
improvement  in  the  negroes,  831.  Christianity, 
the  great  emancipator,  835.  Ministers  at  the 
South  supporters  of  slavery,  836.  Timidity  of, 
at  the  North,  837.  Testimony  to  the  noble 
elements  in  the  negro’s  character,  837.  Duty 
of  individuals,  841-844.  Woman’s  duty,  844. 
Duty  of  the  Free  States,  844-852.  The  boon 
of,  in  the  West  Indies,  913.  Moral  sublimity 
of,  914.  Watch-night  scene  in  a chapel,  914. 
Why  it  had  no  hearty  welcome  here,  915.  Did 
not  make  a paradise,  916.  Negroes  started  on 
a career  of  improvement,  916.  The  fruit  of 
Christian  principle,  918. 

Enemies,  duties  to,  688. 

England,  Anti-slavery  in,  904.  Her  justice  and 
Christianity  in  abolishing  slavery,  869.  Misery 
of  her  lower  classes,  869.  Her  greatness,  870. 
Seen  in  the  destruction  of  slavery,  763. 

Episcopacy,  a bulwark  against  Romanism,  473. 

Errors,  how  best  expelled,  275. 

Everett,  Edward,  struggle  in  the  Senate  to  con- 
firm his  nomination  as  minister  to  England, 
882. 

Evidences  of  Christianity,  the  fundamental  prin- 
ciple of,  226.  Origin  of  Christianity  not  in 
human  nature,  226.  Character  of  Christ  not 
formed  by  the  spirit  of  the  age,  227.  His  con- 
ception of  a universal  religion,  227.  His  station 
in  life,  227.  Confident  of  accomplishing  his 


INDEX. 


927 


design,  228.  His  benevolence,  228.  Character 
made  up  of  contrasts,  228.  Not  an  invention, 
229.  Why  Christianity  could  not  have  been  of 
human  origin,  229.  Adapted  to  the  most  ad- 
vanced stages  of  society,  230.  Direct  evidence 
of  miracles,  230.  The  marks  of  truth  and 
reality  in  the  Christian  records,  231.  Adapta- 
tion of  Christianity  to  our  nature,  232.  The 
time  when  it  arose,  known,  197.  What  it  was 
at  first,,  known,  198.  Came  from  God,  204- 
206.  Cannot  be  accounted  for  by  human  mo- 
tives, 206.  Attested  by  miracles,  210-218. 
Importance  of  the  internal  evidence,  466. 

Evil,  how  to  be  viewed  and  used,  707.  Two 
kinds  of,  348. 


Fraternity,  Benevolent,  of  Churches,  formed, 

5 87- 

Federalist  party,  purity  of,  640.  Why  it  failed, 
640.  Lack  of  courage,  640. 

Fenelon,  his  freshness  and  freedom,  562.  Knowl- 
edge of  the  heart,  562.  Views  of  human  nature 
too  dark,  and  why,  562.  Views  of  God,  566. 
Of  human  perfection,  567. 

Follen,  Dr.  Charles,  character,  614.  Heroism, 
615.  Appalling  death,  617. 

Freedom,  national,  how  to  be  won,  546.  Civil, 
the  chief  good  of,  175.  Of  action,  the  great 
right,  830.  Natural  cry  for,  91 1.  Importance 
of,  912.  Spiritual  freedom,  its  meaning,  173- 
175.  Religion  gives  it,  178.  See  “ Liberty.” 

Free  trade,  absolute,  desirable,  635.  The  duty 

- and  interest  of  the  race,  166. 

French  Revolution,  whence  came  it?  169. 

Fugitive  slaves,  surrender  of.  873. 

Future  life,  the,  359.  Value  of  Christ’s  resur- 
rection, 359.  Clearer  views  of  the  future  state 
sought,  360.  Communion  with  Jesus,  361. 
Joint  workers  with  him,  362.  Interest  of  the 
departed  in  this  world,  362.  Have  they  present 
knowledge  of  it?  363.  The  nature  of  heavenly 
happiness,  364.  The  society  of  heaven,  364. 
See  “ Immortality.” 


Gallison,  John,  memoir  of,  618-625. 

God,  our  Father,  296,  416-418. 

, Knowledge  of,  through  our  own  nature,  293. 

From  the  universe,  294.  The  sublimest  posses- 
sion, 248.  Real,  but  limited,  463.  His  attri- 
butes intelligible,  463.  We  learn  the  mind  of 
God  as  we  do  the  character  of  men,  464.  Not 
presumptuous  to  judge  concerning  God,  464. 
Our  duty  so  to  judge,  465. 

, Likeness  to,  291.  What,  291.  Through 

it  we  enjoy  God,  291.  Also  the  universe, 
292. 

, Love  to,  is  the  love  of  virtue,  572.  How 

we  rise  to  it,  572.  We  need  to  love  the  All- 
perfect,  573. 

, Manifestation  of,  to  what  end,  249.  The 

too  steady  contemplation  of,  crushes  the  soul, 
2.  This  common  in  religion,  3.  In  the  Ori- 
ental world,  3.  Pantheism  the  result,  3.  Des- 
potism also,  3.  In  Calvinism,  4.  The  habit 
of  contrasting  man  with,  a source  of  errors,  2. 

Good  and  evil,  mingled  in  states,  891.  The  good 
must  bear  with  the  evil,  891. 

Gospels,  the,  genuineness  of,  discussed,  199-204, 
302. 

Government,  individual  freedom  the  end  of,  552. 


Good  of,  chiefly  negative,  556.  Does  little  to 
produce  virtue,  556.  Through  schools,  can  do 
much  for  intelligence,  557.  On  the  production 
of  wealth  chiefly  negative,  557.  Has  a spiritual 
end,  181.  The  organ  of  civil  society,  182.  How 
it  may  promote  moral  elevation,  182.  Has  the 
right  of  war,  674.  Duty  of  respect  and  obedi- 
ence to,  680.  Resistance  to,  681.  Difficulty  of 
forming,  894.  The  most  perfect,  700.  Not 
the  measure  of  right,  697.  National,  the  prin- 
cipal benefit  of,  633.  Importance  of  simplicity, 
633.  Should  be  general  and  impartial,  634. 

Grace  and  works,  404. 

Greatness,  moral,  the  highest,  541.  Intellectual, 
541.  Active,  541.  The  real,  549.  Inward 
and  inherent,  12.  A conviction  of  Christ,  309. 

, National,  the  highest  evidence  of,  124. 

False  estimates  of,  125. 

Gurney,  J.  J. , visit  to  America,  821.  His  “Fa- 
miliar Letters  to  Henry  Clay,”  821.  His  views 
of  free  labor  in  the  West  Indies,  822-828. 


Hayti,  condition  of,  832. 

Health,  ignorance  of,  depresses  the  laboring 
classes,  59. 

Heathen  world,  its  religious  condition  when  Christ 
came,  205. 

Heaven,  the  common  apprehension  of,  252. 

Hero-worship,  68. 

Holy  Spirit,  the  nature  and  work  of,  297. 

Hopkins,  the  Rev.  Dr.,  description  and  reminis- 
cences of,  423,  425. 

Human  agency  in  religion,  disparagement  of,  by 
Christians,  251. 

Human  life,  a profound  book,  52.  All  studies 
should  bear  on,  50.  Trials  of,  346.  Bravery 
and  strength  needed  in  moral  danger,  750. 

Human  nature,  greatness  of,  1.  Capacities,  768. 
Susceptibleness  of  improvement,  277.  Dig- 
nity, 292,  298.  The  preacher  should  appeal  to 
it,  300-301. 

Human  rights,  false  speculations  concerning,  697. 
Rights  by  nature,  697.  The  right  to  exercise 
one’s  own  powers, 698.  Various  rights,  698. 
Not  surrendered  to  society,  699.  Do  they  yield 
to  the  exigencies  of  real  life  ? 702. 

Humanity,  the  law  of,  899. 


Ideas,  great,  often  come  without  direct  teaching, 
49- 

Immortality,  a discovery  of  Christianity,  354. 
Yet  also  a dictate  of  nature,  354.  Doubt  of, 
from  material  decay,  354.  Crime  does  not  de- 
stroy the  conviction,  357.  Guilt  speaks  of  a 
future  life,  357.  Only  one  real  objection  to,  its 
greatness,  358.  Offered  to  all,  358.  See  “ Fut- 
ure Life.” 

Inability,  natural  and  moral,  a distinction  without 
a difference,  460. 

Individuality,  necessity  of,  141.  Development  of, 
in  childhood,  141.  Of  man,  49. 

Infidelity,  not  guilt  in  every  case,  189.  Unbelief 
in  itself  has  no  moral  quality,  190.  How  to  be 
judged,  190.  Rejection  of  Christianity  in  some 
forms  a virtue,  191.  Words  to  unbelievers,  192. 
Lenity  to  unbelief  not  treachery  to  Christianity, 
192. 

Intemperance  depresses  the  laboring  classes,  58. 
See  “ Temperance.” 

Intolerance,  now,  180. 


INDEX. 


928 

Jews,  the  narrowness  of  their  religion,  303. 

Judiciary,  the,  high  estimate  of,  558.  National 
importance  of,  to  the  Union,  637.  The  con- 
servative power  in  the  government,  896.  Should 
be  impartial  and  independent,  896. 


Labor,  a school  of  justice,  25.  Of  benevolence, 
25.  Gives  a high  impulse  to  the  mind,  26. 
A great  blessing,  38.  Dignified  by  thought,  46. 
Increasing  respect  for,  61. 

Laboring  classes,  the  elevation  of,  37-66.  Signs 
of,  37.  What  is  it?  38.  Not  escape  from 
labor,  38.  Not  rising  into  a higher  rank,  40. 
Not  seizing  political  power  as  a class,  41.  It  is 
elevation  of  soul,  42.  Gained  through  contact 
with  matter,  42.  What  it  is,  43.  Force  of 
thought,  43-50.  Objection  that  it  cannot  be 
realized,  51-60.  Hopeful  circumstances,  60-64. 
Improvement  compatible  with  labor,  56.  Hopes, 
63.  Fears,  64.  Growing  movement  toward, 
767.  Jealousy  of  the  rich,  169. 

Land,  the  passion  for,  in  America,  760. 

Lands,  the  public,  should  be  used  for  education, 
31- 

Lardner,  Dr.  Nathaniel,  a Unitarian,  407. 

Law,  the  one  expression  of  the  sovereignty  of 
the  people,  735.  The  higher  law,  874. 

Learning,  a little,  not  a dangerous  thing,  52. 

Lectures  popular,  159. 

Legislature,  importance  of  the  division  into  two 
branches,  896. 

“ Lexington, ” the  steamer,  burned,  613. 

Liberty,  use  and  value  of,  125.  Deep  attachment 
to,  7.  An  infinite  good,  9.  Personal  far  more 
important  than  political,  830.  See  “ Free- 
dom.” 

Literature,  needs  the  inspiration  of  religion,  575. 
Influence  of  religion  upon  it,  576-578.  Popular 
for  laborers,  61.  Of  this  age,  its  earnestness, 
272.  Expansion,  161. 

, National,  what?  124.  American,  meagre, 

127.  Regrets  that  so  little  has  been  done,  127. 
Causes  of  our  deficiencies,  — a tendency  to  in- 
tellectual mediocrity,  128.  The  cry  for  useful 
knowledge,  128-130.  Too  great  dependence  on 
foreign  scholars,  130.  Advantages  of  our  posi- 
tion, — the  truer  views  of  man  here,  133.  The 
newness  of  the  country,  134.  Means,  135. 
Exalts  the  character  of  a nation,  1 26.  The 
handmaid  of  religion,  126.  Literary  activity 
produces  intellectual  force,  13 1.  Power  of 
style,  132.  Influence  of  true  religion  upon, 
136. 

Locke,  a Unitarian,  406. 


Man,  true  idea  of,  48.  Honor  due  to  all  men, 
67-72.  Christianity  has  awakened  a new  feel- 
ing of  respect,  67.  Something  to  honor  must 
be  found,  67.  Grounds  of  the  obligation,  69. 

Manners,  refinement  of,  needed,  55. 

Matter  and  mind,  differences  between,  354-356. 

Matthew,  Father,  his  grand  temperance  labors, 

584. 

Meekness,  Christian,  344. 

Mexico,  injustice  of  the  cry  for  war  with,  900. 

Military  talent,  not  the  highest,  524.  Compared 
with  poetic  and  philosophic  genius,  525. 

Milton,  }ohn,  poet  and  scholar,  496.  Breadth  of 
his  intellect,  496.  Variety  of  his  acquisitions, 
497.  His  estimate  of  poetical  genius,  497. 


Character  as  a poet,  499-500.  Sublimity,  499. 
Sensibility,  500.  Critique  of  “ Paradise  Lost,” 
500-502.  Description  of  hell,  500.  Character 
of  Satan,  500.  Paradise  delineated,  501.  Har- 
mony of  his  versification,  502.  Heathful  seri- 
ousness, 502.  Milton’s  prose,  502-507.  Style, 
503.  Controversial  asperity,  503.  'Loftiness 
of  his  mind,  504.  Moral  qualities,  507-510. 
Magnanimity,  507.  Fervent  love  of  liberty, 
508.  Greatness  in  adversity,  509.  Contrasted 
with  Dr.  Johnson,  509.  The  “Treatise  on 
Christian  Doctrine”  reviewed,  510-521.  View 
of  God,  5 1 1.  Of  Christ,  512.  An  Anti-Trini- 
tarian, 513.  A Broad-Churchman,  513.  Views 
of  creation,  514.  An  advocate  01  polygamy, 
515.  View  of  redemption,  516.  View  of  the 
Church  and  ministry,  518.  Value  of  the  Trea- 
tise not  great,  520. 

Mind,  the  highest  reality  in  the  universe,  247. 
Science  of,  how  to  be  studied,  47.  The  master 
of  nature,  57.  Minds  all  of  one  family,  313. 

Minister,  the,  should  look  through  outward  dis- 
tinctions, 93.  End  of  his  work,  94.  Should 
be  a student,  284.  Books  for,  285.  Should 
discover  truth  for  himself,  285.  Value  of  ia- 
ward  experience,  285.  Greatness  of  his  office, 
289.  Character,  not  ordination,  the  real  thing, 
433.  Religious  experience  for,  285. 

Ministry,  the,  what  a young  minister  should  seek, 
469.  The  chief  danger,  want  of  life,  470.  The 
most  important  calling,  269.  The  demands  of 
the  age  upon,  269.  Intelligence,  269-271. 
Talent,  270.  Earnestness,  272-273.  Ability 
to  meet  the  scepticism,  273.  And  to  cope  with 
the  corruption  of  the  time,  276.  Is  armed  with 
great  power,  277.  The  great  qualification, 
power,  257.  Not  priestly  power,  258.  The 
power  of  terror  to  be  renounced,  258.  Defini- 
tion of  true  power,  259.  Utmost  power  de- 
manded, 259.  To  rouse  the  conscience,  260. 
To  act  on  the  heart,  261.  Should  dispense  a 
healthy  religion,  261.  Should  rouse  men  to 
battle  with  sin,  262.  Should  confirm  the  con- 
viction of  immortality,  262. 

to  the  poor , 90.  They  must  be  loved,  90. 

The  domestic  affections  should  be  inculcated, 
91.  The  work  should  be  honored,  91. 

Miracles,  the  feeling  that  they  are  incredible,  221. 
Whence  the  scepticism  ? — credulity,  221.  The 
fixed  laws  of  nature,  222.  Reasons  for  the 
Christian  miracles,  223.  Hume’s  argument 
against,  224.  Repugnance  to  miracles  founded 
in  a lurking  atheism,  226.  Objections  to,  an- 
swered, 21 1-2 1 5.  See  “Evidences.” 

Missionary  efforts,  depravity  of  Christian  nations 
the  great  hindrance,  256. 

Mobs,  735-736.  Mob  law,  813. 

Mott,  Lucretia,  tribute  to,  813. 

Morality,  charge  against  Unitarians  for  preaching, 
404- 

Mountains,  the  home  of  freedom,  920. 

Mysteries,  339. 


Nations,  have  leading  ideas,  888. 

National  honor,  661.  Sensibility  respecting,  900. 
Glory,  661. 

Nature,  should  be  known  by  workmen,  46. 

Negro  race,  fine  qualities  of,  838. 

New  England,  vindication  of,  738. 

Newspapers,  how  to  choose  and  read,  29.  Press 
fettered  by  dependence  upon  subscribers,  750. 


INDEX ; 


929 


Newton,  Isaac,  a Unitarian,  406. 

Non-resistance,  648. 

North-east  Boundary  question,  901. 

North  and  South,  peculiarities  of  character  in, 
850,  893. 


Pantheism,  4. 

Peace,  promotion  of,  648.  Spreading  just  views 
of  the  glory  of  nations,  649.  Turning  admira- 
tion from  military  courage,  650.  Exhibiting 
the  pacific  spirit  of  Christianity,  651.  Ten- 
dency toward,  655.  See  “War.” 

inward,  574. 

People,  the,  their  intelligence  and  self-respect 
now,  35.  Can  understand  the  highest  views 
of  religion,  299. 

Petition,  the  right  of,  denied  in  Congress,  883. 

Philanthropist,  the,  599.  Jesus  the  first,  599- 
602. 

Piety,  not  measured  by  opinions,  467. 

Poetry,  the  finest  expression  of  man’s  aspiration 
for  the  ideal,  497.  In  aim,  identical  with  Chris- 
tianity, 498.  Wars  against  earth-born  prudence, 
498.  Refines  and  elevates  society,  498.  The 
vehicle  of  truth,  499.  The  foe  of  an  epicurean 
life,  499. 

Politics,  claims  of,  on  all  classes,  29.  Political 
rule  not  the  highest  sphere,  555.  Tends  to 
corruption,  556.  Moral  laxity  of  public  life, 
677.  Politics  and  morality,  871.  Religion  the 
master  and  judge  of,  872.  Ennobling  as  well 
as  degrading,  777. 

Poor,  the,  outward  condition  compared  with  that 
of  the  rich,  73.  The  blessings  they  have,  74. 
Evils,  75—78.  Moral  and  religious  culture  their 
great  need,  78.  The  highest  culture  attainable 
by  them,  80.  What  should  be  done  for  them, 
84.  The  ministry  for,  84. 

Poverty,  due  chiefly  to  intemperance,  590. 

Power,  the  love  of,  548.  When  good,  548.  When 
evil,  550.  The  ruin  wrought  by  it,  553.  Chris- 
tianity opposed  to  this  passion,  553.  Its  diffu- 
sion and  danger  in  a Republic,  554.  Abhor- 
rence of,  8.  Should  be  crushed,  8.  Restraint, 

9* 

Post-office,  influence  on  the  union,  636. 

Prayer,  daily,  493-496. 

Preaching,  the  blunt  and  direct  styles,  460.  The 
place  of,  partly  taken  by  reading,  475.  The 
end,  331.  The  defect,  not  breathing  a gener- 
ous spirit,  332.  Should  be  rational,  332.  To 
the  heart,  334.  Should  be  various  as  our  nat- 
ure, 334.  Moral  perfection  the  great  idea  of, 
283.  Aim,  to  awaken  moral  energy,  284.  The 
great  instrument,  the  truth,  284.  How  to 
communicate  that,  286.  Plainness  and  sim- 
plicity, 286.  Earnestness,  287.  Fear  from 
feeling  of  inferiority,  289.  Conceit  and  pre-v 
sumption,  289.  Extemporaneous  compared 
with  written,  470. 

Presidency,  the  American,  real  character  of  the 
office,  637-639.  The  insane  ambition  for,  638. 

Press,  the  freedom  of,  682.  License,  683.  Lib- 
erty secured  by  using  it  wisely,  747. 

Priestley,  Dr.,  notice  of,  407. 

Property,  idea  of,  866.  Grounds  of,  866.  An 
exclusive  right,  694. 

Protestantism,  divisions  in,  its  strength,  472. 

Psychology,  the  basis  of  theology,  462. 

Punishment,  185.  Future,  the  denial  of  irrational 
and  unscrip tural,  350. 


Reading,  wise  and  foolish,  51. 

Reason,  necessity  of,  in  the  interpretation  of  the 
Bible,  368.  How  used,  369.  Used  by  all 
Christians,  369.  Dangers,  369.  Greater  dan- 
ger from  its  renunciation,  369.  What  it  is, 
233-235.  The  pride  of,  238. 

Reform,  vehemence  in,  733.  Individual  action, 
734.  Fervent  zeal  sanctioned,  734.  The  sys- 
tem of  agitation,  733.  Love  better  than  passion- 
ate zeal,  734.  Reverence  for  man,  the  fountain 
of,  7. 

Religion,  claims  upon  the  first  minds,  574.  True 
nature,  296.  How  it  ennobles  man,  298.  How 
it  is  made  to  depress  men,  248.  Grounds  on 
which  it  rests,  249.  Relations  to  common  life, 
298.  Gives  elevation  and  strength  to  the  mind, 
177.  Tyranny  of  sectarian,  179.  Founded  in 
our  nature,  410.  Early  and  gradual  develop- 
ment, 410.  Not  to  be  taken  on  human  author- 
ity,  53.  Importance  to  society,  187-188.  An 
inward  life,  441.  Emotion  in,  344.  Excite- 
ment, 297. 

Responsibility,  moral  being  the  essence  of,  696. 
Is  individual,  872. 

Revelation,  not  at  war  with  nature,  193.  The 
interpreter  of  nature,  193.  Agreement  with  the 
course  of  Providence,  194.  Discloses  our  future 
life,  195.  Only  meets  the  deep  needs  of  our 
nature,  195.  Specially  adapted  to  conscience, 
196.  Founded  on  the  authority  of  reason,  235. 
The  evidence  of,  submitted  to  reason,  235. 
Needs  reason  as  its  interpreter,  237.  Not  our 
earliest  teacher,  235. 

Revivals  overwhelm  the  mind  with  foreign  influ- 
ences, 144. 

Revolution,  the  French,  why  it  failed,  545.  Com- 
pared with  the  American,  545. 

Rights,  human,  697-699.  Right  of  man  to  him- 
self, 694.  Right  involves  obligation,  695. 


Sabbath,  the,  remarks  on,  151.  Not  the  Lord’s 
day,  152.  Design  of,  rest,  153.  Not  a Chris- 
tian institution,  153.  Obligation  of,  disowned 
by  the  Christian  world,  153.  See  “Sunday.” 

Salvation,  low  views  of,  251. 

Schools,  Theological,  end  of,  to  train  ministers  of 
power,  257.  Means,  free  investigation,  263. 
Love  of  truth,  264.  Fostering  a devotional 
spirit,  265.  Faith,  265.  A spirit  of  reform, 
266.  An  independent  spirit,  267.  A spirit  of 
self-sacrifice,  267. 

Science,  now  diffusive,  160. 

Scott,  General,  tribute  to,  666. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  his  fine  broad  sympathy,  162. 

Sectarianism,  viewed  with  grief  and  shame,  476. 
Desire  to  escape,  246.  Softening,  275. 

Self-culture,  possible,  14.  We  can  form  ourselves, 
15.  The  idea  of,  unfolded,  15-19.  Is  moral, 
15.  Religious,  16.  Intellectual,  16.  Social,  17. 
Practical,  18.  Esthetic,  18.  Power  of  utter- 
ance, 19.  Means  to  be  fastened  on  as  our 
great  end,  20.  Faith,  20.  Self-control,  22. 
Intercourse  with  superior  minds,  23.  Inde- 
pendence, 24.  Occupation,  25.  Hardship,  26. 
Politics,  26.  Christianity,  30.  Time  for,  33. 
Gives  pleasure,  34. 

Self-denial,  not  of  the  reason,  337.  But  the  appe- 
tites and  passions,  340.  For  they  tend  to  en- 
largement, 340. 

Self-love,  dangers,  568.  Not  to  be  crushed, 
568.  The  principle  that  controls  it,  569. 


59 


INDEX. 


930 

Sin,  what,  347.  Evil  of,  according  to  the  Script- 
ures, 348.  As  seen  in  the  retrospect  of  life, 
349.  The  fountain  of  human  misery,  349. 
Followed  by  misery  in  the  future,  350.  Greater 
than  now,  351. 

Slavery,  sensitiveness  to  discussion,  689.  Should 
be  wisely  discussed,  689.  Philosophical  interest 
of,  690.  Moral,  691.  Property  in  man,  argu- 
ments against,  692-697.  Violates  human 
rights,  697-704.  Guilt  of  slaveholders  consid- 
ered, 704-707.  Evils,  707-722.  Moral  influ- 
ence of,  707-710.  Intellectual,  710.  Domestic, 
711-712.  Political,  716-718.  Influence  on  the 
master,  715-716.  The  Bible  argument  for,  723- 
725.  Means  for  removing,  725-731.  Duties, 
737-739.  Slave  labor  compared  with  free,  768. 
Abolitionism,  731-737.  That  the  slave  suffers 
less  than  the  free  laborer,  792.  Cruelty,  794. 
Kindness  of  the  masters,  796.  Amalgamation, 
800.  The  war  prophesied,  806.  Vehemence 
of  Northern  opposition,  893.  Unmakes  men, 

909.  Burning  the  Hall  of  Freedom  in  Philadel- 
phia, 812.  The  New  Testament  on,  887. 
Slaveholder’s  character,  794-796.  Slave-trade, 
relations  of  this  country  to,  902.  Search  of 
vessels,  903. 

Smith,  Gerrit,  817. 

Society,  true  value  of,  140.  Means  of  knowledge, 
140.  Chief  danger  of,  142.  Tyranny,  142. 
Benefit  of  wide  social  intercourse,  143.  Does 
not  abrogate  human  rights,  699.  Can  be  im- 
proved, 583.  Proof  of,  583.  Man’s  right  to, 

910.  Justice  never  dangerous  to,  921-922. 

Soul,  the  starting-point  of  all  religion,  6.  Growth, 

314.  Gradual,  315. 

South,  the  angry  passions  of,  under  Northern 
rebuke,  892. 

Speech,  freedom  of,  violated  in  Congress,  883. 

"Power  of,  desirable,  19. 

State,  the,  rights  of,  699.  Restrained  by  the 
moral  law,  699.  “ The  general  good  ” not  the 

supreme  law,  700.  Moral  good  the  supreme 
end,  700.  Danger  from  putting  prosperity 
above  rectitude,  701.  Man’s  relation  to,  exag- 
gerated, 872.  Good  and  evil  mingled  in,  891. 
The  good  must  bear  with  the  bad,  891.  Rep- 
resentative not  the  tool  of  his  constituents,  896. 

Stiles,  the  Rev.  Dr.,  notice  of,  423. 

Suffering,  great  amount  in  life,  607.  God  intends 
it,  608.  Our  native  susceptibility  to  pain,  609. 
Compatible  with  the  goodness  of  God,  610. 
Pleasure  more  abounding  than  pain,  61 1. 
Brings  out  human  worth,  612. 

Sunday,  view  of,  155.  Labor  to  be  discounte- 
nanced, 155.  The  mails,  156.  Travelling, 
156.  How  to  use  well,  157.  Not  more  holy 
than  other  days,  158. 

Sunday  school,  the  principle  of,  447.  The  object, 
449.  What  should  be  taught,  450.  How  it 
should  be  taught,  456.  The  great  danger,  450. 
The  Gospels  the  true  text-book,  451.  Christ 
to  be  taught,  452.  Features  of  Christianity 
suitable,  453.  Life  in  the  teacher,  455. 


Tariff,  protective,  considered,  634.  Objections 
to,  635. 

Taxation,  direct  and  indirect,  635. 

Teacher,  the  school,  qualifications,  119.  The 
office  the  most  important,  119.  Requires  great 
ability,  120.  Has  to  govern  as  well  as  teach, 
122.  Able  and  wise,  need  of,  62. 


Temperance,  address  on,  99.  Rooted  in  Chris- 
tianity, 99.  Essential  evil  of  intemperance,  100. 
Poverty,  100.  Temptations,  101-103.  Causes 
— care  and  toil,  103.  Intellectual  depression, 
104.  Sensuality,  104.  Want  of  self-respect, 
104.  Remedies  — moral  strength,  105.  Social 
intercourse,  106.  A higher  education,  106. 
Christian  instruction,  109.  Innocent  amuse- 
ments, no.  Discouraging  the  use  of  ardent 
spirits,  1 13.  Prohibiting  the  sale  of,  114. 

Texas,  criminality  of  the  revolt,  753.  Annexa- 
tion, 752-779.  A moral  question,  752. 

Thacher,  the  Rev.  S.  C.,  memoir  of,  625-628. 
Thought,  stirred  up  by  the  universe,  44.  Force 
of,  for  the  acquisition  of  truth,  45.  To  be  ex- 
erted on  matter,  46.  On  mind,  46.  What, 
44.  Not  the  monopoly  of  a class,  52. 

Trinity,  the,  objections  to,  371.  Protest  against, 

371.  Not  clearly  stated  in  the  Bible,  372.  Not 
found  in  the  earliest  controversies  of  the  Church, 

372.  Not  favorable  to  devotion,  372.  Irra- 
tional, 243. 

Trinitarianism,  objections  to — carries  confusion 
into  the  nature  of  God,  387.  Materializes  the 
conception  of  God,  388.  Bewilders  the  mind 
in  worship,  390.  Degrades  the  character  of 
God,  390.  Is  contrary  to  nature,  392.  Throws 
gloom  over  God’s  works,  393.  Obscures  the 
character  and  weakens  the  work  of  Christ,  394. 
Obscures  the  mercy  of  God,  396.  Contradicts 
and  degrades  the  reason,  399.  See  “ Unitari- 
anism.” 

Truth,  the  love  of,  45. 

Tuckerman,  Joseph,  585-595.  Idleness  of  his 
■ youth,  585.  His  heart  the  strongest  part  of 
him,  586.  Failure  of  health,  586.  Began  his 
ministry  to  the  poor,  586.  His  love  for  the 
poor,  587.  Breathed  new  life  into  the  ministry 
to  the  poor,  587.  How  he  labored,  588.  Secret 
of  his  success,  589.  Improvement  in  preach- 
ing, 589*  Interest  in  children,  589.  Visit  to 
Europe,  591.  A martyr  to  his  cause,  594. 

Union,  the  American,  chief  good  of,  630.  Evils 
of  disunion,  630.  Hatred  and  hostility,  if 
broken  up,  — restless  activity  of  the  people, 
630.  Possession  of  a common  language,  631. 
Subserviency  to  Europe,  631.  Intense  party 
spirit,  631.  Union  an  inestimable  good,  891. 
Natural  duty  of  the  States,  899. 

Unity  of  God,  371,  387,  389.  See  “Trinity.” 
Unitarian  Christianity,  views  of  God;  his  moral 
perfections,  376,  390.  Justice,  376.  Parental 
character,  377.  Spirituality,  388.  Views  of 
Christ ; unity  of  person,  373.  Dual  being,  373. 
Not  found  in  the  Bible,  373.  Strictly  one  be- 
ing, 374.  Distinct  from  God,  374.  New 
Testament  evidence,  374.  Christ  not  more 
interesting  on  the  Trinitarian  hypothesis,  375. 
His  mission,  378,  394.  Objections  to,  con- 
sidered, 401-408.  See  “Trinitarianism.” 
Unitarianism  most  favorable  to  piety,  384.  Illus- 
trations, 387-399.  Contrasted  with  Tnmtarian- 
ism,  387-399.  Why  prized,  400.  .... 

Unitarians,  persecution  of,  480.  Why  denied  the 
name  and  rights  of  Christians,  478. 
Utilitarianism  blights  national  life,  129. 

Veto  of  the  President,  importance  of,  896. 
Virtue,  the  idea  of,  552;  Christian, , nature  of, 

380. 

Vocations,  dignity  of  different,  32. 


INDEX. 


931 


War,  rouses  energy  of  mind,  524.  Miseries  and 
crimes,  643-646,  654.  Picture  of  a recent  bat- 
tle-field, 643.  The  soldier’s  trade,  644.  Influ- 
ence on  the  community,  644.  Sources  of  — love 
of  excitement,  646.  Passion  for  power,  647.  Ad- 
miration for  display,  647.  Remedies,  648-651. 
Arguments  in  favor,  652.  Glory,  655.  Honor 
associated  with,  656.  Motives  to  a military  life, 
656.  False  estimate  of  physical  courage,  657. 
When  war  is  necessary,  661.  What  will  justify 
it,  662.  Rectitude  required,  662.  The  chief 
evil,  667.  The  only  remedy,  670.  Causes  of 
the  prevalent  insensibility  to,  673.  Declaration 
of,  675.  Duty  of  the  citizen  when  called  to 
fight,  675.  Splendor  of  uniform  a bad  thing, 
678.  Government  has  the  right  of,  674.  How 
it  should  be  exercised,  674. 

Warfare,  moral,  341. 

Washington,  his  great  moral  qualities,  546. 

Wealth,  the  passion  for,  in  America,  and  its  dan- 
gers, 890. 


Whittier,  John  G.,  tribute  to,  813. 

Woman,  her  sphere  and  mission,  844.  As  a re- 
ligious teacher,  164. 

Worcester,  Noah,  D.D.,  the  philanthropist,  602. 
Early  struggles,  603.  Theology,  603.  A peace- 
advocate,  605. 

Wordsworth,  universal  sympathy  in  his  poetry, 
161. 

Work,  only  one  of  man’s  interests,  832.  See 
“Labor.” 

Worship  of  God,  the  purpose  of,  249.  Origin  of, 
410.  Different  forms,  41 1.  The  one  object 
of,  412.  Jesus  directed  all  worship  to  the  Father, 
413.  The  homage  given  to  Jesus  on  earth  not 
worship,  413.  God  to  be  worshipped  in  his 
parental  character,  414-418.  The  true  worship, 
419.  The  spirit  of,  in  daily  life,  420.  The 
worship  in  spirit,  425. 


Yoatng  men,  their  need  of  religion,  619. 


Cambridge : Press  of  John  Wilson  & Son. 


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